On Music, Money and Markets: Comparing the Finances of Great Composers 3031432258, 9783031432255

Citation preview

Thomas Baumert Francisco Cabrillo   Editors

On Music, Money and Markets Comparing the Finances of Great Composers

On Music, Money and Markets

Thomas Baumert · Francisco Cabrillo Editors

On Music, Money and Markets Comparing the Finances of Great Composers

Editors Thomas Baumert Complutense University of Madrid Madrid, Spain

Francisco Cabrillo Complutense University of Madrid Madrid, Spain

ISBN 978-3-031-43225-5 ISBN 978-3-031-43226-2 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland Paper in this product is recyclable.

This appears to be the special task of biography: to present the man in relation to his times, and to show how far as a whole they are opposed to him, in how far they are favorable to him, and how, if he be an artist, […] he reflects them outwardly. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Wahrheit und Dichtung (1811). Criticism of the aesthetic consumption becomes the most needful of all conceivable contributions to production; and is therefore for the economist to become art-critic, or, failing in it, the art-critic must supply his place and become an economist. Patrick Geddes, John Ruskin: Economist (1884).

To Adriana and to Thomas Alexander

Foreword by Deirdre Nansen McCloskey

To Begin an Economic History of Music One of merely two serious mistakes the Blessed Adam Smith made in The Wealth of Nations in 1776 was to characterize ministers and opera singers as “unproductive”, by which he meant not producing physical goods the way barley growers and pin manufacturers do. (The other and related mistake was his labor theory of value, at any rate in the form it came to be understood by the so-called classical economists down to Karl Marx, and as it is still understood by the numerous though economically naïve followers of Marx.) The unproductive people would include, in self-contradiction, the economic, social, and political thinker Adam himself. And yet Smith was no barbaric disdainer of the arts, as was certainly his follower Jeremy Bentham, and as have been, too, the numerous economists of a crudely materialist and utilitarian bent following Bentham. The musical performances Smith relished in Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Oxford, and in France while acquainted with that strange music critic and political philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, also had the character of “unproductive”, disappearing into the ether at the very moment of their enactment. Smith’s mistake is odd, because he did not regard middlemen as unproductive, at any rate not with the fierceness that Aristotle and then the Christian tradition did. After all, the melodies and harmonies of merchants and bankers disappear into the ether, too. But anthropologists have long replied that the distinction between material and spiritual consumption is lacking in point. A meal, for example, is often a sacred ceremony no less than a concerto. Music is a “commodity”, subject, as the essays here show in detail, to forces of supply and demand, profit and loss. A commodity is not to be understood as an evil thing inferior to Art. Musicians before Romance of course regarded themselves as businesspeople. The business need not be corrupt. True, Horace sneered at profanum vulgus, the common crowd, in a High-Art snobbery. But when Haydn took off his livery worn in the service of Prince Pál Antal Esterházy to make money in London, he was in business. Bourgeois patronage arriving in the nineteenth century made possible the un-Romantic enrichment of Puccini and Stravinsky. Liberalism broke the ancient hierarchy that had permitted in 1778 a lofty

ix

x

Foreword by Deirdre Nansen McCloskey

French nobleman to stiff Mozart for the fee promised for the Flute and Harp Concerto. Bourgeois Brahms a century later would have brought suit. The mistake that Horace, Tocqueville, Ortega y Gassert, and many others, make is to suppose that popular arts crowd out high art. On the contrary, a wider market allows for more high art as well. The greatest age of what is known in the trade as “literary” fiction is right now. Poets, painters, and musicians high and low are enabled by the Great Enrichment of a 3,000 percent increase in real income per head worldwide since 1776 to follow their passion. Probably more people earn their living from arts of various sorts than all the world’s artists combined up to the present. There’s even more to come. Imagine the explosion of world music of all sorts when China and India and Africa reach European levels of income, as in the next few generations they will. The composers studied here in their profane profit and loss are of course the cream of the crop. Many hundreds of others put quarter notes to staff without such rewards. The myth of the starving artist is not mythical for the bulky lower tail of the distribution of talent and enterprise. It is as true in retail innovation such as Walmart as it is in the reshaping of the symphonic form. Tom Clancy and Stephen King sell millions of books, but most writers don’t, and need a day job to get by. The day job in the twentieth century for novelists and composers became college teaching, imparting an academic flavor to high art in poetry, fiction, architecture, and music that not all of us love. He who pays the piper calls the tune. It has always been so. We who love classical music are likely to try to think up reasons for the rest of us to pay for it. The helpful thought from economics is the claim that the market for music exhibits a “market imperfection”. There’s no doubt that establishing property rights in published music, perfecting a market, enabled many of the composers here to prosper. Yet the economist also points out that once Beethoven’s Third is written down, the social opportunity cost (as we put it) of another person reading it and playing it is zero. The purpose of the price system is to allocate efficiently for our mutual prosperity, not to reward dead labor—which by the way is precisely where Smith and Marx went wrong. The correct price for a work of art once produced is therefore zero. So should we subsidize composers out of taxes? The big problem with subsidizing art is that every taste can be accounted as an externality, a market imperfection. If the local opera companies are subsidized, as massively in Germany nowadays, why not the local football team or the local dress designer or the local Bierstube, or this or that according to taste? What is called an externality is not a technical determination but a social choice. The City of Weimar can subsidize an opera house, but there is no mechanical way to judge whether this is a good thing or not. Obviously on distributional grounds, it is not. Rich people like opera. At the Lyric Opera in Chicago the coat-check will not accept fur coats, on account of the liability for loss. What is the case for subsidizing owners of fur coats through a subsidy to the Lyric? We are varied creatures with varied tastes and projects. Why not subsidies knitting? Flower arranging? Tasteful furniture placement? In her dismal way, the economist observes that if you do, you will rapidly run out of other people’s money.

Foreword by Deirdre Nansen McCloskey

xi

Yet there is glory in it. I have long puzzled, as Max Weber and Pope Benedict XVI did, why Western classical music became rather suddenly so astonishingly more intricate and systematic than other musical traditions. Someone needs to do a world comparative study explaining the event, which happened just when the Western economy was doing the same. Weber attributed it to musical notation, in line with his views of modern rationality, and Benedict to the Catholic church, in line with his own calling. As an economist I would look more at the demand side—and as to supply to the Bourgeois Revaluation elevating during the eighteenth century the social prestige of innovation generally. And as the editors note, and as the economist the late Ronald Scherer argued, surely the competition among fragmented German states mattered a great deal. So let the inquiry begin, an economic history of music. August 2023

Deirdre Nansen McCloskey

Deirdre Nansen McCloskey is Distinguished Professor Emerita of Economics and of History, and Professor Emerita of English and of Communication, adjunct in classics and philosophy, at the University of Illinois at Chicago.

Acknowledgments

We would like to acknowledge our gratitude to the team at Springer Verlag, and especially to our editor Rocío Torregosa and to Gopalakrishna Lakshminarasimha for the pleasant collaboration in the process of converting our research into a book. We are also grateful to the Ateneo de Madrid, for having hosted a series of lectures in which the content of several chapters of this book was first presented and discussed. Finally, we are also indebted to those colleagues, families, and friends who throughout the different stages of development of this work have provided helpful insights—the occasional hints to little-known references were especially welcomed—and have offered careful advice and corrections. A very special thanks goes to Prof. Deirdre Nansen McCloskey for enrichening this study with her foreword. Of course, the usual disclaimer applies.

xiii

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great Composers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thomas Baumert and Francisco Cabrillo

1

Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics of Late Baroque Market for Music . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Luis Perdices de Blas and José Luis Ramos-Gorostiza

21

Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thomas Baumert

45

Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic (Un)consciousness of the Artist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Francisco Cabrillo and Thomas Baumert

69

Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Miguel-Ángel Galindo-Martín and María-Teresa Méndez-Picazo

89

6

Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From Belcanto to the Grand Opera) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 María-Teresa Méndez-Picazo and Miguel-Ángel Galindo-Martín

7

Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal Delusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 Estrella Trincado Aznar

8

Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business . . . . . . . 163 Francisco Cabrillo

9

Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes, and the Value of Brands . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 Manuel Santos Redondo

xv

xvi

Contents

10 Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss: The Economics of Music Up to the Dawn of Fascism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 Miguel-Ángel Galindo-Martín, María-Teresa Méndez-Picazo, and Thomas Baumert 11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools to International Markets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225 Pedro J. Galván Lamet and Daniel del Castillo Soto

Contributors

Thomas Baumert Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain Francisco Cabrillo Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain Daniel del Castillo Soto UNIE University, Madrid, Spain Miguel-Ángel Galindo-Martín University of Castilla-La Mancha, Ciudad Real, Spain Pedro J. Galván Lamet ESIC University, Madrid, Spain María-Teresa Méndez-Picazo Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain Luis Perdices de Blas Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain José Luis Ramos-Gorostiza Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain Manuel Santos Redondo Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain Estrella Trincado Aznar Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain Juan Velarde Fuertes (Late) Royal Academy of Moral and Political Sciences, Madrid, Spain

xvii

Chapter 1

Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great Composers Thomas Baumert and Francisco Cabrillo

Churchmen, lawyers, physicians, men of letters of all kinds; players, buffoons, musicians, opera-singers, opera-dancers, etcetera […are… unproductive labourers]. Like the declamation of the actor, the harangue of the orator, or the tune of the musician, the work of all of them perishes in the very instant of its production. Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations1 The labour of opera singers and dancers must be regarded as “productive”. […] It is productive because it is valued, because it has specific importance for various “economic subjects”. […] The services of opera singers are wealth. Economics deal with the pricing of these services, equally with the pricing of the services of a cook. Lionel Robbins, An Essay on the Nature and Significance of Economic Science2

These opening quotes show that economic science has long struggled with the understanding of art markets and the question of whether artistic performances, not being a proper commodity (cf. Shanahan 1978), should be considered productive or not (Smith was obviously not foreseeing the analogical or digital “storing” of music). Though Cultural Economics is now a consolidated discipline (see Towse 1 2

Smith (1909 [1776], p. 271). Robbins (1935 [1932], pp. 8–9).

T. Baumert (B) · F. Cabrillo Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] F. Cabrillo e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_1

1

2

T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo

2020),3 having become the subject of several books, handbooks, papers and conference: (see, among others, Frey 2000), it is still a relatively young one (Ginsburgh 2021, p. 23) having long been virtually banned from academic economics (Klamer, 1996).4 This youth may explain why a number of subfields of this discipline are still un(der)explored, despite the fact that many of the topics addressed by these new cultural economics had already been an object of discussion for at least two centuries (Scherer 2006, p. 28), as can be seen in Box 1.1. And it might also be the reason why hitherto only little attention has been paid by economic historians to the income— and, more generally speaking to the finances—of musicians, both as creative and as performing artists (cf. Towse 1996, p. 102), and even to the value of music itself (Levinson 2014). Box 1.1: Music in the History of Economic Thought: A Succinct Overview Although the historians of economic thought have paid close attention to the economics of art and culture (see Goodwin 2006), most writings on the topic have centred their attention on paintings and similar commodities, but hardly music. Hence it does not wonder that one of the earliest references to the economics of art is to be found in the writings of the noted Spanish painter Francisco Pacheco (who was the teacher and father-in-law of Diego Velazquez). In his book Arte de la pintura (The Art of Painting, 1649) which is also a sort of handbook for shaping collector’s abilities to detect and price fine arts, he refers to price-finding mechanism which resemble those of the late scholastic authors known as School of Salamanca. This basically means that while the “just-price” rule applies to necessities, the price determination of luxury (including artistic) goods was to be left completely to the market (Negrón 1999, p. 35). However, it should be stated Pacheco is a—albeit certainly relevant—exception, as most authors of the seventeenth century rather considered artistic activities to merely be “caprices” of the wealthy aristocracy. This attitude bettered during the eighteenth century, when mercantilist economic thinkers adopted a more positive view of arts, in part derived from the discussions about music such as the one between Rousseau and Rameau (O’Dea 1994, 1995). According to the Genevan philosopher, the value of music, such as of any other luxury good, lay in its low price-elasticity: “the rich think so much of these things, not because they are useful, but because they are beyond the reach

3

Cultural economics received professional recognition as a category of economic enquiry in 1992, when the American Economic Association added it to its “Classification of economic disciplines” (Peacock 1993, p. 2). 4 There is a consensus in considering the seminal—and now canonical—work by Baumol and Bowen (1965) the starting point of Cultural Economics. In it the authors apply what is known as Baumol’s cost disease, that is, the rise of wages in jobs that have experienced little or no increase in labour productivity, in response to rising salaries in other jobs that have experienced higher productivity growth to performing arts. The point might be summarised as follows: it took the same number of musicians and time to play a Beethoven string quartet when the composers premiered it that now. That is, the productivity of classical music performance has not increased. However, the real wages of musicians have increased substantially since the nineteenth century. Apparently, this could only be compensated by rising prices for concert tickets—thus making them more exclusive— or by seeking additional ways of income such as subsidies, music recordings, merchandising, etc. (Baumol and Bowen 1965, p. 502). See for this also Baumol and Bowen (1966) and Towse (1997).

1 Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great …

of the poor” (quoted in Fridén 1999, p. 43). Hence authors such as Mandeville and Galiani observed that the prices of art works were determined “almost entirely on the demand side of the market, often by fashion and the search of distinction”, and that “domestic production of artwork would contribute to a more favourable balance of trade” (Goodwin 2006, pp. 26, 29). The (in)consistency of taste and preferences due to changes in fashion, etc., was challenged by Stigler and Becker’s (1977) paper De gustibus non est disputandum. The next century brought the contributions to the field of such noted thinkers as David Hume, Anne Robert Jacques Turgot and Adam Smith. The former had a more balanced view on arts than his predecessors, believing that depending on which form it took, luxury could be either virtuous or vicious. Turgot for his part concluded from his historical studies that patronage was as critical to the art markets as creativity was to their development: “May the patrons of the arts [i.e. the Medici, Leo X and Francis I] share the glory of those who cultivated them!” (quoted in Goodwin 2006, p. 35). A point of view that was to be shared by nearly all later thinkers on the matter. The father of economic science, Adam Smith, was particularly interested in the demand side of markets, when writing about “custom and fashion, principles who extend their dominion over our judgement concerning beauty of every kind” (Smith 1976, p. 194). As has already been stated by the quote that heads this Introduction, Smith believed that music—and, in general performing arts—were to be considered unproductive labour. Yet this made him also wonder about the (occasionally high) income earned by musicians, for which he found the following reason: “The exorbitant reward of players, opera-singers, opera-dancers, etc. are founded on these two principles: the rarity and beauty of the talent, and the discredit of pursuing them in this manner” (ibid., p. 124). It has to be highlighted, that Smith always kept an ambiguous attitude toward music and musicians. In his Theory of Moral Sentiments, he reflected upon the fact that, unlike other forms of art, music does not properly imitate nature: “Instrumental music, however, without violating too much its own melody and harmony, can imitate but imperfectly the sounds of natural objects, of which the greater part have neither melody nor harmony. […] That music seldom means to tell any particular story, or to imitate any particular event, or in general to suggest any particular object […] The subject of a composition of instrumental music is a part of that composition: the subject of a poem or picture is no part of either” (ibid., pp. 198, 200; Phillipson 2011, pp. 250–253). Obviously, Smith could not be aware of the later development of “program-music”. Jeremy Bentham, however, disagreed with Smith, as, from the point of view of utility, he did not perceive any difference between music and any of the other fine arts, to which he conceded no “superior” intrinsic quality; though he did concede that sometime arts could have some indirect moral utility (i.e., positive externalities) a point in which he would coincide with Rousseau (Fridén 1999, p. 49). In the often-quoted passage by Bentham, we read: “The utility of all these arts and science —I speak of both their amusement and curiosity— the value which they possess, is exactly in proportion to the pleasure they yield. Every other species of pre-eminence which might be attempted to be established along them is altogether fanciful. Prejudice apart, the game of push-pin is of equal value with the arts and sciences of music and poetry. If the game of push-pin furnish more pleasure, it is more valuable than either” (Bentham 1962, vol. II, p. 253). Both Ruskin (1867) and Jevons worked on what we could consider the political economy of music, discussing among other questions how to “popularise” culture and

3

4

T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo

the role of concerts as an entertainment and amusement for the working class, that is, a mean for the factory worker to escape from his routine (Maas 1999). Jevons for his part, in his manuscript on music, listed three arguments regarding the utility of music in relation to other forms of art: (a) Listening to music involves no bodily fatigue: no efforts are required, only a “passive abandonment of the mind to the train of ideas and emotions suggested by the strains”; (b) Music costs little, as the cost of a theatre is necessarily higher than the cost of a music performance, because theatre is drama plus music; and (c) Music is more pure and removed from concrete life than a drama, which is important because the public performance should distract the labourers from their daily works and sorrows, serving as a “tranquiliser of the mind” (Mosselmans and Mathijs 1999, p. 145). This view would defer significantly from the one exposed by Thorstein Veblen in his Theory of the Leisure Class (1899) which would consider music to be a classic example of conspicuous consumption. An element so far unexplored is the role that music played in the economic thought of Saint-Simonians, as explained by Trincado (2023; Chapter 7 in this book). Curiously enough, the economists of the “Austrian School” do not seem to have shown any special interest in the economics of music, even though Vienna was for a long time one of the leading musical capitals in Europe. Finally, among the economists who not only reflected upon the economics of arts from a theoretical perspective, but acted as practitioners, Keynes (cf. Goodwin 2006, pp. 61ff and Skidelsky 1986, 1992, 2000) and Robbins (1963, 1976; see also Baliscianio and Medema 1999) stand out, as well as, much more recently, Peacock, whose memories of the time he served as chair in several Arts Councils are still a delightful reading on the topic (Peacock 1993).5

This book tries to cast some light into this shadowy area of economic history, focusing on the incomes and financial matters of great “classical” composers in their political and economic milieu (Scherer 2004, pp. 14ff), in what, to our best knowledge, is the first monographic study of this sort.6 For this purpose, each chapter compares the financial matters of two composers who lived and produced their works approximately at the same time but opted for different “market models” (simplified: competing on the free market vs. state sponsoring or private patronage). Hence, although the topic itself it highly innovative, the approach is rather not, as comparisons of “parallel biographies” go back to Plutarch’s Lives,7 to whom we acknowledge our grateful debt. The chapters with each pair of composers are presented in chronological order, covering the main musical periods from the seventeenth to the twentieth century in Western Europe.8 5

For more an overview on some more recent issues on music economics see Cameron (2016) as well as Sicca and Napolitano (2021). 6 It has to be recognized that Frey and Pommerehne (1989, pp. 141–142) touched—although very lightly—upon this matter. 7 See, for example, Plutarch’s Lives. The Translation Called Dryden’s. Corrected from the Greek and Revised by A.H. Clough. Liverpool: Henry Young, 1883. 8 Regarding the fact that all composers included in this study are males, it should be enough to point out that this is a historical work, and that the music composition business has been a nearly exclusively male one (although female singers were among the highest-paid musicians). However,

1 Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great …

5

The question may arise about why among the different participants in the music business we decided to centre our attention on composers. Basically, because they introduce to the market the highest level of intrinsic novelty, that is, of innovation (Scherer 2004, p. 33). Regarding this point, the analogy to what the Spanish artist Francisco Pacheco wrote about painters might also be valid for musicians: We will not speak here of those who know only how to copy and have to follow good and bad originals, be they prints, drawings, or paintings. They belong to the first level […]. Those of the second level can still make use of these sources join them together at the end, and thus take better advantage of them. These painters, when the opportunity is offered to them to pain a figure of a history, can choose from among prints, drawings or paintings —a head from one, a half-figure from another, another figure or two from someplace else, plus arms, legs draperies, buildings and landscapes— and join them all together. In this way they are at least responsible for the compositions and for the many other things that make a unified picture. Certainly, the ability to make sketches, drawings, and cartoons straight away belongs to those painters who occupy the third and final level of painting, because they are obliged to make new things, and thus when they are asked to do a figure or history, be it old or new, they try to discover how it should be painted, whether by asking scholars or reading books, and in their mind they construct unified ideas. (Pacheco 1649; quoted in Negrón 1999, pp. 37–38)

For Pacheco, painters of the third level should be the most highly compensated because they use more genius9 (ibid., p. 38) and the same classification would apply to musicians, with the third level corresponding to those “genius”-composers,10 on the lasting quality of whose works there is a magnitude of consensus and a high degree of temporal stability (cf. Simonton 2014). The focus on Western composers has not been an aprioristic one but resulted from the mere fact that most “classical” music was developed precisely in Europe. A point that already puzzled Max Weber in one of his lesser-known works entitled Rational and sociological foundations of music: Why did polyphonic and harmonic-homophonic music and the modern tonal system in general develop from the rather widespread polyphony in one part of the world […], in contrast to other areas with at least the same intensity of musical culture, as in Hellenic antiquity in particular, but also in Japan, for example? (Weber 1921, p. 64)

According to the German sociologist, there are at least two elements which might help in solving this question: the fact that occidental music theory, due to the thirdseptime-octave scheme allowed from the beginning to develop a rationally and unified there seems that any possible gender gap among musicians has currently shrunk in terms of market share: measured through the single charts, in 2018 the ten biggest acts spent a combined total of 638 weeks in the top 40, 310 of which (49%) were for songs featuring female artists. A market share that does not seem to have diminished since. 9 The Spanish term employed by Pacheco is ingenio, which has a slightly different meaning than genio. 10 According to (Santos 1976, p. 243) “the probabilities determining the expected returns by performing artists are subject not only to the scarcity of genius but also to the size of the net inflow into the performing arts and the perspicacity with which entrants judge their own training and abilities. For example, other things equal, a sudden influx of stage-stuck dilletantes would diminish the probability of a large income, thereby reducing the income expected from such pursuits.”

6

T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo

accord-harmonious system (ibid., p. 5) and due to the development of modern music notation (ibid., p. 66). A different, yet complementary explanation to the one given by Weber was provided by the late Pope Benedict XVI in his speech after accepting the doctorate honoris causa of the University Joan Paul II of Krakow in 2015: At this point, I would like to express a thought that has gripped me more and more in recent times, all the more so as different cultures and religions have great literature, great architecture, great painting and great sculptures. And everywhere there is also music. And yet in no other cultural sphere is there music of equal greatness to that born within the Christian faith: from Palestrina to Bach, to Händel, to Mozart, Beethoven and Bruckner. Western music is something unique, which has no equal in other cultures. This must make us think. (Benedetto XVI 2023, p. 42)

Other reasons besides these that may explain not only why the music business developed mainly in Europe, but also why (some notable exceptions made) it did more so in the German states, Bohemia, Hungary and Italy—that is, basically the former Holy Roman Empire and the associated lands—than in the remaining regions.11 We believe that competition is the key determinant behind this fact: competition between different courts spurred the market for musicians and, even more, for great composers and Kapellmeisters; while competition between religions—Catholicism vs. Protestantism12 —boosted the demand for works that would attract a retain the faithful (curiously enough, the saying “Who sings, prays twice” is attributed both to Saint Augustine and to Martin Luther). Hence, those nations who presented highly centralized political structures (i.e., basically one court) and a quasi-monopolistic religious environment—such as France, the United Kingdom and Spain—would lack the competitive environment in which music could flourish. However, these countries, especially England, would leapfrog musically toward the leaders after the Industrial Revolution, with the rise of wealth and the appearance and consolidation of bourgeoisie.13 But even then, they would remain for nearly a century mere consumers of music rather than producers, importing the works, and whenever possible also their composers—either for permanent or for prolonged stays—from the continent. Exception made of Wagner, successful cases were those of Händel, Haydn, Rossini or Mendelssohn in England (Mozart and Beethoven had dealt with similar plans, although, for different reasons, they did not fulfil them) and of Mahler, Puccini, Strauss and Stravinsky in the United States. Insofar we coincide—although we add the religious component—with Baumol and Baumol (1994, p. 172) when stating that: Obviously, economic and political conditions cannot create talent, but they certainly can either inhibit it or provide opportunities for its exercise. Our main hypothesis is intended to 11

Scherer (2006), drawing on a survey of 646 musicians born between 1650 and 1849 found the Austrian Empire to be the most intensive employer of composer–musicians per million population and also to have given birth to the largest number of composers relative to its population. The former Czechoslovakia was second in births while Germany was second in employment. 12 Unlike Luther, Zwingly (as well as Cromwell) banished music from churches. 13 See for this the three volumes on the Bourgeois Virtues, Dignity and Equality by McCloskey (2006, 2010, 2016).

1 Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great …

7

narrow the pertinent geography — to help account for the striking level of composing activity emanating from Germany and Italy. This hypothesis suggests that the political division of the Holy Roman Empire and the Habsburg possessions into numerous petty states worked to produce the circumstances (notably substantial demand and a profusion of jobs) that help to explain the profusion of musical productivity. […] While much private support continued, the composer was beginning to emerge from a state of servitude to take control of his own professional life. By the second half of the eighteenth-century demand for the work of the composers derived from two sources: continued patronage of royalty and nobility, and the emerging free market. (Baumol and Baumol 1994, p. 172)

In this sense, the Vienna-Classic—which roughly encompasses the period from Haydn to Beethoven—represents a major turning point in the market for compositions: It was part of the changeover from the universal market system of private patronage to the beginnings of a market mechanism under which the product of the composer and the performer became a commodity that could be bought and sold. Haydn perhaps [being] the most telling example of the transition. (ibid., p. 175)

Several factors played a role in this transformation (for an extensive analysis of this question, see Blanning 2008), namely the significant reduction of the number of courts that could maintain musical ensembles. For instance, the cost of maintaining such ensembles rose, as both kapellmeister and musicians would negotiate higher payments. At the same time, as the consumption of music grew, there was an “arms race” (Scherer 2006, p. 129) between courts with which many could not keep pace, especially during times of economic crises derived from armed conflicts (the Seven years’ war between Prussia and Austria, the war against the Turks and the Napoleonic wars might be highlighted in this sense). In addition to the previous, the progressive loss of power of the Roman Catholic church, which in several countries was accelerated by processes of confiscation (such as in Spain, France and the Austrian Empire), drained resources previously devoted to religious music. This transition was also supported by the development of the music-publishing industry, which meant an additional—and very welcomed—source of income for freelance musicians (see for this Scherer 2004, 2006). This meant not only an additional source of income for composers—although remunerated through a single fixed-payment—but represented also a very strong instrument of diffusion of the composers’ work and, hence, of their “personal marketing.” Great composers were to become well-known brands with rising market value, up the phenomenon of “superstars” (cf. Frey and Pommerehne 1989, p. 158).14 Initially, the scores were distributed 14

Two explanations for the “superstar” phenomenon—one referring to the demand, the other to the supply side—are pointed out by the authors: (a) The preferences of art consumers are such that they are unwilling to substitute a lesser talent for a greater talent. A succession of mediocre singers, for instance, does not add up to a first-rate performance. […] This unwillingness to substitute easily among talents leads to a relative rise in demand for and income of the superstar, going beyond what may be attributed to pure talent. (b) The second explanation for the huge incomes of superstars compared with other artists may be attributed to technology […]. Owing the modern media, a performer must make more or less the same effort whether there is an audience of 100, 1,000 or 100,000. The cost of production does not rise in proportion to the size of the market.

8

T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo

on a subscription-basis, promoted by a wealthy patron (Haydn and Beethoven15 would both rely for this purpose on the service of Georg Griesinger); later the composers would deal directly with the publishers, occasionally even outbetting one against the others. Again, Haydn serves as a good example for the shift in the role of property rights: Circa 1760, Haydn’s works were becoming known in England and France as well as in his native Austria-Hungary, but Haydn received no rewards from the editions of his works published in those countries. Further, the French publishers passed off the works of other composers as those of Haydn. On the principle that “if you can’t beat them, join them”, Haydn made direct contact with publishers in Paris, London and Berlin and offered new works to them direct. He then managed to sell rights to the same symphonies in these different musical centres! (Peacock 1993, p. 44, based on Landon 1980, chapter 10)

But the growing demand for music (Scherer 2004, p. 33) and scores was also the result of another three changes of social, technological and legal sort: the growing relevance of the middle-class; the development and spreading of the pianoforte and the introduction of intellectual property rights. The first two are closely linked: as prices of the upright-piano decreased due to the multiplication of producers and economies of scale, they became an indispensable element in any bourgeoise16 (i.e., educated) household (Hildebrandt 1985; Weber 1921, pp. 109–110).17 Profane music was no longer a privilege of the palaces but was to be heard in most middle-class homes (the German word Hausmusik, pitches it perfectly), up to the point that in 1800 the Viennese Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung wrote: “Everybody plays the piano, everybody is learning to play the piano” (Hildebrandt 1985, p. 10). Up and down the street, all you hear is music. In every town house, the piano is the first thing you see. And no sooner has the guest been refreshed and been offered a snack, than Fräulein Karoline —or whatever her name may be—, is called upon by her parents to play something for the guest. (ibid.)

In turn, besides specific works of music (such as Lieder and dances) to satisfy the growing demand for this “house music”, publishers—who insisted that it should be music easy to play so as to reach the broadest possible market—also asked composers to prepare piano-reductions of their operas and symphonic works.18 Thirdly, the most important legal element to be highlighted was the appearance of intellectual property rights which would protect composer’s interests as

15

Beethoven aiming at the top-end market, sold subscriptions for manuscript copies of his scores (see Chapter 4). 16 For a definition of “bourgeois” see McCloskey (2006, pp. 68 ff). 17 As the design of the new pianoforte allowed for a stronger and louder sound, performers could now play in bigger halls and before larger audiences, thus allowing concerts to become economically more rentable. This implied that soon string instruments would also require a redesign to keep up with the enhanced sound of the piano (cf. Schoenbaum 2012). 18 It should be noted that music publishers often obtained musical manuscripts through the copyist and other workers involved in the elaboration of the scores, which they then printed and sold without the composer’s permission, and usually with many mistakes in the transcriptions.

1 Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great …

9

for market economy to work effectively, property rights must be established, as without them there would be no basis for viewing price as a measure of value. (Towse 1996, p. 100; 2020)19

According to Scherer (2006, p. 137), England was the first nation to enact modern copyright laws (the Law of Anne in 1709), which was first implemented in the field of music through a lawsuit—“Bach versus Longman and Lukey”—brought by Johann Christian Bach heard by the Court of Chancery in 1777 (cf. Mai 2013). France followed in 1789 and the United States of America in 1790 (although protecting exclusively the works of domestic residents, see for this, Ben-Atar 2004). Implementation took much longer in the countries of the former Holy Roman Empire, where authors had to wait until the late 1830s to see their works protected. A final phenomenon to be observed was that of the increasing number of listeners in concerts (as costs remained basically unaffected by the size of the audience, the higher the revenue of tickets sold, the greater the benefits). This tendency which already acquired great importance in the balls organized by Johann Strauss, was taken to an extreme by Hector Berlioz, who organized in Paris “monster concerts” (although the number of musicians employed also grew drastically, and with it, the production costs): Berlioz’ first such concert, in 1844, was held in an industrial exhibition shed, attracting an audience of 8,000 to hear music by a thousand instrumentalists and singers. A later monster concert organized by Berlioz in 1855 attracted an audience estimated at 40,000. The pinnacle of 19th century monster concerts was probably reached in the Boston (Massachusetts) Peace Jubilee of 1872. For it, Johann Strauss Jr. was paid $100,000 plus travelling expenses to direct an orchestra of 2,000 and a chorus of 20,000 performing Strauss compositions before an audience estimated at 100,000 persons. (Fantel 1971, pp. 195–196, quoted in Scherer 2006, p. 139)

The next milestone in this process was again due to a technological innovation: the development of recording and reproduction devices—phonographs and gramophones—and of broadcasting media, would revolutionize the music market on all possible levels,20 as the economic good “music”, besides keeping its individual character, had now become storable. Instead of attending concerts or making music themselves, people could now listen at home to music performed by the best professionals: not exactly the same good, but close substitutes. And the number of listeners was no longer bound by the size of a physical space but became as large as the world population. This shaped the three markets—one for each music-commodity—for music which, basically, still operate: At least three different markets for music exists which can be empirically identified strictly on the basis of commodity forms: live performance with audience at the performance site, live performance transmitted to audience via radio or television [or live-streaming platforms] and recorded performances — live or studio performed. The market separations occur because of perceived differences in the potential consumption experience among these commodity 19

The Journal of Cultural Economics dedicated in 1995 a special issue (nº 19) to this topic. For an extensive study about the role of recording technologies on music through the example of the recordings of pieces by Bach, see Elie (2012).

20

10

T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo forms. These perceived differences result from the creative and sometimes distortive effects that the performance, the transmission, and the recording contribute to the production of the commodities, music. (Shanahan 1978, p. 21)

∗ ∗ ∗ To advance the main conclusions reached in this book: a. Also for music: markets matter, although the orientation of those markets changed over time (Scherer 2004, p. 197). b. In general terms, those composers who opted for a competitive market model, outperformed—both in terms of income and of productivity—those who relied merely on patronage,21 with the best results obtained by those who combined both forms of income (Händel, Haydn and Beethoven).22 c. The best chances—again speaking in general terms—for freelance composers to succeed economically were presented by composing and performing operas. d. None of the composers included could be considered truly poor, although some of them did occasionally suffer financial impasses and even severe distress.23 The myth of the “starving artist” (Baumol and Baumol 1965, p. 495)—be it musicians, poets or painters—, was spread by Romanticism to stress the belief that the true, “pure” artist will only be understood by a selected minority—the Spanish poet Juan Ramón Jiménez used to dedicated his books “To the minority, always”, a minority, however, that he considered “immense”—24 implying that those who succeeded in the market did so because their works were sellable, that is, appealed to the masses and hence were no longer pieces of art. In the words of Frey and Pommerehne (1989, p. 137): The starving artist has become the subject of art himself. Giacomo Puccini’s La Bohème25 brought the figure to the opera world. Karl Spritzweg’s Der arme Poet [The poor poet], painted in 1839, shows an artist living in a garret but devoted with all his heart to the arts. Ever since, this picture has strongly shaped the views that people hold about the financial situation of artists — albeit in a romantic light, according ill with the harshness of the industrial revolution taking place at that time. The German fin de siècle dramatist Frank Wedekind’s first full-length play written in 1886 — Der Schnellmaler oder Kunst und Mammon [The quick painter or Art and Mammon] is concerned with the same topic. 21

Of course, there are notable exceptions as, for example, Wagner managed quite well while being sponsored by Ludwig II of Bavaria. 22 Market-oriented efforts, however, tended to be reduced as composers achieved a comfortable level of affluence (Scherer 2004, p. 89). This author also points out (ibid., p. 198) that those who served as court Kapellmeister or received outright court subsidies were more productive than those who lacked such positions. 23 In this point we disagree with Scherer (2004, p. 201) who affirms that Mozart and Schubert died “in abject poverty”. We conclude that, at the time of his death, Mozart simply had a cash problem, which was solved shortly afterwards. Obviously, many others out of the bulk of musicians not included in this book might have struggled hard to make ends meet. 24 He does so in his very suggestive article “To the immense minority” (El Sol, 26th of December 1935, p. 7). 25 Based on the novel Scènes de la vie de bohème (1851) by Henri Murger.

1 Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great …

11

A similar title, Musik und Mammon, was used by Wegner (1999) for his study on the sustainability of music and opera houses in Germany: a topic that had also drawn the attention of a Spanish author more than half a century earlier (Salazar 1935, pp. 101ff) who wondered about the fact that all but one French musical institutions— which he used as benchmark for Spain—made heavy losses despite receiving strong subsidies. Now as then, the classical music industry finds it difficult to stand on its own means, demanding subventions as to overcome market-failures and arguing that it is necessarily to make art for as many people as possible. Yet, the mere concept of “art”—including “classical” music—is supposed to lose its lustre when becoming a good of mass consumption. Such is the case of the performances of “super-stars” who sell out concert halls but are criticized for “selling away their art”; at the same time, classical concerts with contemporary pieces are often unprofitable, for which the blame is put on the ignorance of the public. In other terms, the democratization of arts might have turned sophisticated music reserved for the enjoyment of a few into a less sophisticated product of mass consumption. This was already remarked by Tocqueville in his Democracy in America: He argued that the role of art in a democracy differs fundamentally from its position in an aristocratic society. In an aristocracy all art is consumed by a small group of privileged people who are difficult to please, and therefore art is created by craftsmen who strive for perfect workmanship in order to maximize profits. When the privileges have been abolished, this situation changes dramatically. […] The modern craftsperson maximizes his or her profit by selling products of average or inferior quality to as many people as possible. (Mosselmans and Mathijs 1999, p. 150)

The question about whether art should be subsidized by the State (even though it might be complemented by private sponsorship, as in times of Maecenas), is still an unsolved one as, in the last instance, “the optimal expenditure on cultural pursuits is illimitable” (Peacock 1993, p. 40, 2006). Yet, it has to be recognized that most economists who have studied this question—independently from their School of thought as has been presented in Box 1.1—seem to agree upon some sort of public help, be it directly, as defended by Keynes throughout his life (Skidelsky 1986, 1992, 2000) and, to a lesser degree also by Robbins (1963, 1976), or indirectly by shaping the people’s aesthetic taste (Stamp 1929). ∗ ∗ ∗ The book is structured as follows: Chapter 2, written by Luis Perdices de Blas and José Luis Ramos Gorostiza, compares the incomes of Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel. Both were born in 1685 but lived very different lives—the former as Thomaskantor in Leipzig, while the latter moved and became a successful musicbusinessman in London—that exemplify perfectly well the tension between the security of a poorly paid patronage vs. the higher risk and—likely—higher income of free market (still, Bach would manage to save enough money as to invest in mine-stocks and Händel would live in London just as a wealthy businessman). And still, the differences in terms of income between both composers were substantial, and as different as their perception of their market: while Händel tried to appeal to the broadest possible

12

T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo

audience, Bach considered that he composed only for God: a rare example of musical monopsony. According to Scherer (2001), Bach and Händel, together with Antonio Vivaldi and Georg Friedrich Telemann also were among the first composers to carry out freelance activities. Chapter 3, written by Thomas Baumert, covers the lives of Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The latter is significant insofar as it might be the sole musician on which a large number of scholarly studies regarding his income—and more so, about his economic distress—has been conducted. The comparison of the different market and financial strategies followed by both musicians—for a lustre Mozart was the first exclusively freelance musician—results very fruitful and allows to nuance many of the wrong beliefs still repeated by the literature. Haydn and Mozart also stand out because, unlike most of the other composers included in the book, they were friends, hence proving wrong Aunós’ (1952, p. 16) belief that “musicians are the ones who bear the steeliest hatred against each other and have the least sense of solidarity”. Chapter 4, cowritten by the same author with Francisco Cabrillo, focuses on the finances of Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert. The former gained enough of a reputation to set terms with his musical editors (sometimes promising the same work up to seven editors), while the latter earned sufficient as to support himself, despite his youth, as a composer, with an income equivalent to that of a medium-level public official. Schubert is also noteworthy because he was the first musician who aimed to live exclusively from his earnings as a composer, without any paid activity as a performer. Chapters 5 and 6, authored by Miguel Ángel Galindo Martín and María Teresa Méndez Picazo, move away from the German-speaking countries toward Italy, studying respectively Gioachino Rossini—who run a casino in the opera-house, thus allowing to alternate between musical performances and gambling, a forerunner to Las Vegas—and Gaetano Donizetti, as well as Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer, covering the economics from belcanto to the grand opera. Estrella Trincado Aznar’s study on the financial situation of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy and Robert Schuman (Chapter 7) is not only the first of its kind but is complemented with a very enlightening analysis of the role of music in the economic thought of Saint-Simonians. If so far the comparison has been either between German/Austrian or Italian composers, Chapter 8, written by Francisco Cabrillo, confronts the incomes of two titans of opera, one German and one Italian: Richard Wagner and Giuseppe Verdi. The former could afford a lavish lifestyle thanks to the large sums that he obtained from King Ludwig II of Bavaria (but also because he knew how to sell his operas well), while the latter became a property owner who lived quite comfortably (Frey and Pommerehne 1989, p. 142). As a curiosity, in the very few written statements that have survived from one to the other, Verdi wrote Wagner as “Vagner”—and Wagner wrote Verdi as “Werdi” (Noltze 2013, p. 21)! Chapter 9, contributed by Manuel Santos Redondo, shifts to the “lighter” music for the masses, comparing the incomes of Johann Strauss and Jacques Offenbach. It should be kept in mind that, at the peak of his popularity, the former organised musical events for up to 50,000 participants, and kept 300 musicians under contract, whom he deployed in groups of 25 to play in various ballrooms at a time (Scherer 2006, p. 139). Chapter 10, cowritten by Miguel Ángel Galindo Martín, María Teresa Méndez Picazo and Thomas Baumert, details the income of

1 Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great …

13

Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss. The former was the first one to shorten the “hit”-arias he composed for his operas to make them fit the maximum length of records, an increasingly relevant means of income for composers and performers. Finally, Chapter 11, authored by Pedro Galván Lamet and Daniel del Castillo Soto, with an “Appendix for Spanish readers” by the late professor Juan Velarde Fuertes, compares the finances of Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky, two representatives of the “National Schools”. We believe that the result obtained throughout these chapters gives a quite accurate overview of the incomes of great composers over time, spanning four centuries of classical music, while covering the most representative authors of each artistic period and musical style from Baroque to Folklore, from Händel to Stravinsky. It has to be stressed that our selection of composers is by no means an arbitrary one. On the contrary, it has been our purpose to give an as complete as possible picture of the evolution of the music market over the centuries. And we believe that thanks to the great work of the authors involved in this project, this goal has been achieved (despite the fact that a few important composers, notably Brahms, Bruckner, Mahler, Berlioz, Debussy and Bartok are missing for different reasons).26 Others however, such as Liszt of Paganini, have been left out on purpose with the view on a possible second volume which, following a similar approach, will centre on the incomes of great classical performers, including singers, virtuosi and conductors, thus allowing to include a relevant number of female musicians, notably singers and virtuosi. Insofar, we do not consider this book the culmination of a completed project, but the first instalment on a new field of research which we hope might reach a broad interested readership. Table 1.1 presents the data compiled by Scherer (2004, p. 105) as the composers’ estate at the time of their death (craftsmen-wage adjusted), ordered from the richest (Rossini) to the poorest (Mozart). Those composers who are reviewed in our study are highlighted in bold letters. Although the ranking provided is certainly of interest (besides the biases acknowledged by the author himself), it only offers a static image of the composers’ financial situation, the equivalent of a photo-finish (quite literally!) in sports. For example, Mozart’s widow received only a few months after his death pending royalties from Prague, which immediately rectified the family’s economic situation. Hence, we believe that the “dynamic” analysis employed in this work, comparing the composers’ incomes and expenditures over their active life allows for a clearer, more realistic and often more nuanced picture. This being said, one last question may be raised, as artists and creators are among the few who continue generating incomes in their afterlife. What would be the current earnings that the composers included in this book would obtain nowadays from modern streaming services? Assuming a remuneration of 0.0037$ per stream,

26

Also, the composers of the “national schools” such as Tchaikovsky, Grieg and Sibelius might be underrepresented.

14

T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo

Table 1.1 Value of composers’ estate at or near time of death Composer

Gioachino Rossini

Born

1792

Muzio Clementi 1752

Own house?

Estate value £ at the time of death

Craftsmen-wage-adjusted £

Yes

97,580

47,071

Unknown

45,664

29,472

G. F. Händel

1685

Yes

21,000

26,630

Niccolo Paganini

1782

Yes

30,284

19,935

Giuseppe Verdi 1813

Yes

39,400

15,766

Johannes Brahms

1833

No

24,295

9,955

Carl Czerny

1791

Unknown

10,000

5,690

Gaetano Donizetti

1797

Yes

7,831

4,976

Franz Liszt

1811

No

8,266

3,534

J. P. Rameau

1683

Unknown

1,905

2,353

J. N. Hummel

1778

Yes

2,928

1,880

Antonio Salieri

1750

Yes

1,893

1,773

Vincenzo Bellini

1801

No

1,563

1,006

F. J. Haydn

1732

Yes

950

890

Robert Schumann

1810

No

1,540

880

Ludwig van Beethoven

1770

No

612

573

Leopold Mozart 1719

No

224

232

César Frank

1822

Unknown

393

166

J. S. Bach

1685

30

39

Michael Haydn

1737

No

33

24

Johann Vanhal

1739

No

10

9

Franz Schubert 1797

No

−14

−13

1756

No

−99

−93

W. A. Mozart

Source Scherer (2004, p. 105)

Leipzig’s tourism board ran a study to estimate the online incomes of these musicians by 2022.27 The results might be summarised as follows: Bach is the most popular classic composer thanks to his Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major (BWV 1007) 27

How much money would classical composers have earned on Spotify? Classic FM. https://www. classicfm.com/music-news/classical-composers-have-earned-on-spotify/ (accessed July 2023).

1 Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great …

15

with more than 162 million streams on Spotify. This would be the equivalent of $24.7 million in royalties (taking inflation into account). The French-Polish pianist Frederic Chopin follows, and would have earned $9.6 million for his “Ballade no 1 in G minor”. Ludwig van Beethoven, meanwhile, would have made $8.9 million for his famous “Moonlight Sonata”—and it should be kept in mind that his 9th Symphony is among the most downloaded pieces of classical music ever.28 Mozart, Debussy, Brahms, Vivaldi and Schubert would also have earned millions of dollars from music streaming on Spotify. On a per year basis (2021), the following top-ten rank can be established: Bach: 6.7 million monthly plays, $299,329 annual earnings; Beethoven: 6.5 million monthly plays, $286,353 annual earnings; Mozart: 6 million monthly plays, $266,649 annual earnings; Chopin: 5.4 million monthly plays, $238,290 annual earnings; Debussy: 4.6 million monthly plays, $204,259 annual earnings; Vivaldi: 3.6 million monthly plays, $159,975 annual earnings; Schubert: 2.9 million monthly plays, $127,017 annual earnings; Brahms: 2.6 million monthly plays, $113,871 annual earnings; Handel: 2.519 million monthly plays $111,832 annual earnings; Liszt: 2.516 million monthly plays $111,746 annual earnings. Of course, these results are partial, as they only consider one platform. But they still give an interesting insight into how our composers have stand—also in financial terms—the test of time. ∗ ∗ ∗ In his Autobiography of an Economist, Lord Robbins, a quote of whom opened this Introduction, wrote: To watch Fonteyn or Seymour dance the love and despair of Juliet or to arrive at that magic moment in Fidelio when the cannon quartet takes over and the impossible and indeed absurd plot becomes more intense than real life —or to sit alone in the National Gallery with the great masterpieces on a summer evening when the people have gone home […] I count such experiences among my greatest privileges. I have had other sources of happiness among my greatest privileges. I have had other source of happiness, love and friendship, speculative thought. Writing and teaching; but in the world of contemplation, I ask no better heaven than these. (Robbins 1971, p. 267)

We believe the same holds true for those who have participated in this book—it certainly is for its editors—, writing on the financial matters of composers while listening to their music. And we hope that it will turn out to be an equally satisfying experience for those who have read these pages and are about to go on reading the remaining ones.

28

We are purposely careful with our statements regarding streams, downloads, etc., due to the continues changes and high volatility in the data series of online media.

16

T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo

A Note on the Value of Currencies and Incomes in the Nineteenth Century In a study of the income and finances of nineteenth-century composers, it is difficult to establish the real value of the income earned by each of them. On the one hand, the sustained stability of prices between the end of the Napoleonic Wars and World War I undoubtedly make easier comparisons over time. But, on the other hand, the existence of different currencies, especially in countries like Germany and Italy, makes the estimates more complex. Fortunately, we have data on the exchange rates of the main currencies that are mentioned in this book and that we will analyse taking as a reference the most relevant currency in continental Europe at the time, the French franc. Since the creation of the kingdom of Italy in 1861, the Italian lira had the same value as the French franc. But the Austrian lira that was used in Milano before Lombardy became a part of the kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia, in 1859, was worth a little less, between 0.85 and 0.90 francs. The Prussian thaler was worth approximately 3.80 francs and the value of the Russian rubble was only a little higher: 4 francs. An Austrian gulden exchanged for 2.4 francs. And the value of a British sterling pound was 25 francs.29 It is more difficult to establish what the purchasing power of each of these currencies would be in 2023. We will again use the French franc as a base. There are several ways in which this calculation can be made. Since the franc was defined at the time in terms of a certain number of grammes of gold and silver, it is possible to establish the value in 2023 of the same number of grammes of gold or silver. But this formula has two drawbacks. The first is that the growth in the price of these metals does not correspond to that of a consumer price index used to calculate the increase in the cost of living. The second, that gold was revalued against silver already in the nineteenth century and, therefore, the calculation of the current value of a franc would be different depending on whether we used the price of gold or silver as the reference value. Another method that is often used consists of comparing the average income—or the income of the members of a certain trade or profession—with what a person of the same characteristics would earn today. But, given the big improvement in the standards of living in the last two centuries in Europe, to make such a comparison we should have to discount the increase in real income to 2023. More useful are calculations of purchasing power based on the price of consumer goods. Such an indicator shows us that a French franc in the central years of the nineteenth century would have a purchasing power similar to that of 4.5–5 2023 euros. We have made the same calculation for the pound sterling and used its exchange rates for francs and euros; and the figure obtained with this procedure is approximately that of a franc from 1850 would have a value equivalent to 4.7 euros today; which confirms the previous calculation. In any case, the use of these figures to estimate the income of composers of the past always poses some problems, for at least two reasons. The first, the differences in the relative prices of products in 1850 and 2023. And, the 29

It is easy to find these figures in any of the numerous books on practical banking and commerce that were published at the time. I have used Castaño (1871).

1 Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great …

17

second, because in the nineteenth century income tax was not paid in continental Europe. If, according to our data, Verdi, for instance, was offered 11,000 francs for the score of I Lombardi in 1843, we can estimate that this would be equivalent to being given 49,000–55,000 euros in 2023. But if we assume that today he would have to pay income tax (let’s assume that at an average rate of 30% for this income), the figure equivalent to a net income of 11,000 francs of 1843 would be 70,000–78,000 francs today.

References Aunós, Eduardo. 1952. El trabajo intelectual. Madrid: Viuda de Galo Sáez. Baliscianio, Márcia L., and Steven G. Medema. 1999. Positive Science, Normative Man: Lionel Robbins and the Political Economy of Arts. In Economic Engagement with Art. Annual Supplement to Volume 31 History of Political Economy, ed. Neil de Marchi and Craufurd D.W. Goodwin. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Baumol, William W., and William G. Bowen. 1965. On Performing Arts: The Anatomy of Their Economic Problem. The American Economic Review 55 (12): 495–502. Baumol, William J., and William G. Bowen. 1966. Performing Arts—The Economic Dilemma: A Study of problems Common to Theatre, Opera; Music, and Dance. New York: Twentieth Century Fund. Baumol, William J., and Hilda Baumol. 1994. On the Economics of Musical Composition in Mozart’s Vienna. Journal of Cultural Economics 18: 171–198. Ben-Atar, Doron S. 2004. Trade Secrets. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Benedetto XVI. 2023. Musica e liturgia. In Che cos’è il Cristianesimo. Milano: Mondadori. Bentham, Jeremy. 1962. The Works of Jeremy Bentham, ed. J. Browning. New York: Russell & Russell. Blanning, Tim. 2008. The Triumph of Music: The Rise of Composers, Musicians and Their Art. Boston: Harvard University Press. Cameron, Samuel. 2016. Past, Present and Future: Music Economics at the Crossroads. Journal of Cultural Economics 40: 1–12. Elie, Paul. 2012. Reinventing Bach. New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux. Fantel, Hans. 1971. Johann Strauss: Father and Son and Their Era. New Abbott: David & Charles. Frey, Bruno S. 2000. Arts & Economics. Analysis & Cultural Policy. Berlin et al.: Springer. Frey, Bruno S., and Werner W. Pommerehne. 1989. Muses and Markets. Explorations in the Economics of Arts. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fridén, Bertil. 1999. The Problem of Unique Goods as Factors of Productio: Rousseau on Art and the Economy. In Economic Engagement with Art. Annual Supplement to Volume 31 History of Political Economy, ed. Neil de Marchi and Craufurd D.W. Goodwin. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Ginsburgh, Victor. 2021. Economics of the Arts, Art History and Art Philosophy: A Very Subjective View. In La economía de la cultura: una disciplina joven. Estudios en homenaje al profesor Víctor Fernández Blanco, ed. L.C. Herrero Prieto and J. Prieto Rodríguez. Oviedo: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Oviedo Goodwin, Crauford. 2006. Art and Culture in the History of Economic Thought. In Handbook of the Economics of Art and Culture, vol. I, ed. Victor A. Ginsburgh and David Throsby. Amsterdam et al.: Northholland. Hildebrandt, Dieter. 1985. Pianoforte. Das Klavier im 19, Jahrhundert. München: Carl Hauser Verlag.

18

T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo

Klamer, Arjo. 1996. The Value of Culture. In The Value of Culture. On the Relationship Between Economics and Arts, ed. Arjo Klamer. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Levinson, Jerold. 2014. Values of Music. In Handbook of the Economics of Art and Culture, vol. II, ed. Victor A. Ginsburgh and David Throsby. Amsterdam et al.: Northholland. Maas, Harro. 1999. Pacifying the Workman: Ruskin and Jevons on Labour and Popular Culture. In Economic Engagement with Art. Annual Supplement to Volume 31 History of Political Economy, ed. Neil de Marchi and Craufurd D.W. Goodwin. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Mai, Klaus-Rüdiger. 2013. Die Bachs, Eine deutsche Familie. Berlin: Propyläen. Mathew, Nicholas. 2022. The Haydn Economy. Music, Aesthetics, and Commerce in the late Eighteenth Century. Chicago & London: Chicago University Press. McCloskey, Deirdre N. 2006. The Bourgeois Virtues. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. McCloskey, Deirdre N. 2010. Bourgeois Dignity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. McCloskey, Deirdre N. 2016. Bourgeois Equity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mosselmans, Bert, and Ernest Mathijs. 1999. Jevon’s Music Manuscript and the Political Economy of Music. In Economic Engagement with Art. Annual Supplement to Volume 31 History of Political Economy, ed. Neil de Marchi and Craufurd D.W. Goodwin. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Negrón, Zarinés. 1999. Francisco Pacheco: Economist for the Art World. In Economic Engagement with Art. Annual Supplement to Volume 31 History of Political Economy, ed. Neil de Marchi and Craufurd D.W. Goodwin. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Noltze, Holger. 2013. Liebestod: Wagner - Verdi - Wir. Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe. O’Dea, Michael. 1994. Rousseau contre Rameu: Musique et nature dans les articles pour l’Encyclopédie et au-delà. Recherches sur Diderot et sur l’Encyclopédie 17: 133–148. O’Dea, Michael. 1995. Jean-Jacques Rousseau: Music, Illusion and Desire. Berlin: Springer. Pacheco, Francisco. 1649. Arte de la pintura. Sevilla: Simón Faxardo. Peacock, Alan. 1993. Paying the Piper: Culture, Music and Money. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Peacock, Alan. 2006. The Arts and Economic Policy. In Handbook of the Economics of Art and Culture, vol. I, ed. Victor A. Ginsburgh and David Throsby. Amsterdam et al.: Northholland. Phillipson, Nicholas. 2011. Adam Smith. An Enlightened Life. London: Pinguin Books. Robbins, Lionel. 1935 [1932]. An Essay on the Nature and Significance of Economic Science. London: Macmillan. Robbins, Lionel. 1963. The Art and the State. In Politics and Economics: Papers in Political Economy, ed. Lord Robbins. London: Macmillan. Robbins, Lionel. 1971. Autobiography of an Economists. London: Macmillan. Robbins, Lionel. 1976. Unsettled Questions in the Political Economy of the Arts. In The Economics of the Arts, ed. Mark Blaug. London: Martin Robertson. Ruskin, John. 1867. The Political Economy of Art. London: Smith, Elder and Co. Salazar, Adolfo. 1935. La música actual en Europa y sus problemas. Madrid: Yagüe Editor. Santos, F.P. 1976. Risk Uncertainty and the Performing Artist. In The Economics of the Arts, ed. Mark Blaug. London: Martin Robertson. Scherer, Frederic M. 2001. The Evolution of Free-Lance Music Composition, 1650–1900. Journal of Cultural Economics 25: 307–319. Scherer, Frederic M. 2004. Quarter Notes and Bank Notes: The Economics of Music Composition in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Scherer, Frederic M. 2006. The Evolution of Music Markets. In Handbook of the Economics of Art and Culture, vol. I, ed. Victor A. Ginsburgh and David Throsby. Amsterdam et al.: Northholland. Schoenbaum, David. 2012. The Violin: A Social History of the World’s Most Versatile Instrument. New York: W. W. Norton. Shanahan, J.L. 1978. The Consumption of Music: Integrating Aesthetics and Economics. Journal of Cultural Economics 2 (2): 13–26. Sicca, Luigi Maria, and Domenico Napolitano. 2021. For a Theory of Music Economics. Economia della Cultura 4: 589–602.

1 Introduction: On the Economics of Music and the Finances of Great …

19

Simonton, Dean K. 2014. Creative Genius in Literature, Music, and the Visual Arts. In Handbook of the Economics of Art and Culture, vol. II, ed. Victor A. Ginsburgh and David Throsby. Amsterdam et al.: Northholland. Skidelsky, Robert. 1986. John Maynard Keynes: Hopes Betrayed, 1883–1920. New York: Viking. Skidelsky, Robert. 1992. John Maynard Keynes: The Economist as Saviour, 1920–1937. New York: Viking. Skidelsky, Robert. 2000. John Maynard Keynes: Fighting for Freedom, 1937–1946. New York: Viking. Smith, Adam. 1909 [1776]. An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. The Harvard Classics. New York: Collier & Son. Smith, Adam. 1976 [1759]. The Theory of Moral Sentiments. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Stamp, Josiah. 1929. Aesthetics as Economic Factor. In Some Economic Factors in Modern Life, Josiah Stamp. London: P. S. King & Sons. Stigler, George, and Gary Becker. 1977. De gustibus non est disputandem. American Economic Review 67: 77–90. Towse, Ruth. 1996. Market Value and Artist’s Earnings. In The Value of Culture. On the Relationship Between Economics and Arts, ed. Arjo Klamer. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Towse, Ruth. 1997. Baumol’s Cost Decease: The Arts and Other Victims. Aldershot: Edward England. Towse, Ruth. 2020. A Textbook of Cultural Economics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Weber, Max. 1921. Die rationalen und soziologischen Grundlagen der Musik. München: Drei Masken. Wegner, Manfred. 1999. Musik und Mammon. Baden-Baden: Nomos.

Chapter 2

Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics of Late Baroque Market for Music Luis Perdices de Blas and José Luis Ramos-Gorostiza

Johann Sebastian Bach

L. Perdices de Blas · J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza (B) Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_2

21

22

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

Georg Friedrich Händel

“Ich habe genug, ich habe den Heiland, das Hoffen der Frommen” (“I have enough, I have the Saviour, the hope of Gentiles”) J.S. Bach, Cantata Ich habe genug BWV 92 “Handel is become so arbitrary a prince, that the Town murmurs” Letter received by the Earl of Essex in 1733

Introduction Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel were two outstanding German composers born in 1685, who revolutionised the world of late Baroque music through a body of work of tremendous proportions. They admired one another but never met in person: although they twice had the opportunity to do so, on both occasions they were ultimately thwarted.1 Curiously, by the time they died, both men had gone blind 1

Their first opportunity to meet came in 1719, when Händel returned his birthplace of Halle. Bach, who greatly admired him as a musician, took a stagecoach from Köthen when he learned that Händel was in Halle, but by the time he arrived, Händel had already left. Ten years later, in 1729, the two

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

23

after being operated on by the same English doctor, John Taylor (Briceño-Iragorry 2012). However, their careers had taken very different directions: while one created music “for God”, the other composed for audiences. Bach (1685–1750), who came from a long line of musicians, developed into a modest and “industrious craftsman”, operating within a local and traditional economy and always at the service of the aristocracy, the religious establishment and the municipal authorities. He never left Germany and travelled very little, as he had many children to support. A man of firm religious convictions, his work fell into relative obscurity after his death until it was “rediscovered” by Mendelssohn in the nineteenth century. Händel (1685–1759), a bachelor without family ties, was independent, pragmatic and worldly. He represented a significant milestone in the development of the concept of the “free artist”, as he possessed a notable talent for entrepreneurship and even investment that enabled him to amass a significant fortune. He moved in wide yet select social circles, achieving considerable renown over the course of his life. Both the man and his music continued to be widely celebrated after his death. Händel was also cosmopolitan, multilingual and a great traveller: he began his career in Germany, continued his studies in Italy and eventually triumphed as a theatre impresario in England, which was then a dynamic market economy on the threshold of the Industrial Revolution. In this study we will analyse the approaches taken by these two great Baroque musicians in their professional careers. They embraced two very different models, which had a decisive impact not only on their socio-economic status, but also on the genres they explored and their understanding of musical composition (section “The Composers’ Professional Careers and Their Reflection in Financial and Musical Terms”). These models also influenced the amount of social recognition they achieved, both in life and posthumously (section “Public Recognition”). First, however, we will briefly examine other contrasts (e.g. training, socio-economic context, lifestyle, travel, etc.) that will help us to better understand and place these two giants of music (section “Works and Days”).

Works and Days Bach came from a long line of musicians that stretched back for six generations, from the late sixteenth century through to the nineteenth century.2 His father, Johann Ambrosius, played a number of instruments and was employed as a musician by the municipal authorities of Eisenach. In line with his status as a craftsman, he had a men had another chance to meet. Händel once again visited Halle, which was just four leagues from Leipzig, where Bach was living at the time. However, Bach had a fever, so he sent his eldest son, Wilhelm Friedemann, to invite Händel to Leipzig. Alas, Händel declined the invitation, saying that he was unable to travel to Leipzig (Andrés 2005, p. 263). 2 For a detailed study on this subject, see Geiringer (1962) and Mai (2013).

24

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

medium level of income which he augmented by teaching students who boarded at his home. His approach to teaching was based on the continuous copying of scores and frequent instrument practice (Andrés 2005, p. 58). Consequently, Bach was fully immersed in a musical environment in which he was able to naturally acquire the rudiments of his training. He learnt to compose by copying and arranging the music of others. His family’s long musical tradition would continue with Bach’s own children: of the seven he had with his first wife, Maria Barbara (his second cousin), two of them—Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emanuel—would become renowned musicians; and of the 13 children he had with his second wife, the soprano and trumpeter’s daughter Anna Magdalena, both Johann Christian and Johann Christoph Friedrich would become well-known. Besides music, Bach also appeared to have an interest in humanistic and religious subjects. The library he left upon his death, and which was listed in the inventory of his goods, contained a little over 80 volumes, all of which were religious or spiritual in nature. However, it is unlikely that these were the only books he had: texts deemed to be of a “contrived” nature were probably not included in the inventory, or simply disappeared before the list was made (ibid., pp. 19–20, 146–148). In geographical terms, Bach’s life was relatively limited in scope: essentially, he moved between the cities of Thuringia (Eisenach, Mühlhausen, Arnstadt, Weimar), Saxony-Anhalt (Köthen), Lower Saxony (Lüneburg) and Saxony (Leipzig). In Germany at that time, travelling was a slow, expensive and tiresome process, and to travel on foot was considered an acceptable option even for long journeys. For example, the young Bach decided to walk around 400 kms from Arnstadt to Lübeck, simply to hear the organist Buxtehude play and to learn from him (see Eidam 1999, chap. IV). The story of the great composer’s life and career is well-known: born in Eisenach, he studied at the Latin School in Lüneburg, and after a brief period of employment in Weimar3 he worked as a church organist in Arnstadt (1703–1707) and Mühlhausen (1707–1708). Successively, he was then organist and concertmaster at the court of the Duke of Saxe-Weimar (1708–1714), and subsequently chapelmaster at the court of Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Köthen (1717–1723). Lastly, for 27 years and up until his death, he was the cantor at St Thomas School in Leipzig (1723–1750). In the first half of the eighteenth century, Germany was divided into multiple political entities, ranging from large states (Saxony and Brandenburg-Prussia) to small independent cities and principalities. In economic terms, it was still recovering from the effects of the Thirty Years’ War and a series of epidemics that had reduced the urban population by one-third (Ebert 1985, p. 37). In cultural terms, however, it was blooming. Generally, supporting the arts was considered important by both the aristocracy and the municipal authorities, and many noblemen were music aficionados to the extent that they themselves were also skilled performers or even composers.4 3

A lowly role in the orchestra of the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, with a salary of six florins (around 380 euros today) plus accommodation and food (González Mira 2021, p. 76). 4 For example, Johann Ernst (1696–1715), Prince of Saxe-Weimar; Frederick the Great (who reigned from 1740 to 1786); Anna Amalia (1723–1787), Princess of Prussia; and her niece Anna Amalia (1739–1807), Duchess of Saxe-Weimar. See Burkholder et al. (2019, pp. 551–552).

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

25

In fact, the German courts vied with one another to achieve the highest levels of artistic splendour and dedicated a significant amount of resources to cultural development. In particular, two of Bach’s direct patrons, Prince Leopold of Köthen and Duke Wilhelm Ernst August of Saxe-Weimar, were among the most cultured men of their era and had a deep appreciation of music. Bach was also able to further his own education through the Duke’s extensive library of Italian music. For his part, Friedrich Augustus III, the Elector of Saxony (which included the city of Leipzig, where Bach was the cantor), was also an avowed patron of the arts, as reflected by the cultural flowering of Dresden in particular (ibid., pp. 42–44, 52). With regard to Bach’s lifestyle, it must have been very similar to that of the long line of musicians from whom he was descended. Johann Nikolaus Forkel, who in 1802 published the first biography of the composer, drawing on the direct testimony of two of his descendants, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp, described him as a man who was “entirely dedicated to the upkeep and education of his children”; an “artisan” who was fully absorbed by his craft, worked incessantly and, “like his ancestors, aspired only to live a modest life” (Forkel 1978, p. 110). In any case, we should reject the false, sugar-coated image of Bach as a “family man sitting peacefully in his home, enjoying placid musical soirées and absorbing himself in composition. On the contrary, he had to double his efforts and work tirelessly to maintain a house in which there was nothing […] to spare” (Andrés 2005, p. 26). His was a life of struggle, characterised by adversities of all kinds, endless work and daily hardships. Among other issues, his students were numerous and varied widely in their abilities; his positions placed great demands on him; the authorities were penny-pinching; and he lacked sufficient musical resources to perform his works. The great misfortunes he suffered included the death of his first wife and eleven of his children,5 which must have caused tremendous pain to such a dedicated father despite the fact that child mortality rates were around 50% in Germany at the time (ibid., p. 67). Furthermore, his son Johann Gottfried Bernhard, who died in 1739 at the age of just 24, was a constant source of stress for Bach, as he had to clean up the trail of debts and defaults that Johann left in his wake, such as his sudden abandonment of the organist’s position at Sangerhausen, which Bach had worked hard to secure for him (ibid., p. 70). Unlike Bach, Händel did not come from a long line of musicians. His father was a barber-surgeon and wine merchant in Halle, and may have given Händel his first introduction to the world of business. Initially, he wanted his son to study law, rather than music, but Händel had such an obvious musical talent that he was eventually allowed to study under Friedrich Wilhelm Zachow, a music teacher and composer, who taught him the organ, harpsichord and counterpoint. Händel also studied the violin and oboe, and furthered his knowledge by copying scores by German and Italian composers.6 In 1701, during a trip to Berlin, he demonstrated his musical gifts in front of the Elector of Brandenburg (the grandfather of Frederick the Great 5

Only three of the seven children he had with his first wife, Maria Barbara, survived; and of the 13 he had with Anna Magdalena, only six survived to adulthood. 6 Burkholder et al. (2019, pp. 572–573). See also Burrows (1996, p. 12).

26

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

of Prussia), who offered him the post of court musician. Händel rejected the offer, however, as he wished to remain independent and was aware of the servitude the post entailed (Harris 2014, p. 41). In 1702, while working as the organist at Halle Cathedral, he fulfilled his father’s wishes and enrolled to study law at the university (as had his friend Georg Philipp Telemann in Leipzig, some 26 kms from Halle). However, the plan was extremely short-lived, as in 1703 he decided to move to Hamburg and become a violinist in the orchestra of the city’s opera house (where he would go on to compose Almira, his first work in this new genre). A short while later, between 1706 and 1710, he travelled to Italy and visited various cities (including Florence, Naples, Venice and Rome), where he learnt the Italian style, made numerous contacts and experimented with composing in various genres (concertos, operas, motets, etc.). He gained a reputation as a keyboard virtuoso and took part in a famous musical duel with Domenico Scarlatti (also born in 1685), from which he emerged victorious on the organ, but not on the harpsichord. After returning from Italy he was appointed chapelmaster by the Elector of Hanover (the future King George I of Great Britain) and granted permission to visit the court of the Palatinate in Düsseldorf and to travel to London. In fact, he spent the period from 1710 to 1711 in the British capital, receiving his salary from Hanover, composing Rinaldo and undertaking diplomatic work for his patron.7 By 1712 he had settled permanently in London and severed his ties with the court of Hanover. This marked the start of an intense career as a musical director and opera impresario, while at the same time enjoying the support of various patrons and receiving a substantial pension from the Crown (as discussed in the following section).8 The Great Britain in which Händel found himself was a thriving country, ruled by a unified monarchy and just a few decades away from the dawn of the Industrial Revolution. London was at that time the most prosperous commercial and financial centre in Europe, and also its most populous city.9 The aristocracy had an appreciation for music, as many nobles had visited Italy during their youth as part of the Grand Tour. However, a new middle-class audience was also developing, which drew its wealth from trade, finance and manufacturing and had sufficient means to attend performances. In short, it was a city filled with opportunities for a creative, ambitious and entrepreneurial musician (Burkholder et al. 2019, p. 552; Glover 2018, pp. 13– 24).

7

His ability to speak multiple languages and his musical gifts gave Händel access to private areas of court that were not open to other ministers (Harris 2014, p. 56). 8 Scherer (2004, pp. 4, 39, 85). For more detail see Harris (2014) and Hogwood (1988). On the professional status of musicians in the eighteenth century, see Rohr (2001, pp. 6–22). 9 In 1700, London had 550,000 inhabitants, Paris had 530,000, Vienna had just 105,000 and Berlin a mere 24,000. By 1750, London’s population had swelled to 676,000 inhabitants, Paris had 560,000, Vienna 169,000 and Berlin just 113,000 (Scherer 2004, p. 128). See also Raynor (1986, pp. 351– 383).

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

27

Händel was cosmopolitan, multilingual (he spoke German, French, Italian and English), impetuous and unmarried, without any family ties.10 He always enjoyed extensive freedom of movement and a wide circle of friends (including merchants, artists and intellectuals) and patrons (including kings, noblemen and businessmen).11 In London, he also cultivated a large group of friends and rubbed shoulders with high society12 ; this meant that he had to maintain a lifestyle that matched this elevated status, with servants, elegant clothes, a house in a fashionable area, an art collection, etc.

The Composers’ Professional Careers and Their Reflection in Financial and Musical Terms As mentioned above, essentially Bach was always an employee serving the Church, the aristocracy or the municipal authorities; a “craftsman” who performed his role to the best of his ability, albeit subject to the whims of his patrons and the obligations imposed by his commissions. His first role was that of church organist in 10

Perhaps his income, foreign origins, profession and lack of land ownership prevented Händel from being able to marry into high society. Other writers have suggested that he may have been homosexual (Harris 2014, pp. 195, 207; Burkholder et al. 2019, pp. 572–573). 11 His Italian patrons included the Prince of Tuscany, Ferdinando de’ Medici; Marquess Francesco Ruspoli; cardinals Benedetto Pamphili, Carlo Colonna and Pietro Ottoboni and the Duchess of Laurenzana (Naples), Aurora Sanseverino. His English patrons included Richard Boyle (Lord Burlington), Richard Brydges (Duke of Chandos), Henry Furnese, Charles Sackville (Earl of Middlesex), Jonathan Tyers (the proprietor of Vauxhall Gardens) and John Rich (the director of the Covent Garden Theatre). Other notable British figures who hosted concerts included the coal-merchant Thomas Britton, the painter John Wollaston and the accountant and violinist Henry Needler. Händel also enjoyed the continued support and protection of royalty: his patrons included Queen Anne (the last monarch of the House of Stuart), King George I (the Elector of Hanover and first king of the House of Hanover) and King George II and his wife Queen Caroline (Harris 2014, pp. 9–11). 12 His friends in London included a number of artists, such as Joseph Goupy (a painter, whose friendship with Händel suffered when he published a cruel caricature in 1740 depicting the composer as a pig), Louis-François Roubiliac (a sculptor, who created a statue of Händel for Vauxhall Gardens and his funerary monument in Westminster Abbey), Philippe Mercier (a painter, who produced a portrait of the composer), Rupert Barber (a miniaturist, who painted a miniature of Händel that has since been lost) and Thomas Hudson (who painted two well-known portraits of the composer). He also had contact with literary figures in Lord Burlington’s circle, such as Alexander Pope and John Gay, and forged a number of important friendships with families who were socially well-positioned. Examples include the Mayne-Batt family, the Harris family (Thomas Harris was a renowned lawyer), the Donnellan-Percival family, the Palmer-Peacock-Verney family and the Delany-Granville family (Patrick Delany was a distinguished Protestant clergyman), as well as the wealthy Hunter family (James Hunter was an international merchant and worked for the British East India Company; his uncle, Sir Harcourt Master, was the director of the South Sea Company) (Harris 2014, pp. 12–16, 20, 27). Händel’s partners in London included his amanuensis and manager John Christopher Smith (and his son), his publisher John Walsh (and his son) and the impresario Johann Jakob Heidegger (Harris 2014, pp. 9–11).

28

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

Arnstadt and Mühlhausen. Subsequently, he was appointed musical director to the courts of Weimar and Köthen, and finally became the cantor at St Thomas School in Leipzig (where he also composed music for four churches associated with the school). Although Bach occasionally engaged in other activities in addition to the many responsibilities imposed on him by his main role, not all of them brought him an income. He dedicated a number of compositions to important figures,13 published a few scores at his own expense (such as the Clavier-Übung and Musical Offering), gave private classes, inspected organs that had been recently installed in other cities and between 1729 and 1741 directed the Collegium Musicum, an unofficial orchestra in Leipzig.14 In the orchestras of the noble courts—such as Weimar and Köthen—there were various opportunities for musical employment, ranging from simple musician all the way up to chapelmaster. Salaries varied in line with the employee’s responsibilities. Experienced composers like Bach could apply for the position of musical director, which offered substantial compensation by the standards of the period for a common craftsman. In Weimar, where he was a court organist and chamber musician for the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, Bach’s finances improved significantly, as he was paid three times what he received in Arnstadt and 75% more than he received in Mühlhausen (González Mira 2021, p. 80). However, the biggest raise came in Köthen: with a salary of 400 thalers per year (equivalent to around 28,000 euros today, and accounting for 20% of the entire budget for musical activities, ibid., p. 87), he was the second highestpaid of the court’s 18 musicians; while his second wife, the soprano Anna Magdalena, was in third place with a salary of 200 thalers. Bach’s income—equivalent to around 64 pounds per year at the time, and closer to 100 when taking payments in kind into account—was four times the salary of a manual worker in southern England. In view of the prevailing economic circumstances, and compared to other members of his profession, Bach was not doing badly. However, the highest-paid chapelmasters at that time were those of the Kingdom of Saxony: in 1720, the salary of the deputy chapelmaster Johann Heinichen (1683–1729) was nearly three times that of Bach in

13

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, many composers wrote works for wealthy potential patrons, and delivered them accompanied by florid dedications. The polite practice at the time was to send the composer an honorarium in gratitude for the dedicated work, although this did not always happen. For example, Bach composed the Brandenburg Concertos for the Elector of Brandenburg, who left the scores untouched in a cupboard. In 1747, Bach travelled to Potsdam, improvised on a theme by Frederick the Great and later composed the Musical Offering without receiving anything in exchange, not even to cover his travel expenses. However, he was compensated by Count Hermann von Keyserlingk for the Goldberg Variations, in the form of a gold cup filled with 100 Louis d’or (around 114 pounds) (Scherer 2004, p. 55; Boyd 2000, pp. 197, 204–205). 14 Originally founded by Johann Kuhnau in 1688 and revived by Telemann in 1702. Admission was charged for concerts that were regularly held at Café Zimmermann in winter and in the café’s garden in summer. The orchestra was comprised of musically talented university students, pupils from St Thomas School and a number of local aficionados. Almost all of the members were amateurs. Many of the non-religious works Bach composed during his time in Leipzig were for concerts by the Collegium (Scherer 2004, p. 44).

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

29

Köthen, while the chapelmaster Antonio Lotti (1667–1740) and his wife (a soprano) together received 2,500 pounds per year.15 However, employment in the noble courts had its drawbacks: ultimately, musicians were just another class of servant, with restrictions on their mobility outside the court and on the right to publish. Moreover, it was the patron who had absolute control over the musical agenda. Nor was it easy for musicians to move freely between positions: for example, in 1717, when Bach attempted to leave the service of the Duke of SaxeWeimar and take up a post at the court in Köthen, he was imprisoned for four weeks and subsequently fired (Scherer 2004, pp. 54, 94, 134). At St Thomas School in Leipzig, where Bach spent the larger part of his working life (27 years), he was the City Council’s third choice among the candidates who applied for the position of cantor. His responsibilities in this role were no less demanding than in his previous positions: he had to commit to leading an exemplary life, and not to leave the city without permission from the mayor; he had to teach Latin and music to 55 students for four hours each day; he had to direct the main choir and supervise the other three (which were directed by his assistants, consisting of older students) and he had to compose, copy and rehearse music for religious functions, special events and ceremonies that took place in the city and at the university. “Together, the churches of Leipzig required 58 cantatas each year,16 in addition to music for the Passion on Good Friday, magnificats and vespers for three festivals, one cantata each year for the investiture of the City Council, and occasional music such as motets for funerals and cantatas for weddings” (Burkholder et al. 2019, p. 566). Bach was given accommodation in one of the wings of the school, equipped with a studio for writing and composing and a professional library containing some 4,500 volumes. There was also an adjoining room where a number of students probably worked as copyists. The studio contained cupboards, shelves for books and scores, musical instruments, a desk, inkwells and so on. “It was a ‘workshop’, a private space for an artist of the late Baroque period, similar to those of other musicians who had a similar role and standing; a place where work of a solitary, considered and well-crafted nature could be carried out” (Andrés 2005, p. 21; Burkholder et al. 2019, p. 558). Leipzig, a city of around 30,000 inhabitants, may have initially appealed to a musician like Bach. It was a prosperous, well-connected hub and had a lively commercial spirit, with three major fairs each year. The city was also home to numerous libraries, printing houses, publishers, engravers and booksellers. It was a place where orthodox Lutheranism coexisted alongside Pietism and freemasonry, home to exponents of rationalist philosophy in the vein of Leibniz and thinkers who would pave the way 15

Scherer (2004, pp. 88, 98, 206) and Ebert (1985, pp. 45, 52). In Arnstadt, Mühlhausen and Weimar, Bach’s salary included payments “in kind” (particularly in the form of wood). 16 “Of the five churches in Leipzig, cantatas were performed in only two of them (namely, St Nicholas and St Thomas), alternating on Sundays and public holidays. Consequently, Bach had to supply a new weekly cantata once per month” (Salazar 1985, p. 182). Throughout his life, Bach composed five complete cantata cycles, producing a total of 295 pieces. Of those cantatas, 265 were destined for the aforementioned churches, and 57 have been lost. During his early years in Leipzig, Bach composed nearly one major work per week. See Wolff (2000, pp. 237–252, 305–310).

30

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

for what would later become the Enlightenment. Leipzig was both a bridge between the West and the Slavic world, and a conduit channelling French influence towards Poland; moreover, its university could stand proudly alongside those in Tübingen, Jena and Heidelberg (Andrés 2005, pp. 30–33). However, the position of cantor fell far short of Bach’s expectations, after he left Köthen when his patron married a woman who had little interest in music. There were several reasons for his frustration: firstly, the notable lack of resources. Upon arriving at the school, the composer was confronted with “a wretched student body, incapable of forming a half-decent choir, and a severe lack of musicians. As incredible as it may seem, the municipal orchestra only had seven members” (ibid., p. 33). The orchestra had always been small since its creation, but there were also unfilled positions. This lack of personnel was only solved by the addition of a number of student volunteers from the university (whose experience with the Collegium Musicum had given them a musical affinity) and, over time, Bach’s own students that had been trained at St Thomas School. However, the problem lay not only with the reduced number of musicians in the municipal orchestra, but also with their quality, as the composer himself stated in a letter to the City Council on 23 August 1730: Discretion prevents me from giving a frank description of their musical knowledge and qualities, although it should be noted that many of them are retired and others do not perform their tasks as they undoubtedly should. (ibid., p. 34)

The same applied to the choir, for which Bach requested at least three or four voices per register (soprano, contralto, tenor and bass): in other words, a modestly sized group that would be sufficient to meet the new demands of this revitalised musical form (quoted in Andrés 2005, p. 55). Secondly, music was not a priority at St Thomas School; it was just one of the various subjects that were taught there. “Bach wanted to turn St Thomas School into a focal point for music and equip it with the means to meet the city’s requirements in style. But time and time again he came up against governors, teachers and other academic staff members who, instead of prioritising music, simply considered it a supplement to the students’ education”.17 Lastly (and most importantly), the position did not meet Bach’s financial expectations. His salary had been set at 700 thalers per year (a little more than he and Anna Magdalena earned jointly in Köthen; approximately 112 pounds at the time and around 50,000 euros today, see Scherer 2004, p. 206; González Mira 2021, p. 90), approximately four times the salary of a clergyman and twelve times that of a schoolteacher (Frey and Pommerehne 1989, p. 141). However, he expected this figure to rise to 1,200 thalers with the so-called Accidentia (funerals, weddings, baptisms and other celebrations). However, the school’s rules were modified and the cantor’s responsibilities in relation to the Accidentia—and therefore his chance 17

Andrés (2005, p. 45). There were between 50 and 60 scholarships for children and young people who demonstrated an aptitude for study and music. These students were subject to strict discipline and endured harsh living conditions: they mostly slept three to a bed, got up at 5 a.m. in summer and 6 a.m. in winter, and had to get ready in just 15 min. Shouting, beatings and solitary confinement were frequent punishments (Andrés 2005, pp. 40–43).

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

31

to earn extra income—were reduced, while his responsibilities in other areas were increased. Additionally, Anna Magdalena had to give up her job, and therefore her income, after moving to Leipzig, as female singers could only perform in palace chapels and were otherwise banned from involvement in church music. Bach felt he had been let down and intended to resign (although he never did), as indicated in a revealing letter he wrote to Erdmann on 28 October 1730 (Williams 2007, p. 274): Although at first I did not think it would be seemly to go from Kapellmeister (in Köthen) to Cantor, which is why I delayed my decision by three months, the post was described to me in such positive terms that eventually – and also considering the fact that my children seemed to be inclined towards university study – I decided to make the move, with God’s help; and after I moved to Leipzig, I passed the test and took up the position. And here I remain, by the grace of God. However, taking into account the fact that (1) I believe this post is nowhere near as exceptional as it was described to me; (2) many of the supplementary incomes for the position can no longer be obtained; (3) this is a very expensive location18 ; and (4) the authorities here are capricious and care little for music, and as I have to live in a permanent state of displeasure, envy and persecution, I shall be forced to seek my fortune elsewhere, with God’s help. If Your Excellency should find or learn of a suitable position there for an old and faithful servant, I respectfully beg that you recommend me for it most fervently. (quoted in Andrés 2005, p. 44)

In the same letter, and demonstrating his practical attitude, Bach underlined the fact that his income was dependent on deaths in Leipzig, as he was paid for the funerals he was authorised to attend: My current position gives me approximately 700 thalers, and if there are a few more deaths than usual, my supplementary income increases proportionately. However, if people remain healthy, then my supplementary income falls, as happened last year, when my income from funerals fell by more than 100 thalers. In Thuringia I could live better on 400 thalers than I can on double that amount here, due to the high cost of living. (quoted in Andrés 2005, p. 78)

In a “free” city such as Leipzig, which had no resident nobility nor a court to host musical events, composers were, in principle, shielded against the whims of an aristocratic patron. However, the City Council, which was responsible for St Thomas School and the city’s churches, was essentially focused on minimising costs and relegated artistic matters to the background (Scherer 2004, p. 134). Bach had a difficult relationship with the City Council, whose conduct was far from generous upon his death on 28 July 1750. His widow, Anna Magdalena, asked the City Council to pay her six months of her husband’s salary, as had been the practice following the death of other cantors. Although the City Council granted her request, it deducted a certain 18

Bach’s complaints about the cost of living were justified. In Germany, inflation varied from place to place: in large cities such as Leipzig, prices generally rose relatively quickly in comparison to the courts of Weimar and Köthen. However, salaries generally remained at the same level, resulting in a loss of real purchasing power. For example, over the course of the eighteenth century the price of wheat, rye and lentils increased by 300–400%, while the price of meat rose by up to 500% (Ebert 1985, pp. 47, 52).

32

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

amount on the grounds that Bach had been a little slow in performing his functions after taking up the position (Andrés 2005, p. 23). The inventory of the items that Bach left upon his death valued them at a total of 1,122 thalers, equivalent to around 180 pounds at the time (Scherer 2004, p. 206). In addition to 256 thalers in cash, his possessions included a share in a mining operation in Klein Vogtsberg, valued at 60 thalers19 ; various miscellaneous objects (candlesticks, cups, coffee pots, a teapot, sugar bowls, salt-cellars, cutlery, etc.); musical instruments (harpsichords, violins, violas, cellos, a viol, a lute, etc.); a number of tin, copper and brass utensils (irons, a coffee tray, kettles, etc.); clothes and accessories; religious books and some small items of furniture (Andrés 2005, pp. 63–66; Ebert 1985, p. 44). However, he also left a number of debts, totalling 130 thalers. Evidently, Bach did not die in poverty: although he did not own any property, he left a modest amount of money and goods. Nonetheless, when his widow, Anna Magdalena, died in 1760, she was described in the records as an Almosenfrau, a woman who lived on charity.20 Unlike Bach, and as mentioned above, from a very young age Händel learnt how important it was to remain independent, for the benefit of his professional career. 19

In actual fact, this was merely the formal valuation as entered in the mining register and did not reflect the true financial value that could be realised, as explained below. The Ursula Erbstollen silver mine in Klein Vogtsberg (Saxony), near Freiberg, was divided into 128 shares (Kuxe). The owners or subscribers of these shares undertook to make regularly quarterly payments to finance the mining operations, and if sufficiently large mineral deposits were eventually discovered, they would have the right to receive a dividend in proportion to their shareholding. However, in the case of the Ursula Erbstollen mine, this never happened. Between 1741 and 1744, Bach held a single share (one Kux) in the mine, which he seemingly did not even purchase; rather, it was given to him by one Johann Christoph Stiehl (who was responsible for recruiting mine subscribers in Leipzig), and the composer agreed to make the corresponding subscription payments on a regular basis in order to finance the search for mineral deposits. However, in 1744 Bach stopped making the payments, perhaps due to the lack of any returns up until that point, and his share in the mine expired. Nonetheless, in 1746 the composer became a subscriber once again (taking the place of another outgoing subscriber, and without having to buy their share), perhaps because it appeared as though the silver-mining operations had started to bear fruit the previous year, although this was not confirmed. In fact, up until his death in 1750, Bach did not receive a single dividend, although he continued to religiously make his payments as a subscriber, which reached a total of 30 thalers over the course of seven years. At the time, a miner’s annual salary was approximately 60 thalers. See Spree (2013). 20 Talle (2020, pp. 167–169), drawing on Eberhard Spree’s Die verwitwete Frau Capellmeisterin Bach (Kamprad Verlag, 2019), examines the final years of Anna’s life and compares them to those of other widows living in Leipzig at the time. He casts doubt on whether Anna actually lived in penury after Bach’s death, and cites the following information: she received a third of the inheritance, and spent part of it on acquiring certain items that Bach’s children inherited from him; she took over a portion of her widowed sister’s debts; she continued her husband’s investment in the silver mine; she may have kept certain items (e.g. clothes, books, furniture, musical instruments, etc.) that she used on a daily basis and which did not form part of the inheritance; she looked after five children— one of whom was disabled—in her home; she rented out rooms to visitors attending trade fairs in Leipzig; she made her husband’s scores available for copying (in exchange for remuneration) during the 1750s; Carl Philipp Emanuel employed her as a sales agent in Leipzig for the first volume of his treatise on keyboard technique and lastly, it was normal at that time for widows to receive alms from the City Council and did not necessarily mean that they were destitute.

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

33

Consequently, instead of committing himself to the exclusive service of a particular court or church, he cultivated a wide circle of social relationships and patrons and diversified his activities and potential sources of income. We will now focus on his time in London (a period that began in 1712) in order to conduct a precise analysis of the sources of income that, despite occasional moments of difficulty, enabled him to rub shoulders with high society, live a comfortable life (with regard to his home, clothing, carriages, servants, etc.),21 collect art22 and make extremely generous donations to charity.23 Firstly, Händel had a number of important private patrons of varying political alignments (Hanoverians/Jacobites) and religious affinities (Catholics/Protestants). These patrons provided him with various means of support, ranging from temporary accommodation to money and influential social contacts. Among his most noteworthy supporters were the Earl of Burlington and the Duke of Chandos (Harris 2014, pp. 9–11, 328). Undoubtedly, however, Händel’s most important patron was the British monarchy. Queen Anne granted him a lifelong annual pension of 200 pounds (equivalent to around 25,000 pounds (28,121 euros) in 2020, and approximately double Bach’s earnings in Leipzig), which King George I increased to 600 pounds (around 75,000 pounds (84,364 euros) in 2020) in 1724 in exchange for providing musical instruction to members of the royal household (ibid., p. 82; Burkholder et al. 2019, p. 573). The average annual salary for a craftsman at that time was around 26 pounds (Harris 2004, p. 532), which would have had to support both him and his family. This pension, which always provided the composer with a comfortable

21

Händel’s expenses in London included the following: his house on Brook Street, where he lived for 36 years and which he rented out for short periods for around 40–60 pounds per year; his payment of parish taxes; the purchase of musical instruments, scores, manuscript paper, pens, ink, etc. (in the late 1740s he bought a large number of books and scores, thereby adding to his already extensive library of professional music); transportation costs (he rented horses and carriages whenever necessary, although he did not own any); food and clothing in line with his status as an important public figure; occasional expenditure on furniture and other domestic items and furnishings and servants (which accounted for around 100 pounds per year). Upon his death, Händel had four servants: two men, whom he named in his will, and two unidentified women. At the time, a butler would probably have earned around 40 pounds per year; a second manservant would have earned between eight and 40, depending on his responsibilities; a cook around 30; a maid around six and a washerwoman around five. See Harris (2004, pp. 534–536). 22 Händel attended art auctions and occasionally acquired artworks; over the years he amassed a substantial collection of paintings and engravings, with an overall value of around 1,000 pounds. The paintings he owned included a piece by Watteau titled A Conversation, and a piece attributed to Rembrandt titled A Large Landscape and Figures, which he purchased in 1750 for 39 pounds. He also owned works by painters who, in one way or another, had been linked to the world of opera in the 1710s and 1720s, such as Pellegrini, Marco and Sebastiano Ricci, Servandoni, Tillemans and Goupy. He also acquired numerous engravings (Harris 2004, pp. 534–536; 2014, pp. 288, 303–306). 23 Händel’s various charitable activities included his sustenance of the Society for the Support of Decayed Musicians, to which he also bequeathed 1,000 pounds in his will (Harris 2014, pp. 342– 344). Additionally, in 1750, as part of an annual series of benefit concerts for the Foundling Hospital, he began to arrange regular performances of the oratorio Messiah for audiences of over 1,000 people (Scherer 2004, p. 46).

34

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

financial cushion, means that he cannot be considered a musician who was fully independent, or entirely dependent on the market. Secondly, after working as a kind of freelance composer during his first few years in the British capital, Händel gained a salaried position as a music director, and later became a theatre impresario (Kimbell 2016, pp. 1–47). From 1719 to 1728 he was the director of the Royal Academy of Music, a company dedicated to Italian opera that was set up in London and was essentially funded by the annual subscriptions paid by its 63 patrons, most of whom were members of the aristocracy. His salary was 700 pounds per year (equivalent to around 87,500 pounds [98,425 euros] in 2020) and his responsibilities included composing operas (successful works he produced during this period include Giulio Cesare, Tamerlano and Rodelinda), supervising the Academy’s programme and recruiting new talent (such as the castrato Senesino, the composer Giovanni Bononcini and the sopranos Francesca Cuzzoni and Faustina Bordoni). However, in 1729 the withdrawal of its subscribers meant that the company could no longer support itself, so Händel decided to provide financial backing for a new company (effectively a new Academy) in partnership with a Swiss impresario named Johann Jakob Heidegger.24 Although the new company’s opera productions had a mixed reception, it was granted a generous subsidy by the Royal Family, which for the 1732–1733 season (for example) accounted for as much as 20%25 of its income. In 1733 a rival company, the so-called Opera of the Nobility, was set up in London. Also focusing on Italian opera, the new company poached talent from the Academy, attracted leading singers from the Continent (such as the castrato Farinelli) and had a major financial impact on Händel’s company, which moved to the recently constructed Covent Garden in 1734 after Heidegger retired, leaving Händel as the main promoter. However, the Opera of the Nobility filed for bankruptcy in 1737, and Händel returned to the King’s Theatre. Despite this victory, Italian opera as a genre seemed to be facing insurmountable difficulties in London. In fact, the period 1738–1745 was a rocky one for the composer, financially speaking. By dividing audiences and causing singers’ wages to continuously spiral, the rivalry between the two opera companies placed both firms in a complicated situation characterised by ongoing losses (Milhous 1993, pp. 32–39). Moreover, the success of John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera (1728), which featured popular themes that were sung in English and satirised Italian opera, marked the beginning of a gradual change in audiences’ tastes (Scherer 2004, pp. 46, 55, 99, 110; Burkholder et al. 2019, pp. 575–578). As a result of all this, and without yet abandoning the world of opera, in the 1730s Händel began to develop a new genre that would enable him to adapt his approach and overcome any financial losses. The genre in question consisted of oratorios in English, performed by much cheaper local singers, with works based on Biblical themes that were well-known to the burgeoning urban middle classes and performed 24

Harris (2014, pp. 97, 187; 2020, pp. 16–23), McGeary (2013, pp. 126–149) and Scherer (2004, p. 62). 25 An analysis of the figures for the 1732–1733 season indicates that, of the total annual income for Händel’s opera company, “23% came from subscribers, […] 50% from ticket sales, which reflects the notable increase in direct attendance of specific operas; 7% from box hire; and an impressive 20% […] from the Royal Family” (Hogwood 1988, p. 129).

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

35

in theatres, without any expenditure on sets or costumes. Tickets for each performance would be sold individually, without any exorbitant season tickets or subscriptions; choruses would be used in an innovative way that harked back to the long-standing English choral tradition; the works would incorporate an attractive mixture of musical elements of various origins (recitatives and arias da capo from Italian opera, overtures from classical French drama, German choral fugues, harmonies from English full anthems, etc.); and Händel would improvise on the organ during the intermissions. Without a doubt, this new genre produced notable achievements—such as Esther (1732), Israel in Egypt (1739), Messiah (1741), Samson (1743) and Judas Maccabaeus (1747)—that led to a gradual improvement in the composer’s financial circumstances, to the extent that in 1741 he decided to make a definitive break with opera and dedicate himself fully to the oratorio genre that had brought him greater success (Burkholder et al. 2019, pp. 578–581; Scherer 2004, p. 110). Thirdly, throughout his time in England Händel complemented his main activities in the fields of opera and oratorio with other ventures that brought him additional income. One such example is the publication of his music in the form of scores, although this did not earn him a great deal of money: composers only received a single payment from the publisher for each score, and a significant market for printed scores would not develop until the nineteenth century. Nor was there any effective legislation to protect copyright: although Royal Privileges could be granted, which bestowed exclusivity for a period of 14 years and—in theory—meant that illegal copies could be confiscated and the offenders fined (Händel was granted two such Privileges, in 1720 and 1739), in practice it was difficult and costly to enforce them.26 Occasionally, Händel also gave music lessons and held private concerts.27 Additionally, he composed music for private weddings, official ceremonies and acts of the Crown, to be performed in venues such as St Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey and St James’s Palace. During the 1740s he realised that patriotic materials sold well, especially in times of war, and so he started to compose works such as the Dettingen Te Deum (1743), designed to celebrate an English victory over the French (Scherer 2004, p. 111; Harris 2014, p. 147). Lastly, we should also mention Händel’s activities as an investor and his habitual use of banking services, at a time when this was highly unusual for a musician. According to Professor Ellen Harris, who has studied this intriguing aspect of the composer’s life in detail, against the backdrop of the English Financial Revolution 26

When rival companies staged modified versions of his opera Ottone or his oratorio Esther, Händel’s only recourse was to create improved versions. Likewise, when he realised upon arriving in London that the works from his Italian period had been widely copied by John Walsh, he decided that the best course of action was to apply the old adage of “if you can’t beat them, join them” and make Walsh his authorised publisher. In addition to operas, Walsh published chamber music and keyboard pieces that could be performed in homes and smaller spaces (Scherer 2004, pp. 57, 167, 171; Harris 2014, pp. 153, 277, 312–313). 27 Those who hosted private concerts by Händel included the coal-merchant Thomas Britton, the painter John Wollaston and the accountant and violin aficionado Henry Needler. Händel also held musical soirées at his own house on Brook Street (Harris 2014, pp. 11, 153). His most active period as a music teacher was from 1720 to 1733 (Harris 2014, pp. 171, 178).

36

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

(which took place between 1688 and 1756) Händel was able to exert meticulous control over his finances and managed his funds rather prudently and conservatively (Harris 2004, p. 531). By the middle of 1715, he had already invested 500 pounds in South Sea Company shares. Over the next five years the value of his shares increased considerably, and the sale of part of his shareholding (at least 300 pounds’ worth) made Händel a substantial profit. When the notorious financial bubble finally burst in 1720, Händel still had around 150 or 200 pounds’ worth of shares. Three years later in 1723, when the crisis was coming to an end, the shareholders’ capital was divided equally between Company shares and Company bonds that were deposited with the Bank of England, which provided a fixed annual return. The account that was opened for the composer at the Bank, in the amount of 150 pounds’ worth of Company bonds, indicates that at the time the capital was divided in 1723, he must have had around 300 pounds’ worth of shares. In short, the evidence suggests that Händel navigated the movements of the market with relative skill and that the South Sea Company episode did not cause him to lose any money (ibid., pp. 13–16). The first bank accounts that Händel opened were short-lived. In 1720 he opened two accounts successively with the Royal African Company, in the amounts of 500 and 100 pounds respectively, but closed them a few weeks later. Equally as shortlived was his first account with the Bank of England, which he opened in 1721 after receiving government bonds with a return of 5% as payment of the pension of 200 pounds that had been granted to him by Queen Anne. On 11 October 1721 those bonds were deposited into an account in his name at the Bank of England; however, just two days later he sold them for cash and closed the account (ibid., pp. 2–13). Nonetheless, between 1723 and 1732 Händel kept the aforementioned South Sea Company bonds in an account with the Bank of England, which he effectively treated as a cash account, using it for a variety of transactions. For example, while he was the director of the Royal Academy of Music he deposited his annual salary of 700 pounds into said account. He received this salary in the form of one or more payments and continued to receive it during the early days of the “new” Academy, after Händel and his partner Heidegger took over the running of the opera company following the withdrawal of its private patrons in 1729. However, financial difficulties soon followed, and the composer ended up closing this account in June 1732 (ibid., pp. 16– 23). Specifically, Händel sold the South Sea Company bonds he had acquired to date, earning 2,450 pounds from the sale. He kept 150 pounds and deposited the remaining 2,300 into a new cash account that he opened with the Bank of England in August 1732. For the next seven years he did not make any other deposits, although each year he withdrew an increasingly smaller amount of money until in March 1739 he withdraws the last 50 pounds that were left and closed the account. Between 1739 and 1743 he did not have any accounts with the Bank. The 1730s were marked by significant difficulties and varying fortunes for Händel’s opera company, and uneven receptions for works such as Ariodante and Alcina, although he continued to stage new opera productions until 1741. That same year the composer travelled to Dublin, where he presented Messiah to great acclaim. When he returned

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

37

to London in 1742 he had already decided that he would no longer compose operas, as it seemed clear that the public’s appetite for oratorios in English presented an excellent opportunity to create wealth (ibid., pp. 23–24). After the première of Samson in February 1743, Händel opened a new account for South Sea Company bonds with the Bank of England in May, and subsequently opened a new cash account in 1744. From then on, he deposited his earnings into the cash account, while building up a diverse portfolio of securities. During his highly successful English oratorio period, which lasted for approximately 16 years (1743–1758), he was able to save around 1,100 pounds per year. When he died in 1759 Händel was a rich man, with 17,500 pounds deposited with the Bank of England (equivalent to around 2.2 million pounds (2.5 million euros) in 2020) that had brought him an annual return of 3%.28 The total value of his estate was estimated at 21,000 pounds, equivalent to around 2.6 million pounds (2.9 million euros) in 2020 (Scherer 2004, p. 105). The very different professional paths taken by Bach and Händel had an impact not only on their respective incomes, but also on the types of genres they cultivated and their understanding of the practice of composition. Bach never had to adapt to the demands of the public, as he did not compose for the market; rather, his work had to meet the needs of the different positions he held as a musician at court or in the church. It is for this reason that he initially focused on the organ and harpsichord; created works for chamber ensembles and orchestras in Köthen and placed particular emphasis on cantatas and religious music in Leipzig. Moreover, given the importance of teaching among his various activities, he always paid careful attention to the educational aspect of his work as a composer. However, this does not mean that Bach was not open to innovation and the influence of the French, Italian and German approaches. In fact, he assimilated the innovations he encountered in the work of his contemporaries and reinterpreted them, experimenting in a range of different areas. With the exception of opera, his work encompassed virtually every style, form and genre of his time: he explored their possibilities in depth and developed them in often complex and unexpected directions, without any concessions to fashion or changes in taste (Salazar 1985, p. 187; Burkholder et al. 2019, pp. 555, 571, 1708–1714). Furthermore, Bach’s identification with the texts of his religious works appears genuine: Lutheranism was his “spiritual home” and the texts established “a framework of religious convictions through which […] he composed cantatas, motets, oratorios, passions and masses” (Trías 2007, p. 107). Händel, for his part, shared Bach’s tremendous capacity for work and for assimilating, rejuvenating and bringing together a variety of influences, with a “cosmopolitan and eclectic style that drew on German, Italian, French and English music” (Burkholder et al. 2019, p. 572). Unlike Bach, however, he openly sought

28

Harris (2020, pp. 24–26). In addition to the financial information they contain, Händel’s accounts with the Bank of England provide an unexpected insight into his personal well-being. An analysis of his signature between 1721 and 1758 reveals how his eyesight worsened and other health issues developed during the final ten years of his life.

38

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

to connect with audiences and adapted his creations in order to forge those connections more effectively, by trying out fresh approaches and always paying heed to the latest musical trends and demands (Davison 1986, p. 62; Basso 1986, pp. 137–139). According to Adolfo Salazar, this may explain why the “craftsman” Bach, aware of the requirements and stipulations of his position, produced works characterised by a great sense of “regularity” or “uniform density”; while the “impresario” Händel, faced with the capricious, shifting and peremptory demands of the opera market, produced works characterised by a greater “mixture of qualities and unevenness of workmanship”, as well as making greater use of existing material and reworking pieces by others when producing new compositions (Salazar 1983, pp. 279–280).29 Moreover, in contrast to Bach’s essentially abstract pieces, Händel demonstrated a “great talent for drama” or theatricality and his music was placed “at the service of the characters” in his operas and oratorios: two genres that took centre stage in his production activities precisely because they were the ones that best enabled him to make a living from public performance. In particular, and as alluded to above, Händel’s unique approach to oratorio is an excellent example of his capacity for reinvention after the traditional opera “product”, based on themes from ancient Greece and Rome, started to lose its attraction for theatregoers. Indeed, Händel’s approach to oratorio consisted of adapting Italian opera to the tastes of the burgeoning London bourgeoisie, with plots based on well-known Biblical episodes and doing away with stage sets and costumes (Salazar 1983, pp. 281–283, 286–287). In this respect, the religious themes of his oratorios had a clear “utilitarian” purpose: to connect with middle-class Protestant audiences whose knowledge of the Bible was far superior to their awareness of stories from ancient history and mythology.

Public Recognition Bach and Händel also differed greatly in terms of the public recognition they received, both in life and after death. Bach, who was essentially considered a “virtuoso organist” and “composer of sophisticated counterpoint works” (Burkholder et al. 2019, p. 555). while alive, never approached the levels of celebrity—even during his moments of greatest renown—enjoyed by Händel, Telemann and Christoph Graupner, or even other contemporary German composers who have since been largely forgotten, such as Carl Heinrich Graun and Johann Mattheson (Andrés, 2005, p. 28). As stated above, Bach did not compose for the public and never allowed himself to be led by fashion or changing tastes, even if he had ample musical resources to have done so (Forkel 1978, p. 114). Perhaps that is why many at the time considered his works to be too complex and advanced, or alternatively too old-fashioned. For

29

Of the leading musicians of his era, Händel was by far the one who most frequently resorted to the common practice of reworking his own music and that of others (Burkholder et al. 2019, p. 581; Rose 2019, pp. 48–80).

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

39

example, while working as an organist in Arnstadt, his polyphonic music and innovative progressions were not to the liking of some of the parishioners and the church council received complaints about Bach’s unusual variations in the chorales, whose strange tones confused those attending the ceremonies. By 1730, many considered his compositions to be over-elaborate and old-fashioned; perhaps that is why Telemann did not mention him in his essay on contemporary German composers (Scherer 2004, p. 109). Moreover, only a relatively small part of his music was published during his lifetime or distributed in manuscript form (Burkholder et al. 2019, p. 555). In 1750 Bach was given a modest burial in a grave that was subsequently forgotten until its later rediscovery. Musical tastes changed rapidly after his death and his compositions were overlooked in favour of works by composers such as Joachim Quantz and Franz Benda (Andrés 2005, p. 48). Even though he did not achieve fame, Bach at least commanded the respect of professional musicians and his works were always known and appreciated by connoisseurs, who never forgot him (Talle 2017, p. 259). For example, many of his students went on to become cantors or organists, and copied and shared the scores written by their teacher; while Bach’s sons Carl Philipp Emanuel and Johann Christian, who would explore new musical directions in the eighteenth century, were directly influenced by their father and raised awareness of his work within the musical profession. The influential Italian music expert Giovanni Battista Martini greatly admired Bach; his works for keyboard were highly praised by Muzio Clementi, Clementi’s student Johann Baptist Cramer and John Field and some of the preludes from The Well-Tempered Clavier were distributed fairly widely in manuscript form. Haydn had a copy of Mass in B Minor; Mozart’s father Leopold and friend Johann Christian encouraged him to explore Bach’s music, and he discovered The Art of Fugue and a number of Bach’s motets during a visit to Leipzig and the first edition of the magazine Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, published in 1798, featured a portrait of Bach (Andrés 2005, p. 48; Burkholder et al. 2019, pp. 583–584). Bach’s work began to be rediscovered more generally during the nineteenth century, and he gradually went from being a composer renowned by experts to a figure who commanded respect among mainstream audiences. In 1802 the organist J. N. Forkel published the first biography of the composer, and German musicians slowly began to extol his virtues on nationalist grounds. In 1829 Felix Mendelssohn directed Bach’s St Matthew Passion to great acclaim in Berlin, and in 1859 the Bach Society was founded by Robert Schumann and others. By the second half of the nineteenth century Bach was widely renowned, and since then his reputation has only continued to grow. His work influenced a wide variety of major twentiethcentury composers, including Schönberg, Ives, Bartók, Stravinsky, Shostakovich, Villa-Lobos and Webern. Today, he is ranked among the undeniable greats in the history of music (ibid., pp. 583–584). Händel, in contrast, enjoyed widespread renown while alive and his reputation has sustained through to the present day. Portraits of the composer were painted by a number of major contemporary artists, such as Joseph Goupy, Philippe Mercier (who was principal painter to the Prince of Wales until he was replaced by Goupy), Thomas Hudson (who painted him twice) and the miniaturist Rupert Barber (whose portrait

40

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

of Händel has since been lost). For his part, in 1738 the sculptor Louis-François Roubiliac produced a statue of the composer in white marble for Vauxhall Gardens (today, the statue is housed in the Victoria and Albert Museum). After becoming a British citizen in 1727, Händel went on to gain increased renown between 1738 and 1745, becoming a veritable national institution. His image was widely circulated in the form of engravings, miniatures and small busts or statuettes, and his music was continuously printed and distributed, sometimes in opulent editions. For example, in 1738 146 deluxe copies of Alexander’s Feast were produced for 125 subscribers, while in 1740 122 copies of his Twelve Grand Concerts, Opus 6 were produced for 100 subscribers. These subscribers included friends and associates such as Bernard Granville, James Harris, Charles Jennens, Lord Shaftesbury and James Hunter (Harris 2014, pp. 279, 287, 309). From the late 1730s onwards, perhaps as a result of stress, Händel began to show signs of illness, such as episodes of paralysis and mental health problems. The composer, preoccupied with questions of posterity and his posthumous reputation, requested permission to be buried in Westminster Abbey and set aside 600 pounds for the construction of a monument. (The monument would be sculpted by the aforementioned Roubiliac and eventually installed in the Abbey in 1762.) Händel’s funeral was held with full state honours at Westminster Abbey in 1759, and was attended by around 3,000 people. Immediately after his death, the composer’s widespread fame continued to grow. Just one year later, in 1760, an extensive biography and catalogue of his works was published by John Mainwaring (Memoirs of the Life of the Late George Frederic Handel: To Which Is Added a Catalogue of His Works and Observations Upon Them); and in 1799 a work somewhat lighter in tone, Anecdotes of George Frederick Handel and John Christopher Smith, was published by William Cox (ibid., pp. 21, 279, 415). Additionally, Händel’s music soon became identified with the British monarchy (in 1784 King George III organised a grand festival in his name), many amateur choral societies placed his oratorios at the heart of their repertoires and his works continued to be performed regularly. In fact, Händel became the first classical composer; the first to gain a permanent place in the repertoire of performance. (Burkholder et al. 2019, p. 584)

Venerated by the public, he left his mark on classical and romantic music and was always admired by great composers such as Beethoven. In contrast, figures such as Vivaldi (for example) would not be reassessed until the early years of the twentieth century (Andrés 2005, p. 55). Today, Händel remains one of the giants of the Baroque era, and his music has not lost one iota of its appeal.

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

41

Conclusion In this study we have analysed the very different career paths taken by two Baroque composers who rank among the greats in the history of music. Bach was an honest and humble “craftsman” who came from a long line of musicians and, like his predecessors, placed his skills at the service of a court or the municipal and religious authorities. Consumed by his countless responsibilities and the education and maintenance of his many offspring, Bach’s life was one of hardship and constant struggle against all manner of adversities (including the deaths of eleven of his children and his first wife, the many capricious demands placed on him by his positions (including the teaching of numerous students, of widely varying abilities), the lack of sufficient musical resources, and the frequent parsimony of the authorities). His geographical scope was limited, within a stable socio-economic environment that remained unaffected by major changes and a society characterised by a deeply rooted Protestant religiosity. Bach never had to adapt to the demands of the public, as he did not compose for the market; rather, his work had to meet the needs of the different positions he held as a musician at court or in the church. Upon his death he left a very modest estate that barely allowed his widow to survive, and his work—which for the most part had not been published—was largely forgotten outside of professional musical circles. Händel, for his part, always jealously guarded his independence and played a key role in the development of the concept of the “free artist”. With no prior musical connections and no family ties, he travelled extensively throughout Germany and Italy, where he learned his craft as a musician and took a particular interest in the new genre of Italian opera. Later on he settled permanently in London, the dynamic capital of a country that would soon become the epicentre of the Industrial Revolution and offered great opportunities for a capable and ambitious composer who could cater to the changing musical demands of a growing middle-class audience with its roots in the world of trade and finance. Händel always maintained a large network of contacts and managed to forge important relationships within high society; however, among his many supporters, the British monarchy was undoubtedly his foremost patron. Building on the solid financial base that this patronage afforded him, he became a theatre impresario and for many years mounted his own operas. However, when he realised that the genre was showing signs of decline, he was able to adapt his approach and promote a new kind of performance: oratorios in English. At the same time, he was an investor and habitual user of banking services, exercising careful control over his finances and managing his funds rather prudently. He also obtained additional income through complementary activities, such as publishing printed music, giving private concerts, composing works for private and official ceremonies and giving music lessons. He became a rich man and enjoyed widespread social recognition, which continued and even increased after his death. Interestingly, one of Bach’s children, the highly talented Johann Christian, followed Händel’s example in many aspects of his own musical career. After the death of his father, the 15-year-old Johann Christian went to live in Berlin, where his

42

L. Perdices de Blas and J. L. Ramos-Gorostiza

brother Carl Philipp was in the service of the Prussian king. It was also a city with a vibrant musical life and where opera was very much in vogue. At the age of 21 he fell in love with an Italian singer and—like Händel—moved to Italy, where he studied under Padre Martini. He converted to Catholicism in order to work as an organist at Milan Cathedral, but decided to abandon the security of this position after receiving a couple of commissions to compose operas. Like Händel, in 1763 he moved to London, where he was offered the position of composer for the King’s Theatre, and where he would later become Queen Charlotte’s music master. Also like Händel (who, after arriving in England, signed his works as “Handel”), he changed his name to John Bach, became a music impresario and captivated “London audiences with his brilliant and imaginative music filled with invention and fantasy” (González Mira 2021, p. 110). After achieving success with his opera Temistocle, he had to adapt to the fickle tastes of English audiences, as did Händel. However, unlike Händel, he led a disorderly life and died an impoverished alcoholic at the age of just 46, despite having earned more money than any other member of the Bach family (ibid.).

References Andrés, R. 2005. Johann Sebastian Bach: Los días, las ideas y los libros. Barcelona: Acantilado. Basso, A. 1986. Historia de la Música. Vol. 6: La época de Bach y Haendel. Madrid: Turner. Boyd, M. 2000. Bach. New York: Oxford University Press. Briceño-Iragorry, L. 2012. Bach y Haendel, dos grandes maestros y un mismo destino. In Colección Razetti, vol. XIII, ed. R. Muci-Mendoza and L. Briceño-Iragorry, 115–135. Caracas: Editorial Ateproca. Burkholder, J.P., D.J. Grout, and C.V. Palisca. 2019. Historia de la Música Occidental. Madrid: Alianza. Burrows, D. 1996. Handel. New York: Oxford University Press. Davison, A.T. 1986. Bach and Handel: The Consummation of the Baroque Music. New York: Da Capo Press. Ebert, R.R. 1985. Thalers, Patrons, and Commerce—A Glimpse at the Economy in the Times of J.S. Bach. Bach 16 (3): 37–54. Eidam, K. 1999. La verdadera vida de Johann Sebastian Bach. Madrid: Siglo XXI. Forkel, J.N. 1978. Juan Sebastián Bach. Mexico: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Frey, Bruno S., and Werner W. Pommerehne. 1989. Muses and Markets. Explorations in the Economics of Arts. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Geiringer, K. 1962. La familia de los Bach. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe. Glover, J. 2018. Handel in London: The Making of a Genius. London: Macmillan. González Mira, P. 2021. Historia de la gran música para piano y otros instrumentos de teclado. Córdoba: Berenice. Harris, E.T. 2004. Handel the Investor. Music & Letters 85 (4): 521–575. Harris, E.T. 2010. Courting Gentility: Handel at the Bank of England. Music & Letters 91 (3): 357–375. Harris, E.T. 2014. George Frideric Handel: A Life with Friends. New York: W. W. Norton. Harris, E.T. 2020. «Master of the Orchester with a Sallary»: Handel at the Bank of England. Music & Letters 101 (1): 1–29. Hogwood, C. 1988. Haendel. Madrid: Alianza. Kimbell, D. 2016. Handel on the Stage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mai, K.-R. 2013. Die Bachs. Eine deutsche Familie. Berlin: Propyläen.

2 Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel: The Economics …

43

McGeary, T. 2013. The Politics of Opera in Handel’s Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Milhous, J. 1993. Opera Salaries in Eighteenth-Century London. Journal of the American Musicological Society 46 (1): 26–83. Raynor, H. 1986. Una historia social de la música: desde la Edad Media hasta Beethoven. Madrid: Siglo XXI. Rohr, D. 2001. The Careers of British Musicians, 1750–1850: A Profession of Artisans. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rose, S. 2019. Musical Authorship from Schütz to Bach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Salazar, A. 1983. La música en la sociedad europea. Vol. II: Hasta finales del siglo XVIII. Madrid: Alianza. Salazar, A. 1985. Juan Sebastián Bach. Madrid: Alianza. Sassoon, D. 2006. Cultura: el patrimonio común de los europeos. Barcelona: Crítica. Scherer, F.M. 2004. Quarter Notes and Bank Notes: The Economics of Music Composition in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Spree, E. 2013. Johann Sebastian Bach and the Ursula Erbstollen. Understanding Bach 8: 145–153. Talle, A. 2017. Beyond Bach: Music and Everyday Life in the Eighteenth-Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Talle, A. 2020. Who Was Anna Magdalena Bach? Bach 51 (1): 139–171. Trías, E. 2007. El canto de las sirenas. Barcelona: Galaxia Gutenberg-Círculo de Lectores. Williams, P. 2007. Johann Sebastian Bach: A Life in Music. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wolff, C. 2000. Bach. The Learned Musician. New York: W. W. Norton.

Chapter 3

Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship Thomas Baumert

Joseph Haydn

T. Baumert (B) Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_3

45

46

T. Baumert

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Believe me, my sole purpose is to make as much money as possible; for after good health it is the best thing to have. Mozart to his father, Vienna, April 4, 1781 His flaw was that he didn’t know how to handle the money. Nannerl Mozart on her brother I have my own comfortable house, three or four courses at dinner, a good glass of wine, I can dress well, and when I want to drive out, a hired coach is good enough for me. Haydn to a visitor The realization that I am not bond-servant makes ample amend for all my toils [as a freelance composer]. Haydn in 1791

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

47

Introduction Although the lives of Joseph Haydn1 and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart2 overlapped, the former was the latter’s senior by twenty-three years and outlived him by another seventeen. Thus, when Mozart was born on 27 January 1756, Joseph Haydn was shifting from being a freelance musician in the court of Vienna to a fixed employment at Baron von Fürnberg’s country estate. After Mozart’s premature death on 5 December 1791, Haydn continued working—and achieving some of his biggest successes—for more than a decade,3 now again as a freelance composer. Mozart’s life did, thus, overlap with less than half of Haydn’s (who died on 31 May 1809) and, although both may have occasionally met before, they only coincided in Vienna for about five years (1786–1790), when Mozart took permanent residence in the Austrian capital where Haydn moved after being released from his duties in Eszterházy. ∗ ∗ ∗ The present chapter differs from the others that constitute this book in two points. First, Mozart might be the sole exception of a composer whose financial situation has been studied exhaustively (although with little advance in the last decades) by scholars.4 Second, Haydn and Mozart not only knew each other but had close enough bonds to consider themselves—despite their different ages—friends. Hence, besides comparing the biographies and financial situation of both composers, we will also include a short description of their friendship as it might give us the clue to understand what might be one of the first known cases of collusive oligopolies in the Austrian music business. 1

Biographical details on Haydn have been taken from the following sources: Dies (1810), Griesinger (1810), Carpani (1812), Schmidt (1898), Brecht (1909), Baresel (1953), Jacob (1954), Geiringer (1982), Landon (1976–1980), Huss (1984), Vignal (1988), Landon and Jones (1988), Marcgraf (1990), Feder (1999), Knispel (2003), Irmen (2007), Mayer (2008), Koch (2009), Korinek (2009) and Stapert (2014) For a collection of documents regarding Haydn, see Haydn (1965). In order not to overload the text with references, we have opted not to justify every biographical detail, but only those points which are relevant from the financial perspective that constitutes the main feature of this study. About Mozart, Haydn, and the “Wiener Klassik” see Rosen (1992) and Heartz (1995). 2 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart has been an object of continued study for music-lovers. Hence, there is rarely a year which does not see the publication of a new biography of him. In writing this chapter we have consulted the following: Niemetschek (1798), Nissen (1828), Jahn (1856–1859), Schurig (1923), Einstein (1945), Paumgartner (1927), Massin and Massin (1970), Till (1973), Hildesheimer (1977), Schenk (1977), Eibl (1977), Albert (1978), Landon (1988), Braunbehrens (1990), Solomon (1995), Sadie (2006), Wolff (2012), Baur (2016), Lütteken (2017) and Swafford (2020). The collected letters and documents of Mozart can be consulted in Mozart (1962–1975). The same observation than in the previous footnote applies. 3 Due to health issues, he was no able to compose nor make public appearances—one exception made—from 1802 until his death. 4 So, to cite only the monographies on the topic, the works by Kraemer (1976), Bär (1978), Moore (1989) and Bauer (2009). Additionally, Mozart’s finances were the object of two exhibitions: one in 1983 in Munich and another in 1991 in Salzburg. Recently, also Haydn’s economy has been object of study by Mathew (2022).

48

T. Baumert

Haydn Before Mozart Born on 31 March 1732 in the Austrian village of Rohrau as the son of Matthias Haydn (a wheelwright and Marktrichter, a sort of village major) and of María Haydn (née Koller), a former cook, Joseph grew up in a modest but by no means poor household, which we could define as a solid middle class. None of his parents could read music yet used to sing together with their children—Joseph’s younger brother Michael5 also became an, at the time, noted musician—accompanied by the harp chords that Matthias had taught himself (Dies 1810). However, the parents were proficient enough to notice child Joseph’s musical talent, and thus decided to send him to a relative, Johann Matthias Frankh (a school- and choirmaster in Hainburg), in whose home he would live to be trained as a musician.6 According to Haydn’s own reminiscences, the years he spent in Hainburg were marked by frequent hunger and the bad feeling of wearing filthy clothes (Griesinger 1810). Both these aspects would mark him deeply: as we will see later, he would be always worried about saving money so as not to suffer from deprivation again, while being very careful about his wardrobe, always keen to dress clean and well. At least the musical training received by Haydn seems to have been much better than the maintenance, as he became a good harpsichord and violin player and sang treble parts in the church choir well enough as to make him point out among his choir fellows. Hence, in 1739, he successfully passed the auditions and was selected as a singer in the choir of Saint Stephan Cathedral in Vienna—where the quality of his clothes improved more than the food provided—, and where he would remain until 1749 when due to the change of his voice and his troublesome behaviour he was dismissed from the choir. Once that Haydn was forced to leave the Kapellhaus, he struggled hard to earn enough to sustain himself, a fact that very much marked his later relation to money (some considered him to be stingy) The composer Joseph Martin Kraus pronounced Haydn “a good soul, except for one thing—money” (Mathew 2022, p. 1). We know that his friend Buchholz had to lend him 150 fl.7 (ca. 3,750e) which he somehow managed to return despite his limited income. This, however, improved over the following years as he took on additional jobs: he gave music lessons for between 2 and 5 fl. each (that is, between 50 and 125e), in addition he also alternated different jobs as instrumentalist (as singer, violinist and organist) both in official employments and as street-musician. Between 1754 and 1756 Haydn also worked freelance for 5

Michael Haydn (1737–1806) was born in Rohrau, and like his elder brother, sang in the choir of St. Stephen’s in Vienna. Shortly after leaving the choir-school, he was appointed Kapellmeister in Grosswardein, and in 1762, in Salzburg, where he became friends with Leopold Mozart—who, however, criticised his heavy drinking—and later with his son Wolfgang, who held his work in high regard, and was a teacher of Carl Maria von Weber and Anton Diabelli. 6 Haydn was then six years old, and he never again lived with his parents. 7 For simplicity’s sake, we will consider throughout the text an equivalence of 4½ gulden (florin) = 1 ducat. This refers to gulden W.W. (Wiener Währung), i.e., Viennese florins, which kept an exchange rate of 1.2 with the Salzburg florin due to the latter lower gold content. Also 1 gulden = 60 kreutzer. See for this the Note and the end of the Introduction to this book, as well as Baumol and Baumol (1994, pp. 191–194) and Scherer (2004, pp. 203–209).

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

49

the court in Vienna, being among several musicians who were paid for services as supplementary musicians at balls given for the imperial children during carnival season, and as supplementary singers in the imperial chapel. As Vorspieler in the Merciful Brothers of Luipoldstadt Haydn earned 60 fl. per year. His income due to compositions was still limited; yet in 1757 (or 1758) he was paid 25 ducats (2,000e) for the music of the singspiel Neuer krummen Teufel. In 1756, Baron Carl Josef Fürnberg employed Haydn at his country estate, Weinzierl, where the composer wrote his first string quartets, a musical form for which he would set the standard for the next decades. Recommended by Fürnberg, Haydn would receive in 1757 his first full-time appointment as Kapellmeister in the court of Count Morzin with an annual salary of 200 fl. plus free food and shelter. During this time Haydn composed his first symphonies, a musical form in which he was to excel. Three years after gaining this first steady position, Haydn married Maria Anna Keller. A curious parallelism with Mozart might be pointed out: both ended up marrying the sisters of their original loves as “second best choice”. Actually, Haydn had originally courted her later wife’s younger sister Therese whom he would not marry because the bride’s father considered that the young musician should make sure first to have a secured income—but at the time that Haydn had become a Kapellmeister, Therese had taken vows and become a nun. Hence, he married the leftover, Anna Maria. According to Irmen (2007, p. 72), the bride yielded goods worth 350 fl. of trousseau and 500 fl. cash, the groom 1,000 fl. The marriage, however, was not a happy one: Haydn accused his wife of being responsible for not bearing children, which he considered to be a justification good enough to have extramarital affairs (as she did too). In a famous letter to one of his lovers, he refers to his wife as “quella bestia infernale” [this beast from hell]; on another occasion, when passing in front of his wife’s portrait with a visitor he labelled her as “the house dragon”. And when the publishing house Breitkopf & Härtel sends him a present for his wife, he returned it with a note that said: “She does not deserve anything; and she does not care whether her husband is musician or a shoemaker” (Huss 1984, p. 32; Irmen 2007, p. 74). We do not know when exactly and under which circumstances Prince Eszterházy heard Haydn’s symphonies, but he became so enthused with them, that he asked Count Morzin to cede Haydn to him. As the count had in between lost most of his fortune and had to dissolve his orchestra, the prince’s request was promptly fulfilled: Haydn’s career was about to boost, turning him into one of wealthiest musicians of all time. Haydn started his job at the court of Prince Eszterházy in 1761 with an annual salary of 400 fl. (paid quarterly), thus doubling the previous emoluments he had received by Count Morzin. Additionally, he was allowed to eat at the officer’s table or, instead, perceive 0.5 fl. per day as compensation. Another fringe benefit was the court uniform (light blue embroidered in silver) which Haydn had to wear in all official acts and would be replaced every year. If, however, the old uniform was still suitable, the money saved (at least 100 fl.) would be paid out in cash. Haydn, especially during the later years in Eszterháza made repeatedly use of this right as he used to take much care of his wardrobe.

50

T. Baumert

In 1762, hardly one year after starting to work for the prince, Haydn’s salary was raised to 600 fl. while keeping all fringe benefits, twice as much as the court’s lead singer and thrice as much as its concertmaster. And in 1763 it was raised once again—in order to account for the inflation—to 782 fl.8 From 1771 onwards more payments in kind were added: 500 l. of wine per year (which was soon raised to 670 l.), all the firewood he required and 20 (later 30) pounds of candles. When in 1774 the post of organist at the Church of Eisenstadt became vacant and no suitable candidate was to be found, Haydn also took over that position, adding another 180 fl. to his annual income, which by now was close to an astonishing 1,000 fl per year (as will be shown later, Mozart working for the—nota bene, Imperial—court in Vienna never earned more than 800 fl). But at the same time, Eszterházy’s new concertmaster Luigi Tomasini, was paid 1,800 fl. enjoying similar fringe benefits to those of Haydn, as the tariff for Italian musicians usually doubled that of the natives. It seems that as Haydn became to be better known outside the Austrian borders, he used to confront the prince with the possibility of seeking a foreign job—to which the prince usually reacted increasing his salary. Haydn also was occasionally rewarded with additional cash payments (up to 12 ducats ≈ 50 fl.) for compositions which the prince considered to be especially successful. Until 1774—when he brought all additional payments to a halt as Haydn was already earning 1,000 fl. per year— the composer had received at least 1,126 fl. through this mean (Huss 1984, p. 48). An additional gift granted to Haydn by the prince was a two-horse carriage with a coachman which was given to him for free (the horses would be fed at the court’s stables) as a reward for having trained Ignatz Pleyel.9 As we have seen, fringe benefits and payments in kind imbursed by Prince Eszterházy meant Haydn’s own expenses were basically reduced to lodging. But also, in this case the composer turned out to be a clever businessman. In 1766 (before that the Haydn’s had been living in the Kapellhaus) he bought the house in the Klosterzeile 82 (now Haydn Gasse 21) in Eisenstadt for 1,000 fl. which included a garden—with the famous Klause in which he is supposed to have composed many of his works—, pastureland, a piece of forest and a field. He financed the operation asking for a 400 fl. advance of his salary and a 500 fl. credit bestowed by his father-in-law at a 5% interest. The remaining 100 fl. must have been out of Haydn’s savings. But unfortune stuck and the house was damaged by a fire in 1768. It cost 300 fl. to do all the repairing—which, surprisingly, were paid by Prince Eszterházy. In 1776, however, the house burned down a second time—and again the 450 fl. due for the repair were compensated by the prince. Two years later, in 1778, as the court moved to Eszterháza, Haydn did not have any need for the house which he sold for 2,000 fl., 8

That year also the music editor Breitkopf & Härtel became aware of Haydn, as their catalogue of the following year included for the first time one of his works: an additional, although at the time still minor, source of income of which, unfortunately, we have no detailed information. We know, however, that over the next decades the revenues due to his publishing activities would become increasingly more relevant. 9 On behalf of Prince Eszterházy, Haydn had been given Ignaz Pleyel piano lessons from 1771 onwards.

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

51

thus making 1.000 fl. gross benefit over a period of twelve years: not a bad return of investment, even after discounting the interest paid to his father-in-law and inflation. The day after cashing in the money for the house, Haydn invested half of the amount in 5% obligations emitted by the Fürstliche Kassa. Altogether, we may conclude that Haydn did not only enjoy quite a high salary at Eszterháza but, more significantly, had nearly no expenses, as most of his costs were carried for by the prince (food, clothing, repair of the house, firewood, candles, wine and a carriage with coachman), thus allowing him to save an important capital over the years while keeping the live standard of an upper middle class. The dictum attributed to Henry Ford according to which “you do not get rich by what you earn, but by what you do not spend” was meant for Haydn! If until then Haydn has used the option of leaving Eszterháza as a way of menacing the prince and screwing up his salary, the truth is that, by the end of his Hungarian stay Haydn’s fame had spread so far all over Europe, that he started receiving firm work offers from Spain, France and the United Kingdom (Huss 1984, pp. 72ff). During his last years at Eszterháza, Haydn would make the acquittance of three people from different spheres, each of whom would significantly mark his future: Luigia Ponzelli—who would become his mistress—, Marianne von Griesinger—his close friend and confident—and a young musician who had marvelled Europe as a prodigious child who played the piano masterfully and had now become a colleague: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Mozart’s Early Years10 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born on 27 January 1756 to Leopold Mozart (1719– 1787)—Kapellmeister in Salzburg and author of a successful violin textbook—and Anna Maria, née Pertl (1720–1778). In 1763 Leopold obtained a leave of absence from his position as deputy Kapellmeister at the prince archbishop’s court at Salzburg, and the family (both parents, Wolfgang and his elder sister Maria Anna, nicknamed “Nannerl”) set out on a promotional “grand tour”, visiting Munich, Augsburg, Stuttgart, Mannheim, Mainz, Frankfurt, Brussels and Paris (where they remained for the winter), then London (where they spent 15 months),11 returning through The Hague, Amsterdam, Paris, Lyon and Switzerland, and arriving back in Salzburg in November 1766. In most of these cities Mozart was presented as Wunderkind, played and improvised alone or with his sister and father. After one year in Salzburg, Leopold and Wolfgang set off for another journey, this time to Italy. On this tour, which lasted from December 1769 to March 1771, Leopold not only wanted to promote his son as performer but especially as composer, while seeking to a possible appointment at an 10

As at the time Mozart was not working chiefly as a composer, but as performer, we do not detail the family’s income at this period. 11 In London the Mozart’s met Johann Christian Bach, Johann Sebastian Bach’s youngest son and a leading figure in the city’s musical life.

52

T. Baumert

Italian court. Yet, all attempts failed and on their return to Salzburg Wolfgang entered the service of the city’s archbishop, Hieronymus Colloredo (for Mozart’s early years, see Sadie 2006). He would, however—unlike Haydn—, keep the travelling habits acquired in his youth: It has been calculated that from the 13,097 days that Mozart lived, he spent 3,720 travelling.

Mozart: From Salzburg to Vienna Mozart considered himself undervalued in Salzburg, where his salary was 150 fl. (the living costs in Salzburg were notably lower than in Vienna). Thus, Mozart grew increasingly discontented with Salzburg and redoubled his efforts to find a position elsewhere. But new extended trips with his father to Vienna (July to September 1773) and Munich (December 1774 to March 1775) resulted unsuccessful. This notwithstanding, in August 1777, Mozart resigned his position at Salzburg and on 23 September ventured out once more in search of employment, this time visiting Augsburg, Mannheim, Paris and Munich. While Wolfgang stayed in Paris, his father was pursuing opportunities of employment for him in Salzburg, achieving that he was offered a post as court organist and concertmaster with an annual salary of 450 fl., which he, however reluctantly, finally accepted, starting in January 1779. But Wolfgang was not happy. In a letter to his father dated on 17 March 1781, he complains about archbishop Colloredo’s peculiar treatment of his employees: no evening meal was provided. Instead, each of them received three ducats (13.5 fl.) as compensation. Should this have been on a daily basis, the compensation would have been more than generous, as an evening meal in a tavern cost between 1 and 2 fl. (Braunbehrens 1990, p. 19). Thus, it seems more likely that this amount was paid on a per-week basis, corresponding to approximately 2 fl. per day. As we have seen, twenty years earlier, Haydn was paid 0.5 fl. compensation on those days in which he would not have lunch at the officer’s table, and it seems reasonable that over two decades the average price for a meal had quadrupled. The relation with Colloredo was always tense, as he made sure to keep Mozart tight in order to avoid new prolonged absences as in the past. This clashed with the musician’s wish to take leave to present his compositions to the broadest possible audience. But then again, in the archbishop’s eyes—and in the opinion of most of his contemporaries—Mozart was primarily a keyboard virtuoso, not a composer. Hence Mozart repeatedly pursued to gain his freedom from the archbishop moving to Vienna. But that his estimations of possible incomes were not very accurate as can be seen in the letters in which he tries to convince his father of the advantages of working in the capital: I would not hesitate for a moment to leave the archbishop’s services. I would give a grand concert, take four pupils, an in a year I would have got on so well in Vienna that I would make at least a thousand thaler [aprox. 2,000 fl.] a year.

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

53

So, Mozart once again resigned—he actually was dismissed by the Archbishop in Salzburg and, despite the famous encounter with Colloredo which ended with him kicking Mozart “in the arse”, as he detailed in a letter to his father, the real reason behind his leave seems to have been basically a matter of money.12 Mozart headed to conquer Vienna, the empire’s capital. And would soon find out that his prospectives regarding his income might have been a bit too optimistic. In Vienna Mozart would for the first time live on his own. As during this time and until 1787 he did not receive any public support nor salary from any court or patron, Hildesheimer (1977) considers Mozart to have been the first true freelance composer.13 He soon learnt to value money—and the difficulty of handling it, especially as his expected lifestyle was much above his real income: he and Constanze— whom he had married on 4 August 1782 (as was the case of Haydn, Mozart has originally courted Constanze’s sister Aloysia)—lived in comparatively expensive circles, since they consorted with a wealthy section of the capital’s society (Steptoe 1984, p. 200). And they did so even before having the income to afford it. Mozart’s attitude seems to have been that of a dandy, up-dressed and big-spending, following the credo still applied by those who wanted to become rock stars in the 1970s: “Until you make it—fake it!” (Tyler 2011, p. 46). Regarding his household economy during his first year in the Austrian capital, Braunbehrens refers: His expenditures were considerable. He was not prepared for a lengthy stay in Vienna. Most of his clothes were still in Salzburg and were not sent to him until summer. Thus he had no choice but to have new clothes made; after all, Vienna was an especially elegant and fashion-conscious city, and the measure of vanity had been bred into Mozart at an early age. Mozart himself attached a great importance to his wardrobe. He considered himself a member of the social circles that supported him as an artist, and this conditioned his style of life. He probably tried to compensate his unusual small stature by dressing impressively. He thought that his presence at the bourgeois and aristocratic salons, his contacts with the court, and his public appearances as a virtuoso entitled him to commensurate social rank that had to be reflected in his clothing. Muzio Clementi described his appearance as indistinguishable from that of an aristocratic courtier or chamberlain. (Braunbehrens 1990, p. 58)

Clementi had met Mozart on December 1781, when, during his stay in Vienna, he was asked by Joseph II to play for the royal guests in competition with the former, an event of which the emperor would continue rhapsodising years later (ibid.: 63). Mozart was paid 50 ducats (225 fl.) for his participation, a money that was very much welcomed by him as the 400 or 450 fl. that he also received that year for the Munich Idomeneo were presumably used to pay off debts of his Paris journey, and it seems quite likely that to finance his first year in the capital he had to incur in debts asking his aristocratic and bourgeois patrons for financial help. Hence, although Mozart would never again live as modestly as he did during his first summer in Vienna, (ibid.), it would not be the last time that he would have had to borrow money to make ends 12

In a letter of the end of May 1781 he wrote: “If I were paid such a salary that I would not be tempted to think of other places, then I would be perfectly satisfied. And if the archbishop chooses to pay me that salary — well then, I am ready to set off today”. 13 See on this also the Introduction to this book.

54

T. Baumert

meet. It should be however, observed, that although Mozart would be frequently in debt, he was so only to bourgeois patrons (Wolff 2012), as to keep up his spending in “thoughtless liberality” (Baumol and Baumol 1994, p. 190). Actually, in March 1784 Mozart had started a budget book in order to keep a certain control over the family’s earnings and expenditures. But he gave up in February of the next year, asking Constanze to continue it. She, however proved to be even less motivated to do so. The soprano certainly does not seem to have been a very efficient housewife nor businesswoman while married to Mozart, whose “bohemian lifestyle” she shared (Einstein 1945).14 Unfortunately the revealing budget book—despite its shortness the lone real source about Mozart’s finances—was lost in 1945 (Bauer 2009, p. 25). This has obliged researchers to try to quantify Mozart’s expenditures through different means, in order to relate them to his income. Likely the most original attempt in this sense is the one by Bauer (2009) who, after having located a brochure published in 1788 which listed prices of nearly all goods and services in Vienna in that year,15 used this information to estimate the Mozart family expenditures. And although there is a certain merit to the book, and the approach seems accurate, in general the author tends to inflate those costs too much (cf. Lorenz 2012), often calculating exorbitant figures. On 7 December 1787, Mozart was appointed imperial and royal Court composer with an annual salary of 800 fl. a promotion likely triggered by the spectacular success of Don Giovanni, the death of his predecessor Christoph Willibald Gluck and the emperor’s fear that Mozart might follow an invitation to a foreign court. That Mozart’s salary was not set higher16 (as a reminder: Haydn at the time was earning 1,000 fl. in the Eszterháza court, with nearly all his expenses covered) might be due to the fact that his position allowed him to complement it with many additional sources of income as performer and composer as he wished and he used to take advantage of it through a wide range of creative activities (Wolff 2012, pp. 20 and 24). In fact, until his death, Mozart earned in his position as court composer 2,200 fl. for writing 36 menuets and 31 German Redouten for the Big and Small Redoutensaal: 32,8 fl. for each (very short) piece. Actually, the demands for the post were so slight, that after Mozart’s death, it was considered superfluous and no successor was appointed (Steptoe 1984, pp. 196–197). Besides this regular income, Mozart’s irregular income in the “golden decade” (Landon 1988), consisted of teaching piano and composition classes—for which he is supposed to have asked 6 ducats (≈27 fl.) for every dozen lesson, a price that seems too high fetched, despite the fact that his “rival” Clementi received 10 fl. per lesson (Steptoe 1984, p. 197)—,17 payments for compositions (both in commission and 14

Although they did manage very well after her husband’s dead. For the biography of Constanze, see Carr (1983). 15 Anfang, betrachtet das Ende oder: genaue Rechnungstafel für Beamte welche 500 bis 1000 fl. Besoldung haben, herausgegeben von S. J. W. J. 16 Gluck had earned 2,000 fl. in the same position; but Mozart was still paid twice as much as Salieri, although the latter had many additional duties. 17 Mozart might have been following his father’s advice: “One must always be conscious of one’s own reputation and keep oneself a bit expensive” (quoted in Scherer 2004, p. 88).

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

55

publisher’s fees),18 and concerts in which he performed himself (ibid., p. 197),19 all of which—due to the limitation of space—are summarised in Table 3.1.20 A special mention deserves the 1,000 fl. that he inherited from his father’s estate in 1787. As we can see, earnings of approximately 11,000 fl. are matched by expenditures in the same range (although we have to be aware of the limitations of our data, which is by no means complete). They would seem to balance each other out, but as 1,000 fl. of the income are actually loans (usually at a 5% interest rate), strictly speaking, there is a deficit. Furthermore, there are imponderables on both sides, which only appear to affect the income more than the expenditures. We can thus agree with the assumption by Bär (1978, p. 52) according to which over these six years that go from 1785 to 1791 the Mozart family spent 12,000 fl., an average of 2,000 fl. per year. Let us assume that Mozart received 300 fl. for one of his own concerts, 100 fl. for subscription concerts, and gifts equivalent to 50 fl. at private concerts for aristocrats; and let us further assume that his publishers paid him an average fee of 20 fl. for longer works and 5 fl. for shorter works. Adding these amounts to his recorded earnings, we can guess that Mozart’s average income between 1782 and 1791 was 3,000 to 4,000 fl. at a very conservative estimate. In 1781 Mozart could not have made more than 1,500 fl. he had to come to Vienna without any preparation. For 1786 we arrive at a sum of only 2,000 fl, while our estimate for the following year approaches 4,000 fl.; in other words, there was no striking decrease in receipts. (Braunbehrens, 1990, p. 140)

Another interesting source of information that might give us a hint about Mozart’s financial situation is the rent paid for the family’s successive lodgings (which are uncommonly frequent in comparison, say, with Haydn: on average one move per year). According to the information published by Lorenz (2010) and Wolff (2012), Mozart paid for his homes in Vienna the rents listed in Table 3.2 (On Mozart’s homes in Vienna, see also Baur 2014, pp. 393–396). It might be observed that from May 1787 onwards the Mozarts moved to cheaper flats; two of them were suburban, thus allowing them to pay less although gaining space. However, assuming that the only reason for these moves were economic ones, does not account for the fact that other circumstances, such as Constance’s pregnancies, might also have played a role. However, it is evident that those moves to the capital’s outskirts took place at a time when Mozart saw his income diminish. But then again, those moves would reflect less the need to save money than the 18

The fees Mozart requested from his publishers draws an unclear picture: As has been said, he asked the very large sum of 50 louis d’or for the six string quartets dedicated to Haydn. But then again,135 fl. he asked for six violin sonatas (more than 20 fl. apiece) but his fees for piano concertos ranged from 30 to 100 fl. (cf Braunbehrens, 1990, pp. 134–136). 19 In the words of Braunbehrens (1990, pp. 134–135) “Mozart was undoubtedly among the best-paid soloist in Vienna. Based on our knowledge of his concert receipts, after deducting the costs of the concert hall and orchestras, he netted, at a very conservative estimate, 300 fl. on average. In the case of subscription concerts, which were given in series of three to six performances, a conservative estimate suggests a surplus of at least 100 fl”. 20 It should be kept in mind that this data represents only the so far documented portion of Mozart’s income. And even the documented sources are sometimes doubtful: so, the fact of having received the double of the normal payment for an opera for Cosí fan tutte (1790) is based solely on Mozart’s own affirmation in a letter to Puchberg in which he asks him for money.

56

T. Baumert

Table 3.1 Mozart’s income 1781–1791 Year

Source of income

Amount (in florins)

1781

Idomeneo

450

Quarterly salary from Salzburg

112

Fees (concerts, pupils)

400

1782

Die Entführung aus dem Serrail

426

Fees (concerts, pupils, publishers)

1,100

1783

Concert in the Burgtheater (23 March)

1,600

Fees (pupils)

650

1784

1785

1786

1787

1788

1789

Fees (other concerts, publishers)

Unknown

Subscription concerts in the Trattnerhof

1,000

Fees (pupils)

650

Fees (other concerts, publishers)

Unknown

Concert in the Burgtheater (10 March)

559

Fees (publishers)

720

Fees (other concerts, pupils)

Unknown

Der Schauspieldirektor

225

La nozze di Figaro

450

Three piano concertos for Donaueschingen

81

Fees (concerts, pupils, publishers)

Unknown

Don Giovanni (Prague)

450

Don Giovanni (benefit performance)

700

Concert in Prague

1,000

Fees (concerts, pupils, publishers)

Unknown

Inheritance from Leopold’s estate

1,000

Salary (as of December)

66

Don Giovanni (Vienna)

225

Fees (concerts, pupils, publishers)

Unknown

Benefit performance of Händel’s Pastorale

Unknown

Salary

800

Borrowed from Puchberg

300

Journey to Berlin: Two gold boxes filled with money

1790

1,285

Fees (concerts, pupils, publishers)

Unknown

Salary

800

“From abroad” (?)

450

Borrowed from Puchberg

450

Borrowed from Hofdemel

100

Cosí fan tutte

900 (continued)

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

57

Table 3.1 (continued) Year

1791

Source of income

Amount (in florins)

Journey to Frankfurt

165

Salary

800

Borrowed from Puchberg

610

Borrowed from Lackenbacher

1000

La clemenza de Tito

900

Die Zauberflöte

Unknown

Requiem (first instalment)

225

Fees (pupils, publishers)

Unknown

Salary (paid until his death)

600

Unexplained sum (letter from 25 June 1791)

2,000

Borrowed from Puchberg

55

Source Braunbehrens (1990, pp. 136–137) based on Jahn (1856–1859) and own elaboration Table 3.2 Mozart’s homes in Vienna 1784–1791 Date

Area: house nº

September 1784–May 1787

City: Grosse Schulerstrasse nº 846 450 “Carmesinahaus”

Annual rent (in florins)

May 1787–December 1787

Suburban: Landstrasse, nº 224

200

December 1787–June 1788

City: Nº 281 “Zum Mohren”

230–250

June 1788–January 1789

Suburban: Alstergrund nº 135 “Zu den drei Sternen”

250

January 1789–September 1790

City: Nº 245 “Zum St. Nikolaus”

September 1790–December 1791 City: Rauhensteingasse nº 970 “Kleines Kaiserhaus”

300–400 330–420

Source own elaboration from Lorenz (2010) and Wolff (2012, p. 85). In those cases, in which it is not clear which of the flats for rent in a house was the one chosen by the Mozart family, the range of prices is shown

wish to keep a certain standard of living (spacious flats which, among other things, could bear his expensive billiard table, a stable, etcetera). Thus, unlike what he had claimed in one of his letters to Puchberg, when Mozarts moved to the Alsergrung— in the outskirts of the capital—they had by no means downgraded their living, but merely maintained the housing space at their disposal. As Lorenz (2010) has proven documentarily, Mozart did in fact rent the biggest apartment in the house, the socalled Gartenwohnung.21 Hence, the switch did not affect his musical productivity, as the house in the Alsergrund saw the composition of Cosí fan tutte and of his three last symphonies. And their last flat—now again in the city (for details on this home, 21

It consisted of seven rooms a kitchen, cellar, a firewood vault (totaling around 198 m2 ), a stable for two horses, one carriage shed and the garden (Lorenz 2010).

58

T. Baumert

see Evertz and Evertz 1980)—was 145 m2 big and included a stable for the horse which Mozart only sold (for 63 fl.) two months before his own death. Figure 3.1 presents together the presumable earnings by Mozart during his Viennese years (1781–1791), the rent he paid from 1784 onwards and the money he borrowed from Puchberg and Hofdemel starting in 1788. Although the income series presents important oscillations—it has to be kept in mind that our sources are incomplete and, to a certain degree speculative—the linear tendency shows a positive slope, hence indicating that it grew steadily over the period studied. However, if we take a look at the two-period moving average, we observe two downward periods: from 1784 to 1786 and from 1787 to 1789, the latter coinciding with the famous beggar letters to Puchberg. The reason behind this diminished income—which Mozart had not foreseen, for which he had not set any savings aside and which initially he believed to be able to compensate with supplementary earnings (which he heavily overestimated)—might be manyfold, but at least four may be pointed out. Firstly, the overall development of the Austrian economy experienced a severe downturn between 1787 and 1790. The Turkish declaration of war to Russia forced Joseph II out of duty to assist Tsar Katharina. This decision resulted in a strong rise of public deficit, the levying of a heavy war tax—besides other fiscal burdens—and an uncontrolled inflation. People would not be able to afford piano classes or to attend concerts, theatres would not programme any operas and Mozart would have suddenly to live alone on his income as court musician, by far not enough money to cover his fixed costs. For instance, in 1788 Mozart had to announce the postponement of the publicacion of his three quintets to the following year,as too few people had signed the original subscription. But then again, that lack of interest from the public might have been due not only to the war, as over the same period Haydn continued selling splendidly, cashing in 75 for each symphony (Baur 2014, pp. 304–305). Mozart's finances 1781-1791 4000 3500 3000 2500 2000 1500 1000 500 0 1781

1782

1783

1784

1785

1786

1787

Income

Money borrowed

Linear (Income)

2 per. Mov. Avg. (Income)

1788

1789

1790

1791

Rent

Fig. 3.1 Mozart’s finances from 1781 to 1791 (Source own elaboration from the sources mentioned in the text)

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

59

Hence a second element to be considered is that the Viennese, who still regarded Mozart mainly as an extraordinary performer rather than as a gifted composer, might have become a little bit bored of him. His permanent residence in the capital might have resulted in a certain overexposure, while the playing style of Muzio Clementi (with a comparatively “harder” stroke) became more fashionable. The severe decline of Mozart’s popularity in the second half of 1780—which followed the previous “hype” that culminated in at least nine concerts given in 1785—waned rapidly, with not a single appearance as a soloist between 1788 and 1790. And Mozart’s attempt to mount a series of concerts in 1789 failed miserably (Steptoe 1984, p. 198) and the invitation to travel to England from December 1790 to July 1791, together with the commission of two new operas for 300 £, extended by the Italian Opera of London, arrived too late as to become a realistic option (Haydn would accept it). Sadly enough, Mozart did not receive the proposal in time, because he was on a musical journey through Europe, seeking not only the commission of new works, but also to (re)open new markets which were less saturated for him as a performer.22 In the years when Mozart appears to have been in financial trouble he suffered a sharp drop in the number of his concert appearances, which may well be, to some extend, attributable to the dispersion of the court and the fall in demand resulting from the war. There may also have been a general drop in Mozart’s popularity caused, perhaps, by overexposure on Viennese concert stage, as Steptoe [1984] proposes. Certainly Mozart undertook several onerous trips between 1785 and 1791, possible to duplicate his Viennese success in other cities, Unfortunately, they seem to have been only mildly remunerative if at all. (Baumol and Baumol 1994, p. 185)

The third factor to be highlighted is the rise in medical costs and cures that Mozart’s wife, Constanze, required at the time, although the estimation of their amounts varies greatly between authors. A fourth—albeit controversial—reason, first stated in Kraemer (1976), rebutted by Bär (1978) but since then increasingly considered in the literature (so, for example, in Baur 2016), is that Mozart’s might have squandered (occasionally large) sums of money at the billiard and gambling table, which would explain his repeated request for short-term loans. This “vice” would have been later concealed by Conztanze through a shrewd suppression of undesirable material (Steptoe 1984, p. 196). Despite its attractiveness, and the fact that there might be some arguments to support this thesis, it has so far not been possible to find any proof of Mozart losing large sums of money playing billiard or the card game “Pharao” (Bauer 2009, p. 21), although we consider it a plausible option. To which extent—if at all—financial crises might have been worsened in Mozart’s case by gambling debts, or if, on the contrary he might have started gambling more fiercely in an attempt to compensate his financial shortcomings, thus worsening his situation, must, for the moment, remain the mere object of speculation. But we do know that the situation did affect negatively his mood, with increasing periods of melancholy and even depression. And we can say for sure that, after the death of

22

In Berlin alone, for example, he obtained earnings of 785 fl. (Braunbehrens 1990, p. 331).

60

T. Baumert

Joseph II and the end of the war, the general economic situation recovered quickly, as did Mozart’s finances, his income reaching the peak of the series in 1791. What were then the reasons for Mozart’s urgent need for money (even though the role of the Bettelbriefe should not be exaggerated, and should not mislead us to think of a “nearly starving Mozart”)? Fig. 3.1 shows no apparent need for them except if abnormal costs—such as the medical costs for Costanze which, however, are considered now to have been much lower than historically assumed—had surged. Another hypothesis is the already mentioned one of possible gambing debts. It would be supported by the fact that those Baur (2014, p. 267) had to be paid in time—for not doing so was considered a social discredit, something that Mozart (as we have seen) always keen to keep up socially, could by no means allow—23 asking for a loan might be the “lesser evil”; and it might also account—due to a “lucky series”?—for the unexplained income of 2,000 fl. recorded by Mozart in 1791. However, we believe that this hypothesis does not contradict—and, in fact is perfectly compatible—with the political and macroeconomic causes behind Mozart’s financial distress in 1788– 1789 already pointed out, as it might have been the reason that (given the case) might have pushed him towards the billiard and gambling tables.24 Whatsoever, Fig. 3.1 shows that after the critical years 1788–1790, Mozart’s economic situation drastically bettered: in 1791—the war with the Turks had ended and the nobility had returned to Vienna; Constance needed no more cures; Mozart hit a big success with the singspiel Die Zauberflöte, received the commission of (and first payment for) a Requiem (Wolff 1991), got an important money transfer of unknown origin and had hag been given the promise of the Hungarian nobility of a yearly pension of 1,000 fl. and an even higher one from Amsterdam (Wolff 2012, p. 325)—his income skyrocket25 (see Table 3.1), putting an end to the chronical cash-shortage he had suffered the previous years. Hence, he could afford sending his oldest son Karl Thomas to the most expensive boarding school in Vienna, which cost 400 fl. And, also in 1791, he even got another appointment—though an unremunerated one—as assistant of the Kapellmeister at Saint Stephan’s Cathedral (Wolff 2012, p. 135).26 Mozart’s money problems were solved, and his future seemed brighter than ever—but then his health worsened quickly and after a short illness Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart died on 5 December 1791, taking with him all the music “ready composed, just not yet written” (ibid. 159) which he had already registered in the 23

In his letter to Puchberg, although he adduces that he needs the money to pay Constance’s medical bills, he also stresses that he has to settle his depts by the first of the year “unless I wish to lose my good name”. 24 Although it has also to be noted that Mozart was an excellent billiard player. 25 Our estimation for 1791 is notably higher than the one presented by Baumol and Baumol (1994, p. 194) based on the (quite conservative) date by Moore (1989). In this sense it also contradicts Steptoe’s (1984, p. 198) affirmation stating the unlikeliness “that Mozart’s funds ever returned to the heady levels of his virtuoso period”. 26 It cannot be ruled out that the appointment was thought as a mean to prepare him to become Hoffmann’s successor (who at the time earned a salary of 2,000 fl.). See for this Wolff (2012, p. 135).

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

61

catalogue of his works (which—significantly unlike his budget book—he had kept metoculously). As Mozart himself had stated (see the quote that opens this chapter), “after good health, money is the most important thing to have!”—He turned out to be right. Mozart’s funeral took place in the early afternoon of that same day in the Holy Cross Chapel of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, after which he was buried in St. Marx Cemetery according to the law (i.e., by no means in a pauper grave, but a third-class funeral, just as 99% of the Vienna population during the time, which cost 8.56 fl. plus 3 kr. for the cart). His estate recorded 60 fl. in cash, 800 fl. owed to Mozart—he was generous in borrowing money, out of those 800 fl., 500 fl. were listed as being without recourse—and 918 fl. of debts. In total, Mozart’s estate consisted of 592 fl. and debts that amounted to 1473 fl.—but, this information is only of relative value as, according to the custom, it is likely to have been undervalued to reduce taxes (Braunbehrens 1990, pp. 424–425; Caeyers 2015, p. 720). A few days later, on 10 December 1791, the exequies for Mozart were held at St. Michael—the parish church of the court and the Tonkünstler Sozietät—the by then completed parts of the Requiem were performed for the first time (Wolff 2012, p. 43) very likely conducted by Saliery. Finally, not only fame—his demand to publish his works skyrocketed immediately after his death—but also wealth would come to Mozart, although the sole beneficiary of the latter would be his widow, Constanze, who also managed to gain a pension from the emperor. She survived the composer for more than a half-century, leaving “upon her death in 1842 […] her two sons a major fortune of 30,000 fl. in cash, bonds and savings accounts—all based on earnings from Mozart’s music” (Wolff 2012, p. 8).27

Haydn’s and Mozart’s Friendship If during Mozart’s lifetime Haydn seems to have been the “giving” part in their relation—it should be remembered that he nearly doubled the latter’s age—, after Mozart’s death, Haydn increasingly turned from being the latter’s “master” to his “follower” (Jacob, 1954, p. 167). “Believe me” he told the British music critic Burnay [after Mozart’s death] “I am nothing compared to Mozart” (ibid.)

Also Haydn wrote to Constanze offering her to give musical instruction to her son when he reached the appropriate age, and later really fulfilled his promise. We do not know when exactly Haydn and Mozart met for the first time, and although it is possible that they may have crossed paths in Vienna during the 1770s 27

That Constanze was not especially careful about Mozart memorabilia is shown by the fact that when her former husband’s death mask—the only existing copy—broke in a few pieces while dusting it off, instead of trying to kit it she simply threw it away (Massin and Massin, 1970).

62

T. Baumert

(see Brown, 1992), it seems more likely that their first formal meeting might have taken place in the 1780s, once Mozart had taken permanent residence in the Austrian capital (Stapert 2014, p. 146).28 But then we know that not only did their paths cross frequently, but that they even played music together, admired each other— although young Mozart was critical about Haydn—, considered themselves friends— addressing each other by “Du”—and even, to some extent, mutually influenced their music (see Schmidt and Sanders 1956). The Irish singer Michael Kelly recalls having assisted in a chamber concert in which Haydn had played the first violin and Mozart the viola, a fact corroborated by the musician Maximilan Stadler. Also famous—although its veracity is sometimes doubted—is the anecdote told by Niemetschek (1798: 69): At a private party a new work of Joseph Haydn was being performed. Besides Mozart there were a number of other musicians present, among them a certain man who was never known to praise anyone but himself. He was standing next to Mozart and found fault with one thing after another. For a while Mozart listened patiently; when he could bear it no longer and the fault-finder once more conceitedly declared: “I would not have done that”, Mozart retorted: “Neither would I, but do you know why?” Because neither of us could have thought of anything so appropriate.

Mozart dedicated a set of six string quartets (now known as “Haydn quartets” to Haydn, an unlike exception to the general custom of dedicating compositions to wealthy nobiliary patrons.29 The dedication reads: A father who had decided to send his sons out into the great world thought it his duty to entrust them to the protection and guidance of a man who was very celebrated at the time, and who happened moreover to be his best friend. In the same way I send my six sons to you. Please, then, receive them kindly and be to them a father, guide, and friend! ... I entreat you, however, to be indulgent to those faults which may have escaped a father’s partial eye, and in spite of them, to continue your generous friendship towards one who so highly appreciates it.

Haydn in turn was so impressed with Mozart’s work that, when meeting Leopold Mozart on 12 February 1785 he assured him that: Before God and as an honest man I tell you that your son is the greatest composer known to me either in person or by name; he has taste, and, furthermore, the most profound knowledge of composition.

Another common ground for potential meetings would have been the Freemason logia “Zur wahren Eintracht” which Mozart joined on 14 December 1784 after which, it seems, he persuaded Haydn to follow his example, although it is not clear whether other Viennese acquaintances may have also prompted his interest in it. Actually, Haydn’s initiation ceremony was scheduled for 28 January—Mozart would have 28

The author actually gives two possible dates for it: either the concerts of the 22nd and 23rd of December, in which music of both composers was featured or perhaps at the performances on March 28 and 30 of Haydn’s Il ritorno de Tobia. 29 This did not refrain Mozart for asking his publisher 50 louis d’or for the right to publish them. In this sense, the dedication to Haydn does not have seem to be a worse choice in terms of price-pushing than one to a count or prince!

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

63

been present to welcome Haydn after the ritual of taking off his blindfold—but had to be postponed by one week because the letter of notification had arrived too late in Eszterháza. Unfortunately, this meant that Mozart could not attend the ceremony, as that day (1 February) Mozart had to pick up his father who had travelled to Vienna to attend his son’s concert that evening.30 But likely the most significant proof of their friendship and true admiration— and, thus, of any absence of rivalry between them—is the answer that Haydn sent to Prague after having received the commission offer for an opera in 1787 (quoted in Irmen, 2007, pp. 197–198). You ask me for an opera buffa: I would be happy to it, if you would like to have something of my song composition for yourself. But in this case, I can never have it performed it at the theatre in Prague [...] in which the great Mozart can hardly have anyone else at his side. For I could imprint Mozart’s inimitable works on the soul of every music lover, especially the great ones, as deeply and with such musical understanding, with such great feeling, as I understand and feel them. Nations should compete to possess such a jewel within their walls. Prague shall hold the dear man fast—but also reward him [properly]. For without this, the history of great geniuses is sad, and gives little encouragement to posterity to strive further [...] I am angry that Mozart has not yet been engaged by an imperial or royal court. Forgive me if I get off track: I am [simply] too fond of the man.

Haydn After Mozart As already stated, Haydn was on his first trip to London—which lasted from January 1791 to July 1792—when Mozart died. The reason for this trip laid in another death which had occurred the year before, namely that of Haydn’s employer, Prince Nikolaus. He was succeeded by his son Anton, and the new Prince Eszterházy sought to economise by dismissing most of the court musicians (a trend that had already been observed in other courts). Hence, although Haydn retained a nominal appointment with Anton, at a reduced salary of 400 fl.—while keeping his 1000 fl. pension from Nikolaus—there was really little work to do for him. Thus, his new employer showed his willingness to let him travel, and the composer accepted a lucrative offer from Johann Peter Salomon, a German violinist and impresario, to visit England and conduct new symphonies with a large orchestra there (on the London symphonies, see Ulm 2007). Due to the positive resonance and the huge economic success of this first stay in the United Kingdom, Haydn would do a second stay from January 1794 to 1795. It has to be observed, that at the time of his first arrival in London, Haydn was already a well-known figure all over Europe—actually, it seems secure to say that he was the most renowned one—as hardly a concert in London did not feature one of his works. Thus, it does not wonder that the masses flocked to his concerts, increasing even more his fame. The financial result of both his journeys was certainly impressive (especially if compared with Mozart’s “foreign activities”): a net profit of at least 15,000 fl. gave him the economic freedom he had always longed for. 30

Although Mozart remained an enthusiastic Mason, Haydn did not; in fact, there is no evidence that he ever attended a meeting after his admittance ceremony.

64

T. Baumert

Two years later, in 1797, he moved to his two-story house in Wien-Gumpendorf, on the outskirts of the capital, where he would live until his death in 1809.31 In 1800, after 40 years of unhappy marriage, Haydn’s wife died—now his freedom was complete—and he decided not to marry again. Those nearly two last decades of his life would see the composition and premiere of some of his most outstanding works, such as the twelve London symphonies—in 1805 he rejected the offer of Count Fries to write another one for the tempting sum of 400 fl.—, a set of Lieder (which he sold for 500 fl. to Count Browne-Camus and then again to the editor Breitkopf for 400 fl.),32 six masses, the musical meditation The seven last words of Christ—a commission by the Oratorio de la Santa Cueva in Cádiz (Spain),33 —and the oratoria Die Schöpfung and Die Jahreszeiten. The former, for which he used to work 16 h per day, was completed in April 1798, earning Haydn 500 fl. (plus a box filled with an additional 100 ducats (i.e., 450 fl.) from Count Schwarzenberg. After a private premiere, it was first performed for the public on 19 March 1799 and resulted in an outstanding success, allowing Haydn to cash in 4,088 fl.—the highest proceeds ever made by the Hoftheater! Thus, Haydn decided to sell the complete score on a subscription basis, resulting in a total of 87 subscribers at a price of 3 ducats, plus additional subscriptions from Russia at a price of 20 rubbles (Feder 1999, pp. 152– 153). The net benefit for Haydn was ca. 2,000 ducats (≈9,000 fl.). Later he sold the Schöpfung-score to Breitkopf for 4500 fl. for an “ordinary” edition which was published in 1800 and sold over 800 copies in the first year. The premiere of the Schöpfung in Paris was also a success, so that the musicians had a gold medal minted with Haydn’s profile and sent to him: the gold it contained was worth 50 ducats. Only the premiere of the work in London was less extraordinary, as the Britons did not seem to be very enthusiastic about somebody picking up Händel’s position as a composer of oratorio (on Haydn and Händel see Larsen 1982). Similarly, the oratorio Die Jahreszeiten, although less successful than Die Schöpfung, brought in 3,983 fl. through ticket sales, including a donation of 475 fl. by the imperial couple (Irmen 2007, pp. 270–271). All three mentioned works, The seven last words of Christ, Die Schöpfung and Die Jahreszeiten were also performed many times (often conducted by Haydn himself) in order to collect funds for the social work carried out by the Tonkünstler-Societät (at the time the only private organisation to offering concerts in Vienna34 : the money thus generated by Haydn for the widows and orphans of the society’s members summed

31

Although for years he would keep a rented room in the city of Vienna so that he could spend thet night there instead of having to travel back to Gumpendorf at night. Curiously a room which also Costanze Mozart would live in for a short period after her husband’s death. 32 Haydn sent a copy of the printed Lieder to the Zarin of Russia and got an expensive diamond ring from her in exchange. 33 For details, see Muti (2020). 34 Curiously, Mozart had wanted to become a member of the society, but his petition was not fulfilled because he never submitted his birth certificate as required from all members.

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

65

up to the astonishing figure of 35,530 fl. (ibid.)! No wonder that the organisation later renamed itself after Haydn.35 The last years of Haydn’s life were quiet: he lived a certain distance from the city centre; his illness did not allow him to compose or play the piano for more than some minutes, and he felt the pain of continuously imagining new music which he could not write down (Irmen 2007, pp. 278ff). This may explain why in 1805 the false news of his death spread through French media: up to the point that a Requiem for his memory was performed in Paris (Ulm 2007, p. 209). On 26 May36 Haydn played his Emperor’s Hymn thrice with enjoyment. That very same evening he collapsed and was taken to what proved to be his deathbed, where he passed away peacefully on 31 May 1809. On 15 June, the memorial service for Haydn was held in the Schottenkirche at which the (in the meantime “completed”) Mozart Requiem—for which Wolfgang had reached out to motifs by Händel and Michael Haydn, with heavy reminiscences of Bach (Sopeña 1945, p. 65; on Mozart and Bach see also note 7 in the following chapter)—was performed under the baton of Mozart’s pupil Joseph Eybler, by then the Viennese court kapellmeister (Wolff 2012, note 91). Hence, the same music sounded during both our composer’s funerals.

Concluding Remarks The detailed comparison of the incomes of Haydn and Mozart is not easy, due to the lack of information—loss of Mozart’s budget book—and of a certain mythification of Mozart as an unrecognised genius who died in poverty, an image spilled by generalist media and movies. Despite some recent serious attempts aimed to enlighten Mozart’s real income, the resulting image is still very incomplete (unlikely the case of Haydn), probably as a mere reflection of Mozart’s own unconventional lifestyle which relied more on ad-hoc works than on a regular income basis and his permanent wish to live up to the life-standard of his wealthy friends and acquaintances, must have certainly been a strain on his budget (Baumel and Baumol 1994, p. 190). Yet, we hope to have been able to prove that the available data, despite their many limitations, does allow us to conclude for sure, that Mozart’s income had to be considered on average comparatively quite high, especially during his Viennese years. Occasionally, he would earn more than twenty times an average salary of a musician at the court37 (400 fl. vs the more than 8,000 cashed in by Mozart)—a disparity that “under the 35 Haydn also allowed Die Schöpfung to be represented in and outside Vienna for other charitable purposes, always with great success (see Feder, 1999, pp. 161–165). 36 Earlier that month Napoleon’s troops had besieged and bombed Vienna, which fell to the French troops on 13 May. Haydn, was, however, deeply moved and appreciative when on 17 May a French cavalry officer named Sulémy came to pay his respects and sang, skillfully, an aria from The Creation. 37 Excluding the top-end singers.

66

T. Baumert

circumstances of the eighteenth century has to be considered irritating” (Lütteken 2017, p. 103). The extraordinariness of this situation seems to have influenced very specifically his personal lifestyle. […] Mozart’s way of life was very sophisticated, expensive and, taking advantage of the existing class permeability, oriented towards representation. […] Mozart’s love for elegant clothing and for a luxurious lifestyle can be truly evidenced and results out of self-determined special social condition. (Lütteken 2017, p. 104)

A similar result is reached by Wolff (2012, pp. 3–4) when concluding that despite being one of the best-paid musicians if the late eighteenth century [Mozart] was living well beyond his means by leading an almost aristocratic style, and that he was handling his financial affairs irresponsibly at best.

And Mozart’s scheme seemed to work—until 1788, when his financial situation worsened so dramatically that he had to beg his friends for money (the famous Bettelbriefe) and accept low-quality commissions to cover his fixed costs and pay for his debts. The reasons for this drastic change in Mozart’s financial situation have occupied scholars for decades and are still a question of ongoing debate. However, as an economist, one feels inclined to highlight the importance of “business cycles”: Mozart’s household economy had simply not foreseen the severe income decline during the war years, a situation that pushed him towards melancholy and periods of depression. At the time of his death, he was—after the premieres of his operas in Prague and the success of the Zauberflöte—, by no means poor even though he might have still been struggling to pay off some debts. But mainly as a matter of a periodic cash shortage. A completely different situation is that of Haydn. Never burdened by the Wunderkind syndrome and having known the effects of poverty in his own youth, Haydn was always careful not only in trying to maximise his income, but also in very much controlling his expenditures. This allowed him soon to have savings which, for example, allowed him to overcome the 1788 crisis—unlike Mozart, whose mind, it seems, was never crossed by the idea of saving yet investing money, despite his contacts to important Austrian bankers—without major problems. And he also proved to be a more realistic deal-maker both with the music impresarios and publishers. He did not hesitate in combining several ways of publishing his scores (subscription, regular editions and piano reductions) to maximise his input—and, at the same time, also his reputation—and, after having gained a financial cushion as a result of his two stays in London, he focused on (for him) new musical genres such as the two oratoria Die Schöpfung and Die Jahreszeiten, which not only reported him additional high incomes but also spread and consolidated his fame even wider throughout Europe. Haydn died as one of the wealthiest composers up to that moment, who despite his success, had always been fond of contributing his compositions to the benefit of the Tonkünstler-Societät, thus demonstrating his high social responsibility. ∗ ∗ ∗

3 Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A Collusive Friendship

67

At Haydn’s funeral mass Mozart’s Requiem was played, just as had been the case in the composer’s own memorial service. A common final for two lives which could have hardly been more different in their trajectories and outcome—yet from there on, were to be equal again.

References Albert, Hermann. 1978. W. A. Mozart: Neubearbeitete und erweiterte Ausgabe von Otto Jahns Mozart (2 vols). Leipzig. Bär, Carl. 1978. ‘Er war kein guter Wirth’: Eine Studie über Mozarts Verhältnis zum Geld. Acta Mozartiana 1978: 30–53. Baresel, Alfred. 1953. Joseph Haydn. Leben und Werk. Hamburg: Sikorski. Baumol, William J. and Hilda Baumol. 1994. On the Economics of Musical Composition in Mozart’s Vienna. Journal of Cultural Economics 18: 171–198. Baur, Eva Gesine. 2014. Mozart—Genius und Eros. München: C. H. Beck. Bauer, Günther G. 2009. Mozart. Geld, Ruhm und Ehre. Bad Honnef: K. H. Bock. Braunbehrens, Volkmar. 1990. Mozart in Vienna 1781–1791. London: Andre Deutsch. Brenet, Michel [i.e. Marie Bobilier]. 1909. Haydn. Paris. Brown, A. Peter. 1992. Haydn and Mozart’s 1773 Stay in Vienna: Weeding a Musicological Garden. The Journal of Musicology 10 (2): 192–230. Caeyers, Jan. 2015. Beethoven. Der einsame Revolutionär. München: C. H. Beck. Carpani, Giuseppe Antonio. 1812. La Haydine overo Letterer sulla vita e le opere del celebre maestro Giuseppe Haydn. Milano. Carr, Francis. 1983. Mozart and Constanze. John Murray. Dies, A. C. 1810. Biographische Nachrichten von Joseph Haydn. Wien [Haydn: Two Contemporary Portraits]. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press. Eibl, Joseph Heinz. 1977. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Chronik eines Lebens. München: dtv. Einstein, Alfred. 1945. Mozart: His Character. His Work. London: OUP. Evertz, Leonhard, and Marianne Evertz. 1980. Mozarts Sterbehaus. Seine letzte Wohnung: eine soziologische Betrachtung. Aachen: Evertz. Feder, Georg. 1999. Joseph Haydn. Die Schöpfung. Kassel: Bärenreiter. Geiringer, Karl. 1982. Haydn: A Creative Life in Music. Berkeley: University of California Press. Griesinger, G. A. 1810. Biographische Notizen über Joseph Haydn. Leipzig [Haydn: Two Contemporary Portraits]. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press. Haydn, Joseph. 1965. Gesammelte Briefe und Aufzeichnungen. Edited by Dénes Bartha using source material from the collection of H. C. Robbins Landond. Kassel et al. Heartz, Daniel. 1995. Haydn, Mozart and the Viennese School: 1740–1780. New York: W.W. Norton. Hildesheimer, Wolfgang. 1977. Mozart. Frankfurt am Main [English translation, New York, 1982]. Huss, Manfred. 1984. Joseph Haydn—Klassiker zwischen Barock und Biedermeier. Eisenstadt: Edition Roetzer. Irmen, Hans-Josef. 2007. Joseph Haydn—Leben und Werk. Köln, Weimar, Wien: Böhlau. Jacob, Heinrich Eduard. 1954. Haydn—Seine Kunst, seine Zeit, sein Ruhm. Hamburg: Christian Wegner Verlag. Jahn, Otto. 1856–1859. Mozart (4 volumes). Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel. Knispel, Claudia Maria. 2003. Joseph Haydn. Reinbek. Koch, Jacob Johannes. 2009. Heiliger Haydn? Der Begründer der Wiener Klassik und seine Religiosität. Kevelaer: Butzon und Bercker. Korinek, Karl. 2009. Joseph Haydn: Erneuerung und Vollendung. Wien: Manz. Kraemer, Uwe. 1976. Wer hat Mozart verhungern lassen? Musica 30 (3): 203–211.

68

T. Baumert

Landon, H. C. Robbins. 1976–1980. Haydn: Chronicle and Works, 5 vols. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Landon, H. C. Robbins and Jones, David Wyn. 1988. Joseph Haydn. His Life and Music. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Landon. 1988. Mozart’s Last Year. London: Thames & Hudson. Larsen, Jens Peter. 1982. Händel und Haydn. Händel Jahrbuch 28: 93–98. Lorenz, Michael. 2010. Mozart’s Apartment on the Alsergrund. Newsletter of the Mozart Society of Amerika 14: 4–9. Lorenz, Michael. 2012. Günther G. Bauer: Mozart. Geld, Ruhm und Ehre. [Book Review]. Michael Lorenz: Günther G. Bauer: Mozart. Geld, Ruhm und Ehre (michaelorenz.at) Lütteken, Laurenz. 2017. Mozart—Leben und Musik im Zeitalter der Aufklärung. München: C. H. Beck. Marggraf, Wolfgang. 1990. Joseph Haydn. Versuch einer Annäherung. Leipzig: Reclam. Massin, Jean and Brigitte Massin. 1970. Mozart. Biographie, histoire des oeuvres, catalogues. Paris: Fayard. Mathew, Nicholas. 2022. The Haydn Economy. Music, Aesthetics, and Commerce in the Late Eighteenth Century. Chicago & London: Chicago University Press. Mayer, Anton. 2008. Joseph Haydn. Das Genie und seine Zeit. Wien: Amalthea Signum. Moore, Julia. 1989. Mozart in the marketplace. Journal of the Royal Musical Association 114: 18–42. Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus. 1962–1975. Briefe und Aufzeichnungen, 7 vols. Complete edition by Wilhelm Bauer, Otto Erich Deutsch and Joseph Eibl. Salzburg: Stiftung Mozarteum. Muti, Riccardo. 2020. Le sette parole di Cristo. Bologna: il Mulino. Niemetschek, Franz Xaver. 1798. Leben des k. k. Kapellmeisters Wolfgang Gottlieb Mozart. Nissen, Georg Nikolaus von. 1828. Biographie W. A. Mozarts. Herausgegeben von Constanze, Witwe von Nissen, früher Witwe Mozart. Paumgartner, Bernhard. 1927. Mozart. Zürich. Wegweiser. Rosen, Charles. 1972. The Classical Style: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven. New York: W. W. Norton. Sadie, Stankey. 2006. Mozart—The early years 1756–1781. New York and London. Scherer, Frederic M. 2004. Quarter Notes and Bank Notes: The Economics of Music Compostition in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Schenk, Erich. 1977. Mozart. Eine Biographie. Mainz: Piper. Schmidt, Ernst Fritz, and Ernest Sanders. 1956. Mozart and Haydn. The Musical Quarterly 42 (2): 145–161. Schmidt, Leopold. 1898. Haydn. Berlin: Harmonie. Schurig, Arthur. 1923. Wolfgang Amadé Mozart. Sein Leben, seine Persönlichkeit, sein Werk, 2 vols. Leipzig. Solomon, Maynard. 1995. Mozart. New York: Harper Collins. Sopeña, Federico. 1945. Ensayos musicales. Madrid: Editora Nacional. Stapert, Calvin R. 2014. Playing Before the Lord, The Life and Work of Joseph Haydn. Rapid Falls & Cambridge: W.B. Eerdmans. Steptoe, Andrew. 1984. Mozart and Poverty: A Re-Examination of the Evidence. The Musical times 125: 196–201. Swafford, Jan. 2020. Mozart. The Reign of Love. New York: Harper. Till, Nicholas. 1973. Mozart and the Enlightment. New York: W. W. Norton. Tyler, Steven. 2011. Does the Noise in My Head Bother You? London: Harper Collins. Ulm, Renate. 2007. Haydns Londoner Symphonien. Entstehung, Deutung, Wirkung. München und Kassel: dtv & Bärenreiter. Vignal, Marc. 1988. Joseph Haydn. Paris: Seghers. Wolff, Christoph. 1991. Mozarts Requiem. München: dtv/Bärenreiter. Wolff, Christoph. 2012. Mozart at the Gateway to his Fortune: Serving the Emperor, 1788–1791. New York: W. W. Norton.

Chapter 4

Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic (Un)consciousness of the Artist Francisco Cabrillo and Thomas Baumert

Ludwig van Beethoven

F. Cabrillo · T. Baumert (B) Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_4

69

70

F. Cabrillo and T. Baumert

Franz Schubert There should exist a warehouse of art in the world, so that the artist only would have to send in their works and take anything they need; this would avoid us having to be half-merchants. Ludwig van Beethoven One must not measure the cost of the useful. Beethoven to his nephew in a discussion touching the purchase of expensive books. Beethoven (1964, p. 97) [Schubert] was an absolute child in money matters. Otto Erich Deutsch: Schubert: Memories by his friends (1958, p. 134). The State should sustain me, I was born only to compose. Franz Schubert

Introduction Thursday, 20 March 1827. Around 10,000 people—other sources speak of even 20,000—1 have gathered around the Schwarzspanierhaus, the last residence of Ludwig van Beethoven, who had passed away three days before. They wanted to render their last tribute to the man who, despite his deafness, had set the standard of modern symphonies in eight of them, just to break it up in his ninth2 ; who had 1

Although this second number might be considered exaggerated, the watercolour by F. X. Stroebl proofs that, in any case, the funeral procession was massively attended. 2 On Beethoven’s symphonies see Grove (1962) and Ulm (1994).

4 Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic …

71

created the “heroic” music style and taken all possible advantage of the pianofortes that had replaced the harpsichord; who represented the musical peak of the classic period; but also to the man well-known to Viennese for his abrupt changes of moods and eccentricities.3 When the procession reached the cemetery—the city was still partially covered with snow, as it had been a harsh winter—, the famous actor Heinrich Aushütz read the celebrated funeral speech written by Franz Grillparzer, which might be considered the start of Romanticism: We who stand here at the grave of the deceased are in a sense the representatives of an entire nation, the whole German people, come to mourn the passing of one celebrated half of that which remained to us from the vanished brilliance of the fatherland. The hero of poetry in the German language and tongue [Goethe] still lives—and long may he live. But the last master of resounding song, the gracious mouth by which music spoke, the man who inherited and increased the immortal fame of Handel and Bach, of Haydn and Mozart, has ceased to be; and we stand weeping over the broken strings of an instrument now stilled. […] And you who have followed his escort to this place, hold your sorrow in sway. You have not lost him but won him. No living man enters the halls of immortality. The body must die before the gates are opened. He whom you mourn is now among the greatest men of all time, unassailable forever. Return to your homes, then, distressed but composed. And whenever, during your lives, the power of his works overwhelms you like a coming storm; when your rapture pours out in the midst of a generation yet unborn; then remember this hour and think: we were there when they buried him, and when he died we wept!

Among those who in fact were there, and surely wept when he got the notice of Beethoven’s death, was the thirty-years old Franz Schubert, who, together with other musicians like Czerny and Schuppanzig, had escorted as torchbearers the master’s coffin.—Barely one year later it was to be Schubert’s epitaph which Grillparzer was to write. ∗ ∗ ∗ Curiously, the parallel lives approach followed in this book was already observed by previous authors in the case of Beethoven and Schubert,4 even though not from a financial perspective. So, in Landormy (1929, pp. 7–8) we find a text which, despite being full of clichés, is worth quoting: Two parallel lives: the great Beethoven and the little Schubert; the proud and the modest. One, the conqueror before whom all bow down, the plebs as well as the great; the other, the intimate and familiar friend of bourgeois circles, who sits furtively at the piano, at the very least begging forgiveness, resigning himself if necessary to pounding on the keyboard to make the others dance, even ending up by taking pleasure in it and achieving, in this domain as in all others of music, the most delightful improvisations. Beethoven was not unfamiliar with Schubert and famously said: “In this Schubert, there really is a divine spark”. But 3

As Caeyers, (2015, p. 662) puts it: “Since he tended to be stingy and miserly, he always had the feeling that people wanted to cheat him. […] People knew him and knew that he was absent-minded. Sometimes he left the restaurant without paying, but perhaps even more often he asked for the bill without having taken anything!” 4 It has also been used, although much more recently, in a dual biography of Verdi and Wagner (see Chapter 8).

72

F. Cabrillo and T. Baumert Schubert will not dare to approach Beethoven, whom he nevertheless admires to the point of veneration. A half-life and a short life, both ending almost at the same time, with only a year’s difference. Their works belong to the same period, but not to the same spiritual climate. Beethoven never ceases for a moment to be devoured by frenzied and disappointed passions. Schubert, absorbed in his reverie, remains aloof from all human passion. But both, though by different paths, will reach the same tragic depth, in their lives as in their art. Two parallel lives: two lives that instinctively arouse all comparisons.

In the present chapter, we will try to give the reader a more accurate and nuanced image of both composers and, especially, of their finances. A picture that, contrary to the statement made in the previous quote, might reveal less parallelisms than initially expected.

Young Beethoven Ludwig van Beethoven5 was born on 16 December 1770 in the German city of Bonn, to which his grandfather had moved from Brabant (then an Austrian Duchy) in 1733, and where he would be raised in 1761 to the position of Kapellmeister in the court of the Archbishop-Elector of Cologne. His younger son Johann—Ludwig’s father—who worked as a musician in the same court, became Ludwig’s first music teacher when the boy was aged five. However, these classes would be soon complemented with lessons by other tutors, such as Gilles van den Eeden, Tobias Friedrich Pfeiffer (keyboard), Franz Rovantini (violin and viola) and the court Kapellmeister Franz Anton Ries (violin). As Ludwig showed from early prodigious qualities as a performer, his father—inspired by the example of Mozart—decided to promote his child as Wunderkind, for which he did not hesitate to claim (on the poster that announced his first public concert in March 1778) that Ludwig was six while he was actually seven. In 1780 Beethoven began his studies with Christian Gottlob Neefe, who taught him composition and made him study the works of Händel and Bach (he would admire them all his life).6 In 1781, Beethoven gave his first concert abroad in Den Haag, from which he expected to make a lot of money. But his deception was big when he was informed of the—in his view meagre—result: 63 fl.7 (nota bene: approximately half of the yearly salary he would later receive in Bonn). Beethoven declared the Dutch to 5

Beethoven biographical details have been taken from the following sources: Marek (1972), Solomon (1977), Massin and Massin (1987), Irmen (1998), Jones (1998), Lockwood (2003), Brisson, (2004), Pichler (1994), Cooper (2000), Swafford (2015), Caeyers (2015), Clubbe (2019). For a selection of letters by Beethoven in English translation, see Beethoven (1972). 6 We share Paumgartner’s (1956, p. 83) view that Beethoven revered Bach dearly and praised him to all as an unrivalled model, yet did not experience him as directly as Mozart. 7 As in the previous chapter, for simplicity’s sake, we will consider throughout the text an equivalence of 4½ gulden (florin) = 1 ducat. This refers to gulden W.W. (Wiener Währung), i.e., Viennese florins, which kept an exchange rate of 1.2 with the Salzburg florin due to the latter lower gold content.

4 Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic …

73

be penny-pitchers and swore never to return there. Back in Bonn, in 1782, Beethoven started assisting Neefe as organist of the court chapel, first as an unpaid, and—from 1784 on—as a paid employee with a salary of 150 fl. (Massin and Massin 1987, p. 30; Caeyers 2015, p. 67).8 During his time in Bonn, Beethoven was financially supported by Count Waldstein, who became his first maecenas (in 1791, Waldstein would also commission Beethoven’s first work for the stage, the ballet Musik zu einem Ritterballett). In 1787 Beethoven made a first visit to Vienna, where it is very likely that he met Mozart, probably more than once. Contrary to what was affirmed in old biographies, his Viennese stay must have lasted notably more than two weeks. Shortly after their return to Bonn, Beethoven’s mother died, a fact that worsened his father’s alcoholism. Hence, in 1789—the year of the French Revolution—Beethoven’s father retired from the service of the Court due to his ethylic propension (which his son would later share). It was ordered that half of the father’s pension (75 fl.) be paid directly to Ludwig for support of the family (Caeyers 2015). He contributed further to the family’s income by—reluctantly—teaching and by playing viola in the court orchestra for a salary of 150 fl. After a composition blockade that lasted from 1785 to 1790, he started writing music again that year, though none of those works were published at the time. Although there is no written evidence, it seems likely that Beethoven got to first know Haydn in Bonn: either in late 1790, when the latter was travelling to London and stopped there around Christmas; or/and in July 1792, when he was on his way back from the English capital to Vienna. Whatever the true date might have been, the point is that soon arrangements were made for Beethoven to study with Haydn in the Austrian capital. As Waldstein wrote to him before his departure in a note that has become famous: You are going to Vienna in fulfilment of your long-frustrated wishes [...] With the help of assiduous labour you shall receive Mozart’s spirit from Haydn’s hands (Massin and Massin, 1987, p. 49).

Once there, and always under Haydn’s direction—whom Beethoven called affectionally “Papa Haydn”—he learned to master counterpoint, receiving occasional instruction from Antonio Salieri, who familiarised him with the “Italian style”. This relationship persisted until at least 1802 likely even longer. Beethoven also continued studying violin with Ignaz Schuppanzigh. With Haydn’s second departure for England in 1794 (see Chapter 3), Beethoven was expected by the Elector to return home to Bonn but chose instead to remain in Vienna. This turned out to be a wise decision, as Bonn would soon fall to the French troops. This meant that Beethoven lost his Bonner stipend; but he had by now made sufficient contacts and enjoyed a reputation good enough to obtain financial support from two Viennese admirers: count Lichnowsky and Gottfried van Swietten. They Also 1 gulden = 60 kreutzer. See for this the Note and the end of the Introduction to this book, as well as Baumol and Baumol (1994, pp. 191–194) and Scherer (2004, pp. 203–209). 8 In between, in 1783, Beethoven published his first works, a set of keyboard variations.

74

F. Cabrillo and T. Baumert

probably still had in mind the ignominious times Mozart had been going through just a few years earlier. In 1795 Beethoven—who had made a reputation as piano virtuoso—made his public debut in Vienna over three days, beginning with a performance of one of his own piano concertos on 29 March at the Burgtheater and ending with a Mozart concerto on 31st (Massin and Massin 1987, p. 68). Shortly after—now that he considered his fame sufficiently consolidated—Beethoven arranged the publication of his first works for piano; they sold so well that he cashed in enough money to sustain himself for a year. He then went touring to Prague, Dresden (where he received a golden tobacco box) and Leipzig—where he might have played the organ of the Thomas church on which already Bach and Mozart had performed—, Berlin (where he was rewarded with a tobacco box filled with louis d’or and Budapest). In 1800 Beethoven premiered his first symphony—a genre he would imprint his personal style up to the point of making it the new standard—in concert which, besides other of his compositions, also included works by Mozart and Haydn, thus making clear that he considered himself equal to them. Beethoven’s marketing strategy seems to have worked, as by the end of the year, Beethoven and his music were already much in demand from patrons and publishers. Hence, he received from Lichnowski between 1801 and 1806 (when he went bankrupt) an annual pension of 600 fl. Beethoven’s business affairs drastically improved in 1802, when his brother Kaspar Karl assumed the role of an agent who managed the deals with the publishers: he not only negotiated higher prices for recently composed works, but also took advantage of the high demand to sell some of his brother’s earlier, unpublished compositions. He also encouraged him to make arrangements and transcriptions of his more popular works for other instrument combinations. Beethoven—although very reluctantly—, accepted doing so once he was convinced that it was not possible to prevent publishers from hiring others to do similar arrangements of his works. This way, at least he would cash in the money. And Kaspar Karl started to deal with a new asset: the “product Beethoven”, which not only reflected the family’s “business instinct” but also revealed a certain subversive attitude against the social and artistic status quo. (cf. Caeyers 2015, pp. 277ff; cf. also Clubbe 2019).

Beethoven’s “Heroic” Period By 1801 Beethoven became fully aware that his deafness—the first symptoms of which he had detected around 1795—was not to halt (although, contrary to what is commonly believed, he never became completely deaf). Besides the psychological impact that this meant for a musician—of which he gave a detailed account in the document known as the “Heiligenstadt Testament”, which was found after his death among his papers—, it also meant a significant reorientation in his musical activity. Beethoven’s hearing loss did not prevent him from composing music, but it made playing at concerts—as we have seen an important source of income at this phase of his life—increasingly difficult. Hence, Beethoven would shift his efforts gradually

4 Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic …

75

away from performing and towards composition. But at the same time the acceptance of his deafness and his decision not to hang down, also meant of moment of artistic catharsis, giving place to what is known as Beethoven’s “heroic” period. In 1803 Schikaneder—the music impresario who had written the libretto and staged Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte—9 hired Beethoven as composer in residence at the Theater an der Wien. This position included the use of a flat in the building— although Beethoven complained that it was small and had little light—as revenue for composing one opera a year (for which he started working on Fidelio).10 But Beethoven saw another advantage in the position: it allowed him to use both the theatre and its orchestra once per year for concerts organised on his own. He took the chance and on 5 April of that same year the audience—who had to pay double for the normal seats, thrice the usual amount for the better ones and four times the usual price for the boxes—listened to a programme consisting of the Oratorio Christus am Ölberg, the Symphonies 1 and 2 and the Piano Concert nº 2 performed by Beethoven himself. The financial result was certainly spectacular: 1,800 fl., the equivalent of the annual salary of a high-ranking official (Caeyers 2015, p. 306). Beethoven would later use this same model—known as “Academy”—to premiere, among other pieces, his symphonies nº 5 and 6, the violin concert and the piano concert no 4, with varying economic outcomes. But this employment came to an end when the theatre’s management changed in 1804 (Baur, 2012, p. 353). Also in 1803, Beethoven finished his 3rd symphony, known as “Eroica” or “Bonaparte”. However, the dedication might have easily been a different one, as he had offered to dedicate it to Prince Lobkowitz for 400 fl. (see for this Geck and Schleunig 1989). Yet, as he seems to have received no reply, the dedication went to Bonaparte, which, as is well-known, he later scratched from the manuscript score, disgusted by Napoleon’s self-proclamation as emperor (ibid.).11 In late December 1807—earlier that year he had come to an agreement with Clementi for publishing his works in England—following the recommendation made by Lobkowitz, Beethoven applied for the position as director of the Royal Theatre. He demanded an annual salary of 2,400 fl. (twice as much as Salieri had been paid in the same position!), as well as the revenue of each third representation of the operas he was to compose for the theatre on a one-per-year basis. And again, he would reserve the hall and orchestra for an annual Academy concert the benefit of which would be completely of his own. Not surprisingly, Beethoven’s proposal was quickly rejected (Caeyers 2015, p. 388). In January of 1808, Beethoven received an offer from Napoleon’s brother Jérôme Bonaparte—then king of Westphalia—, to become Kapellmeister at the court in Cassel with a notable salary of 600 ducats per year (approximately 2,700 fl.), 9

For the life of Schikaneder see Baur (2012), especially chapter XII for details on his relation to Beethoven. 10 When, after several delays, Fidelio finally premiered in November 1805 the opera was nearly empty because of the French occupation of the city. 11 For political reading of Beethoven’s life and work as “subversive” or “revolutionary” see Clubbe (2019).

76

F. Cabrillo and T. Baumert

plus travel expenses, and with relatively little musical duties. The possibility that Beethoven might have accepted the offer, caused an immediate reaction of his Viennese patrons, which made him a lucrative counteroffer: an annual stipend of 4,000 fl. (1,800 fl. to be paid by Kinsky, 1,500 fl. by Archduke Rudoph—the Austrian emperor younger brother, to whom Beethoven would later give music lessons—and 700 fl. by Prince Lobkowitz) as long as he stayed working in Austria (Caeyers 2015, pp. 431ff). The sole other requirement set but the “noble alliance” of Beethoven supporters was that he was to conduct once a year a concert for charity purposes.12 Apparently, Beethoven would now enjoy a certain economic freedom—but then inflation set in. The high contributions that Austria had to pay to the French, the loss of a third of its territory (with the subsequent reduction of fiscal income), as well as the cost of repairing the war damages in Vienna, caused an inflationary spiral that, in the end, forced the Austrian government in February 1811 to declare State bankruptcy and to substitute the old paper money by a new currency worth 1/5 of the old one (ibid.). This meant that Beethoven’s stipend lost significant purchasing power: According to this, Beethoven’s pension of 4,000 fl. old currency would not be one fifth, that is, 800 fl., but 1612.9 fl. (4000 divided by 2.48—corresponding to the devaluation between the signing of the contract and the entry into force of the finance patent). Beethoven, however, raised the ingenious objection that the amount originally agreed upon had already ceased to be acceptable at the time of signing due to the rapidly progressing depreciation of the bank notes, which is why he had to receive additional compensation for the devaluation before the 1st of March 1809. In short, Beethoven wanted the agreed sum of 4,000 fl. to be paid in full in the new "Viennese currency". In an act of Christian charity, Archduke Rudolph ignored the obliqueness of this argument, increased the pension as requested and paid on time. (Caeyers 2015, p. 435)

And although negotiations with Kinsky13 and Lobkowitz went on less smoothly than with the Archduke, in the end—after six years of struggle—Beethoven received the full amount of the agreed pension regularly and on time. However, the Austrian government still needed a long time to get control over inflation—which extended until 1818, far beyond the Congress of Vienna—, thus further reducing the pension’s purchasing power.14 In 1812 Beethoven spent the summer in Karlsbad, where the famous encounter with Goethe took place.15 There Beethoven also performed, together with the Italian violin virtuoso Giovanni Battista Polledro a charity concert for the victims of the devastating fire in Baden (Vienna). Despite the ongoing war, the duo collected 1,000 fl. The defeat of France also meant that financial communication with England— which had been blocked during Napoleon’s reign—was resumed in 1813, thus 12

And even these two requirements were not fixed in the final written agreement. Kinsky died in late 1812; Lichnowski, another of Beethoven’s supporters in 1814. 14 As a curiosity: Solomon points out an annotation made by Beethoven’s hand of an expenditure of 34 kr at the “Lusthaus” [The house of lust]—yet Solomon’s (1997) interpretation of this being a proof of his promiscuity seems wrong, as said establishement, despite its name, was a well-known Viennese banqueting hall (Caeyers 2015, p. 490). 15 For details on the encounter, see, among others, Benz (1942). 13

4 Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic …

77

allowing Beethoven to receive the money from his British publishers. So for example, 200 £ from Clementi and 250 ducats from the publisher Thomson for a set of Scottish songs (Caeyers 2015, p. 517). Thomson, however, claimed that the piano arrangements made by Beethoven were too difficult to be played by an “average” pianist, asking him to rewrite the score in an easier fashion. Beethoven responded promptly, explaining that this, de facto, meant a new arrangement, which he was very willing to do—for another 250 ducats. Thomson was surprised by Beethoven’s answer and told him that he was already paying him more than the usual fee, as Haydn had “only” charged 2 ducats for the piano arrangement of a song (ibid. p. 522). But Beethoven did not change his mind: he knew that Haydn, with the help of his student Sigismund von Neukomm, had been capable of arranging eight such songs per day! Beethoven, thus, showed an—at least intuitive—economic understanding of production costs in terms of time consumption and of opportunity costs. In 1814 Beethoven organised another two “Academy” concerts on whose economic output, unfortunately, no information has been preserved. However, if we bear in mind the result obtained by the one of 1803, they might have been significant, although probably less so than the first. At that time, Beethoven’s expenditures seem to have been reduced to a few basic necessities: the rent of his flat, wine and books (he owned works by Homer, Ovid, Pliny, Plutarch, Shakespeare, Schiller, Kant, Herder, etcetera)—and not necessarily in that order (Caeyers 2015, p. 585). But then the musical taste in Vienna began to change. In 1816 Rossini premiered on the Austrian capital his Tancredi, which was received with extraordinary success by the public.16 And the resident composers saw their former position of advantage challenged by the Italian opera-composers, just as had occurred with Mozart as piano virtuoso when the Viennese got tired of him, preferring the Italian playing style of Clementi17 : Beethoven and Schubert had to experience that the musical tastes and expectations of the Viennese public were far removed from their own. And even foreign composers of the calibre of Berlioz, Mendelssohn-Bartholdy or Schumann were later unable to really establish themselves in Vienna. The Italians fared quite differently: Rossini, but also Bellini and Donizetti, especially Gioachino Rossini’s music won the hearts of the Viennese. (Caeyers 2015, p. 598)18

16

Some years later, in April 1822, Rossini visited Vienna for the first time, where he was received with great enthusiasm. A few days after his arrival, the publisher Dominico Artaria took him to Beethoven’s house to meet him. According to the sources, although the German knew that the young man was overshadowing him, he received him with joy and cordiality, and although he was unable to hear anything Rossini said, he congratulated him on The Barber of Seville and assured him that as long as Italian opera existed, it would continue to be performed. Also, after skimming through some of his serious operas, he told him not to try to write anything other than opera buffa, as any other style would be against his nature. At the end of that meeting, Rossini left Beethoven’s house deeply moved. He would later say: “Beethoven is a giant who sometimes punches one in the side, whereas Mozart is always to be admired”. 17 See Chapter 3 in this book. 18 See for this Chapters 5 And 6 in this book.

78

F. Cabrillo and T. Baumert

Beethoven reacted to this change in the public gusto by looking towards London. The Philharmonic Society had invited him to spend the season 1817/1818 in the English capital, where he would be paid 315£ (≈3,000 fl.) for composing and premiering two “grand symphonies” (giving him complete freedom regarding later representations abroad and publishing rights). And although Beethoven seriously weighed this offer, he finally rejected it due to the clause agreed with the Archduke and his friends according to which (unlike had been the case of Haydn, see Chapter 3) he would only continue to perceive his stipend while he worked in Austrian territories. Beethoven future would continue to be in Vienna. In the summer of that same year (1818), Schubert started working as a music teacher in the court of Eszterháza, where Haydn had developed his carreer as Kapellmeister.

Young Schubert Franz Schubert19 was born in Vienna on 31 January 1797 as the twelfth child (two more were to follow, although only five would reach adult age) of Franz Theodor Florian Schubert—a parish schoolteacher—and Maria Elisabeth Katharina Vietz. From a very early age on, Schubert received violin and piano classes at home (respectively from his father and from his brother Ignatz).20 At age eight, Schubert was given his first lessons outside the family by Michael Holzer, organist and choirmaster of the local parish church in Lichtental. But as his musical talent became evident, he soon moved on to receive classes in composition and music theory by Antonio Salieri, then Vienna’s leading musical authority, who had also trained Beethoven. The Italian had first taken notice of Franz’s talent as a vocalist in 1804 and would continue training him until 1817, when Schubert was 20 years old. In between (starting in November 1808) Schubert’s vocal talent allowed him to become a pupil at the Stadtkonvikt (Imperial Seminary) through a choir scholarship (similarly to the case of Haydn, see Chapter 3 in this book). There he was introduced to the overtures and symphonies of Mozart, Joseph and Michael Haydn, as well as Ludwig van Beethoven, for whom he developed an special admiration. Despite his enormous respect for, and awe of, Beethoven, in particular of the music of his middle-period, and despite the influence this music had on him, Schubert’s real roots and affection lay with the Austrian Haydn and Mozart. In fact, he rejected some of the more strident elements of Beethoven’s later music. (McKay 1997, p. 51)

Although it seems plausible that Schubert might have met Beethoven in some of the locals which he attended regularly, there is no proof that they ever talked to each 19

The following works have been used for the biographical details of Schubert: Kreißle von Hellborn (1865), Landormy (1928), Steffin (1954), Deutsch (1958), Birghoffer (1981), Einstein (1984), Brown and Sams (1986), Massin (1991), Newbould (1997), McKay (1997) and Gibbs (2000). For a compilation of documents related to Schubert, see Deutsch (1913–1914). 20 He also played viola in the family string quartet, with his brothers Ferdinand and Ignaz on first and second violin and his father on the cello. Schubert wrote his earliest string quartets for this ensemble.

4 Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic …

79

other. Whether this might have been due to Beethoven’s harshness or to Schubert’s shyness, is still an object of debate.21 At the end of 1813—a critical year which would see the defeat of Napoleon in the battle of Leipzig and the end of his empire would give place to the Wiener Kongress—, Schubert left the Stadtkonvikt, where his budget seems to have been tide if we are to believe the humorous letter which he wrote to one of his working brothers (either Ignatz or Ferdinand) begging for a little extra pocket-money: I have long been thinking about my situation and have concluded that, although it is satisfactory on the whole, it is not beyond some improvement here and there. You know from experience that we all like to eat a roll or a few apples sometimes, the more so if after a middling lunch we have 8 ½ hours to wait for a mediocre evening meal. This wish, which has often become insistent, is now becoming more and more frequent, and I had willy-nilly to make a change. The few Groschen [pennies] I get from Father go to the deuce the very first days, and what am I to do for the rest of the time? […] How if you were to let me have a few Kreutzer [shillings] a month? You would never miss it, while I in my cell should think myself lucky, and be content. (quoted in McKay 1997, p. 27)

After leaving the Stadtkonvikt, Schubert returned home and started a training as schoolteacher that, the following year, allowed him to join his father’s school as a teacher of the youngest pupils, earning a fixed salary of 40 fl. which he supplemented by giving piano lessons (Massin 1991, p. 89; Kreißle von Hellborn 1865, p. 230). Although this was by no means a high income, it was enough to cover all of Schubert’s basic needs (he still continued living at home with his father). Despite his work at school, Schubert kept very high musical productivity during these years: between 1814 and 1815 he wrote between 360 (McKay 1997, p. 51) and 400 (Massin 1991, p. 89) pieces of music, which added up more than 20,000 bars, including two symphonies, four operas, two masses and around 140 Lieder, a genre in which Schubert would excel and that would spread his fame among music lovers (while his orchestral works and operas passed largely unnoticed during his lifetime). But Schubert disliked his teaching duties, and in April 1816 he applied for the position of music professor at the German School in of Laibach (today’s Liubliana) which, would he have got it, would have earned him 450 fl. plus 50 fl. a year, that is, twelve times his income as schoolteacher (Kreißle von Helborn 1865, p. 230; Massin 1991, p. 106).22 At that time, Schubert also moved out of his father’s home and in with the family of his friend Franz von Schober, where he spent the morning composing one piece after another and—although reluctantly—giving piano lessons. The 24th July of that year represents Schubert’s epiphany as “professional” composer, as that day he premiered (in a concert in honour of professor Wattenrot) his cantata

21

Although there are sources that recall at least one meeting between Beethoven and Schubert, there are severe doubts about their validity, as they were written decades after the death of both musicians. 22 During the interim, Schubert’s friend Josef von Spaun sent a copy of his Lieder on poems by Goethe to the laureated poet, with the hope of getting a reply that would have helped making Franz famous. But his letter remained unanswered.

80

F. Cabrillo and T. Baumert

Promethäus for which he cashed 100 fl.—first time he got paid for a composition (Massin 1991, p. 117)!23 Yet, as his application was unsuccessful, in late 1817, Schubert moved in again with his father who in the meantime, had gained a new position at a school in Rossau, where Franz would resume his work as a teacher. In early 1818, he applied for membership in the prestigious Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, intending to gain admission as an accompanist—another initiative that failed. However, 1818 also presented some good news for Schubert: the Vienna press took notice of him for the first time, and during the summer he worked as a music teacher to the family of Count Johann Karl Eszterházy (a descendant of Haydn’s employer) in Zseliz (now Želiezovce, Slovakia). He was paid 2 fl./hour—earning him a total of about 75 fl. per month (Newbould 1997, p. 70)—and his teaching duties left him enough time for his compositions (Kreißle von Helborn 1865, p. 134). The early 1820s—in musical terms a period of stagnation of classical music sales—saw Schubert involved in a circle of artists and students who, inspired by “liberal” ideas—or, maybe more correctly, who rebelled against the many restrictions to freedom imposed by Prince Metternich (see Siemann 2016)—gathered socially24 (the so-called “Schubertiads”). Many of these meetings, which had different intellectual, political and maybe even homoerotic undercurrents, took place in the home of Ignaz von Sonnleithner (whom Schubert had known at the premiere of the Prometheus cantata—a topic which already bore a clear “liberal” content). Yet the group dissolved when Schubert and four of his friends were arrested by the Austrian secret police, under suspicion of pursuing “revolutionary activities”. But this period also saw the publication of Schubert’s opus numbers 1–18. The first set of Lieder was published by Cappi & Diabelly from Vienna on a commission basis, hence leaving all the entrepreneurial risk in the hands of Schubert and his friends (cf. Gibbs 1997, 2000). The first seven opus numbers (all songs) appeared on these terms. Then the commission ceased—due to the success of Erlkönig and Wanderer, Schubert’s self-recognition grew, making him a bit more demanding towards his editor—and he began to receive parsimonious royalties. Alone the first twelve opuses reported net benefits of 1,200 fl. Hence, taking advantage of Schubert’s lack of experience in these matters, Cappi & Diabelli offered him to buy the rights of those pieces for 800 fl., to which he—not consulting with his friends—25 agreed. Obviously, these tensions finished breaking up the commercial relation in 1823 after barely two years of working together.26 In total Schubert cashed around 2,000 fl. for his first twelve opuses, an average of 166 fl. per piece, a fee he would never reach again (Massin 1991, p. 252). 23

Although he had obtained a prize of 40 fl. before when he presented a part of the cantata at the Stadtkonvikt (Kreißle von Helborn 1865, p. 83). 24 Earlier, from 1817 to 1818, Schubert had belonged to the informal club Unsinnsgesellschaft (Nonsense Society). 25 Much to the chagrin of his friends who had long been trying to promote Schubert and his works. 26 Another source of income was the dedication of pieces. In the case of Gretchen am Spinnrade, which he had dedicated to Moritz von Fries, Schubert received a gift of 20 ducats as compensation.

4 Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic …

81

Schubert also started pursuing a greater recognition of his works outside Vienna. On 12 August 1826, he first contacted two German music publishers from Leipzig (H. A. Probst and Breitkopf & Härtel) asking them whether they might be interested in publishing some of his works. Both publishing houses answered him showing their interest, demanding piano pieces and Lieder, and telling him that they would also use their Paris branch to distribute his works in France. Yet, for the moment, the negotiations would remain unfruitful.

The Late Beethoven 1818 marked an important year in Beethoven’s life. His last decade would see the premiere and publication of some of his major works like the Missa solemnis, the Diabelli variations and the 9th Symphony. He started the year (1818) by agreeing to compose a Requiem—commissioned by the cloth-merchant Wolfmayer—, which Beethoven, however never started working on (it is not clear whether he did take the first payment of the total of 450 fl. agreed upon). But it is the Missa solemnis (Op. 123) which is more representative of Beethoven’s business strategy of this period. Its genesis goes back to early 1819, when it was announced that Archduke Rudolph—his generous long-time supporter—was to become Cardinal as Archbishop of Olomouc in March 1820. Beethoven’s original intention—and Rudolph’s wish—was to have the mass ready for that occasion. Beethoven originally asked for a price of 1,800 fl. although finally agreed on 1,350 fl. (400 fl. in advance). However, additional commissions,27 as well as other matters and the fact that Beethoven conceived a mass of unusual length, delayed his work pace, and he soon had to accept his inability to finish the project in time (agreeing to reduce the price once again, this time without discussion, to 1,125 fl.). Beethoven then started offering the publishing right of the mass-in-composition-process to the editor Simrock for 900 fl. And despite having reached an agreement, he also offered it to Schlesinger in Berlin and to Peters in Leipzig, signing contracts with the three of them. In order to keep his business partners—who were becoming increasingly nervous about the matter—calm, he even went so far as to make them believe that he was working on three separate masses (which, in terms of its length might have been accurate). But this not being enough, once the Missa solemnis was finally finished in 1823—long overdue—28 he started a new round of negotiations with four publishers (Artaria and Diabelli in Vienna, Probst in Leipzig and Schott in Mainz). 27

Such as three piano sonatas, for which Beethoven contracted with Schlesinger in 1820 at 30 ducats per sonata. 28 In November 1822 Prince Nikolai Galitzin of Saint Petersburg asked Beethoven the price for three string quartets, to which he replied setting the quite high price of 50 ducats per quartet. As the Prince had stated that he would pay any price set by Beethoven, the deal was arranged. Beethoven finished them between 1825 and 1826, after the premiere of the Missa solemnis and of the 9th symphony.

82

F. Cabrillo and T. Baumert

Beethoven also decided to follow the example of Haydn with Die Schöpfung and asked Griesinger to call for a subscription of an deluxe edition of the score for the Missa, all handwritten, at a price of 50 ducats (hence limiting it de facto to very wealthy people).29 And although only ten subscriptions were signed, it still turned out to be a worthy business, as the cost of each manuscript was 60 fl. Thus, Beethoven netted through this initiative 1,650 fl—more than any of the editors had offered for the standard edition! In total, Beethoven earned 2,500 fl. with the Missa.30 But as Beethoven had become critical about the Viennese public (vid supra), he enquired about premiering the Missa and the 9th Symphony in Berlin. When his Viennese admirers learnt of this, they pleaded with him to arrange local performances. Beethoven was won over, and the symphony was first performed, along with sections of the Missa solemnis, on 7 May 1824, to great acclaim at the Kärntnertortheater. Although officially the choir and orchestra were being conducted by Beethoven, due to his deafness a second conductor—whom the musicians actually followed—stood behind him. Beethoven was not even aware of the applause that broke out after the final chord until he was turned to witness it. Although Beethoven had pretended to raise the price of the tickets for the concerts (partly to compensate for the high costs of printing the scores), the direction of the theatre did not allow him to do so. As a result, the benefits of that night were of modest 420 fl. And a second concert on 24 May, only reported Beethoven the minimum fee (500 fl.) guaranteed by the producer. Hence, Beethoven went back to his original plan and sent the manuscript score of the symphony to the King of Prussia who, however, only sent back a diamond ring worth 300 fl. This meant that one of the most famous pieces of music of all time only gave his author a benefit of 720 fl. (until Beethoven’s death, adding the standard edition of the score, etcetera, it would add up to 1,150 fl.). Already ill, Beethoven would still manage to negotiate a payment of 100 £ (≈1,000 fl.) from the London Philharmonic Society. On 26 March 1827, Beethoven died after having received the Holy Sacraments. His estate consisted of 10,000 fl. in gold coins (kept in a secret drawer in his desk), stocks valued at 1,000 fl. and instruments worth 78 fl. We should remember that, in comparison, Mozart’s estate had consisted of 592 fl. and debts that amounted to 1473 fl. But Mozart’s clothes were estimated twice as worthy of those of Beethoven (despite the time lapse) and his furniture even six time higher (Caeyers 2015, p. 720). And it should be remembered that it was a common use to underestimate estates to lower the payment of taxes. The three presents that cherished him more over his last weeks were very representative of his life: an engraving of Haydn’s birth-house, which he had immediately framed; the complete edition of Händel’s works, the volumes of which were piled beside his bed and which he frequently consulted with delight during his illness; and 29

As a way to avoid that this deluxe score could be used to make illegal copies, Beethoven decided that it would not include the first pages of the Gloria, which would be handed over only once the “standard” edition had been published. 30 Another successful composition had been the Diabelli variations, for which the was paid 40 ducats in 1822.

4 Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic …

83

some bottles of wine from Mainz—at which he took a look only to add: “What a pitty, what a pity! Too late, too late!”.

The Late Schubert As Gibbs (2000, p. 44) convincingly points out, it might seem “odd, even inappropriate” to talk about the “late period” of an artist who barely reached the thirties. Yet, Schubert last year of life results remarkable from the point of view of his artistic production spurring him to new music heights. And this for several reasons. First, because Schubert was an extraordinarily fertile composer, whose productivity by far exceeded that of Beethoven. Schubert surpassed even what Beethoven had accomplished at the same age. (Had Beethoven carried out the suicide he apparently contemplated around the time of the Heiligenstadt Testament [1802], in other words, at the very same age Schubert died, the extent of his compositional legacy would hardly match Schubert’s. (ibid.)

And not only did Schubert compose at an accelerated pace, but also reaching new artistic peaks. Thus, his last year would give us, among other, the fabulous Fantasy in F minor for two pianos31 (with its most remarkable final cadence), likely one of his most important and outstanding works for piano, and altogether. Surely this was enhanced by his knowledge of his severe illness—of which he seems to have become aware twenty months before his death—, which gave his work a more profound dimension. Second, and most important for our purpose, because Beethoven’s death, together with the consciousness of his own fateful illness, meant a hiatus that made him change his attitude towards the business side of music. He adopted a more proactive attitude towards the publishing houses, seeking to spread his works, while also organising his first sole-Schubert concert, all of which had a direct impact on his income. Schubert took the step forward deciding to organise a concert consisting only of his own works, a Schubertiade, after Beethoven’s premiere of the 9th Symphony in 1824. It would take place in Zum Roten Igel on 26 March 1828, the first anniversary of Beethoven’s death, and consisted only of recent works he had composed.32 Although the concert proved both a popular and financial success allowing him to imburse 320 fl., the Viennese press barely took notice of it, as the city was spelled by the “hype” of the concert that Niccolò Paganini would give—it was his first appearance in the Austrian capital—three days later. Schubert himself used part of the money obtained from the Schubertiade to attend two (of a total of fourteen) concerts that Paganini 31

Schubert began writing the Fantasia in January 1828, completing it in March and first performing it on 9 May of that year. 32 It consisted of the first movement of one of his string quartets, several Lieder, the Ständchen (for solo Alto, female choir and piano), the Trio in E-flat major, Auf dem Strom, Die Almacht and the Schlachtlied for two male choirs.

84

F. Cabrillo and T. Baumert

gave in Vienna in April and May and bought a third ticket which he gave one of his friends.33 Probably taking advantage of the success of his concert, on 7 April 1826 Schubert also wrote to the emperor applying for the vacant position of vice conductor of the court’s chapel. But his petition remained unattended. Also, on 10 April, still spurred by the result of the Schubertiade, Franz once again contacted his potential editors, offering them the Trio in E-flat major (Op. 100) for 100 fl. and the second set of Impromptus and the five-voice choir Mondenschein for 60 gulden each. And although Schott originally accepted the smaller pieces for 60 fl. both, the agreement was finally not signed, as Schubert refused to sell Mondschein for 30 fl. Probst however, bought the Trio for the requested 60 fl, with Schubert requesting “to make a beginning at last, I would only ask for the speediest possible publication” (Gibbs 1997, p. 45). Yet, it would not arrive in time: as it was published the same month that Schubert died, it is likely that he never got to see the edition (ibid.). Summing up the analysis of—the by no means poor—Schubert, we may follow Gibb’s conclusions: That he never had any money, as he tells [his friend the painter Leopold] Kuppelwieser was only true during certain periods. Debts must have mounted during his illness, because of doctor’s fees and medication, but when compositions sold, Schubert would suddenly find himself with much more money than he had earned during an entire year as school assistant. If Schubert was particularly hard pressed in March 1824, the situation changed some months later when he returned to Zselist and could once again save his respectable salary. […] We should make clear distinction, therefore, between Schubert’s ongoing financial insecurity and any state approaching true poverty. Schubert could not make money as a virtuoso performer, and he disliked teaching, especially in the morning when it would compete with his composing. Yet he was generally well paid by publishers, particularly for his songs, he received money from commissions and dedications […], and his public concert in 1828 brough in a large sum. All of this, however, was sporadic. (Gibbs 2000, p. 123)

The illness that caused Schubert’s death in Vienna, aged 31, on 19 November 1828, at the apartment of his brother Ferdinand,34 has never been cleared: although officially diagnosed as typhoid fever, other options, ranging from the tertiary stage of syphilis to leukaemia have been considered his biographers. The last musical work Schubert had wished to hear was Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 14 in C-sharp minor, and during his final delirium, he had expressed the wish to be buried close to Beethoven. 33

In 1828, Paganini began his musical conquest of Europe at the invitation of Prince Metternich in Vienna, were he spent four months. His concert on 29 March in the Great Redoutensaal was his first concert given on foreign soil. One day later, Vienna was transformed: shop windows displayed everything from gloves to pasta “a la Paganini”; even walking sticks were embellished with his portrait. Vienna was soon in the throes of mass hysteria, and everyone wanted to hear Paganini play. His first five concerts—the five which had been originally planned—took place in the candlelit, festive Great Redoutensaal. All told, Paganini would give fourteen concerts in Vienna—seven in the Great Redoutensaal, two in the Imperial Theatre (Burgtheater) and five in the Theatre at the Kärntnertor (Kärntnertortheater). Prior to his farewell concert—which took place on 24 July 1828—the Emperor elevated him to the rank of k.k. Kammer-Virtuose (Imperial and Royal Chamber Virtuoso) and presented him with a golden casket. See for this Neill (1990). 34 In his last excursion prior to entering the final stage of his illness, Schubert made an excursion in which he visited Haydn’s house in Gumpendorf, which created him great excitement.

4 Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic …

85

After his death, Schubert’s estate was valued worth 63 fl, including a position of 10 fl. for “old sheet music” (it should be observed that this were not Schubert’s manuscript scores which, being in possession of his friend Schobert, were not considered in the calculation of the estate). The sum of Schubert’s debts and still unpaid medical expenses surpassed by much those 63 fl., reaching nearly 1,000 fl. (Massin 1991, p. 512). However, this amount was settled completely the following June due to the fees received from his posthumous publications. Schubert’s wish to be buried close to Beethoven—although it might have been more the interpretation made by his brother than properly his will—was lastly fulfilled when Beethoven’s remains were exhumed in 1863 and moved in 1888 to Vienna’s Zentralfriedhof . Schubert’s remains now rest separated by only three graves from those of the genius from Bonn. Grillparzer, who had written the funeral speech at the latter’s funeral, also wrote the inscription on the monument erected to the memory of Schubert. It reads: The art of music buried here a rich possession, but even more beautiful hope. (McKay 1997, p. 338)

Conclusions Although Beethoven and Schubert acted in the same musical market—Vienna—, both their musical and financial developments differed notably. While Beethoven managed to count from 1808 on with a fixed income—the pension granted by a set of noble admirers—which guaranteed him a certain economic cushion (and it should be noted that this had been the result of market forces operating, as this stipend was the counteroffer to the one Beethoven had got from Kassel), Schubert only would count temporarily with a fixed (meagre) income as an assistant schoolteacher. Also, Beethoven had first made himself a name in Vienna as piano virtuoso, intentionally delaying the publications of his compositions until he considered the market to be ready (i.e., the demand to be high enough) for them. Schubert, on the other hand, despite being a good chamber musician, from the beginning aspired to live exclusively from his activity as composer, intentionally excluding additional sources of income. Beethoven had been connected with the most notable musicians of his time: he had at least once met Mozart, had been trained by Neefe, Haydn Salieri, and had made—among others—the acquittance of Goethe; Schubert for his part while also being trained by Salieri, had never been able to overcome his shyness as to contact his admired Beethoven and all his letters to Goethe, accompanied by Lieder on his poems, were never responded by the poet (who, however, did receive the young Mendelssohn).35 Beethoven successfully promoted and organised Academy concerts which yielded him high incomes, while Schubert only organised one concert of that sort which,

35

See Chapter 7 in this book.

86

F. Cabrillo and T. Baumert

however, was also a financial success (although to a much lesser extent than those of Beethoven had been). Beethoven also soon adopted an attitude of equity—later of superiority—towards his publishers, creating—with the help of his brother—the “brand Beethoven”, negotiating always the best possible conditions, “auctioning” off his compositions and combining different forms of editions (selling the original manuscripts, manuscript copies by subscription and standard editions for the public, both full-scores and piano reductions); Schubert, instead, only was able of regularly selling sets of Lieders at conditions which very much benefitted the publishers. Besides that, he only managed to sell two major works to publishers during his lifetime (one at the beginning and one at the end of his career—significantly enough, and despite the lapse of time, he was paid both times the same price: 100 fl.). Yet, after his death, the sheet music of his works would give his editors enormous benefits. In the words of Newbould (1997), p. 403: “Schubert was no self-publicist. Composing the next piece was more important than having the last one performed”—this might, at least in part, explain his astonishing productivity. Both seem to have shared a certain “liberal” attitude, which in the case of Schubert might have been more of a political kindred subversion; in the case of Beethoven, it was a more art-inspired revolution. Curiously, their composing techniques could not be more different: while Beethoven seems to have struggled with many of his themes for years, working them over once and again—of which his usually chaotic manuscript scores filled with sketches and scratches, give good evidence—Schubert had so clear an idea of the piece he was composing that he even wrote his symphonies directly on the orchestral score, without taking any previous notes at all. And yet, there were also some biographical similarities between Beethoven and Schubert: both—though likely for different reasons—remained bachelors and had no children; both tended to an excessive consumption of alcohol; and both shaped specific musical genres: Beethoven the symphony; Schubert the Lied. Also, in the last days of their lives, both drew back their look to the old masters: Beethoven to Händel and Haydn; Schubert to Haydn and Beethoven—making the circle full. As had been said before, Schubert’s remains now rest close to those of Beethoven in Vienna’s Zentralfriedhof. At least in death they enjoyed a closeness they had not been able to achieve while alive.

References Baumol, William J., and Hilda Baumol. 1994. On the Economics of Musical Composition in Mozart’s Vienna. Journal of Cultural Economics 18: 171–198. Baur, Eva Gesine. 2012. Emmanuel Schikaneder. Der Mann für Mozart. München: C. H. Beck. Beethoven, Ludwig van. 1972. Beethoven’s Letters with Explanatory Notes by Dr. A .C. Kalischer. New York: Dover. Beethoven, Ludwig van. 1964. Beethoven: The Man and the Artist as Revealed in his Own Words, ed. Friedrich Kerst and Henry Edward Krehbiel. New York: Dover.

4 Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Schubert: The Economic …

87

Benz, Richard. 1942. Goethe und Beethoven. Leipzig: Reclam. Birghoffer, Monique. 1981. Franz Schubert. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe. Brisson, Elisabeth. 2004. Ludwig van Beethoven. Paris: Fayard. Brown, Maurice J., and Eric Sams. 1986. Schubert. Barcelona: Muchnik. Caeyers, Jan 2015. Beethoven. Der einsame Revolutionär. München: C. H. Beck. Clubbe, John. 2019. Beethoven. The Relentless Revolutionary. New York: W. W. Norton. Cooper, Barry. 2000. Beethoven. Oxford: OUP. Deutsch, Otto Erich. 1913–1914. Franz Schubert: Die Dokumente seines Lebens und Schaffens, 3 vols. München: Otto Müller. Deutsch, Otto Erich. 1958. Schubert: Memories by his Friends. New York: Macmillan. Einstein, Alfred. 1984. Schubert: Retrato musical. Madrid: Taurus. Geck, Martin. 1996. Ludwig van Beethoven. Reinbeck bei Hamburg: Rowohlt. Geck, Martin, and Peter Schleuning. 1989. „Geschrieben auf Bonaparte” Beethovens Eroica: Revolution, Reaktion, Rezeption. Reinbeck bei Hamburg: Rowohlt. Gibbs, Christopher H. 1997. Poor Schubert: Images and Legends of the Composer. In The Cambridge Companion to Schubert, ed. Christopher H. Gibbs. Cambridge: CUP. Gibbs, Christopher H. 2000. The Life of Schubert. Cambridge: CUP. Grove, George. 1962. Beethoven and his Nine Symphonies. New York: Dover. Hilmar, Ernst. 1988. Franz Schubert in his time. Portland: Amadeus Press. Irmen, Hans-Josef. 1998. Beethoven und seine Zeit. Zülpich: Prisca. Jones, David Wyn. 1998. The Life of Beethoven. Cambridge: Duckworth. Kreißle von Hellborn, Heinrich. 1865. Franz Schubert. Franz Gerold & Sohn. Landormy, Paul. 1928. La vie de Schubert. Paris: Gallimard. Lockwood, Lewis. 2003. Beethoven—The Music and the Life. New York: W. W. Norton. Marek, George R. 1972. Beethoven. Biography of a Genius. New York: Apollo Editions. Massin, Brigitte. 1991. Franz Schubert. Madrid: Turner. Massin, Jean, and Brigitte Massin. 1987. Ludwig van Beethoven. Madrid: Turner. McKay, Elisabeth Norman. 1997. Franz Schubert. A Biography. Oxford: OUP. Neill, Edward. 1990. Niccolò Paganini. München: List. Newbould, Brian. 1997. Schubert. The Music and the Man. London: Gollancz. Paumgartner, Bernhard. 1956/1972. Johann Sebastian Bach, Mozart und die Wiener Klassik. In Vorträge und Essays, ed. Paumgartner B. Kassel: Bärenreiter. Pichler, Ernst. 1994. Beethoven. Myhos und Wirklichkeit. Wien & München: Amalthea. Scherer, Frederic M. 2004. Quarter Notes and Bank Notes: The Economics of Music Composition in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Princeton: Princenton University Press. Siemann, Wolfram. 2016. Metternich. Stragege und Visionär. München: C. H. Beck. Solomon, Maynard. 1977. Beethoven. New York: Schirmer Books. Steffin, J.F. 1954. Franz Schubert. Leben und Werk. Hamburg: Sikorski. Swafford, Jan. 2015. Beethoven. Anguish and Triumph. London: Faber & Faber. Ulm, Renate. 1994. Die 9 Symphonien Beethovens. Entstehung, Deutung, Wirkung. München: dtv/ Bärenreiter.

Chapter 5

Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto Miguel-Ángel Galindo-Martín and María-Teresa Méndez-Picazo

Gioachino Rossini

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín (B) University of Castilla-La Mancha, Ciudad Real, Spain e-mail: [email protected] M.-T. Méndez-Picazo Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_5

89

90

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

Gaetano Donizetti I had no children. Had I had any, I doubtless would have continued to work. But, to tell you the truth, after having worked and composed forty operas during fifteen years of that so called very lazy period, I felt the need of rest, and returned to Bologna to leave in peace. Gioachino Rossini to Richard Wagner in 1860 (Michotte 2011, p. 71). There are ways of earning a living in a thousand places, but I, used to little, to desiring little, cannot at all adapt myself to earning money. I am not Rossini and haven’t his fortune, but when a man has enough to live on and to amuse himself enough, I think that he ought to retire and be satisfied. Gaetano Donizetti (Letter November 13, 1838, cited in Weinstock 1963, p. 140)

Introduction During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, some countries considered opera as an industrial activity that could have positive effects on their economic growth. In Italy, Cavour claimed that it was a great industry that had ramifications all over the world (Rosselli 1984). In France, one of Napoleon’s ministers claimed that it was a unique spectacle in Europe that boosted the fashion business and the manufacture of luxury goods, while attracting a multitude of foreigners (Fleischman 1965, cited in Barbier 2003). From this perspective, the opera played a dual role: First, it stimulated trade through the manufacture and sale of luxury goods and, second, it increased the prestige of Paris (Barbier 2003). In short, as Rosselli (1984, p. 39) points out, the opera encouraged trade, tourism, and the circulation of money, providing employment not

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

91

only to those engaged in these activities, but also to the businesses that were related to it. Throughout those centuries opera became a centre of power and prestige for audiences and rulers (Parker 2001, p. 88), so it was essential to constantly have new productions to maintain this situation. Theatre impresarios recruited composers, librettists, and singers to provide a product that would satisfy the demand of audiences and allow them to maintain or increase the prestige of the theatre, and the profits derived from it. This environment provided a situation in which composers could show off their artistic quality while obtaining remuneration. However, given that, in many cases, the salary was not very high, they were often forced to perform other activities to complement their incomes, such as directing theatres, teaching music, etc. However, to compose operas provided them with a certain prestige and over time would allow them to improve their finances. Rossini would confess to Wagner (Michotte 2011, pp. 50–51) that he got a better financial situation composing operas than he would have been able to achieve with other jobs. This is also confirmed by Berlioz’s teacher, Jean-François Lesueur, in a letter he wrote to the composer’s father in August 1830, where Lesueur informed him that Berlioz had received a government scholarship, and that the road to glory, and perhaps fortune, lay open before him. To justify this idea, he named many composers who obtained important incomes (Haendel, Gluck, etc.), and referring to Rossini, Lesueur indicated that he possessed a large fortune. He added that Berlioz could make a name for himself in Europe as other great composers had done (quoted in Cairns 1989, p. 407). Berlioz thought that opera was the means of obtaining prosperity for those who were not engaged in composing salon songs. He believed that Rossini lived comfortably with the author’s rights that he received from his operas (Cairns 1999, p. 56). To achieve this goal, it was necessary for an opera composer to gain fame and popularity through his works. In this case, the composer had the possibility to earn higher remunerations and to attain opera contracts with better conditions. However, this activity also had negative aspects. It implied, among other things, not having a fixed residence, the composer had to move or live temporarily in those places where their opera productions were more in demand and/or where he earned higher salaries, which implied separation from their families. And, sometimes it was necessary to compose the opera in a very short period, which meant in some cases providing a lower quality work. Rossini and Donizetti were no exception to this process. Their youth was characterized by a lack of money, which motivated them to try to obtain income in the world of opera and with the resources obtained, to try first to help their families and, over time, to achieve a comfortable economic situation. Rossini stopped composing operas at the age of 37. Donizetti carried out his composing activity until the year of his death at the age of 50. In general terms, their productivity was similar: Donizetti composed more than 60 operas in about 37 years and Rossini composed 39 operas in 19 years. Both were considered conquerors. Stendhal (1823, p. 36) compares Rossini to Napoleon, saying that after Napoleon’s death everybody is talking about Rossini

92

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

in Europe, which has been conquered by his operas. In this sense, the Journal des Débats, October 11, 1826,1 states that Rossini could respond to his critics saying that he has an empire and the Favart theatre is his domain and everything obeys him and respects him. According to the Journal, Rossini’s reign in the theatre is due to his facility to innovate and the success of his operas, mainly, Il Barbiere di Siviglia, La Gazza Ladra, Semiramide, Mosé, Tancredi, and Otello. The public ovation confirms his supremacy. On the other hand, Berlioz, in his review of the operas performed at the Théâtre de L’Opéra-Comique and at L’Opéra, published in the Journal des Débats, February 16, 1840,2 stated that, due to the number of Donizetti’s works that were performed, the composer treated them like a conquered country, that it was a real invasion and that no one could no longer say “Lyric Theaters of Paris but the lyric theaters of Monsieur Donizetti”. Neither Rossini nor Donizetti hesitated to move their activity to those cities and countries where they believed they could increase their fame and, consequently, their earnings. Both composers signed contracts with Domenico Barbaja who, at that time, was one of the most important impresarios in Italy, and they established their residence in Naples for some years. Later, both decided to move to Paris, given the importance this city was acquiring as an international centre for the representation of operas, demanding works by composers with a certain international importance (Everist 2002, p. 43). The prosperity that Paris was experiencing under the reign of Louis Philippe d’Orleans and the sense of wealth that arose at that time (Keates 2014, p. 33), favoured the development of the opera industry, which was a focus of attraction for composers. Likewise, other cities also played a relevant role in their careers, as in the case of Rossini, whose stay in London, from a financial point of view, allowed him to amass a great fortune. Finally, it should be added that both composers also sought alternatives to composing operas to increase their incomes and performed financial operations to increase their capital. Rossini was especially active in financial and speculative operations, with very good results as we shall see, sometimes helped by important bankers and financiers, such as Rothschild and Aguado. We will refer to all these aspects in the following sections of this chapter.

In Search of Earnings In their youth, both Rossini and Donizetti suffered the consequences of poverty. This left a strong impression on them, which motivated them to seek the means to achieve economic security that would allow them to satisfy their needs and help their parents, as well as to improve their social situation, assuring themselves a future free of uncertainty. They paid great attention to economic aspects, which were 1 2

Source: gallica.bnf.fr/Bibliothèque nationale de France. Source: gallica.bnf.fr/Bibliothèque nationale de France.

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

93

even considered in some of their operas (Galindo-Martín and Méndez-Picazo 2014). However, despite the similarity of their objectives, the way to achieve them was slightly different. Rossini (1792–1868) was the only son of Giuseppe Rossini, who was a trumpeter, and Anna Guidarine, a singer and daughter of a baker. In Lugo, near Ravenna, Rossini received singing lessons from the priest Giovanni Sassoli (Weinstock 1968, p. 11), but when his mother, because of vocal problems, had to reduce his performances and even go so far as to abandon this activity, Rossini had to look for work. In 1806 Rossini was admitted to the Liceo Musicale in Bologna, remaining there for four years. One of his main problems during his stay at the Liceo was the necessity to obtain economic resources to support himself and help his parents, So, Rossini had to accept any kind of work. When Rossini was 63 years old, he told Hiller, during conversations with him in September 1855, that he had worked in different theatres for 6 paoli a night,3 playing the harpsichord to accompany recitatives, singing in churches, or writing arias to be sung later in some opera or recital (Hiller 2018, p. 11). Azevedo (1864, p. 27) states that Rossini sang in churches and earned 3 paoli for each religious act in which he participated and when Rossini joined the Società d’ I Concordi in 1807, a Society of amateurs who offered a concert every month, he earned monthly about 10 piastres and with that remuneration, he helped his family financially (Azevedo 1864, p. 32). This interest in helping his parents financially would continue when he premiered his first operas, although the resources obtained were very scarce. This is what Rossini assured Wagner at his home in Paris in March 1860, when the German composer expected to perform his opera Tannhäuser in Paris, in the conversation that was collected by Michotte in an opuscule published in 1906. Specifically, Rossini told Wagner that, with what he received for his operas, he tried to support his father, mother, and grandmother (Michotte 2011, p. 50). The first news about this help appears in the letters Rossini wrote to his mother throughout 1812, when he had already premiered three operas. For example, in his letter of July 11, 1812, to his mother, Rossini writes that he is sending her three small gold coins, equivalent to 18 escudos and three quarters (Rossini 2004, p. 22). Over time, and thanks to the successes obtained by his compositions, mainly La Pietra del Paragone (1812) and above all with Tancredi (1813), Rossini was able to begin to obtain higher salaries that allowed him to improve his status in society and to create a savings fund for his old age. For Rossini, obtaining money and generating savings that would guarantee his future economic condition were an obsession throughout his life and especially in his last years as an opera composer. In this sense, Balzac, in his letter to Madame Hanska of July 17, 1846 (Balzac 1990b, p. 263) pointed out that Rossini had told him that he was not thinking of glory when he “composed Il Barbiere for 100 ducats. He was like me; he was thinking of his bread”.

3

About 3 euros. For the conversion into current euros of the different currencies see introduction chapter of this book.

94

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

Rossini´s interest in money can be explained, firstly, by his preference for good food, women, wealth, and luxury. Weinstock (1968, p. 39) places the beginning of this interest in enjoying the good life in Venice, after the premiere of L’Italiana in Algeri (1813) at the Teatro San Benedetto, when the prima donna of the theatre, Marietta Marcolini, who played the character of Isabella in that opera, abandoned Prince Lucien Bonaparte for Rossini. Thanks to his operas successes, Rossini was able to meet the most important Venetian families. From this moment, he tried to obtain remunerations that would allow him to satisfy his needs, basically centred on food and women. Secondly, as Balzac confessed to Madame Hanska in his letter of October 16, 1842 (Balzac 1990a, pp. 604–605), Rossini was right in pointing out that money allows to achieve freedom of movement and independence, and, as Balzac told her in other letter dated July 1846 (Balzac 1990b, p. 263), independence was the first of the possessions. Gaetano Donizetti (1797–1848) spent his youth in his hometown, Bergamo. He belonged to a very poor family with no musical tradition. His father was the porter of the town’s pawnshop. Ashbrook (1983, p. 3) points out that the dark house in which the composer lived in his youth showed the poverty in which the family lived and which he never forgot. His father did not want him to become a composer, but to find a job in Bergamo as an organist or music teacher (Ashbrook 1983, p. 4). Gaetano´s father did not agree with Mayr’s hopes for Donizetti, as he was only interested in the support that Gaetano could provide to his parents (Ashbrook 1983, p. 10). This refusal must have left its mark on Donizetti, for a few years before his death, in a letter to Mayr dated July 13, 1843, Gaetano told him that his father had never encouraged him to compose, that his father thought that Gaetano could never compose and that he would never go to Naples or Vienna (Zavadini 1948, p. 679. Quoted by Ashbrook 1983, p. 3). However, Donizetti was devoted to his career as a composer. In 1817 he turned down the post of music master offered to him by a group of aristocratic families in Ancona, being a salary of 10 scudi a month. Donizetti refused the post because he wanted to be free to accept commissions for the carnival session, when theatres required composers to be present at rehearsals and the first three performances of operas (Ashbrook 1983, p. 14). Like Rossini, he supported his father financially. But Donizetti’s beginnings were not as promising as those of Rossini. The lack of success of his first operas in Venice and Mantua (Enrico di Borgogna and Una Follia, premiered in 1818, and Le Nozze in Villa, in 1819) meant that Donizetti did not receive offers to compose operas and had to devote much of 1820 to composing sacred pieces in Bergamo (Weinstock 1963, p. 23). His first great success came with Zoraida di Granata in 1822, for which he received 500 escudos (Weinstock 1963, p. 24). From that moment he was recognized as one of Rossini’s possible successors, emerging, as Pacini comments in his Memoirs, two groups: the Pacini followers and the Donizetti followers (Pacini 1865, p. 39). Donizetti’s hard beginnings made him aware of the difficulty of achieving a certain position in the world of opera. In a letter to his brother-in-law, Antonio Vasselli, dated October 7, 1823, Donizetti told him that he “had to work as a porter” and that he earned less than Mercadante, but that he hoped everything would go well and that he

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

95

would be happy (Donizetti 2018, p. 538). Similarly, in a letter dated December 23, 1825, to Mayr, he tells him “I have known from the beginning that the profession of the poor opera composer is a most unhappy one, and only necessity has me destined to it, but I assure you dear master that I suffer much from the kind of beasts we need for the execution of our sweats” (Donizetti 2018, p. 591). He adds that some dancers earn 2,500 ducats for “moving their feet”, while they, the composers, are humiliated (Donizetti 2018, p. 591). His financial need led him to accept any kind of work that would earn him remuneration, however meagre, especially in comparison to what other participants in his operas earned. An example of this was his acceptance of a position at the Teatro Carolino in Palermo for the 1825–1826 lyric season, for 45 ducats a month and a month’s holiday, which, according to Weinstock (1963, p. 43), he possibly accepted for financial necessity. The second donna received 60 ducats per month, and a reigning star 517.50 ducats per month (Weinstock 1963, p. 44). The main reasons that Donizetti had to compose in his beginnings were of a family nature. Initially to help his parents, and later to be able to marry and start a family of his own. This was made possible by his great facility for composing, among other things. He seemed to be unconsciously driven to compose at all costs, rarely stopping to analyse his work and modify it if he did not consider it sufficiently meritorious. Marco Bonesi, Donizetti’s fellow student at Mayr’s school, said that Donizetti needed great concentration to compose. If someone sang or made noise while he was working, he quickly stopped his task, saying that he could not continue (Bonesi 1946; quoted Cassaro, 2015, p.37). It is precisely this high degree of concentration that would explain his speed in composing without any carelessness that would impair his work (Ashbrook 1983, p. 14). The Rossini´s and Donizetti´s attitudes to composition were slightly different. Rossini sought to create through his successes what we would today call a kind of “Rossini brand”, which would not only provide him with the monetary resources he needed and that his operas were executed in the most important opera houses, but also allow him to relate to the governing, political and bourgeois elites. Donizetti, on the other hand, seemed to be more interested in art first and pecuniary aspects second. Regarding composition, Donizetti could be considered an honest craftsman who knew his craft and exercised it with speed and skill, rather than a decisive innovator (Weinstock 1963, p. 38).

Contracts The main way for composers to obtain high remuneration was to secure an advantageous contract, which in the early days of their career, was not easy to achieve. Rossini told Wagner that in the first years of his career as a compositor he was obliged to accept the librettos imposed on him, even though he preferred comic themes. Moreover, Rossini had to accept an unsuitable work system, which consisted of sometimes receiving only a part of the libretto and not knowing how it would continue in the following acts. He was therefore obliged to write the music for the text he received

96

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

without knowing what would happen next (Michotte 2011, p. 50). Rossini also had to compose several operas a year, three or four, travelling from town to town “like a nomad”. Rossini thought that this way of working did not allow him to become rich (Michotte 2011, p. 50). In the early years of a composer´s career, it was important to gain experience. Rossini acknowledges to Hiller (2018, p. 37) that he owed much of his practice to theatres such as the San Moisè in Venice, where only short comic operas were performed counting on the participation of few singers, four or five, and no chorus. It that theatre was Rossini premiered his first works, namely his five one-act operas (La Cambiale de Matrimonio in 1810, L’Inganno Felice in 1811, La Scala di Seta in 1812, L’Ocassione fa il Ladro in 1812 and Il Signor Bruschino in 1812), earning 200 lire for the first and 250 francs for each of the others (Azevedo 1864, pp. 51, 53). This experience allowed composers to produce more and more elaborate operas, which brought them prestige and fame and enabled them to obtain better contracts. But the impresarios also tried to gain an advantage and included clauses on delivery dates, choice of singers, type of opera to be composed, etc., which meant that contracts were not uniform. Therefore, three groups of contracts can be considered in the case of Rossini and Donizetti: Italian contracts, Parisian contracts, and finally the impresario Barbaja contracts.

The Contracts in Italy We can consider four essential characteristics of the contracts signed in Italy by both composers. Firstly, the contracts established what type of opera was being contracted, i.e., serious or comic, and specified the date of delivery of the score, generally within a very short period. For example, in Rossini’s contract for Il Barbiere di Siviglia dated December 15, 1815, is scheduled that the premiere of the opera will be mid-January 1816. Something similar happened to Donizetti, who declared to have composed L’Elixir d’amore in two weeks. Donizetti sometimes complained about the short time for composing the opera. An example is his letter to Barbaja of April 18, 1829, in which he asked Barbaja how he wanted him to compose a three-act opera in a month (Donizetti 2018, p. 774). Secondly, the opera was to be adapted to the voices of the singers. Sometimes composers were also obliged to change a particular aria because the singer did not find it suitable or because he considered that it did not bring out his vocal qualities, as happened in the cases of Rossini’s Tancredi or Donizetti’s Lucrezia Borgia. As far as Rossini’s Tancredi (1813), the anecdote told by Stendhal (1823, p. 89) is well known. The contralto Malanotte, who sang the role of Tancredi, asked the composer to change the initial cavatina for a new one, which would be “Di tanti palpiti”. In the case of Donizetti´s Lucrezia Borgia (1833), the soprano playing the role of Lucrezia, Méric-Lalande, after reading it, demanded a bravura number for her at the end of the opera. Both the librettists, Romani, and Donizetti resisted, but she refused to sing unless the final cabaletta was added. So, Donizetti had to compose it

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

97

(Weinstock 1963, p. 94). Donizetti´s refusal to include the cabaletta was because he considered it absurd for a mother to display her full vocal capacity before her dead son. Therefore, Donizetti expressed his wish that the cabaletta should not be sung in the revival of the opera in Rome in 1841, or that, if it was to be sung, it should be placed at another part of the opera. Thirdly, the composer had to conduct the opera, usually from the harpsichord for the first three performances, and to be present at rehearsals whenever necessary. It should also be added that, in some cases, the dates on which the composer had to be in the city where the opera was to be performed were also stipulated. And fourthly, the salary that the composer was to receive for his opera was stated, which was generally paid in two parts, except in the case of Adina’s portuguese contract, which was due in three payments. The salary obviously varied according to the prestige of the composer, the economic situation of the city, the sources of financing of the theatre that contracted the opera, etc. For example, the Teatro de La Fenice in Venice tried to compete with the other two most famous Italian theatres, the Teatro di San Carlo in Naples, and the Teatro alla Scala in Milan. But its main problem was a lack of financial resources, so La Fenice was forced to focus on the carnival session by contracting two or three new serious operas, being the smaller Venetian theatres responsible for staging new operas during the rest of the year. The 8,000 francs paid to Donizetti for his opera Belisario was considered a great effort for the theatre (Ashbrook 1983, p. 106) as well as the payment of the 26,000 lire which, according to Osborne (2007, p. 78), Rossini received for his opera Semiramide, 1823, because this amount was half of La Fenice´s budget for the entire production.4 The remuneration to be received was sometimes the subject of discussion, especially when Rossini and Donizetti had already achieved a certain prestige. Azevedo (1864, p. 68) recounts that Rossini asked the Teatro de La Fenice for 600 francs to compose Tancredi in 1813, because it was a serious opera. The impresario offered to pay him only 400 francs, and finally Rossini agreed to receive 500 francs. After the success of L’Italiana in Algeri, the salary paid by the Teatro alla Scala in Milan for the composition of Aureliano in Palmira (1813), was 800 francs, and for Rossini’s last opera to be performed there, Bianca e Falliero, ossia il Consiglio dei tre, in 1819, the payment was more than three times higher, 2,500 francs. Donizetti also negotiated the salary for some of his operas as his reputation and prestige improved. In the case of Belisario, 1836, commissioned by Natale Fabbrici, the impresario of the Teatro La Fenice, initially offered 7,000 francs but Donizetti convinced Fabricci to pay him 8,000 francs (Weinstock 1963, p. 113). Ashbrook’s (1983, p. 106) statements that on the day of Belisario’s premiere there was some hostility from supporters of other composers, who considered that the remuneration received by Donizetti had been too high, might this be true. This payment had consequences for the negotiation of another opera for the same city the following year. The impresario Lanari tried to contract another opera, Donizetti´s Pia de Tolomei (1837), for the Apollo Theatre in Venice, at the same salary 4

Rossini in his conversations with Hiller (2018, p. 18) says that he was paid 5,000 francs.

98

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

that La Fenice had paid for Belisario. Donizetti refused Lanari´s offer of 8,000 francs and finally the impresario had to accept the composer´s demand, 10,000 francs “in cash, in gold napoleons of 20 francs each or equivalent value” (Weinstock 1963, p. 120). Ashbrook (1983, p. 114) points out that the demand for this kind of payment was because Donizetti had planned the previous year to invest most of his remuneration with the banker August de Coussy, whom he had met when Donizetti was composing Marino Faliero (1834–1835). On the other hand, it should also be added that, on occasion, the impresarios refused to pay for a score that they considered not to be entirely new. Such is the case of the Rossini´s opera Matilde di Shabran, premiered at the Apollo Theatre in Rome. The agreed salary was 500 Roman escudos, but the impresario Torlonia, learning after the premiere that he had partially recycled a previous composition, refused to pay this sum. On February 27, 1821, Rossini wrote a letter to Cardinal Bernetti (Rossini 1992, p. 474), who oversaw public performances in Rome, telling him that he was withdrawing the score of his opera because he had not received the agreed salary, making use of his right of ownership of it, and that the opera should not be performed until he received the agreed remuneration. Finally, it should be added that sometimes a contract included not only the composition of a new opera, but also the revision of a previous opera to be performed in the theatre. An example is the contract which, due to the success of Zoraida di Granata at the Teatro Argentina in Rome, the impresario Giovanni Paterna was encouraged to sign in 1823 an agreement with Donizetti for a revision of this opera and the composition of a new one, L’ajo nell’imbarazzo. Donizetti would receive 500 escudos, 200 escudos for the revision, and 300 for the new opera (Weinstock 1963, pp. 39–40).

The Parisian Contracts Contracts signed in Paris depended on the theatre in which the opera was to be performed. In general terms, the Théâtre-Italien contracts were simpler and with fewer stipulations than those of the Théâtre de la Renaissance or the Opéra-Comique, for example (Rollet 2021, p. 193). As for remuneration, in some theatres, such as the Théâtre-Italien, it was not indicated in the contract, and the corresponding author´s rights were received for the opera, although there were also some different modalities depending on the case. In the case of Marino Falliero, Donizetti received 8,000 francs for the score and 4,000 francs for the performance rights in France, Italy, and Austria. But in the case of Don Pasquale, the remuneration was only 3,000 francs, possibly because the performance rights were in perpetuity, but only in Paris (Rollet 2021, p. 193). As in the case of Italy, on some occasions there was negotiation regarding the terms of the contract. For example, Donizetti, after the success of the revival of Parisina, in his letter to Michele Accursi in January 1838 told him that Donizetti had earned 10,000 francs in Venice and that he demanded the same amount for an opera in Paris. Donizetti would pay the libretto and choose the singers (Weinstock 1963, p. 134).

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

99

The contracts also stipulated a penalty to be paid in the event of default by either party, so the theatre managers tried to ensure the composer’s compliance, although as a rule, if there were delays, a new contract was signed before demanding payment. In the case of Donizetti, a penalty of 30,000 francs was established for the Académie Royale de Musique and 20,000 francs for the Théâtre de la Renaissance and the Opera-Comique (Rollet 2021, p. 194). Some contracts also specified the group of singers or the specific singer who could take part in the opera. Despite this general rule, in some cases Donizetti was free to choose the specific singers from the theatre’s cast of singers. It was also sometimes stated the date when the opera would be performed. For example, the contract of January 1839 indicated that Donizetti´s opera Les Martyrs was to be the third opera to be sung by Duprez after Le Lac des Fèes and La Vendetta (Rollet 2021, p. 197).

Barbaja Contracts The third typology to consider is the contract signed by Rossini with the famous impresario Barbaja when was the director of the Neapolitan theatres, as the contract presents some peculiarities different from the two previous types of contracts. Barbaja based his business mainly on two areas. Firstly, in the recruitment of the best composers and singers of the time. His strategy in this respect was to form a company of singers who performed only the operas he hired and to maintain a famous composer who not only composed operas, but also collaborated in the direction of the theatres under his guidance. Secondly, in the game rooms Barbaja had in his theatres, which constituted his main source of income. Regarding the first area, Barbaja was attentive to Rossini’s popularity. In the letter he wrote to the choreographer Gaetano Gioja dated October 6, 1812, Barbaja told him that he had already heard that “the maestro rosini (sic)” had composed the successful opera La pietra del Paragone (Rossini 1992, p. 44). But it was Tancredi’s success that decided Barbaja to contact Rossini and propose the contract. According to the available information, it is known that Rossini signed a contract with Barbaja to act as musical director of the San Carlo and Fondo theatres and to compose two operas for Naples each year, receiving 8,000 francs according to what Rossini told Hiller (2018, p. 44), or 12,000 francs (equivalent to 2,500 ducats) according to Stendhal (1823, p. 183), plus accommodation in Barbaja’s own house, which could be considered a “payment in kind”, and a further 1,000 ducats from the gambling rooms.5 It was also considered that Rossini might produce operas in other theatres, and in that case, during his absence from Naples, he would not receive payment. Over time, Rossini considered the contract abusive and went so far as to 5

This is the figure proposed by Azevedo (1864, p. 90), saying that Stendhal (1823, p. 183) exaggerates when he states that it is 30 or 40 louis in gold. Pougin (1871, p. 35) confirms the amount of 1,000 ducats. Osborne (2007, p. 37) considers that the salary ranged between 8,000 and 12,000 francs a year.

100

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

say that, that if Barbaja had been able to, he would have put him in charge of the kitchen as well (Weinstock 1968, p. 48). This collaboration meant for Rossini not only the possibility of composing operas, but also to obtain important monetary resources from gambling and to meet his eventual first wife, Isabella Colbran, who, as will be seen, brought a significant dowry to the marriage.6 In the case of Donizetti, Weinstock (1963, p. 55) states that Barbaja took a special interest in him after his break with Rossini and the success of Olivo e Pasquale in 1827. They signed an agreement to compose twelve new operas and to conduct the Teatro Nuovo, receiving 200 ducats per month, plus 50 scudi per month for his works at the Teatro Nuovo. Thanks to this salary, Donizetti began to consider the possibility of marriage, which he did in June 1828. Later, in 1828, Barbaja proposed to him to compose two operas after the great success of L’Esule di Roma, paying him 500 ducats each (Weinstock, 1963, p. 59). On the other hand, Eisenbeiss (2013) says that Barbaja hired him to compose some new operas for the royal theatres and to conduct the operas of other composers that had not yet been heard in Naples. Donizetti’s increasing fame in other Italian theatres allowed him to improve the economic conditions of his contract and in 1827 he signed a new one with Barbaja to compose four operas a year, with a salary of 300 ducats a month. In addition, he was to assume the responsibilities as musical director at the Teatro Nuovo (Eisenbeiss 2013). Barbaja had problems with both composers. For example, in Rossini’s case, the problem arose with the composition of Otello. As Rossini had not yet begun to compose, it is said that Barbaja kept him locked up providing only food until he gave him the score of the opera. This situation is recorded by Dumas in his work Le corricolo (Dumas 1865, chap. V), indicating that Rossini, in order to please Barbaja, gradually gave him arias from the opera. But when the singers rehearsed them, Barbaja realized that the music of all of them was the same, specifically the music of the overture. As for Donizetti, in August 1838, Barbaja insisted that he had to compose an opera that he had contracted for. But Donizetti had other contracts to attend to and the deadline was short, so he could not deliver the work. It is possible that Barbaja took legal action, and Donizetti had to pay a penalty of 300 escudos to cancel the contract and leave Naples (Weinstock 1963, p. 138). The wage differences in the opera world were significant, and composers were not the best paid. Not only Donizetti complained about this, but also Rossini. For example, Rossini commented to Hiller (2018, p. 18) that, if a composer earned 50 ducats, the singer received 1,000 ducats, earning in one evening more than he did for the composition of a full score. With such salaries, Rossini considered that he could never “become a grand signeur”, as he confessed to Wagner in their interview (Michotte 2011, p. 50). To demonstrate this, he cited the example of Il Barbiere di

6

Maliciously, Stendhal (1908, p. 164) in his letter dated November 2, 1819, to Adolphe de Mareste stated that Barbaja supported Rossini and provided him “free of charge, a carriage, food, lodging and a mistress”.

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

101

Siviglia. Rossini told Wagner that he received 1,200 francs7 and a hazelnut-coloured suit with gold buttons so that he could appear decently dressed before the orchestra. The suit might cost about 100 francs. This made a total, including salary, according to Rossini accounts, of 1,300 francs, or 100 francs a day, since according to Rossini it took him 13 days to compose the opera. In this sense, Azevedo (1864, p. 103) points out that, because of the meagre remuneration the maestro received for the “fatigue”8 of composing the music, it could be said that the composer was considered a rope boy or an employee. The salary only compensated for the fatigue, and inspiration, genius, talent, etc., were not rewarded. At this point it is interesting to know the composers’ situation on the social scale. It is possible to know it by comparing their salaries with those received by the workers in other activities, in Naples and Paris, the cities where they carried out most of their activity. In this respect, Rossini, although he considered his remuneration to be low, confessed that it was a good salary, especially when it is compared to the 2.5 francs a day that his father received in Pesaro when he was a tubatore (trumpet player) (Michotte 2011, pp. 50–51). In Naples, as shown above, Rossini received 2,500 ducats per year and Donizetti about 300 ducats per month. In both cases, the remuneration was much higher than the estimated 740 ducats of annual income per family in the city of Naples in 1811, according to data provided by Malanima (2006). On the other hand, Eisenbeiss (2013, appendix 3) shows that the average wage of a manual worker was 60 ducats a year, that of a private chef up to 192 ducats a year and that of a senior government official in the Bourbon government up to 6,000 ducats. In the case of Paris, the data available for the first three decades of the nineteenth century, the period when Rossini stopped composing operas, although Donizetti would continue composing for three more years, shows that there was a significant level of unemployment. Baron Bigot de Moregues (1832, p. 52) noted that a family whose income was less than 760 francs a year would live in misery and would have to go to charity. During the period between 1815 and 1830, the average wage in construction was 3.50 francs, which could rise to 5 francs in seasonal periods. In the cotton mills, men could earn up to 3 francs and women up to 1.30 francs (Paillat 1951, 770). Donizetti at that time received more than 8,000 francs per opera, so his salary was also well above the subsistence level.

7

Rossini did not remember very well the amount received. Azevedo (1864, p. 102) points out that Rossini claimed that he had only received 300 escudos, which does not coincide with the sum he told to Wagner. In any case, it is clear from the contract that the amount received was 400 escudos, but nothing is said about the suit. 8 Azevedo (1864, pp. 102–103) writes the word “fatigues” in capital letters, alluding to the “virtuose fatiche” written in Il Barbiere’s contract, which are compensated with the salary established in it.

102

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

Other Sources of Income In addition to the payments received from the composition of their operas, Rossini and Donizetti also obtained complementary income from other activities which can be classified into two main groups. Firstly, activities related to music: conducting theatres, music lessons, trips, etc., and secondly, extra-musical activities: especially financial activities, which enabled Rossini to increase his fortune. As far as the first group is concerned, Rossini was director of the Theatre-Italien in Paris and received various appointments. On December 1, 1823, Rossini presented a project of agreement with the French government in which it was established that he would compose a great opera for l’Académie Royale de Musique, choosing the libretto and receiving royalties. Rossini adds that for the engagements he intends to have with the French government, he will receive 40,000 francs (Rossini 1996, p. 195). Rossini´s conditions were considered exaggerated by the administration. So, during five years, from 1824 to 1829, the French government presented four contracts to reduce the composer’s financial demands. After various negotiations, a contract was signed on 8 May 1829, allowing him to retain the titles of Composer to the King and Inspector of Singing and Rossini will receive a lifetime annuity of 6,000 francs to be paid per semester (Art. 2). Rossini accepts to compose exclusively for l’Académie Royal de Musique, composing at least five great French operas in the next ten years starting on July 1, 1829 (Art. 3) and independently of the income he received from the performances, in accordance with the existing regulation for composers, Rossini will receive a bonus of 15,000 francs per opera, to be paid in three parts (Art. 5) (Rossini 2000, p. 499). The “July Revolution” of 1829 led to the abdication of Charles X and the election of Louis Philippe as his successor. Louis Philippe was more interested in issues related to the regime and in trying to control existing public spending than in musical issues. One of the measures adopted was to cut the cost of the Civil List from 40 million francs a year to 12 million. And Rossini’s lifetime annuity was one of the cuts. This led Rossini to start a long legal battle to recognize the annuity (Osborne 2007, p. 119). In early 1834 the Tribunal de Première Instance de la Seine ordered his annuity paid him in perpetuity. In accordance with the court decision, the Minister of Finance decided that the payment should be retroactive from July 1, 1830. Donizetti, meanwhile, directed Teatro Carolino in Palermo for the 1825–1826 lyric season, for which he received 45 ducats a month and a month’s holiday, as has already been mentioned (Weinstock 1963, p. 43). In this context, it should be noted that Rossini offered him in 1841 the directorship of the Liceo Communale in Bologna (after the refusals of Mercadante and Pacini) and a post as Maestro di Cappella at San Petronio. But Donizetti declined the proposal, either because he did not want to settle in Bologna or because he was another choice (Weinstock 1968, p. 221). The success of Linda de Chamounix at the Karntnertortheater in Vienna in 1842 brought Donizetti to the appointment of Hofkapellmeister to the Austrian Emperor. In his letter to Dolci dated June 16, 1842 (Zavadini, p. 616, quoted Ashbrook 1983,

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

103

p. 171), Donizetti indicates that the post involves conducting concerts in the royal apartments only two or three times a year and the possibility of being commissioned to compose cantatas paid separately. The payment initially offered was 3,000 florins a year, but Donizetti answered that he would only accept the post if he was paid at least 4,000 florins, that is, the same amount that he would return in two months with one opera. Later, in a letter dated July 25, 1842, described the activity that he must be carried out, saying that he received a thousand Austrian lire per month for doing nothing and for having several months of freedom to earn 50 escudos by giving lessons at the conservatoire, direct it and conduct, and compose pieces for the chapel. “This is how one live at court, and I prefer… the courtly!” (Weinstock 1968, p. 226). Also, within this first group of activities, it should be noted, on the one hand, that Rossini earned additional income from the sale of his French operas to various publishers. For example, he sold Le Siège de Corinthe to Eugène Troupenas for 6,000 francs (Escudier 1854, p. 202). On the other hand, reference should be made to the Stabat Mater which was commissioned by the archdeacon of Madrid, Manuel Fernández Varela, when the composer travelled to the Spanish capital in 1831 with Aguado, who was very interested in introducing Rossini to Spanish society circles and who offered him an all-expenses-paid trip to Spain. According to the memoirs collected by the Spanish writer P. A. Alarcón in his book De Madrid a Nápoles (From Madrid to Naples), published in 1861, Rossini had good memories of Spain. “Oh! the beautiful Spain! he [Rossini] exclaimed sweetly. I was there in 1831, with my great friend the banker Aguado, and I can never be sufficiently grateful for the attentions I received”. (...) The aristocracy gave me dances and meals... And Várela... the good Várela... the commissioner of the Crusade, gave me a sumptuous musical banquet, which half of Madrid attended. To that excellent man and that magnificent feast, I owe my Stabat Mater, which, as you know, I dedicated to Várela, and which was premiered two years later in San Felipe el Real in Madrid... (Alarcón 1861, p. 66)

The remuneration he received for the composition was a gold snuffbox inlaid with diamonds, worth 5,000 francs (Escudier 1854, p. 254). Rossini only composed six of the twelve movements, the remainder were composed by Tadolini, and this version was premiered on Holy Friday 1833 in Madrid. When Varela died in 1837, in contravention of his agreement with Rossini, the manuscript was sold to a buyer, who in turn sold it to a Parisian music publisher. Despite his ill health, Rossini quickly reclaimed the work and in 1841 completed the Stabat Mater, premiering it at a private performance in Paris on January 7, 1842 (Escudier 1854, pp. 255–257). From a monetary point of view, many profited from the work. According to information provided by the Escudier brothers (1854, pp. 261, 264), Troupenas paid 6,000 francs for it, the Escudier brothers paid him 8,000 francs for the property rights, and finally, they sold the Stabat to the director of the Théâtre-Italien for 20,000 francs. The fourteen performances of Stabat Mater during the season provided the director of the theatre with an income of 150,000 francs. Finally, it was undoubtedly Rossini’s seven-month trip to England from December 13, 1823 to July 23, 1824, that brought him the greatest income up to that time and

104

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

was the basis of his fortune. Although Rossini’s fame in London was inferior to that in Paris, the impresario of the King’s Theatre paid him 1,000 pounds and to his wife, Isabella Colbran, 1,500 pounds, for a gala performance on March 10, 1822 (Weinstock 1968, p. 135). However, Rossini obtained also important sums for other activities in that country. For example Rossini told Hiller (2018, p. 19) that he received 50 pounds for his participation in a musical evening9 and that in all his life as an artist, he had never earned as much money as he did in England. The total money Rossini earned in England varies between the 175,000 francs in bills of exchange on Bologna reported by Azevedo (1864, p. 196) and the 200,000 francs reported by Pougin (1871, p. 9). Rossini therefore considered his trip to London to be the beginning of his fortune, and so do Azevedo (1864, p. 200) and Pougin (1871, p. 9). On the other hand, Stendhal (1908, p. 164) in his letter dated November 2, 1819, to Adolphe de Mareste, attributed its origin to the placement of 100,000 francs with the entrepreneur Barbaja at 7.5% in Naples, and to the fact that he was greedy. Balzac also considered Rossini to be a miser (Balzac 1990b, p. 263), but his avarice was excusable, as it was a consequence of the memory of the hardships he had gone through. Alarcón, for his part, also echoes this, adding some negative aspects of the composer, although he is doubtful about some statements: It is said —I neither believe nor conceive it— that Rossini has never had a heart, nor affection for art, nor faith in anything immaterial, nor serious love, nor respect of any kind. It is said that his only passion has been avarice, his only ideal gold, his only God the franc...-I repeat that I do not believe it. -No one should be judged by his words, nor is character the expression of the feelings of the spirit. (Alarcón 1861, p. 64)

Regarding the second group of activities, those of a financial nature, it should be noted that Rossini apparently liked to speculate on the stock exchange. According to Azevedo (1864, pp. 298–299), during 1833 and 1834, he seems to have been interested in stock market operations, as he was seen several times at the Stock Exchange giving orders. But he seems to have been interested in this type of activity much earlier, as evidenced by the letter he received on December 15, 1826, from G. Berger, presumably a bank clerk, informing him of the fulfilment of the order Rossini had given him the previous day to buy Neapolitan debt and telling Rossini that he had made a great deal thanks to the fluctuation in the ducats (Rossini 2000, p. 81). The relationship he maintained with important bankers should also be noted. The musician and impresario Maurice Strakosch (1887, p. 66) stated that Rossini had three financial friends, James Rothschild, Alejandro María Aguado, Marquis de las Marismas, and Pillet Will. These bankers fought among themselves to see who could make Rossini richer. Rossini entrusted each of them with a share of his modest salaries in order to obtain a return. Strakosch added that when Rothschild learned 9

If, as Rossini states, he attended some 60 such meetings (Hiller 2018, p. 19), it is not surprising that he returned from his trip with a large sum of money. In addition, one should add what he earned from other activities, such as the two concerts he gave at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, Rossini received 40,000 francs (Bruson 1992, p. 148).

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

105

that Aguado had doubled Rossini’s capital in three months, he managed to achieve similar results in six weeks. So did Pillet Will. However, Azevedo (1864, p. 298) points out that all this is false and that Rossini did the business himself, since, thanks to his intelligence, his knowledge of men, and his prudence and astuteness, he was able to unravel the intricacies of financial operations and thus obtain large profits. Of the three bankers mentioned, it is interesting to note the relationship between Rossini and Aguado, who, according to Luis (2009, pp. 296–297), became his main benefactor from 1826 to 1827, and to whom Rossini owed part of his prestige in Paris. It was not only a financial relationship, but also one of friendship, in which Rossini accepted the banker’s luxurious gifts10 and a share in the profits derived from stock market investments. In return, Rossini composed works for Aguado’s parties or celebrations, such as a cantata he composed for the baptism of Aguado’s second daughter. But for the banker, his relationship with Rossini was also profitable in other ways, for example, by using him as a mediator with third parties to help Aguado in difficult situations. This was the case in 1829, when the Comte de Beauregard, editor of La Gazette de France, insistently asked Aguado to organize a private party at which Rossini would perform, reminding Aguado that his newspaper had supported him in the face of accusations of fraud made against him in the press. Aguado also used Rossini to control the Théâtre-Italien. On the other hand, it seems that Rossini also helped others to get loans from Aguado. Balzac remarks to Madame Hanska, in his letter of May 1, 1836 (Balzac 1990a, p. 317), that he hoped to get a loan from Aguado thanks to Rossini’s intercession. After Aguado’s death in April 1842, all the financial affairs of Rossini and his second wife, Olympe Peleisser, were handled by the Rothschild Bank (Weinstock 1968, p. 227). In this second group of activities, it should be added that Rossini was also involved in other financial operations focused on mortgage-backed loans. As reported by Fabbri and Monaldini (2000), the interest rate he received for these operations ranged from 5 to 6%, depending on the term, which ranged from 2 to 10 years. He also dealt with the operations of his first wife, Isabel Colbran, such as the loan she had granted to the then Duke of Alba and Berwick, Carlos Miguel Fitz-James Stuart y Silva. In a letter dated February 17, 1831, Rossini writes to the Duke reminding him that “on September 2, 1820 my wife Isabel Colbran made a loan to your excellence of 16,000 ducats from Naples at the legal interest of that kingdom…” pointing out that the expected returns would serve both Colbran and Rossini to support themselves financially when they could no longer work, and that as they had not received payment of the interest he would address the King of Spain to decree that the judge make the “intervention of the house of your excellence” (Rossini 2016, pp. 33–34). Indeed, three days later, Rossini sent a letter to Spanish King Ferdinand VII explaining the situation and pointing out that his condition was complicated because he was not receiving the pension he expected in France, so that the charging of interest on the loan granted was important for his maintenance (Rossini 2016, p. 39). On the other hand, it should also be added that according to Strakosch (1887, p. 64), Rossini felt compassion for artists who suffered some misfortune and gave 10

For example, a gold watch and chain valued at 5,000 francs.

106

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

some of his compositions to other musicians as gifts, which were later returned to Rossini by Strakosch himself (Strakosch 1887, p. 64). Another example of this generosity is the fact that Rossini paid Verdi 1,500 Austrian lire for a bravura aria that Rossini had asked him to write for his friend Nicholas Ivanoff. Rossini in his letter of January 28, 1845, to Verdi, tells him not to consider it as a payment, but as a sign of gratitude (Weinstock 1968, p. 234). Rossini also obtained resources from Barbaja which came from gambling. According to Eisenbeiss (2013), Rossini became Barbaja’s partner in the concessions the impresario had over opera and gambling in the royal theatres. In order to do so, Rossini had to pay the impresario a sum of money that he obtained through a loan from a Bolognese bank. In his letter to the Bolognese banker Paolo Bignami, dated April 17, 1819, Rossini tells him that he had entered a partnership with Barbaja, both in gambling and in the company, with very advantageous conditions for Rossini and for this reason he needed a loan (Rossini 1992, p. 366). Eisenbeiss (2013) deduces that Rossini’s financial investment accounted for 21% of Barbaja’s operations and that the impresario managed part of Rossini’s profits, even after the compositor left Naples. According to Eisenbeiss (2013), the partnership between the two began to cease to be productive from 1817 onwards. With the new Neapolitan revolutionary government, gambling licences were suspended in 1820. Barbaja protested that this had a significant negative effect on the theatres’ income, but all he got was an indemnity that Rossini considered generous, according to the letter he wrote to his mother dated August 10, 1821 (Rossini, 2004, p. 296). However, Barbaja lost much of his fortune (Azevedo 1864, p. 90). Finally, it must also include the important matrimonial dowries that both composers received, especially Rossini. Isabella Colbran, his first wife, had substantial financial resources, the villa of Castesano and the income from Sicily, 20,000 livres of income according to Azevedo (1864, p. 166). This substantial dowry and the fact that she was seven years older than her husband, an aspect that at that time was the subject of commentary, especially if there were patrimonial differences between the spouses, led some to maliciously think that Rossini had made a good deal and that it was not a marriage of love. In September 1837 the marriage separation contract between Isabella Colbran and Rossini was signed. Considering their marriage contract of 1822, all the income from her estate and half of her property was assigned to Rossini, and Isabella kept the property and credits of Sicily, as well as the land and villa of Castesano, estimated to be worth 40,000 Roman escudos. In turn, assigned to her a monthly sum of 150 scudi and the entire use of the villa (Weinstock 1968, p. 199). In Donizetti’s case, the dowry he received from his wife served as an excuse to convince his father that his marriage was an improvement in his situation, so he would not reduce or eliminate the aid he was sending him. On May 25, 1827, the composer wrote to his father that the marriage contract stipulated that Donizetti would receive 2,000 colonati payable in three years and that his wife had assets in the house worth thousands of escudos. Therefore, it seemed to him that even a man who did not have a single escudo could marry her (Donizetti 2018, p. 644). However, there are doubts as

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

107

to whether the figure given by the composer is correct. Firstly, Cametti (1907, p. 65) states that the dowry was 1,600 escudos. And, secondly, according to a private deed dated April 14, 1835, signed by Donizetti and presented by his brother-in-law after the composer’s death for the dowry to be reimbursed, it mentions dresses, furniture, silver, etc., worth 1,713.90 escudos, together with another 600 that were added after the death of the father-in-law, which was paid in monthly payments of 10 escudos (Donizetti 2018, pp. 720–721).

How to Make an Opera Fail If, as has been indicated, the successes of operas could bring fame and prestige to composers, and lead to better future salaries, it is also necessary to refer to the factors that could cause an opera to fail and damage the prestige of its author. Obviously, the main factor is the quality of the music. But there are other circumstances that must be considered. The first factor was the audience, and more specifically the claqueurs. It is obvious that the audience attending performances was one of the main barometers for evaluating the opera being performed. The press, theatre critics, and composers’ biographers considered that the number of times an opera’s aria or quartet was applauded, or the number of times the composer was asked to come on stage to be applauded, indicated whether the opera had been a success or a failure. And the claqueurs played an important role in this procedure. In his seventh tertulia included in his Les Soirées de L’Orchestre published in 1852, Berlioz explained how the claqueurs functioned, their types of behaviour, and the way they negotiated their activity with the theatre manager. Through them, the managers made or broke what they called success. Moreover, the behaviour of the claqueurs, especially in Italy, forced composers to introduce cabalettas in their operas, to put the voices and the orchestra in unison and to include a large bass drum in the orchestra, preferring a great force of emission to harmony (Berlioz 1884, pp. 96–97). The composers sometimes considered that part of the success or failure of their operas was due to the claqueurs. For example, after the premiere of Norma on December 26, 1831, Bellini justified its failure in a letter dated December 31 to the lawyer and composer Giovanni Battista Perucchini, saying that it had been due to a “diabolical intrigue”, orchestrated by a “formidable group supported by a lot of money spent by this madwoman… Do I explain? Because every day there is an opera by Pacini… Do I make myself clear?” (Bellini 2017, p. 253). It was said that the Giovanni Pacini’s mistress, the Countess Giulia Samoyloff, had a group of friends who tried to ensure the success of her lover’s operas and the failure of those of his rivals. Both Rossini and Donizetti were affected by this kind of behaviour. The failure of the premiere of Il Barbiere di Siviglia is well known, and it is claimed that it was due to Paisello’s supporters. They were unhappy that someone had dared to write an

108

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

opera with the same theme as the Neapolitan composer’s great contribution to the operatic genre, even though some 35 years had passed. Sometimes, however, failed premieres did not dampen the confidence of the impresarios in the composers. For example, the impresario of the Teatro della Canobbiana in Milan was not discouraged by the failure of Donizetti´s Ugo, Conte di Parigi, in March 1832, and signed a contract with the composer for a giocosa opera, L‘Elisir d’Amore, to be premiered in May 1832 (Weinstock 1963, p. 82). Likewise, and conversely, sometimes the good reception of a given work did not guarantee that the composer’s aspirations would be fulfilled, as evidenced by the fact that despite his success with Parisina in 1833, Donizetti did not get what he had hoped for: the invitation to go to Paris, as he confessed to Giovanni Ricordi in a letter dated June 15, 1833 (Weinstock 1963, p. 91). In this letter, Donizetti also says that he thought it was because Rossini was in Paris, and that therefore the directors did not need to hire other composers. His fears were unfounded, as Rossini himself would later invite him to premiere an opera at the Théâtre-Italien (Marino Faliero, March 12, 1835). A second element to consider is the libretto of the opera. Sometimes composers were not allowed to choose the theme of the work, comic or dramatic, and their preferences were not considered. If these had been considered, their operas would possibly have been of higher quality. But, in addition, if the plot and/or the verses of the libretto were not written by expert librettists, such as Felice Romani for example, not only the libretto was rejected by the public, but the composer’s work was also of poorer quality. Thus, in the letter Donizetti wrote to his father dated December 18, 1832, he commented that he had received an anonymous letter from a person questioning his work11 and that after reading it he did not know “which is worse for that person, if I write a lot or if I am paid too little or too much”. He added that he was criticized for not composing for good theatres and for using bad librettos. He defended himself by saying that he had worked for the best theatres, San Carlo and La Scala, and that he would like to receive good librettos, and would even pay 100 escudos to achieve this. Moreover, he was not supported by a beautiful woman12 (Weinstock 1963, p. 86). Some impresarios also realized the importance of libretti in the success of the opera. An example is the anecdote collected by Azevedo (1864, p. 68) regarding the anger of Cera, the impresario of the Teatro San Moisè in Venice, when he learned that Rossini had signed a contract with the rival theatre, La Fenice, to compose a new opera, Tancredi. As a result, he gave Rossini an unsuitable libretto, Il Signor Bruschino, which in turn angered Rossini. His response to the impresario was that, even if the libretto was bad, the music would be wonderful, and Rossini took revenge by composing a score with certain extravagances (for example, at one point in the overture, the second violins hit their music stands with their bows), which angered the audience.

11

Zavadini (1948, p. 46) thinks that the author of the anonymous letter was Bellini. Weinstock (1963, p. 86) states that this “beautiful woman” could be Giuditta Turina, who had extra conjugal relation with Bellini.

12

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

109

Finally, the role of the press must be also considered. Apart from the criticisms made of the performances attended by the critics, it must also add, in the case of France in particular, the articles published by musicologists and composers to praise or criticize Rossini´s operas. The announcement of the composer’s arrival in Paris and the possibility that he might eventually settle in the city unleashed a wave of articles and publications against his music, in order not only to defend the compositions of other composers before him, but also the works of French composers. Some musicians also sometimes used the press to criticize or discredit their fellow musicians. The best-known case is that of Berlioz, who, through his books and articles, showed his rejection of the music of Rossini and Donizetti. Mendelssohn had a bad opinion about Donizetti´s music. After his visit to Naples in April–May 1831, he said that there was little industry or competition for music in Italy. He pointed out that Donizetti wrote an opera in ten days that would be probably hissed, but that doesn´t matter because Donizetti would be paid anyway and he can go about amusing himself. However, if Donizetti reputation could be endangered, he would be forced to work seriously. If this is not the case, he would spend no more than three weeks on an opera, taking important pains with a couple of arias in order to please the public and once more to write trash (Weinstock 1963, p. 79).

The Results Achieved With the activities described in the previous sections, both composers amassed a substantial fortune that enabled them to secure their future, especially in the case of Rossini. It is estimated that Rossini’s assets at the time of his death amounted to 2,500,000 francs, divided between real estate, especially in Italy, bank deposits, securities, etc. (Bruson 1992, p. 147). In his last will and testament, Rossini named heir to the property to the Comune of Pesaro to found a Liceo Musicale after the death of his second wife, Olympe. When the school Became the “G. Rossini” Conservatory in 1940, the state conferred its management to the Fondazione Rossini, which has been engaged in disseminating the composer’s work, both through critical editions of his operas and through articles and lectures (Gallo 2010). As for Donizetti, there is no overall estimate of his assets like Rossini’s, although there are indications that his financial situation was also comfortable. Thus, for example, the signing of a contract for the purchase of a flat in Via Nardones for 5,600 ducats on November 29, 1836, before leaving Naples (Weinstock 1963, p. 123), or the estimate of his income made by Baron Eduard von Lannoy, who was one of the few friends who knew that Donizetti was in the Clinic of Ivry because of his illness during the last years of his life. The baron wrote a letter dated January 22, 1827, to Donizetti’s brother Giuseppe, in which, as well as describing his state of health, he also described the state of his finances. In the letter he indicated that the composer had an income of 20,000 francs a year. He thought that the place where he was hospitalized, which cost 600 francs a month, was not suitable, and said that a clinic in Paris would cost between 1,000 and 1,500 francs a month. And he asked

110

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

the brother whether it was preferable for Donizetti to save 14,000 francs a month and die sad, or to save nothing, or very little, but live happily for the rest of his life (Donizetti 2008, p. 255). Both composers admired each other. Donizetti regarded Rossini as the titan of music. For his part, in one of the conversations Rossini had with the painter Guglielmo De Santis during the months of May–June 1862, he told him that Donizetti was one of the most productive and versatile talents of his time. Rossini considered himself a close friend and, on many occasions, criticized Donizetti for following the rhythm of his music too closely, which made Donizetti less original. Rossini thought that only when Donizetti followed his own inspiration without preconceived ideas, he was very original, as is demonstrated by Anna Bolena, Lucia di Lamermoor, and L’Elisir d’Amore (De Sanctis 1878, p. 11). The lack of incentive led them at times to think of giving up composing operas, an idea which, as we know, only Rossini put into practice. The cause of his early retirement has never been known for certain. Donizetti thought it was because he had accumulated enough wealth. “I am not Rossini and I don’t have his fortune, but when a person has enough to live on and to enjoy himself enough, I think that he ought to retire and to amuse himself”, Donizetti wrote in a letter dated November 13, 1838. He adds that in March he will return to Italy for a short time and return to Paris and that “je quitte a jamais la France”. “I don’t want the theatre to abandon me, but I want to abandon it” (letter cited in Weinstock 1963, p. 140). In Donizetti’s case, it was mainly the loss of his family, through the gradual death of his children, his parents, and his wife, that caused his demotivation to continue composing. In his letter of August 12, 1837, to Antonio Vasselli, after the death of his wife and parents, he tells him “Without father, without mother, without a wife and without children… Why, then, do I labor on?” (Weinstock 1963, p. 127). But despite this, composition continued to tempt him and he continued with his work, although trying to avoid conflicts, as he expressed to Count Gaetano Melzi in his letter dated June 26, 1838, in which he told him that he “wanted emotions on the stage, not battles” (Weinstock 1963, p. 133).

References Alarcón, P.A. 1861. De Madrid a Nápoles. Imprenta y librería de Gaspar y Roig. Ashbrook, W. 1983. Donizetti and his operas. Cambridge University Press. Azevedo, A.J. 1864. G. Rossini sa vie et ses oeuvres. Heugel et Cia. Barbier, P. 2003. Á L´Opéra au temps de Balzac et Rossini. Paris 1800–1850. Hachette. Bellini, V. 2017. Vicenzo Bellini Carteggi, ed. G. Seminara. Leo S. Olschki. Berlioz, H. 1884. Les Soirées de L´Orchestre. Calmann Lévy. Bonesi, M. 1946. Note biografiche su Donizetti. In Bergomum: bolletino della Biblioteca Civica, Bergamo Alta 40/3, 81–89). G. Zavadini. Bruson, J.M. 1992. Rossini à Paris. Catalogue exposition Musée Carnavalet Paris, 27 octobre – 31 décembre 1992. Paris: Société des Amis de Carnavalet. Cairns, D. 1989. Berlioz, Volume I. The Making of an Artist, 1803–1838. Penguin Classics. Cairns, D. 1999. Berlioz, Volume II. Servitude and Greatness, 1832–1869. Penguin Classics.

5 Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti: The Economics of Belcanto

111

Cametti, A. 1907. Donizetti a Roma. Con lettere e documenti inediti. Bocca. Cassaro, J.M. 2015. Gaetano Donizetti: A Research and Information Guide. Routledge. de Balzac, H. 1990a. Lettres à Madame Hanska, (1832–1850), Tome I, ed. Roger Pier. Robert Laffont. de Balzac, H. 1990b. Lettres à Madame Hanska, (1832–1850), Tome II, ed. Roger Pier. Robert Laffont. de Moregues, B. 1832. De la misère des ouvriers et de la marche a suivre pour y remédier. Madame Huzard. De Sanctis, G. 1878., Gioacchino Rossini: Appunti di viaggio, Roma. Donizetti, G. 2008. Caro Aniello: i carteggi donizettiani del Fondo Moscarino (1836–1847), ed. C. Moscarino. Fondazione Donizetti. Donizetti, G. 2018. Gaetano Donizetti Carteggi e Documenti, 1797–1830. Fondazione Donizetti. Dumas, A. 1865. Impressions de Voyage: Le Corricolo en Oeuvres Complétes, Vol. I, Michel Levy, Frères. Eisenbeiss, P. 2013. Bel Canto Bully. Haus Publishing. Escudier, Les Frére. 1854. Rossini. Sa vie et ses oeuvres. E. Dentu, Libraire-Editeur. Everist, M. 2002. Music drama at the Paris Odeon, 1824–1828. University of California Press. Fabbri, P., and S. Monaldini. 2000. Delle monete il suon giá sento! Documenti notarili relativi a Gioachino Rossini, possidente. In Una piacente estate di San Martino: Studi e ricerche per Marcello Conati, ed. M. Capra, 77–115. Librería Musicale Italiana. Fleischman, T. 1965. Napoléon et la musique. Brépolis. Galindo-Martín, M.A., and M.T. Méndez-Picazo. 2014. “All´idea di quel metallo”: Economic Ideas in Some Operas at the Beginning of the 19th Century. Estudios de Economía Aplicada 32 (1): 139–152. Gallo, D.P. 2010. Gioachino Rossini: A Research and Information Guide. Routledge. Hiller, F. 2018. Conversations with Rossini. Pallas Athene (Translated and annotated with an introduction by Richard Osborne). Keates, J. 2014. Donizetti in París, pp. 31–40. Opera Rara. Luis, J.P. 2009. L´ivresse de la fortune. A. M. Aguado, un génie des affaires. Pavot. Malanima, P. 2006. Pre-modern Equality: Income Distribution in the Kingdom of Naples (1811). Paper Presented at XIV International Congress of Economic History. http://www.helsinki.fi/ieh c2006/papers3/Malanima.pdf Michotte, E. 2011. La visite de Wagner à Rossini. Actes Sud. Osborne, R. 2007. Rossini. Oxford University Press. Pacini, G. 1865. Le mie memorie artistiche. Presso G. G. Guidi. Paillat, P. 1951. Les salaires et la condition ouvrière en France à l’aube du machinisme (1815–1830). Revue Économique 2 (6): 767–776. Parker, R. 2001. The Opera Industry. In The Cambridge History of Nineteenth-Century Music, ed. J. Samson, 87–117. Cambridge University Press. Pougin, A. 1871. Rossini. Notes, Impressions, Souvenirs, Commentaries. Claudin. Rollet, S. 2021. Donizetti et la France (1831–1897). Classiques Garnier. Rosselli, J. 1984. The Opera Industry in Italy from Cimarosa to Verdi. The Role of the Impresario. Cambridge University Press. Rossini, G. 1992. Gioachino Rossini. Lettere e Documenti, Vol. I, ed. B. Cagli and S. Ragni. Fondazione Rossini Pesaro. Rossini, G. 1996. Gioachino Rossini. Lettere e Documenti, Vol. II, ed. B. Cagli and S. Ragni. Fondazione Rossini Pesaro. Rossini, G. 2000. Gioachino Rossini. Lettere e Documenti, Vol. III, ed. B. Cagli and S. Ragni. Fondazione Rossini Pesaro. Rossini, G. 2004. Gioachino Rossini. Lettere e Documenti, Vol. IIIa. Lettere ai genitori, ed. B. Cagli and S. Ragni. Fondazione Rossini Pesaro. Rossini, G. 2016. Gioachino Rossini. Lettere e Documenti, Vol. IV, ed. B. Cagli and S. Ragni. Fondazione Rossini Pesaro.

112

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín and M.-T. Méndez-Picazo

Stendhal. 1823. Vie de Rossini. Gallimard (1992). Stendhal. 1855. Stendhal, Correspondance. Première Serie. Michel Levy, Frères. Stendhal. 1908. Stendhal, Correspondance, Vol. 2, ed. A. Paupe and P.A. Cheramy. Charles Rosse. Strakosch, M. 1887. Souvenirs d´un Impresario. Paul Ollendorff. Weinstock, H. 1963. Donizetti and the World of Opera in Italy, Paris and Vienna in the first half of the Nineteenth Century. Methuen & Co Ltd. Weinstock, H. 1968. Rossini. A Biography. Oxford University Press. Zavadini, G. 1948. Donizetti. Vita, Musiche, Epistolatio. Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche.

Chapter 6

Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From Belcanto to the Grand Opera) María-Teresa Méndez-Picazo and Miguel-Ángel Galindo-Martín

Vicenzo Bellini

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo (B) Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] M.-Á. Galindo-Martín University of Castilla-La Mancha, Ciudad Real, Spain © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_6

113

114

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

Giacomo Meyerbeer The Grand Opera gives glory, but not money. Bellini (Letter October, 13, 1834. Bellini 1943, p. 459). ...o Lord... make the wisest provisions to preserve my wealth for my beloved children and for my cherished wife. (Meyerbeer2004, p. 219).

Introduction Morden (1985, p. 37) comments that Rossini considered Meyerbeer and his librettist Scribe were mainly businessmen. Letellier (2018, p. 91) adds that he was an astute businessman who took great care of the contracts with his collaborators and his fortune. After a few years in Italy, Meyerbeer focused his activity on Paris, a city that could bring him fame and honour to a greater extent than other cities and countries. He had no money problems, coming from a wealthy family, and he had also inherited a large sum of money, so his main interest was that his work should be appreciated. Despite his great wealth, he lived frugally, dressing without ostentation, and renting not too expensive lodgings. This did not mean that he neglected financial matters, but what interested most to him was that his operas should endure and be appreciated also in the future. He took

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

115

advantage of possibilities created by Auber in his La Muette de Portici (1828), which gave way to what was called the Grand Opera, in which, in addition to the music, the text and the staging were important. The success that Meyerbeer had obtained with Robert le Diable (1831) showed him that this was the way forward, especially since Rossini gave no sign of continuing to write and the rest of the composers dedicated to the Grand Opera could not be a serious competition. From then on, the focus had to be on continuing to offer a “quality” product, which meant that the relationship between composer, librettist, and impresario had to include not only musical but also commercial ones. It could also be said of Bellini that he considered opera as a business that would allow him to live well and maintain relationships with the most important people of his time. At the end of the first performance of his I Puritani (January 1835), he could breathe easily. The applause and cheers he received largely eliminated the fears he had had since he began composing the opera regarding success and positioning himself above his closest competitors, and they almost completely disappeared after the slightest interest that was aroused a few months later by Donizetti’s Marino Faliero (March 1835). From the moment he was contracted by Rossini to compose I Puritani and its premiere at the Théâtre Italien in Paris, Bellini saw enemies and betrayals on all sides. At first, he thought that with this contract Rossini had tried to harm him by setting him up. From his point of view, Donizetti was Rossini’s favourite composer and therefore he hoped that I Puritani would fail and thus eliminate an important competitor. Over time this view changed, and he considered Rossini as a benefactor to the point where he came to think that he could become Rossini’s second in management of the theatre. One wonders whether he might even think of replacing him. The success of I Puritani further accentuated his perspective regarding the composition of operas: no more than one a year, well paid and with good singers. Bellini, from his first musical triumphs, was actively involved in the negotiation of contracts, not only in terms of money but also the singers, scripts, librettists, etc. Both composers had a great similarity in their behaviour with respect to operatic production. Firstly, they were not willing to write many operas in a short period of time, as Rossini or Donizetti, for example, had done. Bellini planned to write an opera a year, and Meyerbeer took as long as five years to premiere one. For this reason, their volume of production is significantly lower than that of other composers. Bellini composed 10 operas in ten years, and Meyerbeer some 17 operas in 53 years. Secondly, his relationship with the librettists was very similar. Both had their “favourite”: Felice Romani in Bellini’s case, and Scribe in Meyerbeer’s, with whom they had problems and disputes. And, thirdly, his negotiations regarding the operas went beyond the merely musical sphere, trying to ensure the hiring of singers, property rights, edition of the works, etc. The great difference between the two lay in their initial wealth. As has been said, Meyerbeer came from a wealthy family, while

116

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

Bellini came from a poor one. But as far as money was concerned, both, as we shall see, were considered greedy and ungenerous. In the different sections of the chapter, the main aspects related to the economic environment in which both composers developed their activity will be presented. In section “Biographical Aspects” main biographical aspects are considered. In section “Economic Resources: Income from Operas and Investments”, the economic income they obtained for their work is analysed. Section “Other Resources” will focus on other types of income they earned, mainly of a financial nature. Section “Press and Claqueurs” will discuss the importance of the press and the claque and how Meyerbeer tried to use both for his own benefit. Section “Meyerbeer and Economics” will discuss the political and economic aspects of Meyerbeer’s Le Prophète (1849).

Biographical Aspects Vincenzo Bellini was born in Catania in 1801, into a family that was interested in music, since his grandfather had studied at the Naples Conservatory and had been an organist and teacher like Vincenzo’s father. This interest was transmitted to the young Bellini, who began composing and playing piano at an early age. Family resources were scarce and were gradually reduced, especially with the inflation derived from the Napoleonic wars. In order to continue advancing in his musical studies, Vincenzo realised that it was necessary to leave his hometown and go to Naples. To this end, at the age of seventeen, he applied for a 36-oz1 scholarship a year to study for four years in Naples, on the grounds that his family was poor and that his “taste” and “principles” would be better formed in the Naples Conservatory (Rosselli 2013, p. 21).2 According to Rosselli (2013, p. 19), Bellini received from his family physical beauty and the habit of practicing music. In Naples, he became friends with Francesco Florimo, a friendship that would last, which will last throughout the composer’s life. Florimo wrote the Bellini’s biography in 1882 and kept his correspondence. Much of the information available about Bellini’s activities and his wishes and ideas come from the letters he sent to his friend. However, it should be noted that some of them are of doubtful validity, since either the original manuscript does not exist, or sometimes Florimo introduced some alterations to improve the figure of his friend or completed the letters with Florimo’s own recollections that provide inaccurate data or dates.

1

Approximately 2,170 euros. For the conversion into current euros of the different currencies see the introduction to this book. 2 The scholarship established that if, after his training Bellini did not live in Catania, he would have to return the money. Rosselli (2013, p. 21) indicates, this condition was never demanded.

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

117

During his stay in Naples, Bellini composed his first operas (Adelson e Salvini, 1825, and Bianca e Gernando, 1826), which brought him fame and success and made it easier for other important Italian theatres to offer him relevant contracts. Once he considered that he had achieved great fame in Italy, he thought, imitating Rossini, to cover other foreign markets. Thus, during the months of April and August 1833, he travelled to London, but apparently, he did not obtain the results he had expected, so he focused his attention on the possibility of settling in Paris, taking advantage of the offer made to him by the Théâtre Italien, through Rossini, to compose what would be his last work, I Puritani (1835). He would reside in the French capital until his death on 23 September 1835. Bellini’s main objective was to achieve financial stability that would allow him to compose more calmly and without the pressures that he had to suffer in the early years of his artistic life, such as in the composition of I Capuleti and I Montecchi (1830), which due to the limited time he had available, he had to use various pieces from his previous opera Zaira (1829), which had been a failure. He tried not to imitate the behaviour of other composers, such as Rossini, Donizetti, or Pacini, who sometimes composed more than two operas in a year. Therefore, the remuneration that he should receive for his works would have to be high. From his perspective, it should be more than twice as much for each opera than other composers received. This implied two things. On the one hand, it was necessary to offer a product, i.e., an opera—of high quality and much appreciated by the public.3 This meant having enough time to compose it, without being forced to constantly travel from one city to another to premiere new works or to meet the demands of the singers who asked for additional arias or changes to their brilliancy. But it also implied having a suitable libretto, dealing with novel and interesting topics, which, at that time, were basically romantic themes (Rosselli 2013, p. 47), having a librettist who would satisfy Bellini’s wishes and needs, and with suitable singers who could cope with the demands of the score. And it was also necessary to consider the situation and behaviour of the other composers who, in business terms, were his rivals. Bellini believed that two people doing the same job could not be true friends (Weinstock 1971, p. 21). If he wanted to create a “Bellini” brand, he had to offer something better than his competitors and try to avoid failures in the premieres of his works. Such failures could be caused by four circumstances in particular: because the public did not appreciate his music, because the work was not of sufficient quality, because of the behaviour of the claque or because of the negative reviews in the newspapers. We will refer to the last two circumstances in section “Press and Claqueurs”. In order to achieve his goal of economic stability, Bellini was forced to follow a series of behaviour patterns that he described to his uncle Ferlito in his letter of 1st of April 1835 (Bellini 1943, pp. 536–542). These guidelines specified were essentially threefold. Firstly, as mentioned above, to sign advantageous contracts 3

Bellini was convinced that he provided operas of high quality and that they were appreciated by the public, which, from his perspective, allowed him to be demanding in the contractual conditions, thinking that the impresarios should accept them without discussion.

118

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

that would allow him to earn for one opera what other composers could earn by composing two or three. Secondly, to gain the appreciation of Parisian high society. To this end, he tried to make contacts with ambassadors, famous artists, etc. In this area, Bellini’s emphasis on the role that Rossini could play in securing him an advantageous situation in Paris is noteworthy. Thirdly, to obtain a significant dowry through marriage, which, as he stated in his letter, would allow him to be “independent of everyone and everything” And, finally, to carry out speculative operations on the stock market, which, as we shall see, were not always profitable. In this area, it should be noted that Bellini knew how to manage his money. He was able to save without, apparently, having to make great sacrifices in consumption. As he wrote to Florimo in his letter of 16th of April 1828 (Bellini 1943, p. 84), of the 2,500 francs he received during his stay in Genoa, he saved 2,000 francs, “without ever missing anything!” This makes him very scrupulous not only in accepting contracts and remuneration but also when demanding payments to cover travel expenses. For example, for the staging of Il Pirata in Lucca, he demanded a sum of 340 ducats, insisting that the journey should be paid by the impresario and the lodging and maintenance should be provided by the contralto Brigida Lorenzani, who lived in that city (Bellini 2017, p. 138). Bellini helped his family financially, as soon as he began to obtain remuneration for his works. Weinstock (1971, p. 91) points out that, although there is no indication of the amount of money he sent to his family in Catania, it is known that after he settled in Paris in 1833, transferred money through the Rothschild Bank. In his correspondence, he shows his concern to secure his future and to be able to send regular amounts of money to his family. In this sense, he told his brother in a letter dated 1st of July 1830 (Amore 1894, p. 301), that he hoped to fulfil his wishes in four years, that is, when he turned 34. From then on, his idea was to send them about 100 francs a month, and until he achieved his goal, to transfer them about 200 francs a year, if he got good contracts. Bellini died in 1835 in strange circumstances while he was residing at the Levy couple’s home in Puteaux on the outskirts of Paris. At the time of his death, his hosts were travelling abroad. Jacob Liebmann Beer was born in Tasdorf, near Berlin, in 1791. He belonged to a wealthy family of Jewish businessmen and merchants. His father, Jakob Juda Beer, a wealthy industrialist, owned a sugar factory, was the leader of the Jewish community in Berlin and was considered the richest man in the city. He married Amalia Meyer Wulff, who also belonged to a wealthy family. Pougin (1891, p. 473) points out that when his uncle Meyer, who was very fond of young Jacob, died, he left him his entire fortune on the condition that he would add his name, Meyer, to his surname Beer, henceforth he was always be called Meyerbeer. For his part, Anger (2017, p. 44) makes this information more specific, noting that in 1812 his uncle left him an inheritance of 300,000 fr. so that he could “cultivate his art” on the condition that it bore his name. Meyerbeer was a child piano prodigy, and his family encouraged him to develop his musical activity. When he realised that the teaching, he was receiving in Berlin

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

119

was insufficient, he moved to other German cities, to Vienna, and later to Italy to continue learning. Despite the family’s wealth, his father tried to instil in him the need to be careful with spending. For example, he even commented to his son that he was spending too much during his trip to Germany, which led Meyerbeer to be very scrupulous in recording his expenses. Until June 1813, he recorded in his diary all the expenses he incurred (accommodation, transport fees, food, etc.). Meyerbeer spent 18 months in Vienna, studying and doing some performances in private rooms. But his goal was to go to Paris, where he believed he could learn more and develop his musical faculties. But in October 1814 his father wrote to him that he should return to Berlin, and Meyerbeer suspected that this might be due to the costs of his studies. So, he wrote to him in November 1814 telling him that if money was the problem, he was willing to limit his expenses to whatever level his father considered acceptable (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 31). In Vienna, Salieri told him that Italy was the best place to broaden his knowledge of music, especially opera, so he decided to move there at the beginning of 1816. There, he listened to Rossini’s Tancredi and he decided to devote himself to composing operas, following the style of Rossini. In Italy, he changed his name, Jacob, to its Italian form Giacomo, which he kept until his death. There he composed six successful operas, which won him fame in Italy, as well as many detractors in his native country, who accused him of being a follower of Rossini’s style. Monaco (2022, p. 41) points out that it is surprising that an almost unknown debutant in Italy could perform an opera of his own, especially in an environment dominated by Rossini’s music, and that this could be explained by Meyerbeer’s good economic situation, which would allow him to finance part of the expenses of the performance. Probably encouraged by the good results obtained, Meyerbeer wanted to increase his fame and to do so he had to look for other markets. In July 1823, he told the bass Prosper Levasseur that it was a much greater honour for him to write a work for the French opera than to do it for all the Italian theatres put together (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 36). For this reason, he moved to the French capital in 1825, where he would compose the operas that brought him the most fame, although he was always interested in developing his activity in Berlin. He died in Paris in 1864. Meyerbeer, unlike Bellini, did not have to worry about his financial situation. But his parents taught him to preserve inherited wealth and try to increase it so that his heirs could enjoy it. He was therefore very careful in all his transactions and he consulted a notary about the aspects of the contracts he signed with publishers and theatre directors. In Vienna, his interests were represented by Joseph Bacher, son of a Viennese banker and a great admirer of Meyerbeer. His detractors considered him very stingy because he tried to spend as little as possible on his food, except when he had guests, when he tried to pretend that he was generous and splendid. From a social perspective, he tried to keep up appearances. For example, as far as housing was concerned, as he noted in his diary on the 7th of July 1842, he moved into a new apartment on the third floor of Rue Neuve St Augustin, 49, which costed him 270 francs per month (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 64); or in June 1852 he moved to a quartier on the first floor of Avenue Champs Elysees

120

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

26 for which he paid 250 francs for 14 days (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 169). But also, at other times he was looking for better prices, as he noted in his diary (October 1847), in which he writes that he settled at the Hotel Sinet, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré 54, in a 6-room suite for the advantageous price of 250 francs per month (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 253). From a financial point of view, Meyerbeer always made sure that his three daughters were aware of the value of things. With the gifts Meyerbeer gave them, he tried to satisfy their wishes, but they were by no means sumptuous (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 132). On the other hand, he also cared about doing charitable work. For example, every year, on the anniversary of his brother Michael’s death, he gave 100 thalers to be distributed among poor Christians and Jews in Munich (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 95). In May 1853, he gave 3,000 thalers to facilitate cleaning for the poor (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 226), and in April 1854 he bought 100 francs in a lottery for charity (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 270). He also supported and provided monetary compensation to people who had a professional relationship with him. There are numerous examples of this type of behaviour and of many different kinds. For example, he helped Gaetano Rossi, who was the librettist for his Italian operas, with 200 francs at his various requests, and when Rossi died in 1855, he sent 100 francs to each of his two daughters (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 322). Or, for example, he gave what could be considered compensation to musical directors and choir members for the effort and inconvenience caused in the rehearsals of some of his works,4 as well as New Year’s gifts, as, for example, in December 1853, he bought gifts for the four singers of his comic opera worth 950 francs, and bonbons for the 20 choir women worth 140 francs (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 250).

Economic Resources: Income from Operas and Investments Regarding the income that both composers earned from their work, two geographical areas must be distinguished, Italy and France. Bellini was mainly active in Italy, due to his early death. Except for I Puritani, the rest of his operas were premiered in that country. Meyerbeer, although the operas he composed in Italy were successful, acquired his greatest prestige and fame in Paris.

4

It is worth mentioning the 2 louis d’or he gave to the musical director, Neithardt, and the 19 thalers to the cathedral choir as thanks for the performance of one of his cantatas (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 166).

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

121

Italy In Italy, the opera was characterised by a system of contracts stipulating the specific amounts to be paid by the impresario. Hence, composers tried to negotiate advantageous conditions for themselves, considering, among other issues, the salaries perceived by other composers. Bellini was not an exception to this general rule, and so he was obliged to negotiate with the impresarios on questions related to payments, singers, etc., rejecting offers that he did not consider suitable, either because he considered that the impresario offered him a low payment,5 or because of other circumstances, such as the limited time for composing an opera or the poor quality of the singers, which could damage the quality of his opera. Bellini was one of the first operatic composers to realise that the price paid for a score was the barometer of popularity. After the success of La Straniera (1829), at the age of 27 and with only three operas composed, he became aware of his ability to earn money. He considered that this popularity could be achieved by satisfying the audience, who would demand his operas, thus exerting significant pressure on the impresarios, who would be obliged to contract him. In this way, Bellini would be in an advantageous position to fix the opera price and the other conditions he considered appropriate. One of the factors that made it possible to measure this popularity was the number of spectators who came to the theatre, so he was always attentive to the income that the impresarios obtained in the performances. To achieve this objective, especially since he aimed to compose only one opera a year, he tried to create his own “brand”, something like what Rossini did. It required an appropriate libretto,6 excellent singers, and great dedication and attention, which could not be achieved by having to compose several operas at the same time.7 In this sense, Bellini affirmed on several occasions that he devoted a lot of time to his operas, as much time to each of them as his colleagues to three or four (Bellini 1943, pp. 380, 408). There were several problems that arose when several operas were composed in a short space of time. The two most important were, firstly, having to travel constantly from one city to another, which could affect the composer’s health and cause fatigue, diminishing the inspiration required for composition. And, secondly, having to meet the demands of the singers, which meant having to make changes to the music and notes to adjust them to the characteristics of their voice, adding arias or cabalettas 5

In 1828, he commented to his friend Florimo in his letter dated 9th of June 1828 (Florimo 1882, p. 329) that, although he was bored with idleness, he had rejected the offer of Count Ferreri, who presided the Direzione del Teatro di Torino, to compose an opera for 3,500 francs, as Bellini demanded 4,000 francs. 6 He devoted great importance to the subject matter of the libretto. As he tells Florimo in a letter dated 1st of December 1828 (Bellini 1943, p. 177), he refused to write the music for the Cesare in Egitto libretto, claiming that it was old-fashioned. Specifically, he said that it was a subject “older than Noe”. 7 This idea is expressed to Andrea Monteleone in her letter of 17th of September 1829 (Bellini 2017, p. 196) when he states that Pacini must write three operas for a single carnival, so his music will not be of quality.

122

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

because a singer considered that their role was not sufficiently representative or did not live up to her supposed prestige, etc. As he gained fame, Bellini, who disliked these tasks, tried to avoid them by demanding excessively high fees for his operas (Rosselli 2013, p. 64). He was therefore very clear about the amount of money he had to earn for his compositions, which led him from the beginning of his career to reject those offers that did not correspond to what he wanted. This approach usually worked out well for him, as evidenced by the payments he received for each of the operas he composed. According to the information provided by Amore (1894, p. 75) in his biography of Bellini, the payments ranged from the 150 ducats received by Bianca e Gernando (1826) in Naples, to 3,058 ducats plus half of the rights for Beatrice di Tenda (1833) in Venice. For I Puritani (1835), his last opera, he received 2,588 ducats and a third of the author’s rights It should be noted that the remuneration received by Bellini increased rapidly: for Il Pirata (1827), his first great success, he received 500 ducats, a figure that doubled for his next work, La Straniera (1829), 1,000 ducats, quadrupled for La Sonnambula (1831), 2,000 ducats, and for Norma (1831) he received 3,000 ducats. These figures show the Bellini’s success in Italy. In short, in only five years, he went from the 4,200 francs received in 1829 by La Straniera to the 39,240 that he agreed with the Teatro de San Carlo in 1834 for three operas (Della Seta 2022, p. 193). In addition to the remuneration, he received for the operas, Bellini also received payments from the sale of the rights to the operas, under different conditions, as well as from the printing of the opera for solo piano and for singing. But this second possibility generated a very low income, since the Italian demand for printed music at that time was much reduced. For example, in the case of La Sonnambula, he obtained 12,000 Austrian lire (Bellini 2017, p. 255), and for the assignment to Troupenas of the right to print his new opera in the Austrian states, he received 2,500 francs (Bellini 2017, p. 322). Bellini shared the full opera score ownership with the impresario or with the Milanese publisher Ricordi. The problem was piracy because Europe was flooded with pirated Standards, as Ricordi indicated. For this reason, Bellini was also concerned about piracy and tried to identify those who practiced it. For example, he pointed out to Ricordi (Bellini 1943, pp. 273–274) that a duet from his opera La Sonnambula, printed by Girard, did not match the score that he had composed, but had possibly been taken from the parts of the singers and did not correspond to his work. He adds that he is surprised that the printer has preferred to make a profit in this way at the cost of losing his friendship. Similarly, he refers to the composer Pugni, who he thinks has made a false edition of I Puritani. This situation infuriates him especially because as Bellini wrote to Florimo (2nd of September 1835), the composer had supported “this Pugni … for a year, dressing him, paying for his house…” and adds that this it is the reward he receives and that this “will serve as an example to me, and if it were not for his innocent children, I would like to ruin him” (Bellini 1943, p. 590).

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

123

Finally, it should be noted regarding the contracts that the available information seems to indicate that, over time, Bellini negotiations were increasingly complicated with respect to remuneration being more detailed with respect to the rest of the conditions. This led to many discussions in order to convince that the demands he made were due to the exceptionality of the product, that it required a lot of effort, that the public wanted and valued that product, and that it would ultimately bring great benefits to the businessman, despite the higher salary the impresario would have to pay. Sometimes, he showed his kind face and his desire to compromise, agreeing to reduce his remuneration in the interest of maintaining friendship and satisfying the public’s wishes. An example of these negotiations is the contract with Lanari in 1834 for Naples about the possibility of composing three operas. The main aspects of the discussions we know from the letter he wrote to Florimo on 24 July 1834 (Bellini 1943, pp. 414– 420). Bellini wrote that they have been arguing for a long time, which he considers normal (“it is usual to write a hundred letters before reaching an agreement”), but that Lanari must consider that Bellini is always right in his claims, adding that he does not understand why the rich gentlemen who manage a company with great splendour do not agree to contract his operas without problems even though the public wants the agreement to be reached. Bellini then shows his kind face by lowering his economic claims (reducing his remuneration by 2,000 ducats compared to his initial demand of 12,000) and says that Lanari should consider the effort he makes, not only financially, but also in terms of health to be able to have the opera finished that winter. Finally, Bellini adds a series of conditions that must be included in the contract. Firstly, the date of the premiere of the first opera, February 1835, and the singers who were to perform it. Secondly, the second opera will be premiered in January 1836 and the third in January 1837, dates that could be altered, if the impresario’s contract with the government ended at the Carnival of 1836. Thirdly, Bellini establishes the time when he will be in Naples to attend the rehearsals of the operas. Fourthly, he says that he will oversee the librettos and will choose the theme and the librettist, who will be paid 1,000 francs. Fifthly, the ownership of the operas will be ceded by the company to the composer. As we will see later, the negotiations became complicated, which motivated Bellini to turn his attention to the possibility of obtaining an Opera-Comique-contract.

Paris In the case of Paris, the remuneration system was based on productivity, which was measured by the composer’s success. There was no agreed amount paid when the full opera score was delivered to the impresario, but rather the composer received a series of payments based on the success, measured in performances, of the opera. The more the public liked the opera, the more it would be performed, both during the year of the premiere and in subsequent years. Consequently, the composer would

124

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

receive more income. It was a system somewhat like the royalties paid today for a play or a book. It was customary for a four or five-act opera to receive 250 francs for each of the first 40 performances and 100 francs thereafter (Gerhard 1998, p. 37). For this reason, composers were attentive to box office receipts both to know what their remuneration would be and to know how their popularity was affected. Therefore, it is not surprising that Meyerbeer felt so depressed as to “have lost all the vitality to work”, as he affirms in his diary entry of 1st November 1860 (Meyerbeer 2004, p. 175), when he learned of the lower box office receipts that the third reprise of Le Pardon de Ploërmel (1859) in Paris, since, in addition to the negative impact on his popularity, it entailed the possibility of receiving lower receipts. In addition to this, the composers also received other resources through the sale of rights of author for the publication of the score and for the score for piano and voice. Regarding these other types of income, it should be noted that in Paris in the 1830s there were mainly two publishers who shared the market, Troupenas, who was interested in the operas that dilettanti (mainly Rossini), and Schlensinger, who focused on grand opera, Auber, Meyerbeer… The income obtained Meyerbeer from the publisher for his operas his works was significant, as the composer acknowledges in his letters and diaries: 24,000 francs for Les Huguenots (1836) and 44,000 francs for Le Prophète (1849) (Gerhard 1998, p. 37).8 In addition, Meyerbeer obtained additional income from the transfer of rights and the publication of his works in other countries. For example, for Le Prophète he received 44,000 francs from his publisher: 19,000 francs for publication rights in France, 17,000 in England, and 8,000 in Germany (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 122). In March 1854, he signed a contract with Schelinger for the publication of his opera L’Etoile du Nord (1854) in Germany for 8,000 francs (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 268).9 In January 1848 he was offered 1,000 pounds for the right to produce and publish Le Prophète in London (Meyerbeer 2001, pp. 276–277). In February 1849 he notes in his diary that he had signed a contract for the London production and English publishing rights of Le Prophète for 20,000 francs (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 338). Finally, it is worth noting the time lapse between the premieres of Meyerbeer’s operas, which could be decades. For example, between his first opera premiered in Paris, Robert le Diable, and his second opera, Les Huguenots, almost 5 years elapsed, but between the latter and his third opera, Le Prophète, 13 years, sometimes delivering the full score very late. It is evident that his comfortable financial situation allowed him not to be forced to perform an opera every year. On the contrary, he took his time to be able to present a work according to his interests and requirements and introduce all the changes he considered appropriate. 8

Meyerbeer proudly acknowledged that the payment for Le Prophète was the highest amount ever paid. 9 Meyerbeer recorded in his diaries the payments he received monthly, which he called “droits d’auteur”. The figures became very high some months, exceeding 4,000 francs; the last entry in his diary on this item corresponds to 19th of January 1864, four months before his death, saying that he was entitled to 1,766.10 francs (Meyerbeer 2004, p. 339).

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

125

Due to delays in finishing the score, the impresario Véron forced him to pay the stipulated penalty of 30,000 francs for not delivering the opera Les Huguenots on time. The cause of the delay, as indicated by Meyerbeer, was that his wife had fallen ill and he preferred to travel to Italy to be with her in her convalescence. As he wrote to his wife, on 5th September 1833 (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 59), he tried to persuade Véron not to impose that penalty, which was stipulated in the contract. But faced with the impresario’s refusal, Bertin, a journalist, told Meyerbeer that the best thing was to pay the penalty and to try to establish the condition that on the day he delivered the finished opera, the 30,000 francs would be returned to him. Bertin believed that Véron would accept, as he needed Meyerbeer and knew that he could earn 200,000 francs with his new opera, considering that with his previous opera Robert le Diable, in the 82nd performance alone, Véron earned 7,200 francs, not counting the income from subscribers. Apparently, at the beginning of 1835, a year before the opera’s premiere, Véron returned the money, as he wrote to Wilhelm Speyer on 28 January 1835, possibly forced, because Meyerbeer had refused to publish the score (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 69). Finally, as far as Bellini’s situation in Paris is concerned, we must begin by pointing out that, from the beginning of his career, he thought that the way to get a good position and remuneration for his work was to go to Paris to try his luck (Bellini 2017, p.131). The opportunity was provided by Rossini, who contracted him for an opera for the Théâtre Italian. In 1834, after completing the composition of what would be his last opera, I Puritani, Bellini considered the possibility of composing a work for the Opéra Comique. His reluctance was due, on the one hand, in the low remuneration involved, from his point of view (“The Grand Opera gives glory, but not money”), and on the other hand, to the great effort necessary to compose it (“an opera in five acts that is equivalent to five Italian operas”) (Bellini 1943, p. 459). For both reasons, he was not very determined to compose a grand opera. From his perspective, Meyerbeer’s opera, Robert le Diable, in its 113 performances had brought him only 31,000 francs, 17,000 in rights of author and 14,000 from ticket sales, which did not seem to Bellini enough incentive to compose a five-act work that required so much effort. He therefore opted to sign the contract with Naples in 1834 referred to above. But as the negotiations became more complicated, Bellini began to reconsider the possibility of composing for the Opéra Comique. But here again, things did not seem to be easy, and he even had to turn to Rossini for help. As he remarks in one of his last letters to Florimo dated 2–4 September 1835 (Bellini 2017, pp. 588–590), Rossini had met with the new director of the Opera, but it seems that he considered Bellini’s monetary pretensions elevated, not because he did not deserve them, but because he was a bad example for the rest of the composers who could follow the example of the Catanese. A few days later, Bellini died, which makes it impossible to know whether he had finally reached an agreement to compose an opera comique.

126

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

Librettists Bellini and Meyerbeer realised the importance of working with a good libretto. For Bellini, it was important to have the right words to reach, together with the music, the feelings of the public. For Meyerbeer, he considered that there had to be a perfect ensemble between music, script, and staging. For this reason, both had their favourite librettists, who coincided with their idea of what an opera should be and, therefore, with whom they preferred to work. In Bellini’s case, it was Felice Romani and in Meyerbeer’s case, Eugène Scribe. But relations were not always idyllic. Romani had a great reputation, and his works were in high demand by composers. This meant that he was often late in delivering the libretto. Bellini attributed the failure of Beatrice di Tenda to the delay in receiving the libretto, which in his opinion prevented him from composing the appropriate music. The Bellini’s blame angered Romani, and there was a series of Romani’s replies in the newspapers that led to the break-up of the friendship between the two. Bellini therefore turned to another librettist for what would be his last work, I Puritani. But later, he tried to ingratiate himself with Romani and even came to propose some projects to him. The relationship between Meyerbeer and Scribe was commercial rather than friendship. Depending on the circumstances, there were recriminations for certain behaviours, which almost always led to financial compensation. This seems to be clear from the entry that Meyerbeer made in his diary (21st of February 1861) on learning of the librettist’s death, in which Meyerbeer spoke well of Scribe talent, indicating that he had been ingenious and inventive, but not always noble. Meyerbeer described that they had had some disagreements and wondered who would henceforth supervise the staging, possible changes to the verses, and, above all, whether Scribe’s heirs would cause him problems with the contract for his future operas Vasco and Judith (Meyerbeer 2004, p. 198). Two examples of Meyerbeer-Scribe quarrels can be cited. Firstly, around 1828 when Meyerbeer intended to compose an opera to be premiered in Berlin. One of the problems was the difficulty of finding a prominent German librettist, so Meyerbeer proposed to Scribe that the opera whose libretto he was writing (surely Robert le Diable) should first be premiered in Berlin. Apparently, Scribe agreed at first, but as Meyerbeer told Frederick William III of Prussia, he later changed his mind, because when if the opera was first performed outside France, it would be considered a foreign work and Scribe would lose his author’s rights, which at that time were one-third for the librettist and two-thirds for the composer. This system was not introduced in Germany until 1844 (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 43). Secondly, in August 1857, Meyerbeer noted in his diary that Scribe was very angry because he had composed a comic opera with another poet, so he told him that he wanted to withdraw L’Africaine and Judith if he did not sign a contract including a penalty of 50,000 francs to be paid to the librettist in the case that both operas are not premiered in the following five years (Meyerbeer 2004, p. 41). On the 13th of September 1857, he wrote in his diary that in order to have both librettos at his

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

127

disposal for another five years he had paid Scribe 10,000 francs and they had agreed that if Vasco (the future L’Africaine, which Meyerbeer left unfinished and which was premiered after his death) was not premiered within five years, Scribe could give the libretto to another composer. Likewise, if Judith was not premiered in five years, he would pay Scribe a penalty of 10,000 francs (Meyerbeer 2004, p. 45). Regarding his relations with other librettists, Meyerbeer highlights the monetary contributions that he had to pay them for their collaboration. Around 1832, Meyerbeer considered composing an opera with Alexandre Dumas, La branche d’If , which he would like to premiere in Berlin. Therefore, in a letter dated 23rd of May 1832 (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 53) Meyerbeer proposes to pay Dumas 4,000 francs if he allows him to premiere the opera first in Berlin before it is premiered in Paris. If the libretto is accepted, Meyerbeer would pay Dumas 1,000 francs and the remaining 3,000 francs when the complete libretto is delivered. In addition, Meyerbeer required Dumas that the libretto must have a happy ending. He also paid Emile Deschamps 1,000 francs for altering some verses in Le Prophète, but on the condition that his name not appear in the libretto, that Deschamps would not make further demands, and that he guarantees complete confidentiality on this subject, not to anger Scribe (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 286). In December 1852, he agreed to pay Théophile Gautier 1,500 francs for the translation of Struensee (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 187), and in March 1861, he paid Madame Birch-Pfeiffer 200 thalers for the changes he instructed her to make to Vasco’s libretto, since by that time Scribe had died (Meyerbeer 2004, p. 204).

Other Resources In addition to the income that Meyerbeer received from his compositions, he also earned income from the investments he made and the loans he granted. He carried out his speculative investments through a trusted financial manager and always kept an eye on his financial position, always keeping himself informed of the stock market situation (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 136). For example, in the letter of 25 November 1851 to Herrmann Sillem & Co., Meyerbeer says that he is thinking of investing 5,000 dollars in United States bonds with a yield of 6%, which will not become payable until 1868. He adds that in order to calculate exactly what the return on money invested in these government bonds will be, he would also like to know the rate at which coupon interest is generally converted on the London Stock Exchange (Becker and Becker 1989, pp. 136–137). But despite the care Meyerbeer put into these activities, he also had some problems. In August 1854 he receives the news that Brandus, a music publisher in Paris, was bankrupt. His debt was 40,500 francs and he had only 15,000 francs to pay (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 282). In addition to these investment activities, it also granted loans to individuals. From a young age, he wanted to help his friends by lending them money. In 1813, Meyerbeer wrote to Gänsbacher, a musician, telling him that he would act as his

128

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

banker and advance to him the money during that year, 1813. Meyerbeer adds that Gänsbacher can repay the amount to him the following year (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 28). Throughout his life, Meyerbeer has granted loans of different amounts to different people. For example, in October 1852, he granted a loan to the writer Duesberg of 100 francs (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 182), in December 1852 to Dr. Bacher of 2,000 francs (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 187), in November 1847 to the writer Felix Bamberg, for 500 francs (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 254), or in February 1848 to the poet Solger for 100 francs (Meyerbeer 2001, p.282). In his later years, especially from 1861 onwards, he was more reluctant to grant loans and aid and sometimes granted less than requested. Meyerbeer also earned income as Prussian Music Director General, for which he received a salary of 3,000 thalers. But he was also concerned about the economic situation of the musicians and choir members, trying to improve their salaries, proposing an increase of 100 thalers for those earning 400 thalers a year or less and 60 thalers for those earning more than 400 (Becker and Becker 1989, pp. 93, 95). Letellier (Meyerbeer 2001, pp. 14–15) points out that Meyerbeer distributed his salary (3,000 thalers) and his royalties among the members of the orchestra and the choir and tried to disseminate the work of his contemporaries, assuring them a 10% of the income obtained from the performances of his works and the execution of three new compositions by living German authors every year. Bellini also made some investments, though apparently less successfully than Meyerbeer. In his letter to Florino dated 4th of October 1834 (Bellini 2017, p. 403), he confesses that he has lost money in Spanish funds and that, when he recovers the losses, he will invest in safe funds. In this type of activity, reference should be made to the Levy couple, although they were not really married. According to Rosselli (2013, p. 127), Bellini met Solomon Levy, an English businessman, and his supposed wife, who was actually his mistress, possibly in the early 1830s. They became friends and the couple put Bellini up at their home in Puteaux, a suburb of Paris. Bellini invested 40,000 francs on Levy’s behalf,10 30,000 of it in insecure Spanish bonds.11 The composer died under strange circumstances in the house in the Levy’s home, when the couple was travelling outside France. Before the suspicions and murmurings, Solomon Levy returned the capital with losses because the market value of the Spanish funds at that time was only 22,577.50 francs. It should also be added that Bellini, over time, considered the idea of marriage, in order to obtain a good dowry and not have to depend only on the income obtained from his operas. This is reflected in his letter of 1828, when he learned of the death of Maddalena Fumaroli, the daughter of a judge, who was his youthful love and with whom he could not marry because of her parents’ refusal.12 Bellini in his letter wrote 10

This figure does not agree with the one offered by Rossini in his letter to Santocanale, Bellini’s lawyer and friend, written four days after Bellini’s death, which indicates that it is 30,000 francs. 11 The risk of non-payment of the bonds was used by Dumas, in his serial The Count of Monte Cristo, whose plot takes place between 1815 and 1834. The Spanish bonds are bought by Baron Danglars, one of the characters the Count wants to take revenge on, which makes him bankrupt. 12 Apparently, the father said: “my daughter will never marry a poor piano-banger” (Galatopoulos, 2002, p. 56).

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

129

that he thinks that he would not have made her happy “because that is what the needs of my career and my finances dictate” (Rosselli 2013, p. 33). It is clear from his letters that he required three conditions for marriage. Firstly, to be in love with his future wife. Secondly, that she should had a good dowry, and finally, that she should be a pleasant woman with little flirtatiousness. Failure to meet any of these conditions led him to reject potential “candidates”. For example, he rejected a young woman because he was not in love with her, and although the dowry was substantial at 150,000 francs, it was not enough if there was no love. Another, an 18-year-old girl with a dowry of 200,000 or 300,000 francs and the only daughter of the painter Horace Vernet, was not to his liking because marrying a young and pretty woman would prevent him from having relationships with other women and would provoke worries and resentment (Florimo 1882, p. 471). He also rejected another one because her character was neither sweet nor beautiful, even though she provided a dowry of 200,000 francs at the beginning, and another 150,000 francs upon her father’s death (Bellini 2017, p. 553).

Press and Claqueurs The Grand Opéra is not only the union of different artistic activities, music, scriptliterature, and set design-decoration and painting but also a union between business and art, reflecting the commercial bourgeois expansion that took place in France from the reign of Louis-Philippe (1830–1848) (Crosten 1946, p. 215). The audience played an important role in the appreciation of a work, especially through their applause and requests for a composer to come on stage to be applauded. This was crucially important in Paris, for as noted above, the more performances an opera had, the more rights of author the composer would earn. And to help achieve this success, those involved in the event, businessmen, singers, and composers did not hesitate to ask for the help of the press and the claqueurs. Balzac, in his novel Lost illusions (1837), and especially in the second part of it, “A distinguished provincial at Paris”, describes very well how both tactics were used in the theatre, which could be extended to the opera.

The Press As regards the press, some composers and businessmen realised the important role played by the reviews published in newspapers and tried to curry favour with those who wrote such reviews. It cannot be said that through some positive reviews, the success of an opera was assured. It was necessary that the libretto, that the music, and, especially in the great opera, that the staging was of high quality. But both Bellini and Meyerbeer as well as the impresario Véron, considered that favourable press comments helped substantially.

130

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

This importance was expressed by Rossini in his opera La Pietra del Paragone (1812), in which the journalist Macrobio in act I explains the requests he receives to publish laudatory reviews and implies that he receives money for it: Ho due cento/ Articoli pro e contra preparati/ Che in sei mesi saran già consumati… (I have two hundred/Articles pro and con prepared/That in six months they will be published...,)

He adds that when he is in his office, dancers and prima donnas visit him to ask for writing about their performances saying that they have been a great success. At these requests, Macrobio makes a gesture to signify that they must give him money and tells them: Mille grazie, siamo intesi:/ Il giornal ne parlerà… (Thank you very much, we agree/ The newspaper will publish it…)

He ends his aria ironically by exclaiming in the face of the large number of requests of this type that he receives: Giusti Dei! che assedio è questo: / Chi mi salva per pieta? (Just gods! What siege is this? / For mercy! Who saves me?)

Véron considered that “all the newspapers enthusiastically support him” (Crosten 1948, p. 25) and he achieved this support in various ways. Firstly, by trying to be very kind to the critics, sending them the tickets for the opera himself, and writing them a letter in his own handwriting encouraging them to go to the opera. Secondly, by inviting them to dinner. And, thirdly, it seems that he also gave them money, as is clear from the comments made by Houssaye in his Memories (Houssaye 1885, p. 275), when he describes how Véron passes a 500 franc note to a critic to announce the ballet that is going to premiere the following week, with the supposed intention that the critic should not be negative in his comments. In his Mémoires d’un Bourgeois de Paris, Véron collected many behaviours of this type. He gave a lot of money to his enemies and even to his friends. For example, the famous critic Saint-Ange, from the Journal des Débats, wrote Véron this note: “Lend me three hundred francs. You are so happy that it is not impossible for me to pay you back” (Véron 1856, p. 34). For his part, Meyerbeer, logically, also showed his interest in journalistic criticism, because this could have effected in the number of performances of his operas, giving more importance to the prestige that this implied than to the money that he could receive for author rights. His behaviour is not as clear as that of Véron, although the loans he granted to critics and the dinners he organised gave cause for concern some of his detractors, who pointed out that perhaps he did it to obtain favourable reviews. Also worthy of mention are the various loans and aid that Meyerbeer granted to journalists, which were also questioned as an attempt to obtain favourable reviews. Some examples can be considered. A loan of 3,000 francs, in October 1854 to Scudo (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 288). Pietro Scudo was one of the most respected music critics in Paris, who, according to Johann Weber in his biography of Meyerbeer, had said

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

131

that Meyerbeer was the great master of opera’s decadence (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 144). In August 1850, Meyerbeer lent 150 thalers to the journalist Kossak in Berlin, who had been writing articles against Meyerbeer (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 49). The wife of journalist Zellner from the Wiener Musikzeitung asked him for a loan of 2,000 gulden (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 336). Finally, we must also highlight the loan of 12 louis d’or (60 thalers) that Meyerbeer granted in November 1841 to the writer Lyser, who had written sketches of some composers. Meyerbeer said that Lyser had not treated him very well in one of the sketches (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 51). And finally, the loan that Fetis requested Meyerbeer of 2,000 francs in April 1854 (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 271). It should be noted that Fetis was chosen by Meyerbeer’s wife to finish the opera L’Africaine, which the composer had left unfinished after his death. Meyerbeer also made various unspecified payments to both Parisian and foreign critics. An example is the payments he made to Fiorentino, a hostile music critic to whom Meyerbeer sometimes lent 1,000 francs (Meyerbeer 2002, pp. 179, 288). On the other hand, in December 1854 he sent 100 pounds sterling to James William Davison, music critic for The Times and editor of Musical World (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 296), and in May 1852, Meyerbeer sent also him 100 pounds sterling (Meyerbeer 2004, p. 259). On the other hand, Meyerbeer also granted loans to found newspapers and bought shares in some publications. Among the former, a loan of 3,000 thalers was granted in 1844 to Börnstein to create a newspaper called Vorwärts, which he wanted to publish with Karl Marx. There could be two reasons why he did so. Firstly, because Heine was going to write for the newspaper and, secondly, because Meyerbeer thought he might receive furious attacks from publication if he did not agree to concede the loan (Becker and Becker 1989, p. 98). It should also be noted that Meyerbeer refused to grant Börnstein other loans that he later requested. Among the latter, the purchase of shares in some publications, it is worth mentioning that Buloz, a journalist, persuaded Meyerbeer to subscribe half the capital of his Revue des Deux Mondes, which cost Meyerbeer 5,000 francs (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 138). On 16 May 1846, he wrote in his diary that he had sent Gouin13 5,000 francs for the increase in participation in that magazine (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 151). He also notes on the 16th of March 1848 the sending of 500 francs to Goiun for a subscription to The Province (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 287), an amount very high. For example, the subscription to Le France Musicale was 11 francs, so it is possible that this must have been some kind of investment (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 325). In March 1854, he gave Desolumier (L’Europe Artistique) 500 francs and half-promises to do the same every semester (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 266). And finally, mention must be made the payment of 100 gulden annually for the subscription to Glöggl’s newspaper (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 356).

13

Blaze de Bury (1865, pp. 202–203), writer and music critic, in his book on Meyerbeer describes Gouin as a person who takes care of the composer’s affairs and who can do so thanks to his position as administrative director of the Paris postal service, a position that only occupies four hours a day and that never refers to the composer as Meyerbeer, but as the master.

132

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

Finally, we must also mention the dinners that Meyerbeer organised at great expense to which he invited journalists (Armand and Edouard Bertin,14 Buloz, Monnais, Fiorentino…), critics (Jules Janin), librettists (Scribe, Delavigne, Méry…), writers (Gautier, Bacher, Lecompte…), and composers (Auber, Halevy, Batton, Adam, Berlioz…). The costs of the dinners vary depending on the number of guests and the restaurants, for example, a dinner of “á 20 francs” (20th of February 1848) (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 283); 480 francs for a dinner for 14 guests (3rd of January 1853) (Meyerbeer 2001, p. 208); or 300 francs for a dinner for eight people (9th of September 1856) (Meyerbeer 2002, p. 391). Some newspapers questioned such dinners on occasion. For example, La Musique: gazette de la France musicale (1849), referred to the dinner given by Meyerbeer to the French, German, and English press before the premiere of Le Prophète, implying in a veiled way that with it he was trying to be well treated by the press. La Gazetta, among other things, points out that an author who has taken fourteen years to premiere an opera should not be the subject of newspaper attention and that the public itself would be able to assess the opera without the help of music critics.

Claqueurs Boigne (1857, pp. 85–86) pointed out that the claque was “the leprosy of the theaters” that no impresario was trying to eradicate, but that the claqueurs of the opera were “the most civilised in the world”15 and that the model established by Véron and Auguste had to be imitated. The businessman Véron used the claque to ensure the success of the operas that were represented in his theatre, employing the services of one of its leaders, Auguste Levasseur, known in the theatre world as “Auguste”. In his memoirs, Véron notes that Auguste acted under him as head of the claque at the opera and made a fortune (Véron 1856, p. 231). He adds that Auguste had an honest life, earning between 30,000 and 40,000 francs a year (Véron 1856, p. 238).16 14

He was the owner of the Journal des Débats. Balzac’s description (1837, p. 470) of the claqueurs in his work Les illusions perdus (Lost illusions) is not so positive of the claqueurs, Balzac points out that “all of them wearing caps, seedy trousers, threadbare coats, (…) muddy, scraggy faces, with long beards and ferocious and insinuating eyes at the same time: a horrible crowd which lives and swarms in the Paris boulevards, who sells safety chains and gold jewelry in the morning for a franc and a half, and in the evening claps its hands under the theater chandeliers; which, finally, adapts itself to all the muddy exigences of Paris”. 16 Balzac (1837, p. 468) in his Lost illusions, in describing the head of the claque named Braulard, gives a very similar description of the income earned by Auguste: “Braulard has twenty thousand francs of income, and all the dramatic authors of the boulevard are in his controls, and have a standing account as if he were a banker. Author’s tickets and favor passes are sold. Braulard sells this merchandise (…) author’s tickets alone bring him in about four thousand francs every month, that is forty-eight thousand a year. Suppose he losses twenty thousand francs, for he cannot always sell his tickets”, because “the people who pay for their tickets at the box-office are sold in competition 15

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

133

As Crosten (1948) points out, Auguste’s income was in cash and tickets, part of which he resold a portion of tickets, distributing the rest among the members of his claque. For his “intervention” to be successful, he carefully studied the libretto, the music, and the staging, attending rehearsals. On the day of the premiere, he would strategically place the members of his group in the theatre before the rest of the audience entered, so that the audience would be surrounded by the claqueurs who were dressed in colourful clothes to attract the attention of all audience. In addition, Auguste gave his opinion on the operas, on their effectiveness, and at what moments his group should intervene. An example of this is given by Boigne (1857, p. 81) about the premiere of Les Huguenots, in 1836. Auguste reports that he is very happy with the new opera and “that it is a pleasure to work with such works”. He indicates that the claqueurs can intervene in all arias and in almost all duets and that they would make three bursts of applause in the fourth act. Auguste added that he would follow the orders given to him by the administration. For Véron (1856, p. 237) the activity of the claqueurs was necessary to encourage a shy public to applaud, which is so necessary for singers and dancers that it encourages them to perform better. He considered that without the claqueurs there would hardly be applause. It should be noted that Meyerbeer also formed his own claque through his friend Louis Gouin, paying for the tickets the composer obtained (Lacombe 2003). Specifically, in an entry in his diary on the 29th–31st of March 1859, Meyerbeer writes that he had received tickets that he had contracted for the first performance for which he had to pay 1,200 francs (Meyerbeer 2004, p. 121). Meyerbeer later indicates that the precaution of inviting his friends was not necessary, since there was no opposition of any kind at the premiere of his Le Pardon de Ploermel and that he paid, as was customary, 100 francs to the chef de la claque after the third performance (Meyerbeer 2004, p. 122).

Meyerbeer and Economics An interesting aspect when studying the economic aspects in the life of composers is to expose the economic ideas expressed in their works and contextualise them to the period in which they were composed. In the case of Rossini and Donizetti, both in Il Barbiere di Siviglia and in L‘Elisir d’Amore, references are made to the importance of money (Galindo-Martín and Méndez-Picazo 2014). In the case of Meyerbeer, it will be mainly in his opera Le Prophète (1849) where some economic elements stand out that are worth highlighting. In this respect, we should begin by pointing out what Théophile Gautier (1859) had already indicated in his commentary published in La Presse on 23 April 1849, on with the complementary tickets, which there are not reserved seats. In addition, the theater retains its booking rights. There are days with good plays and evenings with poor plays. So Braulard earns perhaps thirty thousand francs a year in this way. He has his claqueurs besides, another industry”.

134

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

the premiere of this opera. From his point of view, the three operas that Meyerbeer had premiered in Paris up to that time, Robert Le Diable (1831), Les Huguenots (1836), and Le Prophète (1849), reflected the era in which they were premiered. The first of them represented the chivalric spirit, the second, the sceptical, bourgeois, and constitutional tendencies of society, and the third the concerns of the moment. In France, the bourgeoisie was on rise, gradually displacing the aristocracy in importance. Part of the population was leaving the countryside and concentrating their activities in Paris. This led to a commercial expansion accompanied by financial and stock market activity, which enabled some populations to amass large fortunes. Balzac was one of the novelists who explained this process through his novels. In this situation, there is a movement of people who carry out commercial activities and who also seek to satisfy more needs than merely food, clothing, and housing. They also look for leisure, and the opera is one of the means by which they are going to satisfy this need. And this will be exploited by the political powers, to offer a vision of the success of their actions and of the good economic situation both within the country and abroad. On the other hand, it is a time of prophets and utopians who pretend to offer social improvements, showing possible better alternative societies and proposing economic measures that improve the economic situation of individuals. Braudel (1993, pp. 389– 390) points out that the process of solving the problems derived from industrialisation that arose in the first decade of the nineteenth century, trying to improve people’s lives and avoid revolutionary demands, took place at least in three stages (1815– 1871, 1871–1914, and 1919 onwards). The revolutionary and ideological phase that developed from 1815 to 1871, was carried out through reformers or “prophets”, as their enemies called them. According to the data provided by Garbinti and Goupille-Lebret (2019), France was characterised during the nineteenth century by a high concentration of income, with the richest population (10% of individuals) owning almost 80% of total wealth, and the middle class about 17%. The gap increased in 1820, with the richest population exceeding 80%, and it is from the beginning of the twentieth century onwards that there is a reduction in this percentage. This inequality and the low wages received led to significant levels of poverty, especially in Paris. The exodus of inhabitants from various towns to the capital due to the growth of industry resulted in falling wages, which eventually led to poverty, delinquency, epidemics, begging, etc., as described in the works of Balzac, Sue, and other novelists. It seemed that the industrialisation process that was taking place did not lead to the “best of all possible worlds” defended by the liberal authors. This situation led to the appearance of alternative approaches that initially showed, according to the Saint-Simonians, the need to develop society (“La societé en devenir”, as Saint Simon called it) through an organisation of production. As the situation became more complicated, the complaints increased and revolutionary positions emerged. Given this economic situation and the discontent it generated, which was translated into revolts and revolutions, on the one hand, proposals based on state intervention arose, basically liberals against Saint-Simonians, socialists, and communists and, on the other hand, utopias were emerged showing a better alternative world. One example

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

135

of this utopias, from the liberal perspective, is Say’s Olbie (Say 1800). In this utopia, Say considered the problems that arise from the discrepancies between the rich and the poor, being necessary to create a harmonious society that reduces these discrepancies. To achieve this objective, an adequate educational system must be established. Another view, from the Saint-Simonian perspective, is Fourier’s perspective. He tried to achieve social harmony through phalansteries, which were cooperative groups of individuals working for mutual benefit, in which the size of the population and the rules of behaviour and production were determined. It was in this context that Le Prophète was premiered. As Gautier (1859) points out in his comments, this opera is characterised by being a utopia, which draws a confuse picture of things that have not yet happened, sketching an extravagant scheme in which the dialogues of Anabaptists and peasants seem to be taken from communist newspapers. The title itself seems to allude to the revolutionary phase that France was experiencing, as noted above. It is conceivable that at a time when the utopias of Fourier and others were being promoted, Meyerbeer with his opera puts forward another social utopia, proposed in his opera by the Anabaptists. The opera is set during the religious wars in Germany during the sixteenth century, and tells how Jean de Leyde, whose fiancée is kidnapped by the governor of Dordrecht, Count Oberthal, is persuaded by three Anabaptists to provoke a revolution to overthrow the Münster government. Jean agrees to become the leader of the Anabaptist movement and conquers the city, becoming its king. But the citizens are unhappy with his way of governing and the Anabaptists decide to hand him over to the imperial troops in exchange for his own protection. Jean decides to end the revolt during her coronation celebrations and the opera ends with the palace collapsing on top of the main characters due to the explosion caused by Jean. In the opera, the Anabaptists who came to the city to establish new ideas which, as Gautier (1859, p. 82) indicates in his comments published in La Presse, would resemble “the prose of the communist newspapers”, could be considered as reformers. Indeed, the words that the Anabaptists address to the people are: ZACHARIE: De ces champs fécondés longtemps par vos sueurs, voulez-vous être enfin les maîtres et seigneurs? (Of these fields long fertilized by your sweat, do you want to be the lords and masters at last?) JONAS: Veux-tu que ces châteaux aux tourelles altières descendent au niveau des plus humbles chaumières? (Do you want these castles, with their lofty towers to descend to the level of the humblest cottages?) MATHISEN: Esclaves et vassaux, trop longtemps à genoux, ce qui fut abaissé s’éleve!Levez-vous! (Slaves and vassals too long on their knees; what was humbled rises! - Rise!)

After these harangues, the peasants ask the Anabaptists if taxes (tithes and levies) will disappear, and they answer yes. The anabaptists say that the castles will belong to the peasants, and the peasants will be free and the lords will become vassals.

136

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

After these words, the peasants are in favour of the revolution proposed by the three Anabaptists and decide to follow them. Fulcher (1987, p. 155) points out that some newspapers, such as the Moniteur Universel, understood the opera as an anti-socialist drama, identifying the Anabaptists with the French socialism of the time and attributing the revolt of Jean de Leyden to fanaticism. Fulcher (1987, pp. 153–154) believes that the staging reveals that the intention was to make the opera a means of anti-socialist propaganda by depicting the people as a violent group seeking personal gain and not motivated by ideology or sense of justice. A month after the premiere of Le Prophète, Clairville, and Siraudin’s L’Âne á Baptiste ou le Berceau du socialisme was staged. This work is considered as a parody of Meyerbeer’s opera. It was a pastiche with “music by Meyerbeer and his students”, citing among them Lulli, Rameau, Gretry, Mozart, Rossini, Donizetti, Auber, etc. … In this pastiche, the action moves to Nanterre and the protagonist is an unwise enlightened, the three Anabaptists scoundrels and their victim’s fools. The Anabaptists could be seen as the representation of the prophets that proliferated in France at that time. In this parody, more explicit references are made to the socialists, not only in the title but also to their ideas. For example, it is said that “Let us preach a great doctrine, let us invent fraternity”, or when the peasants are asked “Do you want to overthrow all the richest men of the earth? (…)” they add, “In short, do you want to earn gold by doing nothing?” Explicit reference to the revolution is also made: “Friends, respect the bourgeoisie, they are defeated, we are kings! Let us be indulgent after the war! Let us take from them, at this moment, only their wives and their money!”

Conclusions There is no exact information about the Bellini’s patrimonial situation that he reached, and we only know what Rossini found out and that he tells in a letter to Santocanale four days after Bellini’s death, where Rossini writes about the possible fortune Bellini left (Rossini 2016, p. 758). Rossini says that he cannot specify the amount, as the papers are still unopened, but that according to what Bellini himself told him, the amount must have been around 40,000 francs, distributed as follows: 10,000 francs held by Salomon Levy, 20,000 francs invested in Spanish funds, and 10,000 or 12,000 francs in Casa Turina.17 Rossini insists that these are approximate calculations and that he will only be able to specify them when the family sends him the legal power to act. As far as Meyerbeer was concerned, his interest was not much in obtaining economic resources, since he had a patrimony that enabled him to support himself, but rather in the fame and prestige that he could achieve with his works. This does 17

In a letter from Giuseppe Pasta, agent of his wife, the soprano Giuditta Pasta, to Bellini dated on the 2nd of May 1835, it is noted that it is a loan at 5% interest (Amore 1894, p. 146).

6 Vincenzo Bellini and Giacomo Meyerbeer: Shifting Markets (From …

137

not mean that he was not in control of his income and financial affairs, since, as mentioned above, he was always aware of the author rights he received and recorded them in his diaries. But his main concern was to ensure that his works continued to be heard and appreciated over time and that they did not fall into oblivion. As in the case of Bellini, it is difficult to determine his patrimonial situation, although it is easy to assume that it was much more considerable than that of the Italian composer. Anger (2017, p. 80) points out that there is no conclusive study Meyerbeer’s lifetime wealth. To have an approximation, he compares it with authors who had a similar activity and turnover, namely Victor Hugo, with a net worth of 7 million francs, and with Scribe, with 5.7 million francs, indicating that Meyerbeer could even exceed these figures. However, Gerhard (1998, p, 38) points out that Meyerbeer estimated his fortune at the end of 1857 (almost seven years before his death) at 1,205,732 thalers, which is equivalent to 4.5 million francs. Dole (1902, p. 346) notes that Meyerbeer’s large estate, except for a few thousand dollars, was divided among his relatives. In this sense, Letellier (2018, p. 857) points out that Meyerbeer left 10,000 thalers in his will for the creation of a Meyerbeer scholarship, for which Germans under 28 years of age and students of the Berlin Hochschule, the Stern Conservatory and the Cologne Conservatory could apply. This fund was maintained until the National Socialism expropriated it and used this resource to promoting anti-Semitism in music. Over time, Meyerbeer’s operas have gradually ceased to be performed. The costly staging and the demands of the scores on the singers could be possible explanatory causes for this. In the case of Bellini, by contrast, some of his operas have been kept on stage, notably La Sonnambula, Norma, and I Puritani.

References Amore, A. 1894. Vincenzo Bellini. Vita, studi e richerche. Niccoló Giannotta Ed. Anger, V. 2017. Giacomo Meyerbeer. Bleu Nuit Editeur. Balzac, H. 1837. Illusions perdues. Bibliotheque de la Pleaide, Vol. V (2005). Gallimard. Becker, H., and G. Becker. 1989. Giacomo Meyerbeer. A Life in Letters. Christopher Helm. Bellini, V. 1943. Epistolario, ed. L. Cambi. Mondadori. Bellini, V. 2017. Vincenzo Bellini carteggi, G. Seminara. Leo S. Olschki Editore. Blaze de Bury, H. 1865. Meyerbeer et son temps. Michel Levy Frères. Braudel, F. 1993. A History of Civilizations. Penguin. Crosten, W.L. 1946. Auguste and his claque. The Musical Quarterly 32 (2): 215–226. Crosten, W.L. 1948. French Grand Opera. An Art and a Business. King’s Crown Press. de Boigne, C. 1857. Petits memoires de l’Opera. Libraire Nouvelle. Della Seta, F. 2022. Bellini. Il Saggiatore. Dole, N.H. 1902. Famous Composers. Vol. II. Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., Publishers. Florimo, F. 1882. Bellini, memorie e lettere. G. Barbèra, editore. Fulcher, J. 1987. The Nation’s Image. French Grand Opera as Politics and Politicized Art. Cambridge University Press. Galatopoulos, S. 2002. Bellini. Life, Times, Music. Sanctuary Publishing.

138

M.-T. Méndez-Picazo and M.-Á. Galindo-Martín

Galindo-Martín, M.A., and M.T. Méndez-Picazo. 2014. “All’idea di quel metallo”: Economic Ideas in Some Operas at the Beginning of the 19th Century. Estudios de Economía Aplicada 32 (1): 139–152. Garbinti, B., and J. Goupille-Lebret. 2019. Economie et Statistique/Economics and Statistics, 510– 511–512, pp. 69–87. Gautier, T. 1859. L’art dramatique en France depuis vingt-cinq ans, 6a serie. Edition Hetzel. Gerhard, A. 1998. The Urbanization of Opera. The University of Chicago Press. Houssaye, A. 1885. Les confessions. Souvenirs d’un demi-siècle. E. Dentu Editeur. Lacombe, H. 2003. The “Machine” and the State. In The Cambridge Companion to Grand Opera, ed. D. Charlton, 19–42. Cambridge University Press. Letellier, R.I. 2018. Giacomo Meyerbeer: A Critical Life and Iconography. Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Meyerbeer, G. 2001. The Diaries of Giacomo Meyerbeer, Vol. 2. Translated, Edited and Annotated by Robert Ignatius Letellier, R. I. Letellier. Farleigh Dickinson University; Associated University Presses. Meyerbeer, G. 2002. The Diaries of Giacomo Meyerbeer, Vol. 3, Translated, edited and annotated by Robert Ignatius Letellier, R.I. Letelier. Farleigh Dickinson University; Associated University Presses. Meyerbeer, G. 2004. The Diaries of Giacomo Meyerbeer, Vol. 4, Translated, edited and annotated by Robert Ignatius Letellier, R. I. Letellier. Farleigh Dickinson University; Associated University Presses. Monaco, R. 2022. Meyerbeer. La vita. Le opere. Musica Practica. Morden, E. 1985. Opera anecdotes. Oxford University Press. Pougin, A. .1891. Giacomo Meyerbeer. In Famous Composers and Their Works, ed. J.K. Paine, T. Thomas, and K. Klauser, 473–486. J. B. Millet Company. Rosselli, J. 2013. The Life of Bellini. Cambridge University Press. Rossini, R. 2016. Lettere e Documenti, Vol. IV, ed. B. Cagli and S. Ragni. Fondazione Rossini Pesaro. Say, J.B. 1800. Olbie ou Essai sur les moyens de reformer les mœurs d’une nation. In Jean-Baptiste Say, Œuvres complètes, vol. V (2003rd ed.). Economica. Véron, L. 1856. Mémoires d’ un bourgeois de Paris, Vol. III. Libraire Nouvelle. Weinstock, H. 1971. Vincenzo Bellini. His Life and His Operas. Weidenfeld & Nicolson.

Chapter 7

Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal Delusions Estrella Trincado Aznar

Felix Mendelssohn

E. Trincado Aznar (B) Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_7

139

140

E. Trincado Aznar

Robert Schumann How striking it is when an artist says. “I play here one day and there the next, and this I do until I drop dead, since I am a poor man and must earn money”. Clara Schuman in her Diary after a visit in Leipzig by the aging Norwegian violinist Ole Bull.

Introduction: Two Men and One Destiny The overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream begins with the imitation of the scampering of the fairies, one of the most evocative chords in the history of music. Felix Mendelssohn, says his biographer, scribbled these chords after hearing the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze in the garden of the family home (Jacob et al. 1963). He had barely turned 18. Sixteen years later, King Friedrich Wilhelm IV of Prussia commissioned him to write the incidental music to accompany the overture. At that time, Mendelssohn was already music director of the Royal Academy of Arts and the Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipzig. The intermezzo between Acts IV and V is the famous Wedding March, the composer’s most popular piece, which accompanies wedding ceremonies. Mendelssohn’s precocity may be surprising. It would seem to be a result of his privileged economic origins, a further investment by his father, a successful German banker. However, it turns out that his father did not force him into music. Moreover, at that time there was an abundance of exquisite children’s composers and instrumentalists. This was also the case with Robert Schumann, who, however, did not find so many privileges along the way. What Felix and Robert did agree on was the effort their family made to provide them with a demanding education guided by a love of music.

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

141

The lives of Felix Mendelssohn (1809–1847) and Robert Schumann (1810–1856) reflect the spirit of Romanticism. In both biographies, dawn and dusk merge, for they were both child prodigies and both suffered premature deaths. Both Felix and Robert were born in Germany, Mendelssohn in Hamburg and a year later Schumann in Saxony. Felix lived barely 38 years; Robert 46. Both suffered from mental illness, and in their lyrically intense works, musical complexity is interwoven with the intimate union of music and text. Mendelssohn often suffered mood swings that from time to time caused him to collapse emotionally. An account is given of an attack in the 1830s for which “he was taken to bed and a sound sleep of twelve hours restored him to his normal state” (Devrient 1869, p. 91). According to Bennett (1955, p. 376), such an attack may be related to his early death. In Schumann’s case, the mental disorders first manifested themselves in 1833 as a severe melancholic depressive episode, alternating with phases of exaltation. On several occasions, these symptoms were repeated with delusions of being poisoned or threatened with metal objects, symptoms that were diagnosed as psychotic melancholia. It is now believed to be a combination of bipolar disorder and perhaps mercury poisoning. Some claim that Schumann’s alleged insanity may have been due to insomnia (Jensen 2012, p. xv; Worthen 2007). Perhaps the death of his sister, who had committed suicide in 1825 in a feverish state from typhus, also played a role (Reich 1985, p. 58). Schumann himself seems to have attempted suicide in 1854; he was fascinated in his youth by madness and suicidal acts connected with art. In nineteenth-century Germanic regions, madness was imbued with a certain romanticism, and, in some cases, some degree of delirium was believed to be a necessary ingredient of creativity (Jensen 2012, p. 12). Idealist philosophy undoubtedly had much to do with this praise of madness (Trincado 2015); precisely the opposite of what happened in Victorian culture, which perceived madness with terror and abhorrence (Jensen 2012, p. vii). In this chapter, we will focus on Mendelssohn’s and Schumann’s relationship to economics, although their financial situation was undoubtedly very different. However, we will not be able to avoid the story of how their paths intertwined until they almost blurred, which led both of them to earn a place in the musical Olympus of Romanticism.

Child Prodigies First, let us look at the playground of these two composers. Jakob Ludwig Felix Mendelssohn was born in Hamburg into a prominent Jewish family (Hensel, 1884). His grandfather was the philosopher Moses Mendelssohn (1729–1786), a German Jew and advocate of Jewish civil rights, Jewish integration into society and Jewish enlightenment. Moses emphasised tolerance, the value of earthly knowledge and happiness in this world (Mendelssohn et al. 2011). The family later converted to Lutheranism to avoid the anti-Semitism that began to creep into Europe, adopting the surname Mendelssohn-Bartholdy.

142

E. Trincado Aznar

His father, Abraham, was a successful banker. In 1811, when Felix Mendelssohn was two years old, his family moved to Berlin, where the banking business was flourishing and where young Felix grew up (Rockstro 1884). He was brought up in a cultivated environment and under a very rigid upbringing. Leah, his mother, devoted herself to the education of her children. She spoke several languages, played the piano, and drew prodigiously, a skill that her son inherited. In addition, many intellectuals from Germany were frequent visitors to the family home, including the brothers Wilhelm and Alexander von Humboldt. His sister Rebecca married the Belgian mathematician Peter Gustav Lejeune Dirichlet, and his other sister Fanny was a pianist and composer, although in this she was only an amateur, since in those days women were often banned from classical music (a counterexample being Clara Schumann, who made a career as a soloist, as explained below). In fact, six of Fanny’s early songs were later published under the name of her brother Felix (Hensel 1994). From an early age, Mendelssohn played the piano masterfully and composed musical pieces. At the age of six, he received piano lessons from his mother, and at the age of seven, he had an outside teacher, Marie Bigot. In 1817 he began composition lessons with Carl Friedrich Zelter in Berlin. Zelter had conservative musical tastes and was an admirer of Johann Sebastian Bach. According to Werner (1963, p. 18), this fact greatly influenced the formation of Felix Mendelssohn’s conservative musical tastes, reminiscent of Bach’s style. Mendelssohn performed his first works in front of his family and probably his first public appearance was when he was nine years old during a chamber music concert (Todd 2003, p. 36). As a teenager, he often performed his own works at home accompanied by a private orchestra for his parents’ associates among Berlin’s intellectual elite. In 1821, his teacher Zelter took Mendelssohn to visit the 72-year-old Johann Wolfgang von Goethe in Weimar. Both were mutually impressed. Goethe said that Mendelssohn was more prodigious than Mozart at his age: “Musical prodigies […] are probably very rare but what this little man can do in improvising and playing at first sight is close to a miracle and I could not believe that this was possible at such a young age” (Todd 2003, p. 89). Mendelssohn was later invited to meet Goethe on several occasions and set some of his poems to music. Although Felix was considered gifted as a child, his family did not try to take advantage of his abilities. In fact, his father did not want him to pursue a musical career until it was clear that he intended to pursue it seriously. Thus, he made sure that his son could earn a living by composing by taking him to Paris in 1825 to meet the famous Italian composer Luigi Cherubini, director of the city’s Conservatoire (Brown 2003, p. 115). The Italian received Mendelssohn’s Piano Quartet No. 3 in B minor op. 3 with enthusiastic praise (Mercer-Taylor 2000, pp. 45–46). During that summer, the Mendelssohn family moved to a mansion on the outskirts of Berlin. This place was the source of inspiration for many of the young Felix’s works. It also became the social and musical centre of Berlin. At the rear of the building was a garden that had been part of the hunting grounds of Frederick II the Great. In the centre of the garden, a pergola seating several hundred people was used as a concert hall. These musical evenings at the Mendelssohns’ home were attended by some very notable personalities of the time, such as the aforementioned

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

143

Alexander von Humboldt or Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, among others (MercerTaylor 2004, p. 13). Abraham and Leah lived there until the end of their days, and also Fanny after her marriage. The latter retained ownership of a portion until her death. Like Felix, Robert Schumann was a child prodigy. He was born in the German town of Zwickau, in the Kingdom of Saxony (in Central Germany). He was the fifth and last child of Johanna Christiane (née Schnabel) and August Schumann (Ostwald 1985, p. 11.) As a child, Schumann already showed musical gifts. His interest in music was stimulated by listening to Ignaz Moscheles play in Carlsbad, and he later developed an interest in the works of Beethoven, Schubert and Mendelssohn. Zwickau was “one of the most beautiful and romantic regions of Saxony”, according to Schumann’s father (Jensen 2012, p. 3). The region had large natural parks through which the boy liked to walk. Schumann’s mother was a pianist, and his father was a merchant. Although he was unable to attend university because his family could not afford it, he always liked literature and philosophy. It was while working in a bookshop that he met the woman who was to become his wife. From there, he moved on to the world of publishing. Schumann’s father was self-taught in bookkeeping and in his knowledge of English and French. He died in 1826, leaving his family enough money to subsist on for years, in particular 60,000 thalers, the silver coin that circulated in the area of Germany and Austria (the Prussian thaler was roughly equivalent to 3.80 francs at the time, or about 19 euros today).1 This enabled Schumann to study at the Lyceum. For two and a half years (until he was 6), Schumann had to live in his godparents’ house because of the war waged in his hometown by Napoleon, who wanted to invade Russia and was an ally of Saxony. From the age of seven, Robert began to study music and piano with Johann Gottfried Kuntsch. He composed his first musical pieces and his great qualities as a soprano singer became evident. He also wrote essays and poems. In fact, the young Schumann identified himself as much with literature as with music and said that there was an intimate relationship between music and poetry. At the age of 14, he wrote an essay on the aesthetics of music and contributed to a volume, edited by his father, entitled Portraits of Famous Men. While still at school in Zwickau, he read the works of German poets and philosophers such as Friedrich Schiller or Goethe, English poets such as Lord Byron, as well as the Classical Greek playwrights or Hans Christian Andersen, with whom he was close friends (Jensen 2012, p. 43). However, his most powerful and abiding literary influence was that of Johann Paul Friedrich Richter—better known by his nom-de-plume Jean Paul—, for whom he had very powerful and exalted feelings. Such influence can be seen in his youthful novels.

1

For details on the currencies, see the endnote in the Introduction to this book.

144

E. Trincado Aznar

The First Public Steps of the Two Composers Mendelssohn married Cécile Jeanrenaud, daughter of a French Protestant clergyman, when she was 17 and he was 27 (Todd 1991). Cécile died just under six years after her husband, on 25 September 1853. The couple had five children: Carl, Marie, Paul, Lili and Felix August. The youngest son, Felix August, contracted measles and died young in 1851. The eldest, Carl, became a distinguished historian, Paul was a prominent chemist, and Marie married the Manchester and London businessman Victor Benecke (Lehmann et al. 1993, p. 119). Lili married Adolphe Wach, later Professor of Law at the University of Leipzig. Apart from music, Mendelssohn’s education included watercolour and oil painting, languages and philosophy, and he was interested in classical literature. His abundant correspondence shows that he could also be a good writer in German and English, sometimes accompanying his text with humorous drawings and vignettes. As a young man, he translated the comedy Andria by Publius Terentius Africanus (Todd 2003, p. 154). This enabled him to study at the University of Berlin, where from 1826 to 1829 he attended lectures on aesthetics with Hegel, history with Eduard Gans and geography with Carl Ritter. In 1827 Mendelssohn’s opera The Wedding of Camacho, based on an episode from Don Quixote de la Mancha, was premiered and performed for the first time in his lifetime. The failure of this production caused him to discard venturing into this genre again. However, he proposed to his teacher, Zelter, to conduct Bach’s St Matthew Passion, which was performed in 1829 in Berlin. It was the first time it had been performed since Bach’s death in 1750, and the success of this performance was a trigger for the rediscovery of Bach for the general public in Germany. This success brought Mendelssohn great public acclaim when he was only 20 years old. Then, following his father’s advice, Felix Mendelssohn undertook several trips to make his talent known abroad. In April 1829, he visited England for the first time, and in the summer, Edinburgh (Rockstro 1884, p. 38). There, he made his debut at a Philanthropic Society concert and was very successful. He made ten visits to Britain during his lifetime, where he stayed for a total of approximately 20 months. In England, he found a complex musical world, a union of novelty and tradition, cosmopolitanism and provincialism. It was customary to seek fame there as it was the most advanced country at the time, but Mendelssohn’s gratitude for the political, religious and social liberality with which he had been received led him to want to do a service to English musical culture, where he performed many non-profit concerts (Eatock 2016). He also made numerous trips around Europe: for example, to Italy where he met Hector Berlioz and to Paris where he met Franz Liszt (Mercer-Taylor 2000, pp. 112–4). In the case of Robert Schumann, in 1825, at the age of 15, the love of literature led him to create a Literary Society with some schoolmates who for two years would meet frequently and form an orchestra. They wanted to promote German literature, which was very common in the nascent German nationalism. The group of teenagers was particularly interested in authors of the Enlightenment and the early nineteenth

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

145

century who were forerunners of German Romanticism. However, Schumann’s first depressive crisis dates from this age, preceded by a romantic break-up with a married woman, Agnes Carus, and aggravated by the death of his father and the suicide of his sister. His father died in 1826, when Robert was 16. Neither his mother nor his tutor approved of his dedication to a musical career, and at the time studying law was an opportunity for the family to move up the social ladder. In 1828, Schumann left secondary school and after a trip during which he met the poet Heinrich Heine in Munich, he went to study law at the University of Leipzig under family pressure. In 1829, Schumann continued his law studies in Heidelberg. There he met Thibaut, a law professor who also liked to play music and who had a great influence on him. He made him realise that love of music and law could coexist, but also that one could not be a great musician only part-time. Schumann considered taking out a 10% loan to travel around Europe and learn languages. And indeed, he did travel to Switzerland and Italy during 1830. There, he had to borrow from the Kurrers in Augsburg. In Frankfurt, he met Niccoló Paganini, who had a decisive influence on his career as a pianist, and in Leipzig, Carus introduced him to the piano teacher Friedrich Wieck, who, convinced of his musical talent, diverted Schumann from the law studies his mother had set for him. In 1830, he wrote to his mother: “my whole life has been a struggle between poetry and prose, or shall we say music and law” (Perrey 2007, p. 11). But his destiny was that of music. It was something his brothers reproached him for, given that only Robert had been given the privilege of studying at university, and he seemed to want to waste it. However, perhaps because it seemed to make him happy, his mother finally supported him in his musical career. Schumann moved in with Friedrich Wieck, whose daughter, Clara Wieck, then just eleven years old, was to become his wife, a well-known pianist and composer. Schumann received intense and rigorous musical instruction from Wieck, cut short, however, by an irreversible injury to the middle finger of his right hand at the age of twenty-two, caused, some say, by a system he used to try to perfect his piano technique: tying off his right ring finger to increase his skill with the other fingers. However, recent research points to the possible cause of this injury being the medication he was taking for the syphilis from which he suffered. In any case, this injury prevented him from performing, a disability that did not deter him from pursuing music but did direct his efforts towards composition and music criticism (Jensen 2012, p. vii). Schumann loved solitude, in which he found inspiration. Nevertheless, taking refuge in music, his paranoid depression culminated in a first suicide attempt in 1833. He emerged from his depression through an engagement in the summer of 1834 to Ernestine von Fricken, a pupil of Wieck’s and the 16-year-old adopted daughter of a wealthy Bohemian-born nobleman. However, in August 1835, Schumann learned that Ernestine was an illegitimate child (actually, the daughter of his maternal aunt), formally adopted after the engagement, which meant that she would have no dowry. Schumann reproached her for lying to him and feared that his limited means would force him to earn a living outside of music, so he broke off the relationship with her

146

E. Trincado Aznar

towards the end of the year. At the time, he had no great expectations of becoming rich from music himself, but his financial needs, or his desire to make a living from music, led him to put aside his personal ties. In any case, it appears to be his realisation of his love for Clara that led him to end the engagement. Ernestine seems to have realised it (Jensen 2012, p. 117). In 1834, Schumann regained the reins of his life by founding, together with Clara Wieck, the journal Neue Zeitschrift für Musik (New Music Review), which was to become a national benchmark in both musical criticism and dissemination. The magazine was a bestseller, and in fact, Schumann earned more as an art critic than as a musician. Schumann bought the rights to the magazine for 350 thalers (approximately 6,650 euros today) and appointed J. A. Barth as the new editor. As a critic and musicologist, he railed against academicism and baseless virtuosity. The editors of the journal called themselves the “Brotherhood of David” (Davidsbündler), named after the biblical King David who loved music and fought against the Philistines. In the journal, he criticised both enlightened Romanticism and the popular taste of composers who acted as a pressure group, the “philistines of art”, narrow-minded arbiters of taste headed by Meyerbeer, whom he dismissed as conservative and pedantic, and the “futurists”, especially Listz, Wagner and Rossini. Schumann wanted to find the sources of a naturalistic, liberating art born of feeling. He signed his articles as “Eusebius”, when the tone of his writings was melancholic and introspective, and as “Florestan”, when his opinions demanded impetus and passion. These names came from the imaginary characters created by Schumann in Fredéric Chopin’s variations on a theme from Mozart’s Don Giovanni in 1831. As for Clara Wieck, she was only fifteen years old at the time of the magazine’s foundation, but already then, she was considered an excellent pianist. In the magazine, under the nickname “Chiarina”, she criticised the musical trends of the society of her time. Clara, despite her musical ability, denied her composing ability for many years: “I once thought I was gifted with creative talent, but I have abandoned the idea. A woman should not wish to compose. No woman has ever been able to do it: why should I? It would be arrogant, although, in fact, my father drove me to it very early on” (Litzmann 2013, p. 182), she wrote in her diary in 1839 (Nauhaus 1994). Clara relegated herself as a composer. However, she did not do so as a performer and enjoyed greater social prestige during her lifetime than Schumann. So much so that, as her contemporaries recall, when they attended an event, she was the “star” and Schumann was referred to only as “Wieck’s husband” (Weingartner 1928; Geck 2010). Moreover, at that time, performers—especially if they were virtuosos, as she was—were valued more highly than composers were; and her income was much higher. Years later, she also managed to break through the “glass ceiling” of composition by publishing her Opus 17. Clara was innovative in many ways, for example, she began to perform the programmes from memory, without a score in front of her. For many, it was a sign of haughtiness; but with it, she wanted to show the naturalness with a symbiosis of the interpreter with the composer that places the music on the same level between the one who creates it and the one who transmits it. An art proposal that appeals to the communication and empathy that many had advocated at the time, including Adam

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

147

Smith himself in his Lessons in Rhetoric (see Trincado 2019). In addition, Clare was keen to emphasise sensitivity and musicality over virtuosity—why speed up at the expense of beauty, why not stop and enjoy it? The key to her credo was depth versus artifice. Over time, Clara was very popular and in fact, her image appeared on the 100 Deutsche Mark banknote from 2 January 1989 until the adoption of the euro on 1 January 2002. The back of the banknote shows a grand piano she played and the exterior of the Hoch Conservatory, where she taught. Schumann met Mendelssohn personally through Carl and Henriette Voigt, music lovers, in August 1835 at Friedrich Wieck’s house in Leipzig. Schumann then acted as an art critic, of whom Mendelssohn was wary, and showed great admiration for Mendelssohn without ever expressing envy for his greater success during his lifetime. “Mendelssohn is the one I look up to like a high mountain. He is a true god” (1st of April 1836, in Jensen 2012, p. 112). He acted with the same generosity with which he interacted with other musicians of the time, and with which he acknowledged the genius of Brahms, who was his close friend, when the composer was not yet known. Felix Mendelssohn also wrote in Schumann’s journal and used the rubric “Felix Meritis”. Very influential from his position as a conductor, he founded the Leipzig Conservatory and promoted the Davidsbündler, including Schumann himself, to various positions. However, Mendelssohn found fault with Schumann’s works and did not hesitate to point them out (Niecks 1925, p. 150). The two composers were always friends, they played billiards and Mendelssohn was godfather to Schumann’s first child. In 1840, Mendelssohn gave a private concert in Leipzig, which Clara Schumann attended (Rockstro 1884, p. 75).

Economics and Composition Nineteenth-century British society was not, as Thomas Piketty posits, an environment in which wealth was only inherited and contested: as Jane Austen showed, it was quite dynamic between 1790 and 1830 (Rodriguez Braun 2017). Similarly, the lives of Schumann and Mendelssohn are indicative of such dynamism in the case of nineteenth-century Germanic society. In Austen, there are echoes of a wariness borrowed from Adam Smith of the arrogance of those who want to change society from the top down. As we shall see, this also happened in the case of Schumann and Mendelssohn (see Méndez and Trincado 2022). Schumann had to fight for his social position, and his compositions were often created in response to critical reactions and financial needs (Jensen 2012, p. xi). In 1828 Schumann enrolled at the University of Leipzig—which had a population ten times that of Zwickau—to study law at his mother’s request and supported by his brothers, in order to have a stable income. Leipzig was known as a centre of commerce and publishing (its book fairs attracted buyers from all over Europe). Music publishing was also important: two of the most prestigious publishing houses in Europe, Breitkopf & Härtel and Hofmeister, were located there. Musical life was very rich. However, Schumann disliked life in Leipzig, neither had he liked

148

E. Trincado Aznar

the students, whom he saw as unidealistic and somewhat petty, nor the law school, which he saw as cold and full of definitions. His family sent him to law classes, but he skipped them, and it was a time of constant drunkenness, flirtations and debts to family and friends. Between 1834 and 1836, Robert had to borrow money from his brothers Carl and Eduard. In 1834, he wrote pitifully to his mother, claiming that his income was only 400–500 thalers, when he needed at least 600 thalers to live on (about 11,400 euros). He then suggested that his brothers finance him. However, on 19 March 1838, he wrote to his brothers about a debt they had incurred with him, perhaps for a loan or a family sale, for which they would have to pay him 600 thalers every month so that in six or seven years he would have been fully repaid. That means that his brothers owed him at that time 7,200 thalers (more than 136,000 euros, if they were German thalers!). While in Leipzig, Schumann wrote to his mother “Nature—where is it here? Man has disfigured everything. There are no valleys, mountains or forests where I can remain immersed in my thoughts”. This is one of the moments when one senses in Schumann a desire to expand into the infinite nature to which the Romantics clung. In this sense, and in several of his allusions, Schumann approaches the utopias of aesthetic mediation that would begin with Schiller, and which in the twentieth century would be consolidated in the Frankfurt School. When Schumann broke off his engagement to Ernestina von Fricken, he declared a relationship with Clara. Robert and Clara were married in September 1836 in Leipzig. However, Clara’s father did not consent to the marriage. He was concerned about Schumann’s financial situation, as well as the fact that his daughter, once married, would not enjoy an artistic career. His daughter, he stated in a letter, needed to spend at least 2,000 thalers a year (approximately 38,000 euros), although according to Clara it was 2,000 guilders, which was equivalent to 1,600–1,800 thalers (Jensen 2012, pp. 124–125). At that time, Schumann’s professional situation did not seem to improve because his compositions were neither quoted nor heard anywhere. When Liszt played Schumann’s works in public in 1840, people did not understand them: the public preferred more conventional pieces. This incomprehension, together with Clara’s father’s refusal to marry, dissension within the editorial staff of his journal, and the death of Schumann’s mother, dragged Robert into an episode of alcoholism. Clara’s father was harsh in his refusal to allow his daughter to marry Schumann. He forbade them to meet and ordered all their correspondence to be burned. Wieck even asked Clara for 1,000 thalers (19,000 euros) for her belongings and piano, giving her brothers Clara’s previous earnings from concerts and demanding that, in case of separation, Schumann give him 8,000 thalers (152,000 euros). He also tried to ask Clara to pay him for the lessons she had received and to sign that she would not receive an inheritance. When they went to trial, Wieck brought charges against Schumann that he wanted to take advantage of Clara’s money and that Schumann was not a good composer or critic, that he could not speak or write clearly, that he lied about his income and that he was a drunkard (Jensen 2012, p. 134). In 1840, the court dismissed all accusations except that of drunkenness, a very strong accusation that Schumann wanted to deny and clarify. His taste for beer and wine was no secret, but he asked some witnesses to testify in favour of his sobriety, including Felix

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

149

Mendelssohn. On 1 June, Schumann accused Wieck of defamation of character. The case was decided in 1841, and Wieck was sentenced to 18 days in jail. On 6 July, Wieck withdrew the complaint, but not before withholding the money Clara had earned for her concerts. After four years of legal proceedings on the grounds that she was a minor, Schumann and Clara confirmed their marriage in 1840, and from then on they remained united: she performed her husband’s compositions with great success; he, guided by his wife, brought his compositions to perfection, directing them towards intimate music. Over the next thirteen years, they would have eight children (Reichç 2001, pp. 162–167).2 In 1840, Schumann writes “we spend more than we earn” (Jensen 2012, p. 172). This frustrated Clara, because she wanted to, and could, earn an income outside the home by performing music. From 1840 to 1854, Clara gave almost 150 concerts, but they were fewer than she would have liked. In any case, also Schumann from 1840 began to have more success with his songs: in October 1840 he received from Breitkopf & Härtel 23 talers (437 euros) for Drei Romanzen op 28 and 50 talers in December 1840 for a vocal work, the Four Duets op 34. In April 1841 he received 54 talers for Lieder op 35. In 1849, to earn more income, Schumann produced 40 works for domestic consumption for young people. The Album für die Jugend, op. 61, which appeared in 1849, made him very popular, and he was paid 226 talers for it, the same as he was paid for Peri. He composed 29 songs for children, Lieder-Album for Youth, op 79, and received 220 thalers from Breitkopf & Härtel for them. That year, he was given up to 1,275 thalers (about 24,000 euros) for his compositions, the highest amount he had ever received, and four times more than he had earned in 1848. For more substantial works, which could bring him more fame, such as symphonies and chamber music, the income was as following: he was paid 120 thalers for the publication of each symphony, First Symphony op. 38 and String Quartet op. 41. In 1850 he received 1,584 talers, in 1851 he received 1,439 talers, in 1852 his income was 1,717 talers and in 1853 he received 1,925 talers (about 36,500 euros). In 1851 he was paid 200 talers for Symphony No. 3, op. 97 alone. These works were well received and he had more and more admirers (Jensen 2012, pp. 223–224). He had already achieved what Wieck had expressed that Clara needed to support herself annually, which we recall was 1,600 to 1,800 talers. In 1840, the University of Jena in Saxony awarded Schumann an honorary doctorate, and in 1843, he became professor at the Leipzig Conservatory. According to Reinhard Kapp, Schumann in the late 1840s and early 1850s became a music teacher for the German people, a Praeceptor Germaniae, collecting maxims and collective editions of his writings on music and offering advice to young composers, promoting the German musical canon, etc.3 He planned to write about the life of Martin Luther and adored Goethe’s Faust, with its incitement to suicide (Daverio 2002, p. 60). From 1850, he was music director of Düsseldorf. The following period

2

Marie (1841–1929), Elise (1843–1928), Julie (1845–1872), Emil (1846–1847), Ludwig (1848– 1899), Ferdinand (1849–1891), Eugenie (1851–1938) and Felix (1854–1879). 3 Annex 1 gives an overview of the Schumann’s family expenditures in 1841.

150

E. Trincado Aznar

of his life was the most prolific, in which he created most of his great works. He would then receive an annual salary of 700 thalers. Mendelssohn’s finances were more balanced, but not without obstacles. After Zelter’s death in 1832, Mendelssohn had some hope of taking over his position as director of the Berlin Singakademie. However, Karl Rungenhagen defeated him after a vote in January 1833 (60 votes out of 236). This may have been due to Mendelssohn’s youth and fear of possible innovations; but some suspected it was due to his Jewish lineage (Mercer-Taylor 2000, pp. 112–114). Mendelssohn was greatly affected by this defeat and made his situation in Berlin uncomfortable, which was compounded by his failure in The Marriage of Camacho. In the 1930s, Mendelssohn divided most of his professional time between England and Düsseldorf, where he was appointed music director in 1833 at a good salary. He was hired for three years at a salary of 600 thalers (corresponding to 800 or 900 thalers in Berlin, which represented approximately 121 English pounds if the pound was equivalent to 25 francs and the Prussian thaler to 3.8 francs; i.e. about 16,000 euros today). According to Rockstro (1884, p. 50) these figures appear in a letter written by Abraham Mendelssohn, who seems to have been present at the time of the offer. Mendelssohn made his first appearance as an opera conductor in Karl Leberecht Immermann’s production of Mozart’s Don Giovanni in late 1833. He resented the public’s protests about the cost of admission and had problems with the city’s intendant. Because of this and the provincialism he saw in Düsseldorf, he resigned from his post at the end of 1834 “rather than submit to intrigues and pettiness”. The decision was influenced by the fact that he had also received an invitation to take over the direction of the Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipzig in 1835. This appointment was extremely important to him, as it was a moral reparation for his disappointment with the Singakademie appointment. Despite the efforts of Prussian King Friedrich Wilhelm III to lure him to Berlin, Mendelssohn concentrated on developing his musical life in Leipzig. He represented Georg Friedrich Händel and contributed to the revival of interest in Händel in Germany, just as he had reawakened interest in Bach (Mercer-Taylor 2000, pp. 118, 124). Mendelssohn was also able to revive interest in the works of Franz Schubert. Schumann himself discovered the manuscript of Schubert’s Ninth Symphony and sent it to Mendelssohn, who promptly premiered it in Leipzig on 21 March 1839, more than a decade after the composer’s death. Mendelssohn had a vocation to educate the people in their taste for classical music and would wander in a moral struggle between accepting positions being moved by the interests of the court; and seeking the gratitude of the people for the liberating excitement of the chords of his music. He was also a tireless discoverer of talent in young composers. He asked them, no more and no less, to show the same commitment to music as he did, and not to allow themselves to be slavishly imitated, but to put their own personal stamp on the performance. Sometimes in his classes, he would sit close to the improviser and give him advice on how to follow his performance. Some performances he called “ungentlemanlike” (unbecoming of a gentleman, uncivilised). He wanted to create a love of civilisation and flee from the corrupters of the true principles of art.

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

151

Frederick William IV acceded to the Prussian throne in 1840 with the ambition of making Berlin a cultural centre by founding the National Academy of Arts for the cultivation of painting, sculpture, architecture and music. This included the establishment of a music school to reform church music. The obvious choice as the head of these reforms was Mendelssohn. He was offered 3,000 thalers a year, i.e., 57,000 euros. It should be noted that this was double what Schumann earned annually in his prime. Mendelssohn was reluctant to take on such a task, perhaps because of previous disappointments in the city, but he could not refuse for fear that his gesture would be understood as disloyalty to the king. However, the foundation of the school never materialised, and several of the promises (in terms of finance, title and concert programme) that the court made to Mendelssohn were not fulfilled. In 1842, Mendelssohn resigned, but the king made him offers he could not refuse, particularly in material terms a salary of 1,500 thalers (Rockstro 1884, p. 86). His mother died in 1842, and in 1843, Mendelssohn founded an important music school, the Leipzig Conservatory, for which he secured funding from the King of Saxony, and persuaded Ignaz Moscheles and Robert Schumann, among others, to join him. At that conservatory, Mendelssohn and Schumann shared the teaching of composition and pianoforte, but as a teacher, Schumann was disappointing. After Mendelssohn’s death in 1847, Moscheles succeeded him as director of the Conservatoire, maintaining its conservative tradition. Mendelssohn’s private life seems conventional compared to Schumann’s, except for his ambiguous relationship with the famous Swedish soprano Jenny Lind. He met her in October 1844 and seems to have asked her to elope with him to America in 1847, when she was still unmarried (Duchen 2009). Mendelssohn met and worked with Lind on numerous occasions and wrote the opera Lorelei for her. Throughout his life, Mendelssohn was wary of the more radical musical developments made by his contemporaries. He had a friendly, sometimes frosty, relationship with composers such as Hector Berlioz, Franz Liszt and Giacomo Meyerbeer, but in his letters, he expressed his disapproval of their works. Mendelssohn thought the Parisian style of opera was vulgar and lacked morals and Meyerbeer’s works were insincere (MercerTaylor 2004, p. 218; Todd 1991, p. 25). It is significant that the only musician who had a close personal friendship with him, Ignaz Moscheles, was of an earlier generation and conservative in his views. However, for the Piano Trio No. 1 in D minor, he followed Ferdinand Hiller’s advice and rewrote the piano part in a more romantic style, in the style of Robert Schumann, greatly enhancing its effect. In 1844, he alternated his time between Leipzig and Berlin. He composed many works and conducted concerts in Germany and England, many of them of a charitable nature. He devoted much of his time since then, at the request of the King of Prussia, to the Berlin Cathedral concerts. All this great work left him exhausted and he suffered from severe headaches and acute fatigue. Mendelssohn therefore suspended his activities for a time, left Berlin and retired to Frankfurt. In 1845 he returned to the post of concertmaster of the Gewandhaus in Leipzig but asked the king for

152

E. Trincado Aznar

permission to give up all activities that would oblige him to reside in Berlin. The king agreed, but his salary was reduced to 1,000 thalers (Rockstro 1884, p. 98). All kinds of music were performed at the Gewandhaus, and at his last concert in Leipzig in 1845, he saw Clara Schumann in the audience and asked her to come out and perform some works, including a Scherzo of his own devising. Similarly, Clara performed some caprices at a private farewell evening given by Mendelssohn, which was also attended by Schumann. However, Clara would not be mentioned in the performers’ sheets (Rockstro 1884, p. 118).

Economic Ideas Mendelssohn met Ferdinand Hiller, Hector Berlioz, Franz Liszt and Giacomo Meyerbeer. They tried to get Mendelssohn interested in Saint-Simonism, and although at first he did not refuse to approach the movement, over time he radically rejected their ideas (Locke 1986, p. 107). Saint-Simonism gave primacy to the economy over politics and proposed a perfect world where men would stop having power struggles and would use their power to exploit nature. For Saint-Simon, society is divided into classes based on the true nature of each man: first, those who satisfy rational scientific needs, such as scientists and engineers; second, those who have motor capacity, such as businesspersons, bankers, producers, employers and workers; finally, those with sensory or administrative-manual capacity, such as artists, poets and religious leaders. The perfect society would be one that achieved a harmonious cooperation of men of different abilities. Thus, the government should be replaced by an expert administration that would impersonally make decisions based on “positive” scientific reasons, the industrial Parliament, which would try to increase production until there was plenty. Saint-Simon was not an egalitarian and did not attack hierarchy or private property. However, once disorder and conflict have been eradicated and harmony achieved, the current State would lose its raison d’être. Disciples of Saint-Simon are Auguste Comte, Enfantin and Eugène Rodrigues. They attacked the inheritance and ownership of land and factories, proposing that the State direct production according to the interests of the community. They defended planning that mistrusted the “anarchic forces of the market” (Trincado 2014). The Saint-Simonians, whose movement flourished in France between 1825 and 1835, viewed music as an ideological tool and as a powerful means of gaining support for their views. Music became an integral part of their writings and ceremonial activities. They used art as a means of social control. When Mendelssohn spent five months in Paris in 1831–1832, some friends tried to interest him in their activities, such as Hiller, whom he had known since he was a child, and d’Eichthal, whom he met between 1824–1825 when he was an apprentice at Abraham Mendelssohn’s bank. In Berlin. Mendelssohn, however, had a negative view of the Saint-Simonians and considered them doctrinaire. He quotes Olinde Rodrigues, together with Enfantin,

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

153

father of the movement, complaining that he was trying to convince everyone of his creed. They gave him pamphlets to distribute in Germany, and he attended meetings of the Saint-Simonians over which Olinde authoritatively presided. In his letters, Mendelssohn comments to his father that they wanted to convince him of their religion and that they wanted him to make “better music than Rossini and Beethoven, to build temples of peace” (Locke 1986, p. 109). In another letter to his sister Fanny, he tells her that Hiller, d’Eichthal and Rodrigues had made revelations to him about the Saint-Simonian movement that made them seem repulsive and “shocked me so much that I revolved never again to go to him or to the other accomplices” (Locke 1986, p. 110). Later, he writes to the editor of The Globe asking him not to send him the newspaper propagating the new Saint-Simonian religion as he was horrified by it. Mendelssohn had written in favour of peace and harmony of natural forces, for example, in a “Humboldt” Cantata to build a new world. But the attitude of these doctrinaires took away all enthusiasm because the way in which the Fathers of the movement gave orders, praise or blame went against his liberal Lutheran ideals. Also, the Saint-Simonians’ vision of “flesh rehabilitation” and partner-swapping may have made him uncomfortable, since he considered hedonism vaguely immoral. Nevertheless, what economic school could Mendelssohn, and perhaps Schumann, be closest to? We could think that they were closer to the ideas of the romantics, for example, Thomas Carlyle; however, Carlyle proposed a history of heroes, of exceptional individuals, not the masses (Carlyle 1841, p. 34). He defended the social policies of the government as a benevolent patron of workers.4 Nevertheless, Mendelssohn’s own words bring him closer to Smithian ideas of natural institutions in which the encouragement of individual effort is the goal of improving one’s condition. Mendelssohn appealed to the efforts of ordinary people. Thus, Sarah Austin (1848) said that their conversations were about the language, literature and manners of their respective countries, stressing the importance of history and geography in the institutions of each country. She commented that Mendelssohn always asked what music was for if people did not understand what it meant. Robert Schumann seems to have been an abstracted man, indifferent to the world around him. An anecdote claims that in the fight that took place in Dresden between the republicans and the royalists in May 1849, Schumann, afraid that he would be enlisted in the citizen security brigade, escaped through the back door of his house, just picking up his wife Clara and their eldest daughter Marie. Shortly after, Clara, then seven months pregnant, picked up the other three children to take them to the shelter they had in the countryside. Nevertheless, the truth is that his entire circle of friends did the same, even though they considered themselves free thinkers. Daverio (2002, p. 61) points out that actually the revolutions of 1848 were very important for Schumann as a man and artist. In his diaries, he wrote in 1827 “Political freedom 4

Carlyle became passionate about the German language and literature, which he came to know perfectly. He spread them among his compatriots by translating Goethe’s works, writing a Life of Schiller (1825) and publishing plenty of articles on Germany and its culture. For Carlyle, material riches lead to a personal crisis from which only spiritual idealism can save.

154

E. Trincado Aznar

is perhaps the true nursemaid of art; where there is oppression; there can be no true poetry”. In 1838, he wrote to Clara “politics, literature, people: I think about it all in my fashion, and my feelings find their expression in music” (Jensen 2012, p. 137). In a letter dated 17 June 1849 to the publisher Friedrich Whistling, he describes his IV Märsche for piano, Op. 76, as “republican”, “I knew of no better way to express my delight [in the upsurge of republicanism]” (Applegate and Potter 2002, p. 61). Reinhard Kapp portrays him as a “political author” whose latest works represent a “continuous commentary” on revolutions (quoted in Daverio 2002, p. 62). He called his Drei Gesänge “patriotic songs” which he made in response to the victory in November 1947 of the Swiss federalists who wanted independence from Denmark, and for the spirit of the 1848–1849 revolutions as an emblem of popular sovereignty and national unity. Also, the four republican marches he composed after returning to Dresden in 1849 suggest that the revolutionary spirit survived him despite the victories of the Prussian royalists in Saxony. Their music was a response to the revolutionary dreams of “Unity and freedom of the German Fatherland” (Daverio 2002, p. 66). The moto was unity and freedom. These melodies, which were marches, had a military tone. Schumann in 1839 described himself as “religious but without religion”, pointing to a utopia that seeks the infinite in finite forms, that is, in art. He was imbued with the ludic utopias and the aesthetic mediation posed by the romantic poet Schiller (1759– 1805). For Schiller, art was a form of liberation from the idealistic stereotypes that social collectivity manipulates to reach individual freedom. According to Schiller, individual love becomes love for humanity; in the loved one all human beings are discovered. In his essay “On the pathetic”, he reveals what he expected from music: a rapture of the listener, who must obey certain rules. The music of the innovators seems to rest solely on sensuality and Schiller affirmed that the noble and masculine taste excludes all these sensations from art. In addition, Schiller warned of the duality of the revolutionary phenomenon, which enchanted everyone at first but then produced the fright of terror, in his Ode to Joy, so opportunely appropriated by Beethoven when he used it as a climax to his Ninth Symphony No 9. When he proclaims “All Men Shall Be Brothers” he recognises in them a common ancestry and joy is the feeling that comes from recognising that common ancestry. In the case of Schumann, he sought the unity of nature, giving it shape in the sensible through play and art that, unlike work that imposes purposes alien to the worker, has no other purpose than to play and express himself. Playfulness is the privileged place of freedom, the free exercise of faculties. Thus, according to Schumann, music must seek self-command and must be “noble and virile”, qualities that disappear when the artistic emotion—notably, the one provoked by music—leads to the loss of control and, consequently, of freedom (Matamoro 2005). For Schumann, his works herald the arrival of a time when the rulers and the ruled form a fellowship; an ideal community founded on mutual trust and shared beliefs. Schumann projected this utopian vision with choral music. The Neujahrslied culminates in a block chord ending to a Lutheran hymn. Over time, Schumann became less optimistic, especially

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

155

after the devastation of the Dresden uprising in May 1849. It is not that he resigned himself to the futility of the revolutionary attitude, but that he reflected on it by taking the objective attitude of the historian. Even within the revolutionary movement, there were divisions between moderate liberals and radical democrats, between those who valued more highly liberty or unity. The choral ballads showed this interrelationship between individual and communal modes of expression. The solos allow a free expression of individual feelings, while the choirs are musical emblems of unity. However, the voice of the chorus is not the voice of the masses; it has an aura of epic distance and suggests that the 48–49 Republicans had lost faith in political slogans (Daverio 2002, p. 76).

Deaths After a trip to Russia, Mendelssohn went in 1844 through a depressive period and left Leipzig to settle in Dresden. During the following years, his physical and mental health declined, aggravated by nervous problems and overwork. In 1846, an event that might not have been important caused him considerable discomfort: at the Herbesthal station on the Prussian border, a police officer mistook him for a fugitive from justice who was trying to escape. This event, which might seem irrelevant, caused him great irritability. On medical recommendation, he accepted help from others to carry out his tasks; but in 1847, his sister Fanny died suddenly, a victim of a cerebral embolism, and the setback caused Mendelssohn a stroke. He temporarily recovered and returned to work. He wrote a few compositions, gave a few concerts, but there was something about his art that made it different from his earlier days. His friend Henry Chorley (1854, p. 387) would remark that when he heard him play, he felt as if he had said goodbye to the musician forever. Violent headaches caused him to faint. In 1847, he died at the age of 38 surrounded by his family and friends and with a crowd that thronged at the door of his residence. His grandfather Moses, his sister Fanny and some of their other relatives had died of similar strokes. Schumann was one of those who carried the coffin. His wife survived him for almost six years, and she died of tuberculosis. Harriet Grote names the friends whose deaths had caused her the greatest sadness, including Felix Mendelssohn, Alexis de Tocqueville and John Stuart Mill (Grove 2013; Willis 2018). His friend since 1829, Sarah Austin (Eatock 2016), said when he passed away that Much as I admired him as an artist, I was no less struck by his childlike simplicity and sportiveness, his deference to age, his readiness to bend his genius to give pleasure to the humble and ignorant; the vivacity and fervour of his admiration for everything good and great, his cultivated intellect, refined tastes and noble sentiments. (Austin, Fraser’s Mag. April 1848)

Of Mendelssohn’s death, Jenny Lind wrote, “He was the only person who brought fulfilment to my spirit, and almost as soon as I found him I lost him again”. In 1849,

156

E. Trincado Aznar

he established the Mendelssohn Scholarship Foundation, which awards a two-year prize to a young British composer in Mendelssohn’s memory. The first recipient of this scholarship, in 1856, was Arthur Sullivan, who was 14 years old. In 1869, Lind erected a plaque in memory of Mendelssohn at his birthplace in Hamburg. In Schumann’s case, the deaths in 1832 of his teacher Zelter and in 1833 of his brother Julius, and his sister-in-law Rosalie in the cholera pandemic led him to a severe depressive episode. He had frequent depressions and periods of complete seclusion, which worsened from 1834 until his death, even hearing voices and experiencing hallucinations, probably due to a manic-depressive illness. But Schumann’s great creative intensity was concentrated in his periods of lucidity. As soon as he recovered from a period of illness, he devoted himself to composition and worked tirelessly. Until 1840 Schumann composed works for piano and later for piano and orchestra and many lieder. He was known for filling his music with characters through motifs, as well as his references to literary works. After a successful tour of Russia in the 1850s, the Schumanns returned to Germany and a period of decline began: Robert could not find a foothold in the new pre-revolutionary musical scene (led by Wagner, Rossini and Listz). He fell into a new depressive cycle, added to auditory hallucinations, insomnia, paralysis and fevers. He suffered visions of angels and demons, which he feared would hurt him; he was suspicious of high places and of contact with metal objects. Schumann’s diary mentions that he suffered from a hallucination of imagining that the note “A 5” was constantly ringing in his ears. Sometime later, he tells his brother about his desire to commit suicide, since he was distraught by the cholera epidemic that was ravaging Europe. In 1852, he resigned from the position of musical director of the Dusseldorf Conservatory due to the criticism received for his absences and constant delays. However, in these years, he also composed to exhaustion in all musical genres. On 27 February 1854 ,Schumann attempted to commit suicide by throwing himself into the Rhine. Five days after the incident, the composer himself asked to be admitted to Endenich, a psychiatric institution on the outskirts of Bonn. It was an expensive asylum, which involved 600 thalers each year (Schumann’s salary was then 700 thalers), but Clara tried to pay for it without asking third parties for money and refused to have benefit concerts to raise income. She preferred to give concerts herself (Jensen 2012, p. 299). There, Schumann lived through two years of great suffering, during which he only allowed himself to be visited by his friend and composer Johannes Brahms. Brahms took care of business affairs on Clara’s behalf. Just two days before his death, Clara was able to see him, and for a brief moment, Robert was lucid and managed to recognise her. There he died on the 29th of July 1856, at the age of 46, some say from a neuro-circulatory collapse, others from syphilis, a disease he had suffered from since his youth (Hernández 2020). Others say it could be herpes (Jensen 2012, p. xiv). Subsequently, a strong sentimental bond, perhaps a platonic one, linked Brahms and Clara.

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

157

Falsified Wake of Two Geniuses The romanticism of their life faded with their death, when egos, interests and power hijacked the image of Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann. The lives of Mendelssohn and Schumann are a singular demonstration that the dynamic forces of the economy, with an intrinsic action, as Veblen (1971) would put it, are passion, curiosity and the instinct of workmanship; however, the static and immobilising institutions that obstruct creativity are image, self-preservation, emulation, and the desire for power and excelling. Friedrich Nietzsche cites our composers in Beyond Good and Evil (1886), identifying them with the German music of Romanticism, “that is to say, to a movement which, historically considered, was still shorter, more fleeting, and more superficial than that great interlude, the transition of Europe from Rousseau to Napoleon, and to the rise of democracy” (Nietzsche 1966, p. 180). According to Nietzsche, music of romanticism was not aristocratic enough, it was not music enough to be able to prevail in other different places, besides in the theatre and before the crowd; it was second-rate music… Felix Mendelssohn had some influence on other composers, notably Johannes Brahms and Max Reger. His music was very popular in his time, but Mendelssohn’s excess of conservatism led to a condescension on the part of some of his contemporaries towards his music. His success and his Jewish origins upset Richard Wagner who scorned Mendelssohn three years after his death, perhaps out of resentment that he sent him his first symphony as a young man, and, to Wagner’s chagrin, Mendelssohn misplaced it (Mercer-Taylor 2000, p. 143). Wagner believed in his ability to nurture and promote his belief in pan-Germanic nationalism with his opera. Mendelssohn, a loyal but non-nationalist German, envisioned a musical world led by chamber music, choral music, and the symphony orchestra. However, shortly after the death of Felix Mendelssohn, nationalism and racism came to the fore in Germany. In the pamphlet entitled Das Judentum in der Musik, Wagner explains why the Jews were a detriment to the arts and why they should not be accepted by Germany. He used Mendelssohn as an example in his argument against the Jewish people. Wagner did not care that Mendelssohn, of Jewish origin, had converted to Lutheranism as a child. In detail, he explained why “they” were incapable of writing good music: Their blood prevented them. Wagner’s book became a national bestseller, and in a few years, Felix Mendelssohn went from being the most performed composer in Central Europe to being almost not performed at all. As documented in his letters and other writings throughout the rest of his long life, Wagner remained obsessed with denigrating the legacy of Felix Mendelssohn, right up until his own death in 1883. The Nazis added Mendelssohn’s name to lists of artists banned in Germany in 1936. This move to denigrate Mendelssohn’s achievements by the Nazis lasted for nearly a century, and its aftermath can still be seen today. Charles Rosen, in his book The Romantic Generation, dismisses Mendelssohn’s style as “religious kitsch” (Rosen 1995, p. 10). In England, many critics, including Fabians such as Bernard Shaw, began

158

E. Trincado Aznar

to condemn Mendelssohn’s music for its association with Victorian cultural closeness; Shaw complained in The Star in 1888 of the composer’s “kid glove gentility, his conventional sentimentality, and his despicable oratorio mongering” (Todd 1991, p. 6). However, after a long period of neglect, Mendelssohn has been reassessed and has become one of the most popular composers of the Romantic period (Todd 2003, p. 463). In England, it always had a very good reputation (Eatock 2016); Sarah Sheppard’s novel Charles Auchester, published in 1851, singles out Mendelssohn as the “Chevalier Seraphael”. Queen Victoria required that a statue of the composer be included in The Crystal Palace when it was rebuilt in 1854 (Musgrave 1995, p. 58). The Wedding March from A Midsummer Night’s Dream has been performed at royal weddings since 1858 (Emmett 1996, p. 755), curiously often accompanied by the “March of the Bride” (wrongly called the “Wedding March”) of his “antithesis” Wagner. Mendelssohn’s choral sacred music, particularly the minor works, continues to be used in the popular choral tradition of the Church of England. Elsewhere, he also won admirers: according to Andrew Porter, Ferruccio Busoni considered Mendelssohn a master of undisputed greatness and “an heir of Mozart”. This contrasts with his vision of composers such as Franz Schubert, whom he considered a gifted amateur, or Ludwig van Beethoven, who he claimed lacked the technique to express his emotions (Andrew Porter, Sleeve Notes of Walter Gieseking’s recording of Songs Without Words, Angel 35,428). However, the real Mendelssohn renaissance did not begin until the 1990s. The Nazis, who presented him as the Aryan model of anti-Semite, also distorted the image of Schumann. Perhaps to complete this distortion, many of his personal documents were lost in World War II. Marxists, who considered him defender of common people, also used his image. It was not until 1971 that his image began to clear up, when his diaries were published; other diaries came out in 1982. There you can see that Schumann was a tireless worker driven by ambition. Since childhood, he fantasised about being rich and famous, but he always had financial concerns. He was interested in the musical enterprise and in literature, but he did his musical criticism because he earned more with it than as a composer (Jensen 2012, p. ix). He had a great devotion to beauty, both in nature and in art, and was a great idealist who felt guilty and ashamed in his diaries for passions he considered demeaning and inconsistent—especially sensual outbursts of his youth. In his diaries, he often refers to his children, not as a doting father but as a lover of childhood and an admirer of idealised innocence (Jensen 2012, p. 14).

Conclusion The privileged upbringing of Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann undoubtedly gave them a head start over their compatriots. The effort Mendelssohn’s parents had to make was not as great as Schumann’s, whose travels in Europe had to be financed on credit. On the other hand, Mendelssohn’s parents’ gamble was not an investment for

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

159

the greatest profit; the family sought their son’s happiness and to satisfy his passion for music. Of course, his later fame was influenced by the fit of his compositions into subsequent cultural movements and the interests of the propagators or the envy, imitation or corruption of the society to come. Not surprisingly, both composers suffered from mental disorders. Perhaps poisoning from mercury, typical of the time, aggravated those disorders (it was sometimes due to eating fish, or using felt hats or dental amalgam produced with mercury). In this case, the symptoms coincide with some accounts of the composers’ lives: tremors, shyness and paranoia; however, it is true that we have no evidence and, for instance, we have seen no pictures or daguerreotypes of the composers wearing such hats. Both composers had to struggle with incomprehension. Mendelssohn was shunned because of his Jewish origin, even though his grandfather advocated their integration into society and the family converted to Lutheranism. His conservative musical tastes also did not help him in a cultural environment that called for change. Schumann was also a victim of misunderstanding, first from his family, who wanted him to study law to move up the social ladder, and later from his father-in-law, who refused to marry his daughter because of her humble origins. Schumann survived for much of his life on the credit of his family, but eventually through constant work, he found a place in the musical culture of the time. From an early age, he had been ambitious and longed for recognition, yet he eventually devoted his life to spreading the love of music and searching for the sources of a naturalistic, liberating art born of feeling. His love for Clara Wieck, who made up for his physical inability to perform by playing the piano, was a great support for him. Clara’s courage to perform the music naturally seems to be a proposal agreed upon by the couple, who wanted the spectator to put himself in the performer’s place. The lives of Schumann and Mendelssohn show the dynamism of nineteenthcentury German society, but also how common sense has always fought against the arrogance of those who want to change society from above (through politics or, in this case, through art). As our composers show, the enjoyment of nature, aesthetic play, is the free exercise of the faculties that are governed by the simple joy of creating and by self-control aimed at creation. Mendelssohn rejected Saint-Simonism precisely because he chafed at the use of music as a tool of social control. Above all, he was repelled by the authoritarian and paternalistic way in which the Saint-Simonians led their followers. It consisted of a sect that extracted individuals from their origins, depersonalising them and making them mouldable. Mendelssohn had written for the peace and harmony of natural forces, but the attitude of the Saint-Simonians was steeped in a moral superiority that Mendelssohn despised. Both Mendelssohn and Schumann were living evidence of a liberal morality where the natural emergence of institutions arises from individual effort to improve one’s own condition. Schumann championed political freedom and described himself as a “republican”, an advocate of popular sovereignty and national unity, “religious, but without religion” who sought a utopia of the infinite in finite forms. His works proclaim the arrival of a utopia in which the community would be founded on mutual trust and shared beliefs. However, in the course of time reality made him realise that utopia is an ever-moving

160

E. Trincado Aznar

image that is not, cannot be, permanent: it must be fought for at every moment. Mendelssohn, a man of the elite, sang of individual independence, free from external impositions and stereotypes; Schumann, a man of the people, extended responsibility to a choral symphony, a passing territory, a passionate action that accepted freedom in its suffering. As for his finances, Schumann began to receive a steady income from 1840 onwards, but the leap came in 1849, when he received 1,275 thalers for his compositions, four times more than he had earned in 1848. From then on, his income grew to an amount optimal to support, if necessary, Clara Schumann (something she never needed). Mendelssohn’s finances were more balanced, but not without obstacles. He was offered 3,000 thalers a year to head the National Academy of Arts and did not care to resign in 1842. Although the king offered him a salary of 1,500 thalers, he agreed to reduce it to 1,000 thalers when he left Berlin. Money was certainly not that important to him: his goals were different.

Annex 1: Schumann Family Expenditure in 1841

Category

Thaler

Percent of total

Clara’s weekly allowance

634

33.02

Outside meals

208

10–83

Furniture

286

9.69

Rent

230

6.77

Travel

208

5.63

Bulk wine and spirits

83

4.32

Coal and wood

81

4.22

Household help

77

4.01

Gifts

75

3.91

Clothing

75

3.91

Cigars

51

2.66

Supplies, including note paper

39

2.03

Medial

24

1.25

Music copying

21

1.09

Public bath

16

0.83

Legal services

11

0.57

Entertainment

8

0.42

Insurance

7

0.36

Books and newspapers

6

0.31

Taxes

5

0.26 (continued)

7 Felix Mendelssohn and Robert Schumann: Parallel Lives, Liberal …

161

(continued) Category

Thaler

Other

30

Percent of total 1.56

Unknown

45

2.34

Total

1,920

100

Sources Scherer (2004, p. 211)

References Applegate, C., and P.M. Potter. 2002. Music and German National Identity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Austin, Sarah. 1848. Recollections of Felix Mendelssohn. Fraser’s Magazine, April, 37: 426–428. Brown, Clive. 2003. A Portrait of Mendelssohn. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Carlyle, Thomas. 1841. On Heroes, Hero-Worship, & the Heroic in History. New York: D. Appleton & Co. ———.1849. Occasional Discourse on the Negro Question. Fraser’s Magazine for Town and Country 40: 672. Chorley, Henry F. 1854. Modern German Music. London. Daverio, John. 2002. Einheit—Freiheit—Vaterland: Intimations of Utopia in Robert Schumann’s Late Choral Music. In Music and German National Identity, ed. C. Applegate and P.M. Potter. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Devrient, Eduard. 1869. My Reminiscences of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy. translation by Natalia MacFarren: London. Duchen, Jessica. 2009. Conspiracy of Silence: Could the Release of Secret Documents Shatter Felix Mendelssohn’s Reputation? The Independent. Eatock, Colin Timothy. 2016. Mendelssohn and Victorian England. London: Routledge. Emmett, William. 1996. The National and Religious Song Reader. New York: Haworth Press. Geck, Martin. 2010. Robert Schumann. München: München. Grove, Sir George. 2013. Beethoven—Schubert—Mendelssohn, Biography & Autobiography. Google Books. Hensel, Sebastian. 1884. The Mendelssohn Family, 4th reviewed ed. 2007. London. Hensel, Fanny. 1994. Preface. In Songs for Pianoforte 1836–37, ed. Camilla Cai. Middleton: A-R Editions, Inc. Hernández, Marta. 2020. La vanguardia, June 8. https://www.lavanguardia.com/historiayvida/his toria-contemporanea/20200608/481595118949/robert-schumann-romanticismo-compositormusica-clara.html. Jacob, H.E., C. Winston, R. Winston, C. Winston, and R. Winston. 1963. Felix Mendelssohn and His Times. Hoboken: Prentice-Hall. Jensen, E.F. 2012. Schumann, 2nd ed., Ser. The master musicians. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lehmann, H., G. Roth, and German Historical Institute. 1993. Weber’s Protestant Ethic: Origins, Evidence, Contexts. Ed. H. Lehmann and Roth Günter Dietmar. Ser. Publications of the German Historical Institute. Litzmann, Berthold. 2013. Clara Schumann. An Artist’s Life, Based on Material Found in Diaries and Letters, vol. 1. Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO978113964477 8.010. Locke, Ralph P. 1986. Music, Musicians, and the Saint-Simonians. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

162

E. Trincado Aznar

Matamoro, Blas. 2005. Ante el umbral romántico. Scherzo: revista de música, año 20, n. 202: 114–117. Mendelssohn, M., M. Gottlieb, C. Bowman, E. Sacks, and A. Arkush. 2011 Moses Mendelssohn: Writings on Judaism, Christianity, and the Bible, Ser. The Tauber Institute series for the study of European Jewry. Waltham: Brandeis University Press. Méndez, Fernando, and Estrella Trincado. 2022. Pensamiento y economía en libertad. Madrid: Aranzadi-Thomson Reuters. Mercer-Taylor, Peter. 2000. The Life of Mendelssohn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2004. The Cambridge Companion to Mendelssohn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Musgrave, Michael. 1995. The Musical Life of the Crystal Palace. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reich Nancy B. 1985. Clara Schumann. The Artist and the Woman. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Nauhaus, Gerd, ed. 1994. The Marriage Diaries of Robert & Clara Schumann. Translated, with a preface, by Peter Ostwald. London: Robson Books. Niecks, Frederick. 1925. Robert Schumann. London. Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1966. Beyond Good and Evil. New York: Vintage. Ostwald, Peter. 1985. Schumann, The Inner Voices of a Musical Genius. The Inner Voices of a Musical Genius: Northeastern University Press. Perrey, Beate, ed. 2007. The Cambridge Companion to Schumann. Boston: Cambridge University Press. Reich, Nancy B. 2001. Clara Schumann: The Artist and the Woman. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Rockstro, W.S. 1884. Mendelssohn, Ser. The great musicians, ed. by Francis Hueffer. S. Low, Marston, Searle, and Rivington. Rodríguez Braun, Carlos. 2017. Piketty Misreads Austen. The Independent Review 21 (3): 465–476. Rosen, Charles. 1995. The Romantic Generation. Harvard: Harvard University Press. Scherer, Frederic M. 2004. Quarter Notes and Bank Notes: The Economics of Music Composition in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Sterndale Bennett, R. 1955. The Death of Mendelssohn. Music and Letters (Oxford) 36 (4); 374–376. Todd, R. Larry. 1991. Mendelssohn and HIS WORLD. Princeton: Princeton University Press. ———. 2003. Mendelssohn—A Life in Music. Oxford; Nueva York: Oxford University Press. Trincado, Estrella. 2014. Socialistas utópicos, Karl Marx y los historicistas. Historia del pensamiento económico, UCAV, Ávila, pp. 1–45. ———. 2015. Silencios que hacen ruido: De cómo se sobrepuso John Stuart Mill de los estados melancólicos del utilitarismo. Télos, 20(1), 27–50. https://doi.org/10.15304/t.20.1.2518 ———. 2019. The Birth of Economic Rhetoric: Communication, Arts and Economic Stimulus in David Hume and Adam Smith. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Veblen, T. 1971. Teoría de la clase ociosa. Fondo de Cultura Económica. Werner, Eric. 1963. Mendelssohn, A New Image of the Composer and His Age. New York and London: Free Press of Glencoe. Willis, Peter. 2018. Chopin in Britain. London: Routledge. Worthen, John. 2007. Robert Schumann: Life and Death of a Musician. London: Yale University Press. Weingartner, Felix. 1928. Lebenserinnerungen, 2 vols. Orell Füssli: Zürich & Leipzig.

Chapter 8

Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business Francisco Cabrillo

Richard Wagner

F. Cabrillo (B) Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_8

163

164

F. Cabrillo

Giuseppe Verdi Oh vincero stasera; e l’oro guadagnato Poscia a goder fra’ campi ritornerò beato (La traviata, Act II) Hütet das Gold! Vater warnte Vor solchem Feind (Das Rheingold, Act I) If I had wanted to be a businessman, no one could have stopped me, after la Traviata [1853], from writing an opera a year and making myself a fortune three times as big as I have. (Giuseppe Verdi in 1874) It is true that Wagner searched for gold incessantly, but only to put it at the service of his noble artistic purposes or his less noble human purposes: never to bury it. (Manuel de Falla)

Music, Nation and Politics The year 1813 was a difficult but hopeful year for many Europeans. The Napoleonic wars had been ravaging the continent for more than a decade, but that year the end was in sight with the victory of the allied powers against the French Empire. In June, an army made up of British, Portuguese and Spanish troops defeated the French army in the battle of Vitoria, which meant, in practice, the end of the French occupation of the Iberian Peninsula. And, more important, in October, a coalition of Austria, Russia and Prussia along with other minor allies defeated Napoleon at the battle

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

165

of Leipzig, opening its way to Paris, which would surrender only a few months later. But 1813 also witnessed kinder events, including the birth of the two most important opera composers of the nineteenth century. On the 22nd of May, just a few months before the famous battle, Richard Wagner was born in Leipzig, then part of the kingdom of Saxony. On the 10th of October, Giuseppe Verdi was born in Le Roncole, near Busseto, in the Duchy of Parma, which at that time was a territory of the French Empire. This duchy would be under the government of Habsburg princes after the Congress of Vienna, and, later on, it would return to its former sovereigns, the Bourbon-Parma family, until its integration into the new kingdom of Italy.1 They were two very different musicians, with very different lives. But their biographies also had some traits in common. They were two of the most brilliant composers in the history of music. And both were born in countries that had not achieved at that time their national unity, which would be achieved only many years later, almost at the same time, around 1870. Both were then famous musicians and, in one way or another, contributed to the birth of the new states and, above all, to the creation of a German or an Italian culture and a national consciousness shared by people who had lived for centuries in a number of more or less independent states and cities of very various characteristics and importance. Verdi dedicated an opera, La Battaglia de Legnano, to the battle in which the Lombard cities defeated the emperor Frederick Barbarossa in the twelfth century, a historical fact that represented for later Italian nationalists the possibility of a victory over Austria. The chorus “Va pensiero” of Nabucco became a symbol of the country’s struggle for unity and independence. It is a well-known fact that the cry “Viva Verdi!” could be understood in mid-nineteenthcentury Italy both as a tribute to the great composer and as a cry for the unification of the nation under the rule of Vittorio Emanuele, King of Sardinia-Piedmont. To say “Viva Verdi!” could also mean “Viva Vittorio Emanuele, Re d’Italia”. And Verdi’s efforts in favour of the new national state were recognized by his country. In 1861, he was elected member of the first Italian parliament, and later on, in 1874, was appointed senator of the Italian Kingdom. Richard Wagner’s relationship with German nationalism was more complex. There is no doubt that his music was considered for many years—inside and outside Germany—a clear representation not only of its national music but also of its national spirit. It is no coincidence that the emperor of the new powerful German Reich attended the first Bayreuth festival as a special guest in 1876. And that, for quite some time, the festival, managed after Wagner’s death by his wife Cosima—and 1

Many biographies of Wagner and Verdi have been published, as well as numerous studies about their works, of which only a small sample is mentioned in the references of this chapter. Around the second centenary of their birth, several useful books were published about both musicians. To point out only two, Holger Noltze (2013) published an interesting comparative study of both composers, with a very different approach from that of this article. Riccardo Muti analyzes the Italian character of Verdi in Muti (2012), as did later Thielemann (2015)—another conductor—with Wagner. We also know many details of their lives from the composers themselves. Wagner was the author of an extensive autobiography (Wagner 1994 [1870/1875), which describes in great detail his life until his meeting with Ludwig II of Bavaria’s envoy in 1864. And Verdi wrote a large number of letters, which are available to the interested reader. A good selection of letters can be found in Verdi (1981) and Verdi (2000).

166

F. Cabrillo

later by their son Siegfried and their daughter-in-law Winifred—maintained close relations with nationalist groups, even questioning whether it would make sense to hire a non-German musician like Toscanini to be the conductor of Wagner’s work in the temple of German opera (Hamann 2005, p. 100). In fact, the second reason why the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche broke with Wagner—the first being the religious conversion that the composer showed in Parsifal—was that the latter had become a “German” composer, at a time when the philosopher was especially critical of his own country. But Wagner’s attitude towards the new German state was ambivalent. There is no doubt that he believed in the German nation and culture. But, in the pessimistic vision of the world that dominated him in his last years of life, he came to think that the new state, rich and powerful as it was, could mean, at the same time, the end of the German nation as he conceived it. Cosima wrote in her diaries in September 1873 about her husband: “He is not to be counted among the ranks of…patriots”. And in April 1874: “We might […] have a German Reich, but […] not a German nation” (Snowman 2009, p. 444). Perhaps what Wagner meant by speaking of the German nation and culture as something different from the German state is summed up in the words that Hans Sach sings in the final scene of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg: “Even if the Holy Roman Empire would dissolve in mist, for us there would yet remain the holy German art”.

Early Careers Their origins and childhoods were different. Wagner was the son of a Leipzig police officer, who died when Richard was just six months old. His mother soon married Ludwig Geyer, a friend of the family, who was an artist with broad interests, being at the same time a theatre actor and a painter. In addition, four of Richard’s brothers were engaged in theatre or music. It is not surprising, therefore, that from a very young age, the future great composer showed interest in the performing arts; first in the theatre and later in music. It seems he decided to become a professional musician after having listened to some fragments of Beethoven and Weber, composers whom he always admired. Soon he began to live as romantic artists were supposed to live. Taverns, lovers, duels and gambling were important in his Leipzig years from 1828 through 1832, when he was a student first at local schools and then at Leipzig University, and, at the same time studied music with Christian Theodor Weinlig, also known in the history of music for having been the teacher of Clara Schuman. Those early years surely contributed to shaping his character and gave rise to a way of life that he maintained throughout his entire existence: to live as well as possible, without worrying too much about expenses, trusting that, in one way or another, and with the help of the right people, he would go ahead. In 1833 Wagner was appointed chorus master in Würzburg and later on musical director of the Magdeburg theatre, while working in his two first operas, Die Feen and Das Liebesverbot. In 1836 he made his debut as an opera conductor with Mozart’s Don Giovanni in Bad Lauchstädt, a small town near Leipzig known as a spa and

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

167

summer resort at the time, but soon after the company went bankrupt. In the same year 1836 he married in Königsberg (East Prussia)—today Kaliningrad—an actress, Minna Planer. Their marriage would never be happy. The following year, 1837, the couple moved to Riga, a city that, although part of the Russian empire, had a large German population and used German as its administrative and cultural language. Wagner was appointed music director of Riga’s theatre with a salary of 800 rubbles (Watson 1979, pp. 52–53). But this did not fully solve his financial problems. In 1839, harassed by creditors, Richard and Minna had to flee Riga. And after a difficult journey through Denmark, Norway and London they arrived in Paris. It has often been said that, although Verdi was a man of the theatre from a young age, he always retained something of the mentality of the peasants of northern Italy. Born in a family of small landowners and traders, his parents were owners of an inn near the small town of Busseto, one hundred kilometres from Milano. Later on, he became a famous and wealthy composer whose works were performed in opera houses of many countries, including places so distant as New York or Cairo. But he never forgot his origins. When he began to have money—and he did win a lot of money throughout his life—he invested a good part of it in the purchase of farms and land in his province. He first bought a farmhouse in Pulgaro which would be his parents’ home. Later he became the owner of the Palazzo Cavalli, in Busseto’s main street. And then bought the land in Sant’Agata, where he built the villa in which he lived for almost fifty years, from 1851 until his death in 1901, and it is now known as Villa Verdi. A brilliant musician since he was a child, Verdi tried to study music at the prestigious conservatory of Milano; but he failed to be admitted as a student. Later on, however, he moved to Milano with the help of some friends of Busseto, especially Antonio Barezzi, his patron for years. There he studied music with Vincenzo Lavigna from 1832 through 1835, attended regularly the performances at La Scala and made his first connections with Milano’s music world. In 1836 he was appointed “maestro di musica” in his hometown and married Margherita, Barezzi’s daughter. In 1839 Verdi and his wife left Busseto and moved to Milano. That same year his first opera, Oberto, Conte di San Bonifazio was performed at La Scala with some success, opening his career as a composer. But the following years would not be happy for him. In 1840, his second opera, Un giorno di regno, failed at La Scala. And, much worse, Margherita died of encephalitis at the age of 26. The following years were for Verdi a period of intense work, in which he wrote many of his most famous operas. Between 1842, the year of Nabucco premiere at La Scala, which was his first great success, and 1851, when Rigoletto premiered at La Fenice, Verdi wrote about twenty operas. Over time, he would describe this period as his “galley years”. But it was these years that forever established his fame as a composer. His works were requested in the main theatres of Italy and later in other countries. 1847 was important in his life as an international musician. In that year his opera I Masnadieri was premiered in London, Verdi himself being the conductor of the orchestra, and the composer travelled to Paris for the premiere of Jérusalem.

168

F. Cabrillo

From the Home Country to the Conquest of Paris The world of opera was quite international in the mid-nineteenth century. The works of the most famous composers were performed in numerous theatres throughout Europe. The German and Italian courts rivalled each other for prestigious theatres and orchestras. But if a city was the capital of opera, in which all composers wanted to succeed, this was Paris.2 There were several reasons for that. Paris was a city that in 1850 already had more than one million inhabitants. It was a town in which a high number of wealthy people lived, a necessary condition to finance first-class theatres and high-level performances. In addition to this, the court and the state contributed generously to theatrical and musical activities. The Revue et gazette musicale de Paris, founded in 1827, soon became the most important musical magazine in Europe. And, also very important, France had designed before other countries a copyright system that improved the economic situation of composers (Albinsson, 2021). Hence, it is not surprising that the greatest composers and interpreters of different countries tried to succeed in Paris. Rossini, Liszt, Chopin, Paganini, Donizetti, Meyerbeer or Offenbach are only the names of the most famous of these musicians. We should add the names of Wagner and Verdi to this illustrious list. Their fortunes, however, were very different.

Wagner’s Failures in Paris. From Dresden to Exile Wagner arrived in Paris for the first time in September 1839. After some difficult and adventurous years, he went to France’s capital with the desire to conquer the city and to be recognized as a relevant composer. But things did not go well from the first moment. The letters of introduction that he had obtained from Meyerber to some relevant people in the musical world, among them the director of the Paris opera, did not have the desired effect (Wagner 1994 [1870/1875], pp. 211–212). He soon began to experience financial difficulties, which would lead him to sell everything he had of value, including the jewellery of his wife. He managed to organize a concert, with a second-rate orchestra, in which his overture Columbus was performed. Some of the soloists in the orchestra showed their mediocrity and the concert failed. In his own words “I was clearly conscious of my complete failure. After this misfortune Paris no longer existed for me” (Wagner 1994 [1870/1875], p. 236). And, to get some money, he had to engage in composing French songs and adapting for piano some parts Donizetti’s La Favorita, an opera that, incidentally, he did not like and whose success in Paris was a sample, in his opinion, of the degenerate taste of the public of this city (Wagner 1995, p. 232). It seems he got 1,100 francs for this adaptation and later on 300 more francs for correcting the proofs of the full score of the opera.; a 2

A good description of Paris social and cultural life in the first half of the nineteenth century can be found in Mansel (2001).

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

169

work not very pleasant for him, but convenient for a musician with serious financial problems. Nonetheless, these two and a half years in Paris were not a totally wasted time, since in the spring of 1841 he worked on what would be his first masterpiece for the theatre, Der Fliegende Holländer. Wagner finally left the city in April 1842 and travelled to Dresden. Shortly before he had received the good news that the opera theatre of this city had approved the performance of Rienzi. He had to go back to Germany. His first attempt to conquer the music world of Paris had failed. The arrival in Dresden improved the economic situation of the young couple and that city could have been the refuge and the quiet place that Wagner needed to carry out his great musical work. There he premiered Rienzi (1842), Der Fliegende Holländer (1843) and Tanhäuser (1845) and was appointed Royal Kapellmeister with an annual salary of 1,500 thalers (Watson 1979, p. 78). But the good times would not last long. The 1848 revolution in Paris soon spread to other European countries, including several German states. On April 30, the king of Saxony dissolved the Saxon Parliament and as a reply, the town council organized a Communal Guard on the 3rd of May. The clashes between the troops and the Communal Guard soon began, and the king and the government had to leave the town. Wagner became a “passionately interested spectator of the proceedings” (Wagner 1994, p. 479). Later on, he took an active part in the revolt: “I definitely abandoned all considerations for my personal situation and determined to surrender myself to the stream of developments which flowed in the direction towards which my feelings had driven me with a delight that was full of despair” (Wagner 1994, p. 488). But the uprising soon failed when Prussian and Saxon troops reconquered Dresden. Repression was hard and many of the leaders of the revolt were arrested. Wagner was able to flee the city and take refuge in Switzerland. These events left their mark on his life for quite some time. Two years and a half later, in November 1851 he said in a letter to Theodor Uhlig that in Der Ring he had attempted “to make clear to the men of the Revolution the meaning of that revolution in its noblest sense”.3 For the next decade, his life would be relatively uneventful, at least if compared with previous years. As far as his work as a conductor is concerned, the most interesting event of this period was his trip to London in 1855. The reason for this trip was an invitation from the Philharmonic Society of London to conduct a series of subscription concerts (for a description of this trip, see Christiansen [2000, pp. 42– 59]). The offer seemed attractive, since a fee of 200 sterling pounds—equivalent to 5,000 French francs—was agreed. In his autobiography, Wagner asserts that he thought that this trip was really of no advantage to him but had accepted it in the prospect of handling a large and excellent orchestra (Wagner 1994 [1870/1875], p. 620). But it seems that finally the results were not very positive in this aspect either. Wagner recounts that, for financial reasons, he was allowed only one rehearsal per concert, even though it included, for example, two symphonies and several minor pieces (Wagner 1994 [1870/1875], p. 623). Wagner did not like his stay in London. The fog annoyed him. The city’s musical life was mediocre, in his opinion. And it 3

“Wagner and the Dresden Uprising (May 1849)”. In: Vazsonyy, Nicholas (ed.) (2013).

170

F. Cabrillo

seems that the economic results of this trip were not what he—always confident of earning some money—had expected. He stayed in the British capital for four months. His accommodation, close to Regents Park, cost him two pounds a week, a total of about 36 pounds for the whole period; but the cost of living in the city was high, and he complained about it. He wrote to Mina: “places are so dreadfully far apart that I simply have to take a cab everywhere” and “half a bottle of Bordeaux in the worst restaurant costs three shillings”. The final result was that his net profit, after all his costs had been paid, was only 40 pounds, that is, about 1,000 francs. In his own words: “This is the hardest money I have ever earned” (Christiansen 2000, p. 58). An important event of this period was his meeting in Switzerland with Otto Wesendonck, a wealthy silk merchant who would become his patron and, a few years later even offered him a house located in the gardens of his elegant villa in Zurich. Wagner and his wife moved to this “Asyl” in 1857. It seemed again that the composer had achieved the necessary stability to fully dedicate himself calmly to his work. But, once again, things got tough. Wagner fell in love with Wesendonck’s wife, Mathilde, in whose honour composed a series of five lieders, the text of which is poems by his new beloved. So he had to leave his patron’s house, and in 1858, he returned to his travelling life and attempted a new conquest of Paris, with a new opera, Tanhäuser, that was performed in the French capital in March 1861. This time he was far from the second-class orchestra that had performed some of his works in his first stay. Tanhäuser was performed at the Imperial Opera, which made high expenses both in terms of a large number of rehearsals and very expensive lavish theatrical sets. But there was no success on this occasion either, and the scandal that occurred at this France premiere is a well-known chapter in the history of opera. The disaster was certainly related to the rejection of Wagner’s music by a conservative public, who did not like the work. But the fact that many people went to the opera in Paris in those days more for being a social event than for the musical values of the work and the quality of the interpreters also had to do with it. And this audience demanded a ballet in the performance. And this was especially relevant for the members of the so-called Jockey-Club, wealthy holders of season tickets who only arrived in the theatre at the second or third act, after a good dinner and were interested above all in the choreography. For the Paris performance, Wagner introduced a ballet in his opera—Bacchanal on the Venusberg—, but in the first act. In short, the members of the Jockey-Club became angry and bought whistles and hunting trumpets, with which they made a fuss, supported by part of the public present in the theatre. Despite the defence of this opera and his new music made by some artists and writers such as Baudelaire or Theophile Gautier, Wagner failed again in Paris. Germany and Austria, not France, would be his promised land, in which his merits would be recognized.4 Only two months after Tanhäuser’s failure 4

The acceptance of Wagner’s music encountered greater resistance in France than in other European countries, as his work was mixed with the political issues of the time. The rejection was not only general among people with conservative musical tastes. Following Prussia’s victory over France in 1871, many French nationalists would regard Wagner’s music as an unacceptable symbol of German culture. It would be necessary to wait until a date as late as 1891 so that Lohengrin could

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

171

in France, Vienna enthusiastically received Lohengrin. A new life was beginning for the composer.

Verdi’s Triumphs in Paris Verdi’s relationship with Paris and its opera houses was very different from Wagner’s. In July 1847, when he was thirty-three years old, he got his first contract to premiere an opera in the French capital. This was Jérusalem, a significantly modified translation of I Lombardi alla prima crociata, that had had its premiere at La Scala four years before. The work was successfully screened in November. That same year he was awarded by the king Louis Philippe the order of the Legion of Honour. Verdi lived in Paris on several occasions and his operas were performed many times. And even two of them Les vêpres siciliennes and Don Carlos were premiered in the French capital in 1855 and 1867, facts that clearly contrast not only with Wagner’s initial failure but also with the problems that Wagner’s operas would face in France for many years. An important difference between opera performances in Italy and in Paris in the mid-nineteenth century was determined by the popularity of what was called the “Grand Opera” in the French capital. This was a much longer work, usually five acts instead of the usual three in Italy, necessarily including ballet, and often staged with expensive sets. The costs of the sets and the performances were often so high that could only be supported by a rich theatre in a wealthy city that received the financial help of the royal court. Of course, these Grand Operas were more profitable for composers, since the royalties per performance were much higher (approximately 300 francs for three-act operas and 500 francs for five-act operas). The Verdi’s operas premiered in Paris were framed in the tradition of the French great opera. A good example is Les vêpres siciliannes that includes in its third act the well-known ballet of “The Four Seasons”, the longest ballet music written by Verdi. Verdi was in Paris when the revolution broke out that dethroned King Louis Philippe in February 1848. On the 9th of March, he commented in a letter to Giuseppina Appiani that things were calm and that, if no urgent matter arose in Italy, he planned to stay in the city until the end of April to see what was happening in the constitution of the National Assembly. But what happened in France soon had repercussions in Italy. On the 18th of March of the same year, a revolt broke out in Milan against the Austrian occupation. A provisional government was formed, and the Austrians had to withdraw temporarily. Verdi was clearly on the side of the Italian patriots and in the first days of April he left Paris for Milan. On the 21st he wrote to Francesco Maria Piave: Imagine whether I wished to remain in Paris, hearing of a revolution at Milan! I left immediately I heard the news but was only able to see these stupendous barricades. Honor to these

be successfully performed in Paris. And the nationalist protests continued for some time yet. See the chapter “Le wagnerisme en France et à l’étranger” in Grand-Carteret (1892).

172

F. Cabrillo

brave men! Honor to all Italy, which at this moment is truly great! The hour has sounded—be convinced of it—of her liberation. (Walker 1962, p. 187)

But two months later he returned to Paris. The patriotic movement in Milan ended in failure, and in the first days of August 1848, the Austrian army recaptured the town. Some of Verdi’s friends were forced to flee the city; among them Countess Maffei, in whose salon she and her friends had openly supported Italian unification. These events deeply affected Verdi, who, from Paris, continued to think of Italy. And this same autumn he composed in the French capital his aforementioned patriotic opera La Battaglia de Legnano, which would premiere in Rome in January of the following year.

Verdi: Music and Business When analysing the remunerations of the three main types of artists needed for an opera performance—composers, librettists and singers—the contrasts between them are striking.5 Naturally, there were singers, composers and librettists of very different levels that received substantially different payments. But if we focus on those at the highest level, who were hired by the main theatres, it is easy to verify the existence of a clear hierarchy between, singers, composers and librettists. At the head were the singers, then the composers and, last, at a great distance, the authors of the libretti. Given that an opera performance requires the collaboration of the three groups, the distribution of income must be explained by the particularities of each of the submarkets. Let us first look at the case of singers. There were many opera singers at that time. But, for the public, the product they offered was not at all homogeneous. The best opera singers—as was also the case with the best pianists or violinists— enjoyed a quasi-monopoly position, which allowed them to obtain large incomes. Demand for their services had a low elasticity, since people came to hear a specific star, who could not be easily replaced by another singer and such a substitution would clearly reduce theatre attendance and impresario’s income. Such an argument had already been used in 1850 by the British economist Nassau William Senior when explaining the extraordinary high income obtained by the Swedish soprano Jenny Lind, who had made a very well-paid tour of the United States hired by the famous circus impresario P.T. Barnum: Most people would be puzzled if they were told that when Madame Goldsmith (Jenny Lind) receives 200 pounds for a night performance, 10s of it are the wages of her labour, 30s more the profit on her acquired capital of knowledge and skill, and the remaining 198 pounds is a rent derived from the extraordinary powers of which nature has given her a monopoly. (Levy 1979, p. 173) 5

Orchesters were part of the opera houses and the role of stage directors and set designers, so relevant nowadays, had much less importance in the theatres of the nineteenth century. The richness of the theatrical staging and the costumes of the singers were certainly highly valued, but this depended, fundamentally, on how much money each impresario was willing to spend on them in order to perform an opera.

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

173

As an example, Adelina Patti could get up to 2,500 French francs for a single performance in Paris (Panico 2002, p. 246). So, the amount of money paid to Verdi for his first operas—around 9,000–12,000 lire—was relatively small and, in addition, he had to use part of that money to pay the authors of the libretti. However, things would get much better for Verdi in the course of a few years. There were also differences between the composers, certainly. But the hierarchy generally accepted today with regard to the merits of composers of the past was far from the one prevalent at their times. Today no one doubts, for example, that Rossini was a superior composer to Paisiello; or that Mozart is more important in the history of music than Salieri or Martín y Soler. But things were not so clear in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. We know, for example, that the Austrian Emperor Leopold II valued Domenico Cimarossa’s Il Matrimonio Segreto above any of Mozart’s operas and paid its author very generously. Moreover, what was sought by the public were more premieres and novelties than reruns of great works. For many different reasons, failure was always possible, as shown by the cases of the premieres of La Traviata at La Fenice in 1853 or the French premiere of Tanhäuser in Paris in 1861, to which we have referred, to cite just two examples of operas that today are considered masterpieces of their genres. And a failure could mean heavy losses for an impresario. It is true that a famous singer could fail at a premiere, but the degree of uncertainty regarding success was significantly less for the famous singer than for the composer. Finally, the librettists, although they had a certain degree of specialization, were part of the group of writers, very numerous in the nineteenth century, and in many cases, their role consisted of more than creating an original work, in adapting to the world of opera a play by a famous playwright (Shakespeare, Victor Hugo, Schiller or the Duke of Rivas, among many others). Most of the authors of libretti were not outstanding figures of literature, but men who knew well the trade of putting literary works—some of them already well-known—into verse so that they could be sung. On this topic, the differences between Wagner and Verdi are very important. For Wagner, the text was essential for his operas, which he understood as integral works of art, in which music and text had to blend together. The phrase “Prima la music e poi le parole” (see for details Muti, 2012)—which served as the title to an opera by Salieri and that, many years later, would serve as the theme for Richard Strauss’s last opera, Capriccio—applies more strongly to Verdi’s operas than to Wagner’s. In the words of Christian Thielemann, “one could say that Boito and Verdi are setting the words to music. Wagner is setting sound itself. Boito and Verdi are cutting, distilling, dramatizing; Wagner is letting the sound flow” (Thielemann 2015, p. 32). In the nineteenth century, opera composers were much more important than librettists, and the differences in income between them reflect this evident hierarchy. This was certainly not the case with Wagner’s operas. Although today we value the musical elements of his operas infinitely more than their libretti, it makes no sense to disparage Wagner as a librettist, especially when compared to other libretti authors of his time.

174

F. Cabrillo

As Thielemann noted, “Are we to turn our backs to one of the best librettists in operatic history because of a single Wallalla weiala weia?”.6 In most cases, librettists, no matter how well they did their job, could not get payments that were beyond the competitive market prices. Payments of between 500 and 900 lire were common for librettists of Verdi’s operas. One important exception was, however, Eugène Scribe, who was the author of between four and five hundred plays of all types for the theatre and libretti for operas. It is said that he had created a business firm that produced works for the stage, which he signed with his name, although a large part of the work was done by a group of collaborators who worked for him. Scribe became a wealthy man. But this was not the case for most authors of opera libretti. We know, for instance, that the two main Verdi’s librettists—Solera and Piave—ended their lives in poverty.7

A Contract with La Fenice While we don’t have much information about the financial investments Verdi made with his growing income as an opera composer, we do have good data about his contracts with the theatres in which his works were performed and with his publishers.8 As an example, we can review a contract which offers us precise information about the nature and clauses of the contracts between an important theatre—La Fenice of Venice—and an already famous composer, Verdi. La Fenice was, after La Scala in Milano, the most important theatre for Verdi premieres. In that theatre took place the first performances of Ernani (1844), Attila (1846), Rigoletto (1851), La Traviata (1853) and Simon Boccanegra (1857), In May 1856, an agreement—Scrittura Teatrale—was signed in Busetto, Duchy of Parma, between Guglielmo Brenna, secretary of the presidency of the company that owned the theatre of La Fenice in Venice, and Giuseppe Verdi, “master composer of music”. These were the main clauses of this contract: (1)—Verdi undertook to write a new serious opera for La Fenice to be performed in the following carnival—Lenten season (1857) (2)—The composer undertook to provide a libretto for this opera, which should be sent to the theatre in the month of August in order to be presented to the censor (3)—Verdi undertook to be in Venice before the middle of February 1857 to carry out the rehearsals, so that the opera could be premiered no later than March 5. (4)—The composer could choose the singers among the members of the theatre company; but not those of the 6

Thielemann, p. 31. These are words sung by Woglinde, one of the Rhein-maidens in the first scene of Das Rheingold, the first opera of the tetralogy, Der Ring des Nibelungen, while circles swimming a rock in the river. Even better known is the cry of Brünnhilde in the second act of Die Walküre: “Hojotoho! Hojotoho! Heiaha! Heiaha!” 7 Snowman (2009, pp. 124–125). Another example of the differences in income between composers and librettists can be found in the case of Norma, an opera for which Bellini received 12,000 lire, while the author of the libretto received less than 1,000. Panico (2002, p. 80). 8 Panico (2002) offers excellent information on these contracts and is the best reference for the study of these issues.

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

175

main performers, who would be Luigia Abandazzi (Prima Donna), Carlo Negrini (Primo Tenore), Leone Giraldoni (Primo Baritono) and Giuseppe Echeveria (Primo Basso Profondo). (5)—The score remained the property of Maestro Verdi. But the theatre of La Fenice kept the right to also represent the opera in the following season. (6)—The composer should remain in Venice at least until the third performance of the opera and attend all the rehearsals that take place. (7)—The theatre of La Fenice undertook to pay Cavaliere Verdi the amount of 12,000 lire in three instalments of 4,000 lire each. The first, on the day of the first test with cembalo, the second, on the day of the first rehearsal with orchestra, and the third on the day of the dress rehearsal (Panico 2002, pp. 282–284). The work was Simon Boccanegra, with a libretto by Franceso Piave based on a play by the Spanish writer Antonio García Gutiérrez. And the deadline for the premiere was strictly respected, since it took place in Venice on 12 March 1857. The work had only limited success, largely due to the fact that the libretto was quite mediocre. Verdi’s collaboration with Piave in writing it certainly did not get good results. And years later Verdi asked Arrigo Boito to remake it for the performance at La Scala in Milan in 1881. But this was not the end of the story, since, as we have seen, Verdi had retained ownership of Simon Boccanegra’s rights in the contract. Because of this, he was able to negotiate the sale of it to his publisher, Ricordi, and raise his income considerably. In his contract with Ricordi, signed in the same year 1857, it was established that Verdi sold his rights to the publisher for a fixed payment of 36,000 francs, plus 40% of the income obtained from the rental and sale of the score. The composer had tried to get his share of the revenue raised to 50%. He did not succeed, but the figure obtained was better than the 30% that he had set in other previous contracts. These figures show Verdi’s growing bargaining power and the increased income he was earning over the years. The improvement in his position can be explained by at least two reasons. First, with the passage of time and the development of the copyright model, composers were obtaining higher incomes and, furthermore, even more important, because Verdi had become the most famous opera composer in Italy, and this, naturally, had its economic effects.

The Calzado-Affair Despite the advantages that the French copyright system offered to opera composers, it seems that attempts to perform operas without paying royalties to their authors were not uncommon. Verdi found himself in this situation in the mid-1850s with a Spanish impresario, Toribio Calzado, who was the manager of the Theatre des italiens in Paris between 1855 and 1863. Calzado, an interesting figure in the Paris opera world of mid-nineteenth century, was born in Valladolid (Spain). Like so many Spaniards of the time, he emigrated to Cuba, where made a substantial fortune in the tobacco businesses. Although it seems that he did not speak well neither French nor Italian, he got the concession to manage the theatre, which was in a difficult financial

176

F. Cabrillo

situation. And he was able to clean up the accounts, in part with methods considered unorthodox. During his eight years in office, he offered many performances of Verdi’s operas. The most successful opera was, clearly, Il trovatore, which he staged 169 times; but some other operas by the Italian composer were also performed, including Rigoletto (86 times) and La traviata (51 times) (Devries-Lesure 1998, p. 158). And most importantly: he did it without paying royalties to either Verdi or his French publisher Léon Escudier. Verdi took him to court on several occasions; but lost all the lawsuits. The reason was that Calzado was clever enough to take advantage of a gap in French copyright law, which left out of its protection those works that, prior to their premiere in France, had been performed in foreign countries. This was the case for most of Verdi’s operas, which were premiered in Italy. Only two of Verdi’s operas—Les vêpres siciliennes and Jérusalem—had been premiered in France in the years when Calzado managed the Theatre des Italiens, and this regulation allowed him to win all the lawsuits that took him to court… at least until 1863, when, due to some shady affairs, lost his concession and was even imprisoned (Panico 2002, p. 246). But, before that, he got high profits throughout his eight years of managing the theatre and he did not hesitate to hire some of the best voices of the time such as Enrico Tamberlick or Adelina Patti. It is not surprising, therefore, that Verdi was outraged, and in 1863 made ironic references to Calzado’s honesty, noting that surely, when the case was over, those he had robbed would be considered thieves, while he would retain his prestige and even “be canonized”. And years before, in a letter to Ricordi, he lamented his situation in these terms: So I have to stay in Paris, wasting my money! As usual the expenses and annoyances are for me, the profits for other people…I have never been considered as anything but an object, a tool, to be made use of as long as it works. Sad words, but true! (Walker 1962, p. 218)

Wagner: New Years of Pilgrimage. The Road to Wahnfried After his failure in Paris, Wagner undertook a new series of trips between 1861 and 1864 in which he tried to get money working as a conductor in different countries. In December 1862 and January 1863, he conducted three concerts at the Theatre an der Wien, the last of which was attended by the Empress of Austria. These concerts were a popular success but a financial failure. But Wagner, despite the losses, offered a magnificent dinner for his friends and the performers. Fortunately, he was once again able to count on the help of the rich and powerful, and the empress gave him a gift of 1,000 gulden. In February, he conducted a concert in Prague, again with artistic success, and this time with benefits, he got another 1,000 gulden. And in March, he started a tour of Russia (Watson 1979, p. 191). The concerts in St. Petersburg and Moscow, with programmes consisting of Beethoven’s symphonies and his own music, did well and he was able to return to Vienna with money, not only from the profits from the concerts but also from new donations, such as that received from the Grand Duchess Helene, who gave

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

177

him 1,000 rubbles, after attending a reading of the Ring poems. But this money and Wagner were soon departed. Instead of thinking that these funds could allow him to live for some time and dedicate himself to composing and advancing his unfinished operas, he began to spend as if his income were inexhaustible. In addition to sending some money to his wife Minna, with whom he had been having a bad relationship for some time, he decided to move to a new house in Penzing, a suburb of Vienna at a cost of 2,400 marks a year. And, as expected, he spared no expense to furnish and adorn it with the greatest luxury. He hired two new servants, bought fine wines for his cellar and renewed his wardrobe. And, to celebrate his fiftieth birthday on 22 November 1863, he organized a lavish party, which included a torchlight procession by local choral societies. So, in a very short time, he ran out of money again. He asked Wesendonck for a new loan, but this time he did not get any reply. He sold a gold snuff-box, a present from the Grand Duke of Baden and got 4,200 marks from Prince Hohenzollern-Hechingen. But it wasn’t enough. He had to borrow more money and, unable to pay his creditors had to escape from Vienna in March 1864. The series of flights from creditors, which he had begun in Riga in 1839, continued twenty-five years later (Watson 1979, pp. 192–194). It seemed that only a miracle could save him and allow him a quiet life. Surprisingly, this miracle took place at the hands of the young King of Bavaria Ludwig II. It had been too many years of financial anguish. When Wagner finally settled in a beautiful villa in Bayreuth, he gave it a name that reflected what his life had been like and the peace he seemed to have finally achieved: Wahnfried, or the peace after delusions (also peace of musings).

Royal Sponsorship In the first months of the year 1864, Wagner’s financial situation was once again desperate. He had travelled through Germany, Austria and Switzerland, dodging his creditors and seeking, without success, an income that would allow him to finish The Mastersingers and even wondering if it was worth living. Demoralized, he arrived in Stuttgart, and there, at the beginning of May, when he was at the home of the conductor of the city’s opera orchestra, he received a letter from a gentleman named Pfistermeister, who introduced himself as the secretary of His Majesty the King of Bavaria. Afraid of his creditors, he came to suspect that under that name and illustrious title, someone could be found who wanted to collect his credits. But it wasn’t like that. The gentleman was really who he claimed to be and what happened at that moment was a real miracle for a bankrupt and morally depressed Wagner. Ludwig II had ascended the throne only two months before, when his father, King Maximilian II died. Ludwig was only 18 and he was already enthusiastic about Wagner’s work. His offer could not be more generous. The composer would move to Munich and the king would pay his debts and guarantee him a stipend that would allow him to live and operas on his operas. The capital of Bavaria was a city with a great musical tradition and a magnificent opera house. Patronage was, therefore, salvation for Wagner. But even counting on the royal support, things would not be

178

F. Cabrillo

easy for him. As usual, he did not bother to make friends at the court and was not a man particularly attractive to Munich’s high society. On the other hand, his expenses were considered excessive and, in some cases, extravagant. This led to him being called “Lolus Montez”, mockingly referring to an Irish dancer and adventurer named Elizabeth Rosanna Gilbert who had adopted the more exotic Spanish name of Lola Montez and had been the lover of Ludwig I—the grandfather of Ludwig II—contributing in some way to his abdication, both for her private life and for her absurd interference in the country’s politics (Snowman 2009, p. 195). In addition, in the summer of 1864, Wagner had begun an affair with Cosima von Bülow, daughter of Franz Liszt and wife of his friend, the conductor of the Munich opera orchestra Hans von Bülow, a relationship unacceptable for the Munich society. A year later, at the end of 1865, Wagner had to leave Munich and move to Switzerland to live in Luzern with Cosima, whom he would marry a few years later. But, fortunately for him, this did not mean a break with Ludwig or the end of his patronage. The story is known of the secret trip that the king made to Luzern to visit Wagner in Triebschen, his villa by Lake Luzern, where he introduced himself as Walther von Stolzing, the young knight in love with Eve in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. Wagner frequently travelled from Luzern to Munich, and before the Bayreuth Festival theatre was built, four of his masterpieces were premiered in that city: Tristan und Isolde (1865), Die Meistersinger (1868), Das Rheingold (1869) and Die Walküre (1870).

Financing the Bayreuth Festival Much has been written about the financial support that Ludwig II gave Wagner in the nearly twenty years that elapsed since the famous Stuttgart meeting with the king’s representative and the composer’s death. It is quite clear that his enemies raised the figures above reality to use them as a weapon to force him to leave Bavaria. But later studies cast doubt on whether they were really that high. It has been calculated that, over the near twenty years of their relationship, the money that Wagner received from Ludwig was not so high, especially if we compare it with the sumptuary expenses of the king (Snowman 2009, pp. 195–196). But it is also clear that the Bayreuth festival had high costs. In the first place, building the theatre, whose first stone was laid in 1872 was not cheap. The initial budget was 300,000 thalers, but it seems that the real costs were much higher, King Ludwig offered 25,000 thalers, and later on, he would lend 10,000 more thalers. The selling of 1,300 Patronatscheinen was not a success, since patrons bought less than half of them. Wagner got some donations from some aristocrats and rich friends. But was not enough. And managing and sustaining the festival itself, whose first season took place in August 1876, was a constant concern for Wagner from the very beginning (Watson 1979, pp. 252–263). As always, he needed money, more money, and he had to resort to the most diverse ways to get it. That same year Marie d’Agoul, Cosima’s mother, died her daughter received a small inheritance of 40,000 francs, which she used to pay part of the festival’s debts (Watson 1979, p. 293). Of course, it

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

179

was not enough. And Wagner tried get more money in different ways, from composing a march for the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition, held to commemorate the United States first century, to a series of concerts he conducted in the spring of 1877 at the Royal Albert Hall in London. His stay in London was a social success, that included a visit to Windsor Castle, where he was received by Queen Victoria. But it was not a success from the economic point of view. Pessimism took again possession of the composer’s mind for some time. In a letter sent to Cosima in 1880, he announced that he was seriously thinking of leaving Germany, going to the United States and applying for American citizenship (Snowman 2009, pp. 199–200). Of course this journey never went beyond the composer’s mind. Furthermore, Wagner had other projects for which he had no money. The first, a school for the training of singers, instrumentalists and conductors to improve the performances of his operas. The second, the creation of a fund that would subsidize those people without sufficient financial means to attend the festival in Bayreuth. Given the situation in which the composer found himself, it was logically impossible to start them up. The financial failure of the first festival made it impossible to organize the second until six years later. But in this period of time Wagner and his group achieved some significant progress to increase funding for the festival. An important new source of income was obtained from an agreement with Munich Opera Theatre that established that the composer would receive ten percent of the gross receipts from performances of his works in Munich. And, in addition, other theatres in Germany were more and more interested in performing his works, which meant new income from royalties. The 1882 festival had as its main feature the premiere of Parsifal. And this time it was both an artistic and an economic success. At last, the festival had obtained the necessary financing and a period of splendour began.

A Reflection on Wagner and Money It is evident that the search for income was of great importance in Wagner’s biography. His complaints regarding the economic difficulties he went through were frequent and became a Leitmotiv throughout his life. And we know that, in many cases, he had to flee his creditors. But he liked to live well. And if he had the chance, he didn’t hesitate to spend beyond his means. At the same time, he had a very critical attitude towards the world of money, lamenting that the society in which he lived had lost many of the noble ideals of the past to become a mercantile society, which he did not appreciate at all. It has been commented many times that the origin of the tragedy described in the tetralogy should be found in the cursed gold of the Rhine. And, in one of his best known writings, he stated that “in our social evolution Money, with less and less disguise was raised to the virtual patent of nobility”. And he considered it regrettable that modern culture was accessible to no one but the well-to-do and had sunk into a venal article for luxury. This idea, developed in his article “Judaism in Music” (Wagner (1995), inspired not only some relevant aspects of his operas but

180

F. Cabrillo

also the staging of his new integral art, his musical drama. The architectural design of the Festspielhaus in Bayreuth was inspired by the old Greek theatres and lacked the usual decorations and luxuries in the great opera houses of his time, required by the upper classes that frequented them. He did not like the idea of opera theatres for rich people. But he was always ready to accept the money offered to him by royalty, aristocracy or wealthy bourgeoisie.

Old and New Music: The Italian Battlefield Despite being the two most important opera composers of their time, who travelled throughout Europe, who spent long periods in Paris and despite Wagner having been in Italy on several occasions, Verdi and Wagner never met or had a personal relationship, neither personal nor even epistolary. When Wagner died in February 1883 Giuseppina Verdi wrote: Verdi, who is in the country at the moment, never knew or saw Wagner…This great individuality, now departed, was never afflicted with the little itch of vanity, but devoured by an incandescent, measureless pride, like Satan or Lucifer, the most beautiful of the fallen angels! (Walker 1962, pp. 445–446)

It seems that neither of them wanted to openly criticize the other’s work. But, after the death of Wagner, whom Verdi outlived by eighteen years, the Italian showed his disagreement with some aspects of the German composer’s work on different occasions. In a letter to Franco Faccio written from Montecatini in July 1887, Verdi showed his concern for Wagner’s influence on Italian composers, whom he even accused of being unfaithful to their national musical tradition: Our young masters are not good patriots. If the Germans, starting from Bach, have arrived at Wagner, they write operas as good Germans and they do well. But we, descendants of Palestrina, by imitating Wagner, commit a patriotic-musical crime, and write useless, even harmful operas. (Verdi 1981, p. 432)

An interesting difference between the two musicians is the way in which they got their incomes and financed their artistic activities. In fact, a paradox that arises when the works and lives of Verdi and Wagner are compared is that, on the one hand, there is no doubt that—as regards aesthetics—Wagner was an innovative and revolutionary musician, while Verdi appears as a more conservative composer. But, on the other hand, as far as his life and economic activity are concerned, Verdi was the modern man, who understood how business worked and was successful in the opera market of the nineteenth century, and Wagner, however, followed the old tradition of the artists who needed a protector, a patron to get a substantial part of their income. In business, Wagner was the old artist and Verdi the new one. The first performances of the operas of Wagner in Italy took place at the Teatro Comunale of Bologna and they were largely due to the interest that the mayor of the city Camilo Casarini showed in the work of the German composer. Thanks to his efforts, Lohengrin was performed in the Comunale in 1871. This performance

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

181

was a success. Naturally, many of the debates on Wagner’s music, which had already taken place in other European cities—the best known being the one that took place in France after the aforementioned scandalous premiere of Tanhäuser in Paris in 1861—were reproduced in Italy. But the beginning of Wagner’s opera performances in Italy had also a relevant business component that deserves some comment. From 1808 to the twenty-first century, Casa Ricordi has been the main music publisher in Italy. Years after the foundation of the company, Tito Ricordi, one of the sons of the founder Giovanni Ricordi, became Verdi’s publisher and, at the same time, a personal friend of the composer. But in 1825, a rival company emerged, with which Ricordi had many disagreements and even lawsuits. Francesco Lucca, a musician born in Cremona in 1802, started working at Casa Ricordi at the age of 14 and remained there as an employee until 1822. Three years later, after a stay in Germany, he created his own company—Francesco Lucca and Co.—and became a competitor of Ricordi. Lucca died in 1872, and his wife Giovannina continued for years in charge of the company, showing great commercial and management skills. At the beginning of his career Verdi had dealings with Lucca, which did not end well, and it was Ricordi who managed afterwards most of the composer’s operas. By the middle of the century, Verdi’s works were the most performed operas in Italian theatres. So Lucca sought to get rights to works that had been successfully performed abroad, such as Gunod’s Faust or Meyerbeer’s L’Africaine, and also Wagner’s operas. Verdi’s correspondence with Tito Riccordi reveals not only the little sympathy they both felt for Lucca but also Verdi’s complaints about the better productions that the rival company achieved. While lamenting about the poor staging of his own works— such as the Rigoletto of La Fenice of 1871—he pointed out that the performances of L’Africaine were always of high quality and that Lucca did not hesitate to spend money and to impose very good conductors for the performances of the works under his control. In his own words: “The fact is that the operas of which Lucca is proprietor are always well performed, and with his three operas he now has the main theatres of Italy in his hands” (Walker 1962, p. 372). This comment shows the concern that Verdi had to ensure that his operas were performed in the best possible conditions. In April 1873, he wrote Giulio Ricordi a letter from Naples, in relation to the performance of Aida, which was being prepared in La Scala. In it, he insisted on the need to have a good conductor, in charge of high-quality soloists, choir and orchestra. He told Ricordi: “If I go to Milano it is not for the vanity of seeing my opera performed, but to have a truly artistic performance”. And he concluded: “Answer me categorically; because, if you could not grant what I ask, it would be better to abandon the attempt” (Verdi 2000, pp. 418–419). Lohengrin’s performance in Bologna not only ushered in a new type of opera in Italy but also raised problems with Verdi because Lucca and the Teatro Comunale de Bologna chose Angelo Mariani as conductor of this performance. Mariani was a famous conductor—born in 1821—who got his first success conducting in 1846 I Due Foscari and Nabucco. Over time he would maintain a close personal friendship with Verdi, which ended badly for various reasons; first, some disputes on the organization of the collective Messa per Rossini following the death of the composer from Pessaro in 1868. And more importantly, the fact that when his fiancée, the soprano

182

F. Cabrillo

Teresa Stolz, broke her engagement with him, newspapers said that the singer had an affair with Verdi. Later on, Mariani refused—alleging health reasons, which seem to be well-founded—to conduct the premiere of Aida in Egypt. His last two major performances were conducting Lohengrin and Tanhäuser in Bologna, the latter just a year before he died of cancer in 1873. It has been argued whether the fact that he agreed to conduct Wagner in Italy (Lohengrin in 1871 and Tanhäuser in 1872) was a “revenge” against Verdi. We will never know if there was any spite between them for this reason; but it seems certain that Mariani, a very competent musician, was interested in Wagner’s operas and understood well his music. In fact, after the first performance in Bologna, Wagner himself wrote Mariani a very complimentary letter congratulating him on the performance. Verdi’s attitude towards Wagner’s work always reflected a certain scepticism towards what he considered “excesses” of the German composer. But if something bothered him, it was some critical comments, in which he was considered, in some respects, a follower of Wagner’s music. In 1875 he wrote to Giulio Ricordi, Tito’s son: After Aida, endless chatter: that I was no more the Verdi of Un ballo in Maschera… and that I was an imitator of Wagner!!! A fine result, after a career of thirty-five years, to end up as an “imitator”!!! (Verdi 2000, p. 339)

Wagner’s influence in Italy undoubtedly went far beyond his operatic work. For some young Italian intellectuals, Wagner was more than an opera composer: he was a model for the new artist, in which—in the words of Gabriele D’Annunzio— “modernity speaks in its most intimate language” (D’Annunzio 2013, p. 43). In D’Annunzio’s literary work Wagner often plays a relevant role. In Il Fuoco, a novel whose action takes place in Venice in 1883, the writer imagines the participation of some of its characters in the transfer of the coffin of the German composer to Venice’s railway station, from where it would be driven to Wagner’s grave at the Villa Wahnfried in Bayreuth. In this novel, D’Annunzio contrasted the Germanic spirit with the Latin spirit. Wagner would be the representative of the first. But the spirit of Latin music, alternative to Wagner’s, is not represented by the operas of Verdi or any other Italian nineteenth century composer, but by the music of Monteverdi, of whose music D’Annunzio gave as the best example the beautiful “Ariadne’s Lament” (D’Annunzio 1995, pp. 73–74).

Epilogue: Wills and Estates Giuseppe Verdi died at the beginning of the new century, in January 1901. He was then a wealthy man and left behind a valuable legacy of copyrights for operas that were frequently performed in Europe and America. In his last years, he lived like a gentleman, the domestic service on his country house in Sant’Agata consisting of, more or less, ten people: cooks, maids, gardeners and other servants (Reparaz 2007, pp. 110–112).

8 Wagner and Verdi: Gesamtkunstwerk and Modern Business

183

He was a very generous man who dedicated a good part of his money to charities, including a hospital in Villanova sull’Arda. Although his main heiress was his cousin María Verdi, whom he had adopted in 1869, in his will he left to the Villanova’s hospital nine farms, whose rents exceeded the cost of maintaining the hospital, for which reason he established that, with part of these funds it would contribute to maintaining the Cortemaggiore Children’s Asylum and to help the poor of the village. And to the Monte di Pietà de Busetto he left some land. But his most important charity work was a residence for retired musicians called Casa di Riposo per Musicisti, also known as Casa Verdi. In the words of the composer, his goal was to shelter elderly singers who had not been favoured by fortune, or who did not have the virtue of saving when they were young. Verdi, in addition to paying for the building, left 275,000 lire in credit titles to this institution in his will. And, much more importantly, the copyright of all his operas. The house was built between 1896 and 1899 according to a project by Camilo Boito, brother of Arrigo Boito, the librettist of several of Verdi’s operas. It started admitting guests in 1902, the year after the composer’s death. We do not have precise data about the initial costs of Casa Verdi. The value of the land and the building declared to the Registry was 412,369 lire.9 But probably real value was substantially higher. Nor do we know precisely the value of the copyright of Verdi’s operas. But partial available data indicate that the amounts obtained must have been very high, which allowed the smooth running of the house, which would later receive many other donations, especially from people related to the world of music. Wagner also left an exceptional legacy. Not only did this consist of a dozen operas, most of which were performed with increasing frequency already in the last decades of the nineteenth century. He also left a festival dedicated to his own work, with a theatre for the performance of his operas—the Bayreuth Festpielhaus—and all this managed by a family whose role was considered, in Wagnerian circles, similar to a royal family. Wagner died in 1883, so under German law, the family could enjoy the copyright for the following thirty years. The problem arose, therefore, in 1913, at the end of that period. His wife Cosima tried in that year to have the copyright period extended by at least twenty more years. But she failed. Then she petitioned the Reichstag to grant the Bayreuth festival the exclusive rights to the performance of Parsifal. But the German Parliament rejected to pass what became known as “Lex Cosima”, voting against the proposal the liberals and the social democrats (Hamann 2005, p. 7). This would have the effect that the financial problems that the founder of the dynasty had encountered would also be posed to the next generations of the family. It was again necessary to seek the support of the State to maintain both sufficient funding for the celebration of the festival over the years a conflict-free management. But 147 years have passed since the Festpielhaus opened its doors for the first time and almost 140 since Richard Wagner’s death, and his festival is still today a very important institution in the world of opera. Whoever takes a walk through the Giardini di Castello in Venice finds busts of our two musicians, recently restored after the vandalism they suffered a few years 9

Data from Fundazione Giuseppe Verdi. Casa di Riposo per Musicisti. Reparaz (2007, pp. 134–135).

184

F. Cabrillo

ago. The busts are close to each other. But whoever observes them carefully will immediately realize that they are placed in such a way that Verdi’s and Wagner’s gazes never meet, since one looks forward and the other looks to his right. And I suppose they will continue to do so for years to come. This image can be, perhaps, a good summary of these reflections on the two best opera composers of the nineteenth century.

References Albinsson, Staffan. 2021. Avoiding Silent Opera: The “Grand” Performing Right at Work in Nineteenth Century Paris. European Journal of Law and Economics 51: 183–200. Christiansen, Rupert. 2000. The Visitors. Culture Shock in Nineteenth Century Britain. London: Chatto and Windus. D’Annunzio, Gabriele. 1995 [1990]. Il Fuoco. Roma: Newton. D’Annunzio, Gabriele. 2013 [1893]. Il Caso Wagner. Roma: Lit. Edizioni. Devries-Lesure, Anik. 1998. Les démêlés de Verdi avec le Théâtre-Italien sous la direction de Toribio Calzado (1855–1863). Studi Verdiani 13: 155–182. Grand-Carteret, John. 1892. Richard Wagner en caricatures. Paris: Larousse. Hamann, Brigitte. 2005. Winifred Wagner. A Life at the Heart of Hitler’s Bayreuth. London: Granta Books. Levy, S. Leon. 1979. Nassau W. Senior 1790–1864. Newton Abbot: David & Charles. Mansel, Philip. 2001. Paris Between Empires. 1814–1852. London: John Murray. Muti, Riccardo. 2012. Verdi l’italiano. Ovvero, in music, le nostre radici. Milano: Rizzoli. Noltze, Holger. 2013. Liebestod. Wagner, Verdi, Wir. Hamburg: Hoffman und Campe Verlag. Panico, Paolo. 2002. Verdi Businessman. Gruppo Editoriale Atman. Pray (Biella). Reparaz, Carmen. 2007. El genio en su entorno. Giuseppe Verdi-Richard Wagner. Madrid: Ediciones del Serbal. Snowman, Daniel. 2009. The Gilded Stage. A Social History of Opera. London: Atlantic Books. Thielemann, Christian. 2015. My Life with Wagner. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Vazsonyy, Nicholas, ed. 2013. The Cambridge Wagner Encyclopedia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Verdi, Giuseppe. 1981. Autobiografia dalle lettere. A cura di Aldo Oberdorfer. Milano: Rizzoli. Verdi, Giuseppe. 2000. Lettere 1835–1900. Milano: Oscar Mondadori. Wagner, Richard. 1994 [1870/1875]. My Life. London: Constable. Wagner, Richard. 1995. Judaism in Music and Other Essays. Ed. Ellis William Ashton. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Walker, Frank. 1962. The Man Verdi. London: Dent. Watson, Derek. 1979. Richard Wagner. A Biography. New York: Schirmer.

Chapter 9

Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes, and the Value of Brands Manuel Santos Redondo

Jaques Offenbach (1819–1880), Photography by French artist Félix Tournachon, “Nadar”. 1860s.Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF). Gallica Digital Library, https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b530922314

M. Santos Redondo (B) Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_9

185

186

M. Santos Redondo

Johann Strauss II (1825–1899), Photography by Fritz Luckhardt, 1876 A man, whom no one has named, has helped Offenbach with advice, and supervised the magnificent production, the unprecedented splendors, the unending brilliance. His name is Billion! Arnold Mortier, Les soirées parisiennes, 1874, on the expanded version of Orphée aux enfers. The younger Strauss’s career would not have been possible without the example of his father and was continually dependent on the contributions of his brothers, Josef from 1853 to 1870 and Eduard from 1862 to 1899. This was a family concern. To use a modern commercial analogy, the Strauss brand was more important than any one individual. Jones, David Wyn (2023). The Strauss Dynasty and Habsburg Vienna. Introduction.

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

187

Introduction When considering the origin of modern cultural industries, we use to think of cinema, radio, and sound recording as its starting point, of music as a commodity, for good or for bad. It would be a twentieth-century story, then. But in the second half of the nineteenth century, technological improvements, economic growth, and social changes were important enough to produce a European, and even global, cultural industry, with successful operettas being commercially produced and performed for a growing middle-class population, all over the world. Their composers, and not only the singers, were acclaimed, requested, and paid, as pop stars. In a similar way, in 1830s, light dance music, particularly waltzes, was a craze for all social classes and a commercial success. We will consider two outstanding composers of that age: Jacques Offenbach (1819–1880) and Johann Strauss II (son) (1825–1899). Both were extremely talented musicians, both composed for the massive audience and were businessman of their productions. Both were global artist and toured through Europe and United States. The audience wanted not only their music, but to see and touch these early pop stars. There were important improvements in transport, railway, lithography, photography, steam press, and other changes that allowed the cultural production, when successful, to become global and performed in all European cities and also in America, Australia or Egypt. Also, there was an impressively growing urban middle-class population, who, among other things, demanded entertainment. The capitalist way of producing music, linked to massive audiences and profits, was a crucial part of these changes. This chapter is mainly the story of operettas in the second half of the nineteenth century, which can be considered a modern cultural industry that went global.

“Commercial” or “Light” Music The opposition between “classical” and “popular” music was developed at the beginning of the nineteenth century, precisely the time when a growing middle class, urban public was demanding entertainment and spectacle: “The category of greatness, then, took shape in opposition to an emerging ‘culture industry’” (Samson 2001, p. 280). Conductors-impresarios like Johann Strauss (father) in Vienna and all over Europe, provided “commercial” or promenade concerts, alternating pieces of serious musical compositions with light or dance music. The showmanship was as important as the music; concerts were profit oriented, and the leader was both conductor and entrepreneur. Besides Strauss, Philippe Musard in Paris, Louis-Antoine Julien in London were the best examples (Weber 1975, p. 128; Scott 2008). The distinction can be made upon musical content, but it is more clearly understood in numbers. Between seasons 1826–27 and 1845–46, concerts increased in London from 125 to 381 (305%), in Paris from 78 to 383 (491%), and in Vienna from 111 to 163 (47%). In Vienna, concerts began growing earlier, and the increase since 1813 is about 300%. In the three cities, popular-music concerts outnumbered classical-music (Weber 1975, pp. 19–20, 25, 159–60.)

188

M. Santos Redondo

In opera, after French July revolution of 1830, entrepreneur Louis Véron wanted to produce shows adapted to the taste of the new bourgeois class, and the Grand opera was born, starting with Meyerbeer’s Robert le diable (1831). In the new times, it was crucial to appeal to mass audiences; but this commercial and spectacular opera was criticized by “purists”. Schumann, and more violently Wagner, considered Meyerbeer music “superficial” and “written for the purpose of raising money and applause”, in contradiction with pure art. So, the distinction was being established between “serious” or “high” art music (Mozart, Beethoven, Wagner, Berlioz, Chopin, Liszt, Schumann) and commercial one, which was regarded as entertainment, or more offensive adjectives as “philistine”, vulgar, immoral, lacking “integrity”, or just commercial, which was considered insulting enough. Everything spectacular and successful was criticized: Schumann accused Meyerbeer of writing “vulgar” and “immoral” music, for the masses (“the circus”) (Taruskin 2006, Chapter 6). As ‘ points out: The inspiration of this movement was the Romantic notion that music, like all art, should elevate the soul; that artists were the spiritual leaders of humanity, prophets and idealists, not businessmen. According to this view, any music with commercial motives could not be considered art. (Figes 2019, Chapter 2)1

Operettas, waltzes, and dance music, conductors as pop stars, were considered commercial or light music, while opera (mostly) and symphonies were in the side of serious music. Offenbach and Strauss II were the favourites of the public, and worked on this, composing, and producing their works prioritizing audiences. Their musical talent was acknowledged, but not what they use it for (“Offenbach atrocities”, wrote Berlioz). The distinction, or the terms of the discussion, starts and consolidates in the nineteenth century. Being the bestselling author does not guarantee being accepted among the best artists. Scherer points out, that “financial success during a composer’s lifetime did not project systematically into reputational success over a longer historical perspective.” (Scherer 2004, p. 107). Offenbach is now much more important for the sociological history of his time than for musicology. Something similar could be said of Johann Strauss. Some critics considered his works to be entertainment rather than profound works of art. Strauss (like Offenbach) preferred dance rhythms, catchy melodies, and accessible music, as this was necessary for being successful with the audience. Of the well-respected “high art” music composers of the nineteenth century, probably Verdi was the one who achieved popular fame and serious recognition (Scott 2008; Sorba 2006). Let us consider the stars of this cultural industry: Who is more relevant, the composer, or the singers? If we consider it in money terms, the singers were the main part of the business. We can see how the expenses are distributed in Fig. 9.1. Artists’ salaries were the largest part of expenses, mainly for the pay for soloists, both singers 1

Dahlhaus provides a more sophisticated explanation, although related: “music of quality (meaning romantic music), though it actually addressed a small circle of devotees, was forced by its technical difficulties to go outside the world of domestic music-making and into the bright glare of the public concert” (Dahlhaus 1989, “Romanticism and Biedermeier Music”, pp, 170–171).

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

189

Fig. 9.1 Main categories of expenses of the Paris Opera, 1803 to 1914. Artists. Sets and costumes. Operations and maintenance. Authors. Million Francs, current (Source Velde 2015, Fig. 17)

and dancers, and their cost also grew during this period of social and technological change (Velde, 2015). But the author’s role was crucial. The production of a play was expensive; more for opera than for operetta, but opera had some kind of aid from the government. The key to financial success was the number of representations, and this depended on the taste of the audience. The same was valid for dance music and promenade concerts, but the expenses were much lower, and so was the financial risk. Singers’ salaries were not only a big part of expenses, but also those growing faster. Opera houses directors in Paris complained about competition from London and St. Petersburg, which raised the pay to top singer; but knew that even Paris, to remain a premier opera house, needed to attract the best singers. What are the reasons for these high salaries, and for their growth? An obvious one is productivity: the singer may be a spoiled diva, but she must sing every day; if the play is successful, fixed costs decrease, but not this. The author may appear and conduct the orchestra at the premiere or when a particularly important person is attending; or just appear for the public to see him. But the singer must sing every day. As for the raise of their salaries, one explanation maybe the fact that the railways made the European cities much closer, and both singers and conductors could travel more quickly and comfortably. Also relevant was the star system that was essential to the mass market.

190

M. Santos Redondo

The famous and respected singer Pauline Viardot-García was criticized by her friend Clara Schumann for singing in mass concerts, because she “sacrifices her taste to the public” (Scherer 2004, Chapter 6; Figes 2019, Chapter 2; Velde 2015).

Popularizing Opera: “The Three Tenors”, 1994–2003 It may be helpful to see the criticism that nowadays has received those trying to popularize opera. Between 1990 and 2003, “The Three Tenors”, Luciano Pavarotti, Plácido Domingo, and José Carreras, had a great success performing in stadiums or other large arenas for huge audiences. They sang pieces of serious operas, together with Neapolitan songs and pop hits. The recording, in sound and video, became the highest-selling classical in history. Critic Martin Bernheimer, among others, depicted the event: “the singing seemed virtually irrelevant. This was a night for celebrating personalities and personality-cults” (Bernheimer 1994–07-18); “golden voices of Carreras, Domingo and Pavarotti were reduced to overamplified tin for the delectation of some 53,000 delirious fans in quest of painless culture” (Bernheimer 1994–0830). They were paid a fortune: $1 million each to sing at the event, plus royalties on the recording and video sales; and this was severely criticized. Pianist Anton Kuerti (1996) was equally critic: “newspapers devote huge blocks of their arts sections to the big show. Surely this information belongs (if anywhere) in the sports or business section, for any connection these spectacles may appear to have with the arts is phony”. I found two concurrent explanations for the success of this mammoth concerts, now or in the nineteenth century. One is the “pop star” appeal; audience want to see, to touch, the idol, at least as much as listening to his music. And there are far less connoisseurs than massive audience for music and opera: As Chandler (2009) points out about the success of Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera: “the desire to like opera is far stronger than actual opera appreciation. This has led to a great proliferation of what might be termed “entrance level” materials”. Both Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II toured through Europe, with their ensembles and orchestras; they toured for money, and for global fame, which then produced more money. They also toured in the United States, Strauss in 1872, Offenbach in 1876. The reason was money, like when Strauss performed in San Petersburg. Some events were pretty similar to those of “the three tenors”, except for the recording. They were, most of the times, polite in public about their guest country. But when the trip was over, they clearly depicted the system. The opposition between promenade concerts and a “serious” one seems minor when the quality of the event is totally subordinated to just having the presence of the famous conductor and composer, a pop star, which is the main motivation of the public. In the mammoth Boston coliseum, there were 1,000 orchestra members and 10,000 people in the chorus, to sing the Blue Danube Waltz. Strauss had a hundred sub-conductors distributed by the place. Those are, says Eisenberg, his words:

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

191

There were thousands of singers and instrumentalists on stage. This I was supposed to conduct! In order to control the masses, I was assigned twenty sub conductors, only a few of whom I could see so that, despite previous rehearsals, the idea of an artistic presentation or its approximation or even of just holding the thing together was nigh impossible. A cancellation would have been at the price of my own life. Just imagine my predicament, there, atop the highest podium, in front of 100,000 Americans in the audience! There I stood. How will it all begin and how will it end? Suddenly, a canon shot, the gentle signal for the 20,000 of us that the concert was to begin. The program was to begin with “The Blue Danube”. I gave the sign. My twenty sub-conductors followed me as quickly and as well as they could. The spectacle was off [Heidenspektakel]—something I’ll never forget in all my living days. Since we had started at approximately the same time, that worry was over, and now all my energies were concentrated on only one thought, that we should all STOP at the same time. Thank God. Even that I managed to pull off. That was all that was humanly possible. The 100,000 spectators roared their approval, but I was able to breathe long sigh of relief only after I found myself in the open again with solid ground under my feet.2

Technological Improvements: Towards Cultural Industry In his 1935 essay, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”, Walter Benjamin claims that around 1900, lithography, photography, and technical reproduction of sound, were changing, for bad, the quality of art: “the masses seek distraction whereas art demands concentration”, and the culture industry becomes a powerful agent in perpetuating capitalism. Music movies are not even mentioned. His fellow scholars from the Frankfurt school Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno, working in the United States, developed the topic in 1944 and coined the term “cultural industry” with a derogatory meaning, similar to Benjamin. Adorno wrote several essays on music; and severely criticized “popular music”, or similar terms like “light”, folk, vulgar, or “commercial”, all of them opposed to “serious” or “high art” music. Adorno is anti-capitalism and anti-market (and anti-bourgeois values), and anti-industrial revolution: “The industrial development of light music annulled the last aesthetic responsibility and transformed light music into a market article” ( quoted and discussed in Witkin 2003, p. 92). But, with his hard criticism of “vulgar” and “commercial” music, Adorno somehow saves Offenbach, the waltzes of Strauss and Viennese operetta; treats them with “a kind of paternal tolerance” (Paddison 1982).

2

Eisenberg 1894 p. 168 wrote “as Strauss himself told to a friend” (“so erzählte Strauß selbst einem Freunde”), The numbers look exaggerated, but real figures are not very different. The Coliseum was designed to hold 100,000 people but was reduced during construction. Nevertheless, it was impressive enough: 100 m. wide and 183 m. long, capable for 60,000 people. There were 1,000 orchestra members and 10,000 people in the chorus. The English translation is taken from Austrian Information, September 1, 1966.

192

M. Santos Redondo

Music Publishing Industry. Property Rights Moving to the income, the main sources of income in the music theatre business were ticket sales (and, for the serious opera, the subsidies). In case of a successful operetta, performed internationally, the legal system had much to say, both in the published scores and in the royalties for performances. Music publishing was a new source of income, depending on the agreement, the composers could become the owners of their music and collect a fee for the right to publish it. For most of the composer, even the most popular ones, the money they collected for their publishers was far away from their earning from performances (Figes 2019, Chapter 2 “A Revolution on the Stage”).

Operetta, a Suitable Commercial Product What is operetta, and why was this musical theatre, and not opera, the preferred entertainment for both the audience andtheatre managers in the industrial era? Operetta has different names in different countries: opera comique, opera bouffe, opérette, comic opera; and some differences in content, but the general concept is clear. Part sung and part recited, its model is opera—for Offenbach, Mozart, and Rossini -, but also vaudeville and farce (Sorba 2006). It is considered an entertainment for private, commercial theatres, for popular consumption. Commercial motivation was as important, in the conception of operetta, as the artistic ideas of its composers. Their topics are not serious, epic, or tragic, but light, witty, frivolous, maybe sentimental. Accordingly, the score looked for a contagious melody, not pretentious but accessible. Precisely for this mass. Commercial orientation, operetta had a bad name in the establishment “high art” musicians and critics. Offenbach is a very important figure in the social history of nineteenth century, but in music history is rarely considered, except for his serious opera Les contes de Hoffmann, composed with effort precisely for this purpose. The fact is that in the second half of the nineteenth century, operetta became the most popular of theatrical shows, dominating the stage in Europe and America. We can defend the musical merits of operetta that have been unfairly ignored. But, from the economic and social point of view, there is no need for that, its importance being totally acknowledged both by critics and fans (Dahlhaus 1989, pp. 226–236; Traubner 2003, Introduction, pp. vii–xvi).

Cultural Industry and Globalization: Parisian Operetta Goes Global In 1867, with International Exposition in Paris, Jacques Offenbach was really fashionable all over the world. Verdi and Wagner may be the kings, and also Brahms or

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

193

Tchaikovsky, but the favourite of the public were Offenbach’s operettas and Strauss’ Waltzes. Their music is often classified as “light” and commercially oriented; and operetta, as immoral, but both ruling and middle classes loved it. Operetta became the herald of global cultural industry; music experts consider it second class, and something more in the realm of sociology than music history. “Serious” opera has a very relevant economic side, as other chapters of this book study. But operetta and “light” music is, no doubt, the king of popular music in the nineteenth century. It is not my task to rescue the music merits of Offenbach’s operettas. Even himself worked to compose a serious opera: Les Fées du Rhin 1864; in German translated as Die Rheinnixen; and Les Contes d’Hoffmann, posthumous, 1881. And it is mostly acclaimed for them among serious music public (Dahlhaus 1989, pp. 282–3). We well consider his musical talent and merits, but our chapter deals mainly with the global cultural industry in which he was the champion of his age.

Jacques Offenbach (1819–1880) Jacques Offenbach was the son of Isaac Eberst Offenbach (1779–1850), a Jew musician born in Offenbach, near Frankfort. He moved to Deutz, the East bank of the Rhine of today’s Cologne, where most Jews lived (Senelick 2017, p. 29). It was linked to Cologne by a yaw cable ferry since 1674 and by ship bridge since 1822. A fixed bridge railway and road bridge was built in 1859. In 1808, forced or by convenience, Isaac took the name of his village, Offenbach. Jacques learned to play the violin as a child, in Cologne, and then took lessons of cello, with musicians Joseph Alexander and then with Bernhard Breuer. Paris was a more tolerant city for Jews than then Cologne. And more of a city than any other one, with any criteria. Even compared with musical German cities, Paris was the Mecca for music and theatre. In 1833 Isaac Offenbach, having seven children (plus two daughters that had died, being two and nine year-old), at least three of them, Julius, Isabella and Jakob, gifted for music, considered moving to Paris. In November 1833, after getting some help from people in the city, took Julius, 16, and Jacob, 14, to Paris (Yon 2000, Introduction). It was a four-day journey from Cologne. In 1839 and again 1840 the two brothers come to see their family. In 1848 Offenbach will spend time in Cologne and would compose and perform for the Prussian authorities. It is important to notice the change in the conditions of travelling during those years. In 1833 it was a long journey of 4 days. By 1846, it was possible to travel through 476 km of railway, crossing Belgium, with several train transfers, but totalling about nine hours of train. The Paris-Brussels railway line opened that year, linked to different cities in Belgium, the Netherlands and Prussia, and was heralded, specially by the French, as “the beginning of Europe’s unification under the cultural dominance of France” (Figes 2019, Introduction), A similar comparison may be done with other musicians’ tours. In 1847, Berlioz went to Russia. Travel to Brussels and Berlin was already by train, but after Berlin it was by stagecoach, and then a covered sledge for four days, totalling a two-weeks journey. He describes it as a terrible experience in

194

M. Santos Redondo

his Memories. By contrast, in 1867, an ageing and ill Berlioz could travel to Saint Petersburg all the journey by train, “after Berlin the railway carriages are heated rooms, with beds and everything required”, in four days. In England, same changes did happen before: Johann Strauss father, during his tour in Britain in 1838, was able to change city everyday Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, and find it very different to his tours in continental Europe. Jacob was admitted to the Paris Conservatoire by its director Luigi Cherubini and joined the violoncello class. Isaac tried unsuccessfully to get a position at a Paris synagogue, so he left his two sons in Paris, sending them some money for the first year; and they lived on their own afterwards. They changed their names to Jules and Jacques. Jacques became a well-known cellist virtuoso. In 1841 he met the parents of Herminie, and the 15-year-old lady. He composed pieces for her and asked her parents to marry her. In May 1844 Jacques travelled to London, probably helped by his soon-to-be father-in-law. He had an extensive repertoire of his own compositions for the cello. He was well received,3 played accompanied by the best virtuosos, and performed for the Queen in a concert, and received a jewel as a pay. It was an artistic and financial success. So he went back to Paris, convert to Catholicism, and marry Herminie. In 1850, Arsène Houssaye appointed him conductor of the orchestra of the Comédie-Française. It was a salaried position. But Offenbach wanted his musical theatre compositions to be performed, and he didn’t find any open door. Only the singer, composer, librettist and conductor, Florimond Ronger, “Hervé”, manager of the small theatre Folies-Nouvelles, commissioned a short piece from Offenbach, Oyayaye ou La reine des îles (June 1855). In his small theatre, Hervé was only allowed, by law, to perform one act, two characters spectacles, and can be considered the forerunner of operetta. Then Offenbach would try the same, as a manager himself: I stayed at the Théâtre-Français for five years—from 1850 to 1855. It was at this time that, faced with the persistent impossibility of getting myself played, the idea came to me of founding a music theatre of my own. I told myself that the Opéra-Comique was no longer the Opéra-Comique, that music that was truly bouffe, gay, witty, music that lived, at last, was gradually being forgotten. Composers working for the Opéra-Comique were making little grand operas.—I saw that there was something to be done for young musicians who, like me, were languishing at the door of the Théâtre-Lyrique. (Martinet 1887, p. 16)4

3

In London his concerts were promoted by theatre impresario John Mitchell, not to be confused with his father-in-law, Michael George Mitchell. They were probably related. (Yon 2000, pp. 62–64. Faris 1980, following Martinet 1887, pp. 7–9). 4 André Martinet (1860–1920), French historian and writer, and friend of the family, published a biography of Jacques Offenbach in 1887. He used letters and notes from him, provided by his widow: “In a few pages recently found among the countless notebooks and bundles of letters he liked to keep, the Master himself jotted down memories of his early years”. He quotes many phrases from Offenbach, without more info about the date or anything. Faris acknowledge Martinet many times (Faris 1980 p 233: “excellent, concise and personal”). Martinet biography is quite good. I have tried to acknowledge his text in French when followed by Faris or other authors.

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

195

There was a small theatre, Lazaze, closed and available for hire. Offenbach needed money, and he was backed by Hippolyte de Villemessant (1810–1879), who would provide, through Le Figaro, much more than financial support. A company was duly formed. Offenbach would draw a salary as manager and receive the royalties of his music. Villemessant was to have a backer’s percentage. He had just started publishing Le Figaro and regarded the Bouffes Parisiens as a twin enterprise. It was decided to open the theatre on 5 July 1855, which gave Offenbach less than a month in which to equip the theatre, recruit actors, orchestra and staff, find authors to write materials for the opening programme — and compose the music. (Faris 1980, p. 51. Martinet, Chapter 2)

After his success with the short pieces Les Deux Avengles (Two Blind Beggars, July 1855, Bouffes-Parisiens, Champs-Élysées) and Ba-ta-clan (December 1855, Bouffes-Parisiens, winter theatre), the business seemed to be going well; the theatre was at capacity, but the finances were bad. In May 1857, the company was divided in half, and part of it, twenty musicians and some actors, went to London in tour. They played in French, but were quite successful, got contracts for another month, and brought the rest of the company to London. Queen Victoria attended a performance (Faris 1980, pp. 58–59. Gammond 1980, pp. 28–9). Then they came back to France, where Theatre Marigny had been newly decorated, after only one year (Faris 1980, p. 60).

Orphée Aux Enfers The solution to the financial problem would be the success of Orphée aux enfers (Orpheus in Hell or Orpheus in the Underground), his first two-acts operetta. Now the legal restrictions on small theatres had been lifted, and Jacques could use plenty of chorus members and extras. Still today is the most represented and popular work of Offenbach. But the first week was not so good. Then, a furious debate, provoked by Offenbach, with the main theatre critic of the time, Jules Janin, about the play being unrespectful to mythology, profanation of holy and glorious antiquity, said Janin, and the librettist claiming that the phrases are taken from Jenin’s texts (Yon 2000, p. 211, 2014). The public flocked to the theatre, for 228 performances. Offenbach arranged a four-act version with ballet, staged in 1874 at the Gaîté, which run for another 290 performances. And Offenbach finances were saved. He was even able to buy, and then rebuild after a fire, a good villa in Étretat, the fashion village in the cost of Normandie where he used to spend the summer. Offenbach was granted French citizenship by Napoleon III, in 1860, and next year was appointed Chevalier of the Légion d’Honneur, together with, among other musicians and writers, most important being French comic dramatist Eugène Labiche (Yon 2000, p. 260). Offenbach was quite successful in 1860s, with only a few failures. In 1864, La belle Hélène, with Hortense Schneider as singer and diva, made sensation and would be a success all over the world. Soon before the 1867 Paris Exhibition, La Vie Parisienne premiered, followed by La Grande-Duchesse de Gérolstein, also with Hortense

196

M. Santos Redondo

Schneider. Both were a must for anyone, middle class or aristocracy. Offenbach was the favourite of both the public and the ruling classes. After the Paris Exhibition, in a time with most of the technological improvements of industrial revolution already working, Offenbach operettas were a global thing, performed in all Europe but also in America, Australia or Egypt. He was hated by the defenders of “serious” music: Berlioz, Wagner, and considered “commercial”. But he was acclaimed by the public, was a prominent cultural and even political figure in the French Empire and in Europe. On the 19th of July 1870, France declared war on Prussia, backed by public opinion and the parliament. Offenbach was at Bad Ems spa, and on July 3rd he had been conducting the orchestra of his Chanson de Fortunio in the presence of Prussian King (later German Kaiser) Wilhelm on the occasion of the commemoration of the battle of Sadowa, the big victory of Prussia over Austrian Empire. It was a usual gesture for Offenbach in the operetta season in Bad Ems. Offenbach returned from Ems to Étretat, travelled to Bordeaux, Milan, and then to San Sebastián, Spain, where Herminie and the family already were (Los Santos 2018; Sherr 2021; Mejías 2020) and there went Jacques. He was more a Rhinelander than a Prussian, and much more a French, or Parisian, of German origin than anything else. But “1870 was no year for a man with divided loyalties” (Faris 1980, p. 162. See Schwartz, 2018, p. 193). Offenbach was denounced as a traitor by both the Prussian and the French press. He had written two German patriotic song in 1848, as Jacob, and a French one, Dieu garde I’Empereur, in 1862, reissued now. The Prussian press denounced him as a traitor, the French just as a Prussian. He sent an open letter to Le Figaro, explaining the insults in the German press, and proud to be a Frenchman, “which I have earned by honest toil”. But nothing would be the same for him after 1870. In February 1871, La Princesse de Trebizonde, premiered in 1869, was staged at the Bouffes. Critics opposed the play because of the author being “Prussian”, and it was a failure. Offenbach persevered, often successfully, providing works designed for the audience. But he was considered the main representative of the “decadence” and “absence of values” of the Second Empire, and the downfall of France (Lelièvre, 2022). But he kept working on what the public wanted. Offenbach achieved success with audience in many creations during the Republic. He became manager of the Gaîté theatre on July 1873. He had been commissioned La Roi Carotte in 1869, by the manager Maurice Boulet, but the war kept it on hold. Boulet wanted the Gaîté to outdo any rivals in lavishness of productions, with “an army of musicians, battalions of dancers”. Dramatist Victorien Sardou wrote the libretto, after a story by E. T. A. Hoffmann. The production was calculated to cost 6,000 francs a night. Finally, it was staged on January 15, 1872. It was a great success, during seven months and 150 performances. So, Offenbach made great plans, first contracted by Boulet, then, at his death, taking over the theatre. The lease was 316,000 francs, and he began “spending in the grand manner, as in the old days at the Bouffes” (Faris 1980, p. 168. Martinet 1887, p. 186). Painting, carpets, and furniture, for an additional 154,000 francs before reopening in September. La Jolie Parfumeuse was successful, and Offenbach decided to mount a spectacular enlarged production of Orphée aux enfers, with 120 choristers, 60 orchestral musicians, a

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

197

military band of 40, 8 principal female dancers, and a corps de ballet of 60. It was an enormous success, made 1,800,000 francs, and Offenbach himself conducted the hundredth performance. The daily profit was calculated in 3,000 francs. So, Offenbach went on with grandeur. He composed La Hain (“Hatred”), with dramatist Victorien Sardou, which premiered in his own theatre on December 3, 1874. The scenery, the décors, were grand opera style. The stage accommodated 435 persons. Offenbach had invested 360.000 francs to put it on stage. Receipts were 8,000 francs per performance for two weeks, then fell to 5,000 francs. After 27 performances, Offenbach decided to stage back Orphée aux enfers instead. But it wasn’t enough. It was a financial disaster. Offenbach has to sell part of his shares in the theatre and get a mortgage on his royalties for three years. And he now needed to compose music to pay for his debts. And so he did: Le voyage dans la lune, with Zulma Bouffar, based on Jules Verne’s novel, premiered in 1875 at the Gaîté, with 185 performances, 965,000 francs in box office, and staged in London and Vienna. La creole, and Le Boulanger a des ecus, thought for Hortense Schneider. This last premiered in October 1875, and was the las collaboration of the successful team: Offenbach, Halévy and Meilac. In the summer of 1875, Offenbach was approached by American opera manager Maurice Grau, through Lino Bacquero, for a concert tour through the United States in the following year, 1876, the centenary of the Declaration of Independence. His health wasn’t good, and his family was not in favour; so he was reluctant. But the offer was 30,000 $ in advance, and he decided to go. On the 21st of April 1876 he embarked in Le Havre, with just one stop at Plymouth. The journey was hard, because of mechanical problems and a storm; on May 5 they arrived to New York. The public was enthusiastic. The criticism of indecency was present, too. The New York Times was particularly harsh: M. Offenbach, the creator of “the fleshly school of music” … long ago found that to use his gift of melody in the service of immorality was a sure path to fortune. … [La Belle Helene] is simply the sexual instinct expressed in melody. … When its chief representative [of opera-bouffe] is welcomed with such as much honour as could be paid to Wagner or Liszt, an insult [..]. is inflicted upon every great and honourable artist. (New York Times, May 8, p. 4)

His first concert was a failure, and precisely for the opposite reasons that concerned the New York Times critic. There was serious music, all from Offenbach; his fellow conductor, Henri Boulard, was criticized as dull. And no singers, no dancers, no cancan. Offenbach was not happy; but Grau just reacted: lower prices, pieces of Weber, Strauss, Vieuxtemps, Gounod, Berlioz and Meyerbeer, and a second conductor, Max Maretzek. People bought tickets again. And Grau quickly mounted La Vie Parisienne at the Both Theatre, with the diva Marie Aimée, and Offenbach conducting. The tour was then a financial success. Offenbach went on to Philadelphia and other cities, and embarked for France on the 8th of July. In his last years, Offenbach continued to produce successful operettas. In 1877 he began to work on Les contes de Hoffmann. His aim was to produce a serious opera: he was working for posterity. He was much quicker in composing his comic and light operettas. He had never depicted light music, but now it was different. Be it because

198

M. Santos Redondo

of the critics during the Republic, or the financial failures, he was trying to make a name for posterity as a serious composer. We have seen that in 1864 he composed Les Fées du Rhin (“The Rhine fairies”), a grand romantic opera. It was commissioned for the Theatre am Kärntnertor in Vienna; but Offenbach, probably expecting to have it staged in Paris, worked on a libretto in French by Charles Nuitter, and then have it translated. It premiered in Vienna as Die Rheinnixen (“The Rhine mermaids”) on the 4th of February 1864, instead of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde (No wonder Wagner hated him!) and then in Cologne in 1864 (Faris 1980, pp. 108–109). It was received “respectfully but without enthusiasm” (Senelick 2017, p. 42). But Offenbach, in the pursue of a serious, full sang opera, reused several pieces for Les contes de Hoffmann, including his most famous “Barcarolle” (Belle nuit, ô nuit d’amour).

Musical Merits of Offenbach Offenbach was a social, historical and almost a political figure, as much as a musical one (Faris 1980, p. 114). He is well studied by political, social and cultural historians; but is nor important for musicology. In his age, he was enormously successful with the public, but endured a similar disdain from the intellectual and musical elite. His operettas were considered musically “commercial” and “light”, and morally questionable. When Napoleon III made Offenbach a Chevalier de la Legion d’honneur’, it was questioned on this basis: a composer of light opera. His operettas were criticized by Berlioz (called them “atrocities”). As authoritative an author as Dahlhaus wrote: “Operetta had little impact on the history of composition, but it is closely bound to the social history of its day” [And music history includes] “the performance, reception, and institutions of music” [and operetta] “played an inestimable part in the everyday musical life of the public” (Dahlaus 1989, pp. 227–228).

An Assessment on Offenbach as Entrepreneur Let us consider the business of Music Theatre, and then we will be able to assess if the unusual role of Offenbach, being at the same time composer and manager (together with the whole control of the production) was good for him, in both the artistic and the economic sides. This manager role was not unusual in the business of light music or promenade concerts. But producing an opera or operetta is much more costly and complex; it involves a big and expensive theatre, most of the times provided by the government, at least in the case of the larger, official ones. Offenbach would be throughout most of his career as the manager of the whole business. Was it good for creativity, for the final work? Was it good for his profits, did he earn more money? Let us answer the two questions. In the words of Faris:

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

199

As an entrepreneur and artistic director of immensely strong personality he controlled the style and dramatic content of the presentations. He would often have an idea of his own for an operetta, choose a librettist, and then work closely with him on the form of the piece as well as composing the music. He even suggested song titles. Whoever his collaborator, Offenbach’s own wit, his percipience of social foibles and hatred of pretentiousness were fingerprints in all the operettas.

In this sense, his role as manager, much more than composer, was quite good. He was creative, and also consciously tried to satisfy the taste of the public. Another part of the management is marketing himself as a legend, and as a character. He was good at it: “the legend that he was industriously building” (Gammond 1980, p. 29, about his London tour) But this is not part of the management; any economically successful virtuoso had to be a legend in order to increase the profit in the nineteenth century, Paganini being the master. The company also had a big amount of arrangements to do. The England tour of 1857 is a good example of this. But there is another task of the manager: to control expenses and to provide adequate financial means. This role is difficult to fit with the other one. And Offenbach, we are told by many sources, was terrible. Faris, following Martinet, repeatedly mentions his “incorrigible extravagance as a manager” (Faris 1980, p. 58). When he saw the takings staying nearly at capacity Jacques spent money without counting. Whole lengths of velvet were swallowed up in the auditorium; costumes devoured width after width of satin. On top of the architects’ estimates came the cost of the decor ordered from the official scene-painters at the Opera. The till was open to anyone in distress; discreet and unassuming generosity became the accomplice of brash and impressive prodigality. [In 1858] The spectre of Clichy [the debtors’ prison] began to threaten Jacques. (Faris 1980, p. 58, following Martinet 1877, pp. 44-45)

Johann Strauss II (1825–1899) and the Viennese Waltz Johann Strauss II (son) didn’t need to establish waltz as a popular, crazy fashion in Vienna and Europe. First Josef Lanner (1801–1843) and his father Johann Strauss (1804–1849) had done it. Both were violinists in the small string orchestra of Michael Pamer, and friends. Lanner decided to go on the music business, and in 1824 his orchestra was quite successful playing Viennese dance music. In 1832 he formed a small, second orchestra, conducted by Johann Strauss. Then Strauss formed his own band, and they were rivals, both raising popularity of Viennese waltz. There were Lannerianer and Straussianer in the city—not bad for business. Strauss’s performances were “an aural and visual spectacle” (Jones 2023, p. 29). This was first put in practice by Johann Strauss father: Johann Strauss did not fit with existing practices. He was not a virtuoso violinist, and, though he was certainly a composer-performer, he did not have the musical selfsufficiency of the composer-pianist; he needed an orchestra, preferably one that was fashioned in his own image and which he also directed. It was this third element of his musical make-up that proved decisive—that is, his physical presence as a director, the Napoleon of the dance, as he was often called. The combination of composer,

200

M. Santos Redondo

violinist, director, and ensemble was a neat one, but it was largely untried as a touring enterprise (Jones 2023, p. 37). The combination proved to be as successful with the public as demanding for the performer. Since his debut as conductor-showman in 1825, Strauss father run one or more ensembles, for a growing demand in Vienna: Strauss leaped to the podium, signalled the downbeat and, with demonic intensity, fiddled along with his players while indicating rhythm and phrasing by the motion of his hips and shoulders. … On a typical evening he would race by fiacre from place to place, conduct the same meticulously rehearsed sequence of waltzes in each location, fight his way out through adoring crowds, and hurry on to the next assignment. By about three in the morning, he would arrive home, not exhausted, but tingling with the excitement of the hours just passed (Fantel 1971, pp. 40–41). Lanner was appointed in 1829 Director of Music for the Imperial Court Ball, where he conducted concerts and composed new works for the Court orchestra. Strauss toured through Europe with part of his orchestra. Most famous, in Paris in 1837, with twenty-eight musicians, for five months. His concerts were attended, at some point, by Hector Berlioz, Meyerbeer, Cherubini, Auber, Adolphe Adam, Niccolò Paganini. While in Paris, got an invitation to travel with his orchestra and play in England in 1838, in the presence of young queen Victoria. It was a long, strenuous tour. On the 4th of October 1837, they boarded coaches for the overland journey to Paris. They arrived on the 27th of October, after an arduous journey with performances along the way. After the Paris concerts, on the 11th of April 1838, all but four boarded for England. They were back in Vienna by December 21st, more than fourteen months since their departure (Suchet 2015, Chapter 3). All this before the railway era, with the only exception of England. So, both the light dance music specialization and the Strauss family business were well established in Vienna and Europe when Johann Strauss Jr. started his career. And his father’s wife Anna Streim—whom he had married in 1825 and with whom he had six children—is said to have had an important role in running the family business. Difficulties were of another kind. Since 1834 Johann father had a young mistress in Vienna, Emily Trampusch; they would have eight children, all in Vienna, known by everyone. Strauss father had forbidden their children to play music. Johann had secretly learned to play the violin, covered by his mother. Anna Streim requested divorce in 1844, at the same time as young Johann asked for legal permit for an orchestra in Vienna. In October, once the permit was arranged, he hired musicians from everywhere in the city, conformed an orchestra, and arranged a debut at a tavern in a suburb. And, frightened as he was, being nineteen, Johann was able to perform with the violin and the orchestra, with all the elegant movements to attract attention. Johann raised the violin and settled it comfortably under his chin. The whole top part of his body bent into the opening triplet of chords, played fortissimo. The audience could not but pay attention. … Turning at the crescendo to face the audience, forcing them to sway with him, he looked back to the orchestra, before turning again and playing a beautiful, melodious solo passage on the violin, gazing out at the audience and smiling as he did so. (Suchet 2015, Chapter 6).

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

201

And played a composition of his own, a waltz, with great success. The concert ended with a popular composition by Strauss father, who had opposed his son’s musical career and this event in particular. As a conductor, composer, and showman, young Johann definitively was something. Critics praised him. One of them, Franz Wiest, finished his piece “Good Night Lanner! Good Evening Strauss Father! Good Morning Strauss Son!” (Suchet 2015). For some time, the two orchestras competed in Vienna, until Johann father died young in 1849. Then Johann II grouped the two orchestras in one; his brothers Josef and Eduard would be soon also involved in the family business. Later on, Johann III (son of Eduard), would also be a musician. It is important to notice that managing their own orchestra, for light dance music in Vienna and Europe, was not a strange business dedication for a musician and composer, but the normal course of things. Music publishers were important for a composer’s career, as Tobias Haslinger was for Strauss father (Jones p. 20); but royalties for compositions were a mean part of a musician income, compared with income from performances. The model may have been Niccolò Paganini (1782–1840), the Italian violinist, great composer, and virtuoso, who, besides his incredible quality, cultivated legends, dynamism, and little tricks to get a spectacular performance, relevant for the high fee. In a similar way, Johann Strauss son, as was his father, was not demanded for his compositions, important as they were. Public and managers wanted the full pack: the orchestra; the compositions, preferably new; and the real person to see, admire, and if possible, touch. As a conductor, young Johann was a showman: violin in hand, played some parts and directed the orchestra with his bow, violin, feet, head, and body, making a spectacle for the audience. This was his father’s style, carefully perfectionated, as we have mentioned before. Young Johann wanted to follow exactly his career, and so was secretly taught, with his mother’s help, by Franz Amon, the man conducting and managing the Strauss orchestra in Vienna when the leader was on tour—a lot of time indeed. So young Johann had the talent, the musical lessons on piano and violin, the training as a conductor and showman, the will to become an important musician, the need to bring money to the household, and something more, following his father and Joseph Lanner: a brand name for dance music linked with Vienna. Until now, he is considered the image of Vienna and Austria, and so it was in the second part of nineteenth century. He criticized with terrible words his experience in the Boston mammoth concert in 1872, which maybe the top historical experience of the triumph of the pop star culture over the music. But that was related to the whole business in which he was involved. The business was also linked to the active presence of the showman, and both Strauss, father and son, were exhausted from his work. The father suffered from exhaustion in London, in 1838, after a year touring. As a musical critic wrote: “Strauss, who is on his hotel bed, finds himself successful, much applauded, very rich—and dying”, The Strauss dynasty didn’t face the harsh criticism Offenbach did. Theirs was light dance music, but Strauss father talent was acknowledged. In Paris, his concerts were attended, at some point, by Hector Berlioz, Meyerbeer, Cherubini, Auber, Adolphe Adam and Niccolò Paganini. Strauss son was even more praised, having even Wagner

202

M. Santos Redondo

in his favour (see Finck, 1897). Waltz was criticized as an immoral and low-class dance at the end of the eighteenth century. But by the Congress of Vienna in 1815, it was well established in Viennese culture, and when in 1837 Straus father toured in Paris, it was fashionable all over Europe. There were no clash of cultures and nationalities in Strauss’ dynasty. The only political stress came during the 1848 revolution. Strauss father, who was Court Ball Music Director since 1835, was loyal to the monarchy, and composed the “Radetzky March”, dedicated to the Habsburg field marshal, winner at the Battle of Custoza against the Italians. His son was openly sympathetic to the revolutionaries, composed songs for them, and his orchestra played “La Marseillaise”, the song of the revolutionaries, in Paris. All this made difficult for him to get appointed as Court Ball Music Director after the death of his father. He finally got it in 1863. And at the 1867 World Exhibition in Paris, his “Blue Danube Waltz” was a sensational success, with over a million scores sold worldwide, and he was considered Vienna musical ambassador (Crittenden 2006). Later, in order to marry his third wife Adele, he would formally renounce his Austrian citizenship and eventually asked for German citizen of the Duchy of SaxeCoburg and Gotha, and also become a Lutheran Protestant. They lived in Coburg until granted, and finally married on August 15, 1887, in Coburg. The couple left the duchy the day after, and always lived in Vienna, and Johann had a happy family life, including his beloved stepdaughter, Alice.5 So, when Strauss turned to operetta about 1864, he was in no desperate need of musical and political praise. His “light” music was not well considered by the “serious” musical establishment (Jones 2023, pp. 5–6), but this condescendence came softly, and many times together with a lot of praise. Offenbach, for comparison, was fiercely criticized, for his immoral music for being a traitor to France. This must have been important in his turn to compose a serious, full sang, respected opera. In the case of Strauss, the market demanded operettas. Vienna’s stage impresarios were willing to include such a musical talent. Composing operettas was not only profitable, but also provided recognition among serious critics, especially if the risqué elements were downgraded. We can consider operetta, about 1860s, one step above waltz and dance music in the consideration of serious music critics. By 1870, Offenbach operettas were successful all over the world, and several of them were performed at Vienna and received enthusiastically. In England, the

5

Jones claim that it was not a problem for Viennese establishment: “Johann and Adele were just one more strand in this web of Austro-German, Catholic-Protestant interrelationships”. (2023, p. 181), But Pastene says different: “Frank-Josef found it hard indeed to forgive one of his foremost subjects this traitorous transgression. Devout Catholic that he was, he found it even harder to forgive Strauss his conversion to Protestantism” (1951, p. 180). Crittenden says that “Adele was not well liked by Viennese public. It was for her that Strauss abandoned his two most overt links to Vienna: his Austrian citizenship and his Catholicism. The Viennese feared, not unreasonably, that Strauss would leave Vienna altogether on her account” (2006, p. 231). They lived in Coburg for their purpose, but left Coburg after the wedding. Once back in Vienna, the fact is thar Strauss was appreciated and honoured the same by Viennese people and establishment.

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

203

“indecent” French operettas were dominating the stage; the theatre and music impresario Richard D’Oyly Carte convinced musician Arthur Sullivan and dramatist W. S. Gilbert to produce something similar, but more family-friendly, and were quite successful. For Viennese impresarios, the best choice was Johann Strauss. But, contrary to Offenbach, composing for the theatre was not Strauss strength, in the same way that Offenbach had a terrific creative facility for operettas and had to struggle to compose serious opera. Johann had just married singer Jetty Treffz in 1862, seven years his senior and with seven children as a single woman, prior to her marriage to Strauss. Overcoming family opposition, Jetty became a suitable wife for Johann, and also a private secretary, artistic adviser, and a good manager for the Strauss industry. She convinced Josef and Eduard to take on most of the conducting work, and so Johann would recover and compose. Great pieces followed. And, together with theatre empresarios, Jetty was persistent trying to get Strauss into the operetta business. He finally put to work on it, struggling with effort, with two tries unfinished. There were differences between composing waltz and composing music for operettas, and Strauss’ waltzes were less suitable than Offenbach gallops and his versatility (Dahlhaus 1989, “Opera bouffe, Operetta, Savoy Opera,” pp. 226–236). But both Jetty and impresarios pressed on: He finally signed an exclusive contract with the Theater an der Wien, run by Maximilian Steiner, for the seasons 1870–1 and 1871–2, which granted him, among other benefits, a 10 per cent share in the profits on the gross receipts of each performance. Finally, in February 1871 premiered Indigo und die vierzig Räuber (Indigo and the Forty Thieves) with a libretto by Steiner himself. It had 46 performances, critics considered that it was not at Strauss level, and it wasn’t successful. The operetta business was put on hold with the offer by Gilmore to tour in America next year. But both Jetty and Steiner perseverated, and by 1873 Johann began to work in an operetta or “opera comique”, that would be a sensation: Die Fledermaus (‘The Bat’), about a disguise party with a lawyer trying to take revenge for having been humiliated in a former party, when his costume was a bat. Strauss composed the melodies, librettists being Karl Haffner and Richard Genée, after a French vaudeville comedy by Meilhac and Halévy. After several delays, it was staged in April 1874, with Strauss conducting. It was a great triumph, with 200 performances, and then staged all over Europa, United States, and Australia. It was fun and good music, praised even by Gustav Mahler, which was no fan of operetta, and till today is well considered and represented. Strauss would compose another thirteen operettas. Only two of them Eine Nacht in Venedig (‘One Night in Venice’), 1883, and Der Zigeunerbaron (‘The Gypsy Baron’), 1885, were truly successful. Viennese operetta would have its most successful work twenty years later, with Franz Lehar’s Die lustige Witwe (The Merry Widow) in 1905. Then, the operetta connected with the age of popular musical theatre, and musical films, as much as with comic opera (Lamb 2000, pp. ix–x).

204

M. Santos Redondo

Russian Tour Every Summer, and America Let us go back to Strauss’s tours, which made his world fame. In 1855 the management of the Russian first railway, from Saint Petersburg to the Imperial Palaces of Tsarskoye Selo and nearby Pavlovsk, contacted Johann Strauss, then 30-year-old but exhausted from work, in their intention to boost the traffic and build a cultural and entertainment centre at Pavlovsk. Johann Strauss was hired to organize concerts in Pavlovsk, every summer from May to the end of September, together with a new orchestra. And there he went, introducing his reluctant brother Josef in the family business, as a conductor of the Johann Strauss Orchestra in Vienna. At Pavlovsk, Johann stood violin in hand, played some parts, and directed the orchestra with his bow, violin, feet, head, and body. This unconventional method, that the audience loved, was learned from his father, and practised with this purpose: “playing the violin in front of a mirror in his room, swaying as he played, ascertaining which particular bodily movements were more elegant than others” (Suchet 2015, Chapter 5). It was truly successful; the figure of the Austrian musician and composer, who used to conduct, violin in hand, using the bow or playing along his violin, and, as a newspaper wrote, “violin, bow, feet, head, and body”. For the audience, this was superb. It was a “clear artistic, commercial and diplomatic success” (Jones 2023, pp. 100–102). In 1872, Johann received an offer to tour in the United States. Strauss, fearful of travel, was convinced by a formidable offer: 100,000 $ deposited in advance, plus travel expenses for him, for Jetty, his valet, his maid, and his dog (Fantel 1971, p. 192). This tour was a different one, since by then, Johann was composing operettas, the Strauss orchestra in the hands of his brother Eduard, after the death of Joseph in 1870. But, as Russia in 1855, it was well paid; in this case, impossible to refuse for Joahn and Jetty. And it was a big step in global fame.

Musical Merits: Recognition Among Serious Musicians and Critics Johann Straus was recognized by most “art” musicians and critics of his time, especially in Vienna. This gave his operetta an added prestige, not available to other composers (Crittenden 2006). And certainly not to Offenbach, who had political recognition at the time of the Empire, until 1870; but never was accepted by the “art” establishment. Strauss is unique in this; and, forgetting his revolutionary sympathies in 1848, and even after his German nationality in 1887, he was considered an ambassador of Austro-Hungarian empire, especially after his Waltz “The Blue Danube” became a great success, in its orchestral version, in the 1867 Paris World’s Fair. Viennese operetta is related to Strauss, and Crittenden considers that an important part of his success relies on the “institutional endorsement” that his operettas received

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

205

from high art establishment, unavailable to other composers of popular music (2006, pp. 2–3).

Wealth, Family, and Business Later on Johann married twice, but with a quite different kind of women, not involved in the business family. By Johann death, in 1899, Eduard was conducting the orchestra almost every time. Harmony didn’t work well in the family in those last years, and there was no next generation of gifted musicians either. But both the music and the business of light dance music were carried to the pinnacle by Johann Strauss II (Scherer, 2004, p. 47). The wealth Johann II got from his business was huge. How rich musicians could be depended on two factors: how much did they earn, and how did they spend their money. We have seen that Offenbach had financial problems with the theatre at capacity. The Strauss family, apart from the father, were not known for extravagant expenses. Johann Strauss invested in real estate. By 1875 he owned two properties in the Viennese suburbs and part of another one, forty-nine apartments that produced an annual rental income of 9,000 florins. Apart from the villas in which he lived with Jetty (Jones 2023 p. 180), and the grand villa in Schönau, 10 km away from Baden, the famous spa near Vienna, that he bought in 1880 and kept until 1894. Johann Strauss II, talented and hard worker, became wealthy man. Scherer considers him: “the pinnacle of large-scale popular music performance during the ninetieth century” (Scherer 2004, p. 47). During his last years, Strauss wanted to compose new successful operettas. It is doubtful that he did it for money; more likely, for the want of public success and recognition (Jones 2023, p. 234).

Conclusion During the nineteenth century there were social and technological changes, together with an important growth of urban middle classes. Music and entertainment changed, too. In the first half of the century, the “promenade” or popular concerts, with a medley of serious and popular pieces, organized and conducted by some popular and flashy conductors, entrepreneurs in a commercial way, contributed to provide entertainment for the new urban middle classes that were not connoisseur. This led to a differentiation between “serious” or high art music, and light, commercial, or entertainment music. The acceleration of technological changes—railways, lithography, photography, steam press—helped this process. After 1830 opera, especially in France, underwent changes which made it more commercial in its organization and more appealing to a wider bourgeoisie audience. The French grand opera introduced spectacular decors, ballets, chorus, special

206

M. Santos Redondo

effects, and became more attractive to the public. Meyerbeer, its main composer, was criticized as superficial and commercial. Then, in Paris, the favourite composer of musical theatre for the masses appeared. Jacques Offenbach, besides cello virtuoso and conductor became composer and entrepreneur of musical theatre in 1855. His operettas, with part sang and par spoken, making fun of the serious opera and politics, being frivolous or risqué, managed to be the preferred entertainment for both the bourgeoise and the ruling classes. With the social and technological advances of that time, operetta became a global product, adapted in language and topic to every city. By 1867, Offenbach’s works were performed all over the world. But he was fiercely criticized as superficial, commercial, and immoral. After the defeat of France in 1870 and the coming of the Republic, he was not politically well considered, although he had important successful new pieces on stage in those years. He looked for the recognition of the serious musicians and critics, and composed two full sang operas. His Contes de Hoffman was performed posthumously and is the one most recognized and represented today. In Vienna, Johann Strauss II, following in the steps of his father, was the most successful representative of showmanship as conductor, but was also recognized for quality in composing popular dance music. He managed to be well considered by the serious musicians of his time. By 1860s, Offenbach’s operettas dominated the stage in Europe, and theatre entrepreneurs wanted this product. In England the entrepreneur D’Oyly-Carte made a team with dramatist Gilbert and musician Sullivan, and produced comic operas, similar to Offenbach’s, without the risqué element, and were very successful in England and the United States, In Vienna, the obvious choice of the managers was Johann Strauss II. He considered himself not gifted for this task, but the pressure of theatre manager Maximilian Steiner and his wife Jetty, and generous commercial profits to be made, convinced him. After several failures, he produced three great comic operettas: Die Fledermaus (‘The Bat’, 1873), Eine Nacht in Venedig (‘One Night in Venice’), 1883 and Der Zigeunerbaron (‘The Gypsy Baron’). They are lighter than Offenbach’s, with flirtation and romantic love but less controversial. The Viennese operetta would be important in Europe and keeps the closest connection to the similar products of the twentieth century: the popular musical theatre, and the musical film, which would be audience’s favourite show in 1930s.

References Chandler, David. 2009. “What Do We Mean by Opera, Anyway?” Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera and “High-Pop” Theatre. Journal of Popular Music Studies, 21(2): 152–169. https://onl inelibrary.wiley.com/share/EE7SJSI67BCBKFHWDSWM?target=10.1111/j.1533-1598.2009. 01186.x Crittenden, Camille. 2006. Johann Strauss and Vienna: Operetta and the politics of popular culture. Cambridge University Press. Dahlhaus, Carl. 1989. Nineteenth-Century Music [Die Musik des 19. Jahrhunderts, 1980]. University of California Press.

9 Jacques Offenbach and Johann Strauss II: Operettas, Waltzes …

207

Eisenberg, Ludwig. 1894. Johann Strauss—Ein Lebensbild. Leipzig, Breitkopf und Härtel [Johann Strauss—A Portrait of his Life] https://archive.org/details/johannstraussein00eise Faris, Alexander. 1980. Jacques Offenbach. New York: Scribner. Digitalized 2018, The Internet Archive. Fantel, Hans. 1971. Johann Strauss: Father and Sons and their Era. David & Charles Figes, Orlando. 2019. The Europeans. Three Lives and the Making of a Cosmopolitan Culture. Metropolitan Books. Finck, Henry T. 1897. Johann Strauss. The Looker-On, Vol. IV, April, pp. 287–298. [sometimes spelled Fink]. Gammond, Peter. 1980. Offenbach: His Life and Time. Midas. Jones, David Wyn. 2023. The Strauss Dynasty and Habsburg Vienna. Cambridge University Press. Kuerti, Anton. 1996. Singing for millions—the three tenors. Queen’s Quarterly 103 (4): 838–41. Lamb, Andrew. 2000. 150 years of popular musical theatre. Yale University Press. https://archive. org/details/unset0000unse_c3i0 Lelièvre, Stéphane. 2022. 1870: l’«Année terrible» d’Offenbach? Revue Germanique Internationale (36): 63–76 Uhide, Los Santos, Miguel. 2018. Jacques Offenbach y Donostia. Oarso, N. 53: 212–217. Martinet, André. 1887. Offenbach, sa vie et son oeuvre. Paris, Dentu. https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/ 12148/bpt6k371498x.texteImage Mejías García, Enrique. 2020. Offenbach, compositor de zarzuelas. Instituto Complutense de Ciencias Musicales (ICCMU). Paddison, Max. 1982. The Critique Criticised: Adorno and Popular Music. Popular Music 2: 201– 218. Pastene, Jerome. 1951. Three-Quarter Time: The Life and Music of the Strauss Family of Vienna. New York, Abelard Press. Digitalized (from 1971 reprint): https://archive.org/details/ threequartertime0000past, https://archive.org/stream/threequartertime001584mbp/threequarter time001584mbp_djvu.txt Samson, Jim (Ed.). 2001. The Cambridge History of Nineteenth-Century Music (Vol. 1). Cambridge University Press. Scherer, F.M. 2004. Quarter Notes and Bank Notes: The Economics of Music Composition in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Princeton University Press Schwartz, Ralf-Olivier. 2018. Jacques Offenbach: Ein europäisches Porträt. Cologne: Böhlau Verlag. Scott, Deresk B. 2008. Sounds of the Metropolis: The 19th Century Popular Music Revolution in London, New York. Paris and Vienna: Oxford University Press. Senelick, Laurence. 2017. Jacques Offenbach and the Making of Modern Culture. Cambridge University Press. Sherr, Richard. 2021. Offenbach y sus conexiones familiares en el contexto de la ópera Pépito: Los Alcain, los Mitchell y la Primera Guerra Carlista. Anuario Musical 76: 111–126. Sorba, Carlotta. 2006. The Origins of the Entertainment Industry: The Operetta in Late NineteenthCentury Italy. Journal of Modern Italian Studies 11 (3): 282–302. Suchet, John. 2015. The Last Waltz: The Strauss Dynasty and Vienna. Elliott & Thompson. Taruskin, R. 2006. Music in the Nineteenth Century: The Oxford History of Western Music. Oxford University Press. Traubner, Richard. [1983] (2004). Operetta: A Theatrical History. Routledge. Velde, François. R. 2015. Economic History of Opera. European Historical Economics Society. https://ehes.org/conferences/ehes2015/papers/Velde.pdf Weber, William. (2017) [1975]. Music and the Middle Class: The Social Structure of Concert Life in London, Paris and Vienna between 1830 and 1848. Routledge. Witkin, Robert W. 2003. Adorno on Popular Culture. Routledge. Yon, Jean-Claude. 2000. Jacques Offenbach. Paris, Gallimard. https://archive.org/details/jacquesof fenbach0000yonj/ Yon, Jean-Claude. 2014. Offenbach, homme de médias. Le Temps Des Médias 1: 49–63.

Chapter 10

Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss: The Economics of Music Up to the Dawn of Fascism Miguel-Ángel Galindo-Martín, María-Teresa Méndez-Picazo, and Thomas Baumert

Giacomo Puccini

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín University of Castilla-La Mancha, Ciudad Real, Spain M.-T. Méndez-Picazo · T. Baumert (B) Complutense University of Madrid, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_10

209

210

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín et al.

Richard Strauss Puccini was a materialist with a strong element of the bourgeois in him. His philosophy of life —if so, largely instinctive an attitude can thus be called— was an all but untrammelled hedonism. Carner (1992, p. 87) Only money, money, so that I can soon come to rest and live quietly with you [his wife Pauline], with my dear Bubi [their son], and the note heads in beautiful nature, sunshine and strong air.Richard Strauss: Letter to Pauline, 4 December 1901. Panofsky (1988, p. 175)

Introduction When Puccini and Strauss were born—in 1858 and 1864 respectively—Rossini had only a few years to live and, more important, he had already retired from composing operas for some three decades. Wagner had 15 years to live, and Verdi would compose his last opera just over two decades later. In other words, the three opera composers who had reigned in Europe had either stopped writing music or were about to do so when Strauss and Puccini began their composing careers: the arts markets were ripe for new products and the public keen for musical innovations. The German as well as the Italian had to face the new circumstances that were developing in the music market. On the one hand, by the middle of the nineteenth century, public tastes had changed and interest in romantic themes was declining, with a growing preference for social aspects, reflecting the problems arising from the distribution of income and industrial development: Balzac’s pioneering novels were followed by those by Flaubert, Zola, Ibsen, etc., which depicted the problems of society and questioned bourgeois values.

10 Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss: The Economics of Music Up …

211

This had an important effect in Italy, where a movement called verismo emerged in 1875, extrolling positivism, and in which librettos tried to reflect “real-life” situations. The most prominent composers ascribed to this movement were Mascagni, Leoncavallo, Giordano, and Cilea (some authors believing that Puccini’s operas might also be included). Thus, for Puccini, the object of his attention is human relationships, rather than the relationships between gods and humans, kings, and nobles, etc., which had been to a great extent the hallmarks of many operas of previous periods. Strauss, however, sought in other sources, myths, and gods returning to prominence in some of his works. Also, the power that businessmen had at the beginning of the nineteenth century to hire composers, librettists, etc., had been gradually diluted, being replaced by that of publishers. Strauss and Puccini had to negotiate with publishers and supervise what they did with their works. Puccini’s main publisher was Casa Ricordi, with whom he had some problems, as we will see later. In Germany, it should be noted that publishers also had great power, which allowed them to acquire works by young or disreputable composers at a very low price and to establish clauses in the contract that favoured the former. It should also be noted that technological advances opened up new income opportunities for composers. These included the introduction of the gramophone, and in the case of Strauss, also the production of silent movies, which required musical compositions performed by an orchestra during the projection of the film in the cinema. A final circumstance to be considered is the increasingly important role played by the conductor, especially in the German sphere. During the first half of the nineteenth century, the composer was obliged to conduct the first three performances of his work. However, this obligation was later abolished. This circumstance was exploited by Strauss and allowed him to add important emoluments to those he received for his works. Along with the previous, it should be noted that Puccini and Strauss were always concerned about their incomes, although for different reasons. Puccini´s incomes enabled him to keep a high standard of living, while Strauss wanted to obtain enough monetary resources to bequeath them to his descendants so that they could live comfortably. Strauss’s life revolved around music and his family. He felt proud to be German and to be part of the Austro-German culture essentially represented by Goethe, Mozart, Beethoven, and Wagner. In 1928 he commented to Hofmannsthal that Germany needed a dictator, provided, of course, he followed his ideas in the musical field (Kennedy 1999, pp. 270–271). Finally, it has sometimes been pointed out that Strauss and Puccini had little appreciation for each other, although it should be noted that Strauss was criticized in Vienna for preferentially programming Puccini’s operas over those of other composers.1 Seligman (1938, p. 177) points out that when Puccini was asked about Elektra, he replied: “Elektra? What a horror! Salome passes, but Elektra is too much!” Seligman 1

For Richard Strauss in Vienna, see Wagner-Trenkwitz, 1999.

212

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín et al.

himself points out that Puccini did not admire Strauss’s music, but, on the other hand, he echoes a comment by Strauss in which he indicates that there are two kinds of work, the creations of the great masters and pure rubbish, and that it is possible to think that he included himself in the first category but counted Puccini in the second. (Seligman 1938, p. 177, note 2).

Biographical Aspects Giacomo Puccini was born on the 22nd of December 1858 in Lucca (Tuscany), the sixth of the nine children of Michele Puccini and Albina Magi. His father was maestro di cappella of the Cathedral of San Martino, as had been his grandfather, Domenico, and his great-grandfather, Antonio. The paternal family had also dedicated to composition: Domenico had studied with Paisiello composing several operas, while Michelle also wrote one. Puccini’s father enjoyed a certain reputation in northern Italy and at his funeral Pacini conducted a Requiem. The fact that at the time of his father’s death Giacomo was only six years old, impeded him inheriting the position of maestro di cappella. His maternal uncle Fortunato Magi supervised his musical education, and he was able to continue his studies at the conservatory in Milan thanks to a scholarship and the help of Nicholas Cerú, cousin of Giacomo’s father. There he studied composition with, among others, Amilcare Ponchielli. It should be noted that his family was not left destitute. Giacomo´s father left a three-story house and land whose cultivation allowed to provide food. His mother had a pension of 67 lire, which was later increased to 75 lire, which the Commune di Lucca passed on to the widow for the activities carried out by her husband as Direttore dell’Instituto Musicale and of the former Cappella Palatina (Magri 1992, p. 69). The success achieved by the Cappriccio Sinfonico that Puccini composed as a thesis for the Milan Conservatory in 1883, made Ponchielli propose him to write an opera. Thus, on the 14th of May 1884, Puccini premiered Le Villi, with the libretto by Ferdinando Fontana. With Le Villi he also entered a competition organized by the music publisher Sozogno and despite not winning, Puccini made a great impression on Ricordi, who decided to buy the opera. Puccini would compose another nine operas throughout the 40 years of his remaining life, the last being Turandot, which he left unfinished when he died on the 29th of November 1924 in Brussels victim of a heart attack. At the time he was being treated for throat cancer, likely caused by the large number of cigarettes he smoked. The composer Franco Alfano was commissioned to complete the opera using the schemes and notes left by Puccini. Composing operas provided him with sufficient resources to lead a life of luxury. As we will see later, he bought several houses, cars, yachts, bicycles, etc. He was interested in recording music that was beginning to emerge at that time, he was unfaithful, he had frequent affairs with singers, with Baroness Josephine von Stangel… He had a major car accident on the 25th of February 1903 on the road between

10 Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss: The Economics of Music Up …

213

Lucca and Torre del Lago, travelling with his wife and his son Antonio (which will be explained later on). As a result of the accident, Puccini became terrified of riding in a car, as he indicated to his cousin Barsuglia in his letter of the 14th of May 1903 (Puccini 2022, p. 229) saying that he thinks “with terror” about automobiles. But it seems that it did not take him long to overcome this “fear”, since a year later in June 1904, he bought a new car in Florence for £7,500 (Puccini 2022, p. 517). Although Puccini had little interest in politics, some of his views got him in trouble, for example with the conductor Toscanini, when Puccini commented to him in the summer of 1914, months before the outbreak First World War, that he believed that Italy could benefit from applying the German organization to put things in order (Phillips-Matz 2002, p. 240). On the other hand, a year before he died, in 1923, he maintained contacts with the Italian fascist party and with Mussolini. But this does not imply that he defended this ideology, nor that he asked to became a member of the party.2 With regard to the second composer studied in this chapter, Richard Strauss was born in Munich on June 11, 1864. He was the son of Franz Strauss, who was the principal horn player at the Munich Court Opera and professor at the Königliche Musikschule and Josephine Pschorr, daughter of a prosperous Munich brewer. At the age of four he began to study piano and from an early age he attended rehearsals of the court orchestra. In 1872 he began to receive violin lessons from Benno Walter, his father’s cousin, and conductor of the orchestra. Strauss’ father assisted him in composition throughout the 1870s and early 1880s, giving him advice, comments, and criticism. From then on, Strauss focused his activity on composing and conducting orchestras, travelling through various countries. Unlike Puccini, who is renowned for his operas, Strauss also succeeded with symphonic music and lieder. In addition, he developed an important activity as a conductor: as third director of the Bavarian State Opera (1886), a post he did not like very much, since, after the death of Ludwig II, its funding was reduced and he had to conduct operas that he did not like; as director of the Staatskapelle in Berlin (1898); for five years, 1919–1924, he conducted the Vienna State Opera; and in 1920 he founded, with the theatre director Max Reinhardt, the Salzburg Festival.3 He did not get to join the Nazi party, although in his early days he seems to have thought that Hitler could promote German culture. In October 1947 Strauss travelled to London to attend the Strauss cycle organized by Sir Thomas Beecham. The BBC covered part of the expenses, the Home Office solved the passport problem, and regarding the existing food rationing at that time, Strauss stated that he could eat oysters as they were “digestible and beneficial” (Panofsky 1988, p. 225). Strauss died on the 8th of September 1949 of kidney failure, leaving behind a wide and varied musical repertoire, of around 300 works, of which 18 are operas, 2

Apparently, in 1923, the Viareggio Fascist party made Puccini an honorary member and sent him a membership card. Puccini also held two meetings in November and December 1923 with Mussolini in order to seek support for the creation of a national theatre in Viareggio. 3 It should be noted that he celebrated his 80th birthday conducting the Vienna Philharmonic.

214

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín et al.

from Der Kampf mit dem Drachen, 1876, which was never performed, to Des Esels Schaffen, which he did not finish. The last opera that he premiered during his lifetime was Capriccio in Munich in 1942; ten symphonic poems, being Don Juan (1888) the one that gave him the most fame; numerous lieder, works for piano, etc.

Incomes In his youth, Puccini played the organ in different churches to earn a few lire while studying. Even though, as mentioned above, his father did not leave the family destitute after his death, as the time passed the family situation worsened. In 1880 the house in Lucca was encumbered with a mortgage and if the young Giacomo was able to go to Milan without great hardship it was due to a scholarship of 100 lire a month for one year and the patronage of Dr. Cerú. Years later, he would claim back from Puccini the full amount of money he had given to help him, with the corresponding interest, thinking that, after the success of Le Villi, Puccini was no longer short of money and could support himself. This was because, as Giacomo comments to his brothers Michelle in a letter dated April 30, 1890 (Puccini 2015, p. 119), and a month and a half later to Tomaide, in another letter dated June 15, 1890 (Puccini 2015, p. 121), Cerú believed that Giacomo had obtained 40,000 lire for the opera. Instead, Giacomo commented to his brothers that this amount was exaggerated and that it was much less. He also told to Michelle that he only got 6,000 lire from Ricordi (a sum that he rose to 6,500 lire in a letter to his sister Tomaide). Puccini suffered economic hardships during his stay in Milan, especially when he stopped receiving the scholarship and had to support himself only with the 100 lire a month provided by Cerú: 9.5 lire for a Pleyel piano, 30 lire for accommodation, 6 lire for the laundry, 5 lire for music paper and the rest for food and other activities that he wanted to carry out, an amount that he found insufficient (Cordisco Respighi 2023, p. 25). As a result, Puccini was forced to pawn his personal belongings to survive, and later to ask his mother for help to redeem them. For example, in June 1883, he asked his mother to lend him 20 lire to redeem his watch and his tie (Schickling 2007, p. 54). In various letters addressed to his mother, he complained about the temperatures in the city, less warm than those he was used to, as well as the prices, and the misery he suffered: a punch costs 40 cents, the Scala season ticket, 130 lire for Carnival and Lent (“a robbery”) (Puccini 2015, pp. 6 and 8), doctor’s fees, 2 lire per visit, medicine expenses, 37.60 lire, a quarter of a chicken, 70 cents… (Puccini 2015, pp. 22–23). In 1884 he premiered Le Villi with great success, paying in advance 100 lire for the libretto, 250 lire for costumes, and 200 lire for copies of the scores. But the total income being 9,000 lire Puccini would still obtain—after deducing all other costs—a profit of 6,000 lire (Schickling 2007, p. 91; Pinzauti 1955, p. 25). Due to the success, Casa Ricordi asked him for an opera in two acts, the future Edgar, and so that he could concentrate only on the composition, decided to pay him 200 lire a month as an advance, from June 1886 until the completion of the opera.

10 Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss: The Economics of Music Up …

215

The premiere of Edgar at the Scala in Milan in April 1889 was a failure, and it was withdrawn after the third performance. For this reason, the board of directors of the Casa Ricordi proposed that Puccini’s monthly payment of 200 lire be abolished, but Giulio Ricordi opposed this, believing that Puccini had great potential and that efforts should be made to improve the opera. Giulio managed to impose his opinion and in June 1889 he reached an agreement with Puccini to compose two operas (Cordisco Respighi 2023, p. 40). For the composition of Manon Lescaut, which was to be premiered on February 1, 1893, Ricordi paid Puccini 300 lire per month, and after the success of this opera, he increased the pension to 600 lire per month, what Puccini called “la mie pensione” (Carner 1992, p. 49). All in all, during the first half of 1890, Puccini would obtain an income of 27,000 lire (Schickling 2007, p. 161). In a letter dated on the 26th of May 1893 to his brother-in-law Raffaello Franceschini, Puccini tells him that he had signed the new contract for the opera Manon Lescaut for 40,000 francs and that it would yield him additional 40,000 lire that year (Puccini 2015, p. 238). Budden (2002, p. 131) states that Puccini’s financial concerns ended after the success of this opera. With the subsequent success of La Boheme, Puccini began to collect substantial royalties. Thus, in the first semester of 1898, these amounted to 40,000 lire (Cordisco Respighi 2023, p. 86) and in the year of his death the royalties were about 400,000 liras per semester (Schickling 2007, p. 335). On the 1st of October 1906, he signed an agreement for 70,000 lire 4 for a work called Conchita, an idea that would end up being abandoned yet, and in the same contract, and Manon Lescaut’s copyright rose to 35% (Cordisco Respighi 2023, p. 117). As the successes of his operas increased, as well as his fame, Puccini tried to get the best financial conditions in his contracts. For example, in the case of La fanciulla del West, in his letter to Tito Ricordi dated on the 26th of March 1906, he complained that Casa Ricordi considered the 30% charge for his new opera too high, for which reason he requested that the contract had the same conditions as for Tosca, 28% and 40,000 lire (CP 1986, p. 320). As time went by, contract negotiations became more and more complicated, since Casa Ricordi considered that Puccini´s demands were excessive. For example, in the case of Il Tabarro, he asked for 50,000 lire and 45% from Tito Ricordi in a letter dated September 16, 1916 (CP 1986, p. 444). For some time, Ricordi discussed the percentage demanded by Puccini. He reduced it to 40%, but when Ricordi requested a greater reduction, the composer rejected it. For Turandot he would receive 250,000 lire and in 1915 he negotiated for La Rondine the equivalent of 400,000 Austrian crowns and 40% of the theater’s income (Schickling 2007, pp. 271 and 335). It should be added, that in 1918 Puccini tried to sell the three one-act operas to a British publisher for 250,000 lire plus the usual percentage, the New York Metropolitan offered him 7,000 dollars plus additional 400 dollars for each night in which the 4

It was agreed that this amount would not be received in full: 20,000 lire in 20 monthly instalments of 1,000 lire; 30,000 lire in instalments of 6,000 lire after every 10 performances (variable) and the remaining 20,000 lire upon delivery of the score. In addition, it was stipulated that Puccini would be received 35% of the theater’s income (Schickling 2007, p. 210).

216

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín et al.

three were performed (300 dollars in the case of two operas and 200 dollars in the case of one) (Schickling 2007, p. 297). As a result of his negotiations, and the success of his operas among the public, Puccini´s income gradually increased. Schickling (2007) shows the evolution of the income received by the composer: 1908 in the first semester 50,000 lire and 84,000 lire in the second; in 1911, 130,000 lire in the first semester (p. 252); in 1913 115,000 lire in the second semester (p. 269); in 1921 300,000 lire in the first semester (p. 328); in 1922 400,000 lire in the second semester 400,000 lire (p. 335); in 1925 454,000 lire in the first semester (p. 348). He was always careful to ensure that he was paid the correct royalties. In January 1922 he decided to take legal action against Casa Ricordi for its intention to publish a fox-trot with musical arrangements based on the melodies of Madame Butterfly and Tosca, requesting 400,000 liras in compensation, the equivalent to more than six months of royalties for all his works (Cordisco Respighi 2023, p. 159). Casa Ricordi tried to resolve the problem amicably without having to go to court and, apparently, sent the composer a bank check for 100,000 lire to which Puccini refers in a letter dated January 11, 1924 (CP 1986, p. 547). Puccini also received invitations to travel to cities where his operas were performed, earning significant income. For example, in 1904 he received an allexpenses-paid invitation to go to Buenos Aires, earning an income of 50,000 francs (Carner 1992, p. 160), and in 1906 he was offered a trip to New York, for which they would pay him 8,000 dollars, a considerable sum (Pinzauti 1975, p. 195). At that time, Caruso received 1,500 dollars per night (Schickling 2007, p. 201 and 212). The invitations meant that the organizers having to pay significant travel expenses, which they were willing to bear due to the great interest that the visit aroused and the higher income it brought. In October 1910 Puccini travelled to New York on a ship whose passage cost 8,000 lire and he stayed in a luxury hotel. The price of the tickets doubled, from 5 to 10 dollars, reaching a resale price of 150 dollars (Schickling 2007, pp. 239–240; Carner 1992, p. 204). Finally, we must point out Puccini’s interest in the phonographic industry. In April 1903, he signed a contract with the Gramophone Company of London committing himself to compose a romance for a single voice of which he would retain all the royalties in Italy and abroad, receiving 1,000 records (Puccini 2022, p. 214 and Pinzauti 1975, pp. 276–277).5 Unlike Puccini, when analyzing the income received by Strauss, it is necessary to distinguish between his composing activity and his role as conductor. Strauss acknowledges that, at the beginning of his compositional activity, he had problems with the edition of his works (Strauss 2022, p. 34). For example, the publishers Breitkopf & Härtel rejected his Quartet in A major. During the years 1885–1886 different works by Strauss were published for which he received no fees (Warfield 2010, p. 246). The printing costs of his Festmarsch (Festive March) composed in 1876 were paid for by his uncle Georg Pschorr (Panofsky 1988, p. 17). 5

There even exist a short recording of Puccini in his own voice giving a farewell speech in New York.

10 Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss: The Economics of Music Up …

217

Even his father had to pay 1,000 marks to have his Symphony in F minor printed— although Strauss himself pointed out that it took his father very little to recover the money. He was able to make his first trip to Italy in April 1886 thanks to the prize won for his Piano Quartet op. 13 of 300 marks (Panofsky 1988, p. 28). According to Warfield (2010, p. 246) the reason why Strauss did not receive fees for the first works could be double fold. Firstly, because he was more interested in publishing and, therefore, in gaining fame, than in cashing in. Secondly, the power of publishers at that time, who could pay very small amounts of money, or none at all, to new composers or those with little reputation. Strauss himself gives information about the income he received from the transfer of the original manuscript of his early works. Specifically, he notes the following remunerations (Strauss 2022, p. 34): Lieders 100 marks; Aus Italien, 500 marks; Don Juan, 800 marks, Death and Transfiguration, 1,600 marks, Guntram 5,000 marks, 1,000 marks for Till Eulenspiegel, Also sprach Zarathrusta, 3,200 marks and Don Quixote6 5,000 marks. These are high sums compared to those received by other composers for their first works. For example, Hindemith in 1919 was offered 100 marks for several of his early compositions (Zima 2020, p. 176). In addition to these works Strauss offered in 1890 to publish his Macbeth and some piano arrangements for four hands for 1,500 marks. Also, for Ein Heldenleben he requested 10,000 marks, for the Domestic Symphony he received 30,000 marks and for the Alpine Symphony 50,000 marks (Kennedy 1999, pp. 109 and 413 note 7). Obviously, as he gained fame, Strauss was able to demand higher sums for his works. For his first opera, Guntram, he received, as the composer himself stated in 1894–95, 5,000 marks. For Salome, 1905, he demanded from Fürstner the lofty figure of 60,000 marks for publishing rights. With that money he was able to build a villa in Garmisch. For Elektra (1908) he demanded 100,000 marks (Pernpeintner and Schenk 2020, p. 288).7 On occasion, however, he was unsuccessful in his demands. For example, in 1948 he tried to sell a choral work completed in 1935 to the American publisher EB Marks for 10,000 dollars. No agreement was reached, as the publisher thought it was an excessive amount. Regarding his fees as conductor, we can distinguish between the remuneration due to contracts—the 1,500 marks that he received in Meiningen during 1885–1886, or the 18,000 marks that he would receive in Berlin 10 years later—and what he received for stand-alone-concerts he conducted in different cities, which was usually around 650 marks (Warfield 2010, p. 250). In 1914 he was paid 6,000 francs for conducting the orchestra at the Covent Garden for six performances of a pantomime (Strauss 2022, p. 88). Demand for him conducting was high, and hence on several occasions 6

Curiously Puccini had for a while also considered to write an opera based on this famous novel by Miguel de Cervantes. And Strauss later discussed with Stefan Zweig the possibility of writing together an opera based on another noted Spanish work, La Celestina. 7 Hence, the press would later be able to announce sensationally that: “The contract between Richard Strauss and his publisher Adolf Fürstner has been concluded. Adolf Fürstner has paid the amount of 50,000 dollars for the royalties on the score of the new opera. This fee is the highest ever paid for an opera or a theatre play” (Panofsky, 1988, p. 175).

218

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín et al.

he had to decide between several simultaneous offers. For example, in 1898, the Metropolitan Opera offered him 40,000 marks to replace Anton Seidl, which was more than double what he earned in Berlin (18,000 marks),8 but he preferred to stay in Europe to build up a reputation (Warfield 2010, p. 250). Thus, he rented a nineroom flat with central heating in a Berlin suburb for 2,800 marks (Kennedy 1999, p. 107). As Strauss’s fame grew, his financial ambitions increased, and he sought contracts with higher salaries and benefits. His fame was recognized everywhere except in Munich, so in 1898 he signed a ten-year contract as conductor in Berlin for which he would receive 18,000 marks for the first three years and 20,000 marks from the fourth year onwards, with two months’ holiday in summer and one month in winter. But he was not only looking for a good salary, but also for security and the possibility of continuing to increase his fame. And he thought that this could only be achieved in Europe, so he accepted the Berlin proposal instead of the one offered to him at the same time in New York, for a similar position despite the much higher salary: 40,000 marks per year (Panofsky 1988, p. 52). Another alternative that he had at the time was the one he commented to his librettist Hofmannsthal in a letter dated December 29, 1918, in which he tells him that in Berlin he would receive 65,000 marks (40,000 marks for four months of conducting; 13,000 marks for ten concerts and the class in the Academy 12,000 marks), as well as the possibility of carrying out an important reform of the staging, while Vienna with a bad choir, an uncertain subsidy and a lot of work, would mean five months and 55,000 marks, also having to give up concert tours and having to pay income taxes (Strauss and Hofmannsthal 1992, p. 395). The salary received for the direction of the Vienna opera, was highly criticized along with the Strauss´ requests for permits and that the singers should be of recognized merits, and veterans (Panofsky 1988, p. 145). Among these activities, it is worth noting the resignation by Strauss to receive 1,500 marks for conducting the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra at the last subscription concert in substitution of Bruno Walter who had fled the country after the Nazis seized power. According to the Strauss himself, he did so to make sure that nobody would believe that he favoured the Nazi cultural policy. His fame did not only helped him to change orchestras with better contracts, but also to develop other well-paid activities, such as the offer he accepted during his stay in New York in 1904, by the merchant Wannemaker, for which Strauss would receive 1,000 dollars for conducting two concerts in his huge bazaar during business hours (Panofsky 1988, p. 72). Finally, like Puccini, he showed great interest in the gramophone. Unlike the Italian composer, however, he did not compose a song for recording, but in 1905 he recorded excerpts from some of his piano works in a studio, and in 1917 he recorded works with the Berlin State Opera Orchestra. 8

Strauss signed a ten-year contract as conductor in Berlin for which he would receive 18,000 marks for the first three years and 20,000 marks from the fourth year onwards, with two months’ holiday in summer and one month in winter (Panofsky 1988, p. 52).

10 Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss: The Economics of Music Up …

219

He was also interested in the movies that were made at the time. There was a project based on making a silent film on his opera Der Rosenkavalier. This would involve using the music from the opera, which would be performed in the cinema by an orchestra, but without singers. Moreover, since the duration of the film was shorter than that of the opera, the music had to be readapted. At first, Strauss was not too happy with the idea, but the 10,000 dollars offered for the arrangement encouraged him to undertake the task. But from Strauss point of view, these arrangements should not harm the music. For this reason, he rejected the proposal of the producer of a British film to receive 20,000 pounds for including in it a few minutes of his Salome and Der Rosenkavalier, because he did not want his works to suffer such severe cuts (Warfield 2010, pp. 255–256).

Puccini: A Life of Luxury Possibly, the economic restrictions that Puccini suffered in his youth, as well as his interest in the private means of transport that were increasingly available to the population that could afford to pay for them, led him to consume those goods and services that could only be carried out by people with high purchasing power, among whom was Puccini thanks to the significant income he earned from his works. These consumptions can be divided into two groups: real estate and transport. Regarding the former, it should be noted that Puccini acquired at least five real estate properties between 1893 and 1921, to which should be added his birthplace in Lucca. On December 5, 1898, he bought an agricultural farm in the village of Chiatri for 12,500 lire (Puccini 2018, p. 254, note 1), which generated significant restoration and maintenance expenses for him. This is clear from a letter dated on the 13th of October 1903 that Puccini wrote to his friend Alfredo Caselli saying that the house cost him more than 100,000 lire. In the case of the Casa Torre di Lago, acquired in 1900, in his letter to the painter Nomellini dated February 5, 1903 (Puccini 2022, p. 151) he says that he has received the estimates of £4,700 for the work with some sides of the gallery in iron and glass from Martinelli and £4,200 without the sides from Barsanti. As regards means of transport are concerned, Puccini acquired bicycles, automobiles, and motorcycles. Regarding bicycles, for example, in 1893 he acquired a Humbler for 200 lire (Carner 1992, p. 75); in 1894 he bought a special Rudge model 94 bicycle for 800 lire (Puccini 2015, p. 298), a year later, he acquired a “Mary” brand bicycle in Milan for 425 lire plus 19 lire for the packaging and accessories (bell, rear light…) (Puccini 2015, p. 414). As for automobiles, from 1898 to 1924 he bought about 15 cars. In 1898—by then Puccini could be considered rich—he even bought a tricar (three-wheeled car) for 2,000 lire (Budden 2002, p. 188). Then, among others, a Dion et Bouton for 8,000 lire in 1901, a Phaeton-La Buire for 15,000 francs in 1907, a Fiat 501 for 21,000 lire

220

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín et al.

in 1919, a Lancia Trikappa for 9,000 lire in 1922, another car in the same year for 32,000 lire, and a Lambda in 1924 (Magri 1992, p. 89).9 In this context, it is worth mentioning the important automobile accident that Puccini suffered on the 25th of February 1903 on the route between Lucca and Torre del Lago. Puccini´s wife, son and the driver were thrown from the car when it skidded off the road and overturned. Elvira and Antonio had minor injuries and the driver broke his femur. But, Puccini, who was trapped under the vehicle pressing on his chest, suffered a major fracture in his right leg. This meant, in addition to the inconvenience inherent to the injuries received, significant medical expenses, which he complained about. Thus, in his letter of the 25th of June, 1903 to his sister Ramelde, he indicates that Novaro, the doctor he went to after his serious car accident, had told him that in three months he would be able to walk and he complains about the cost of the consultation: 1000 lire, which he considered outrageous (Puccini 2022, p. 260). He was even more indignant in the letter he wrote that same day to his nephew Guiseppe Razzi, in which he insisted on the amount he had to pay: “a one-hour visit 1,000 lire, what a son of a bitch! ( figlio d’un cane)” (Puccini 2022, p. 261). A few months later, in September 1903, he went to the consulting room of another doctor in Paris, Jean-Louis Faure, to have his leg treated. The bills were paid by Casa Ricordi: 3,000 francs for the month of treatment from September 25 to October 27 and 1,000 francs for the doctor’s visit in November (Puccini 2022, p, 328, note 3). Puccini bought several boats; the first, a Ricochet motorboat in 1895, and in 1907 he bought another one in the US for 500 dollars; in 1912 he bought the 13-m yacht Cio-Cio-San, named after the leading role in Madame Butterfly, with a power of 100 HP for 40,000 lire (Magri 1992, p. 90). He was very interested in the performance of motorboats, even rejecting in 1903 the purchase of a motorboat because it did not reach 13 km/h (Puccini 2022, p. 341). In addition to these consumptions, he also made others of a luxurious nature. He had tobacco manufactured for himself and for his wife. These cigarettes were branded “Puccini” and their manufacture was contracted when the composer and his wife went on a pleasure trip through Egypt in 1908 (Magri 1992, p. 88). He also smoked another brand made by the Italian monopoly, with a reduced nicotine level, which cost 90 lire for a box of 1,000 units. Finally, it must be added that Puccini complained about the taxes he had to pay. Basically, he referred to two. The first of them, the Imposta di ricchezza mobile (mobile wealth tax) that was established in 1864, was a special and personal direct tax consisting of a sworn declaration that taxpayers had to submit to the municipality where they resided, declaring all non-property income. Puccini complained about this tax on several occasions. In a letter to his nephew Giuseppe Razzi dated August 25, 1898, Puccini told him that he had been charged 20,000 lire, and that his claim has not accepted, and asks him whether there is anything he can do about it (Puccini 2018, p. 211). In a letter to Gulio Ricordi dated October 10, 1902 (Puccini 2022, p. 103) he complained about the “greed to collect taxes” since the municipality had 9

In addition to the cost of maintaining the vehicles, which was significantly higher than today´s, there was also to add the salary of the driver, as Puccini did not particularly like to drive.

10 Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss: The Economics of Music Up …

221

endorsed him 40,000 lire, “a real infamy”. On February 5, 1903, in his letter to Plinio Nomellini, a painter who was working on Puccini’s home in Torre di Lago, he told him that he had received the payment order of 700 lire every two months corresponding to that tax (Puccini 2022, p. 151). The second one to which he refers is the Tasa di famiglia, actually called Imposta di familia, established on the 6th of July 1868 by the municipalities and levied on each household. It was a generally progressive tax that tried to tax families residing in the municipality according to their wealth, taking as indicators the rent of the house, the luxury of the house, or the social position. Specifically, in 1910 he complained that he had to pay this tax to the municipality of Milan, just for the fact of living there only 4 or 5 months (Magri 1992, p. 85). Finally, his good financial situation also led him to take up gambling, especially in Monte Carlo. Puccini wrote to his brother-in-law telling him that on the 7th of January 1899 he would return (to Paris) via Monte Carlo, where he would try his luck. Two weeks later he wrote to a friend that he had lost 500 lire in the casino. In 1921 he went to Monte Carlo for the last time and lost. According to a letter to the Turandot´s librettist, Renato Simoni, the loss augmented to 12,000 lire (Magri 1992, p. 83). Gambling, too, was one of Strauss’s main diversions. In particular, he played Skat, very popular in Germany, which requires great skill. This allowed him, as he himself admits, to forget for a while about music, which was what absorbed him the most during the day, although he does not seem to have bet large sums (see, for example, Panofsky 1988, p. 210).

Conclusions Puccini earned a significant amount of money with his operas, which allowed him to live a life of luxury, buying cars, boats, etc. One might wonder if he was also greedy. There is no evidence that he had gestures of charity in the style of Verdi, who left money for charitable works or to erect an asylum for the neediest. Moreover, as mentioned above, 1898 can be considered as the moment in which Puccini reached a significant level of wealth, buying a tricar for 2,000 lire. Instead, he did not provide the bridging loan needed by his brother-in-law Franceschini, a tax collector for the Comune de Pescia, when one of his employees absconded with a significant amount of money. In addition, after the end of the First World War, unemployment increased in Italy and the rise of communism threatened to eliminate an increasingly impoverished bourgeoisie. Under these circumstances, Puccini was seen by many as a war profiteer. Del Fiorentino (1952, p. 194 cited by Budden 2002, p, 419) recalls that once, while Puccini was on the lake of Massaciuccoli, a fisherman told him: “this is now yours, but soon it will be ours”. In contrast to this behaviour, it should be noted, following Magri (1992), that Puccini carried out charitable works of a different nature. He gave money to his relatives, such as the monthly allowance he gave to his sister Nitteti when she became

222

M.-Á. Galindo-Martín et al.

a widow, or the help he provided to a distant relative, Clotilde Bertolacci. Also, in 1916 at the height of the war, he bought 100 lottery tickets issued by the Giornale d’Italia in favour of the wounded, whose prize consisted of a 500 square metre plot in Fara Sabina. Puccini kept 50 notes for himself and gave the rest to a charity in Viareggio. Puccini also helped the Lucca Children’s Asylum by giving him 5,000 lire on February 15, 1911. In short, Guido Marotti, a close friend of the Puccinis and possibly Puccini private secretary when his official secretary, Antonio, was not at home, says in his book that Puccini received many requests for help and that every month he gave 2,000 or 3,000 lire (Magri 1992, p. 99). Strauss, for his part, was considered a money grubber. Klemperer said that Strauss would not leave Germany for America, because in Germany there were 56 opera houses, while in America only two, and this would mean a significant reduction in his income (Kennedy 1999, p. 272). In the last years of his life, Strauss was very worried about his financial situation. The allies had confiscated his royalties and even the hotel in which he lived during his stay in Montreux was paid for by his publisher. In 1948 Strauss complained that, due to the confiscation, he did not have a cent to give as a tip. His scores were not valued. He considered that in peacetime he could sell three of his works for 1,000 dollars each, but that in the situation he found himself he would have to sell all three for 1,000 dollars (Kennedy 1999, p. 381). During the First World War he had also financial problems, since the English confiscated the 37,000 pounds that he had entrusted to Edgar Speyer, which were his savings from 30 years of work, leaving him broke (Strauss 2022, p. 90). This led him to focus on the defence of copyright, since he considered that it was the royalties that would allow him to survive in the event of a problem or retirement, since he could not count on a pension. Strauss did so during his time as president of the Reichskulturkammer to which he had been appointed by Hitler, a delicate point in the musician’s biography. However, it should be remembered that he was soon removed from the post by Joseph Goebbels (as was his vice-president, the conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler), after a letter from Strauss to his librettist Stefan Zweig was intercepted by the Gestapo, in which the former not only rejected any racial or völkische Weltanschauung, but also gave a neat declaration of his attitude towards money: Do you believe me that I have ever let myself be guided in any action by the thought that I am a Teuton [...]? Do you believe that Mozart consciously composed “Aryan” music? For me there are only two categories of people: those who have talent and those who don’t, and for me the people [das Volk] exist only at the moment when they become an audience. Whether they are made up of Chinese, Upper Bavarians, New Zealanders or Berliners is of no importance to me, as long as they pay the full box office price (Letter to Stefan Zweig, 17th of June, 1935, quoted in Gillian, 2014, 168).

He was also criticized on occasion for his management as conductor. For example, in 1922 the Vienna correspondent of The Musical Times pointed out that the State Opera was gradually deteriorating, becoming a place of entertainment for the wealthy classes, giving predominance to guest singers over the singers of the theatre and that,

10 Giacomo Puccini and Richard Strauss: The Economics of Music Up …

223

as far as contemporary composers were concerned, only works by Strauss himself, Puccini and Korngold were heard (Kennedy 1999, p. 220). But he was also interested in promoting German culture and sought the necessary subsidies for this, such as, for example, the 75,000 reichsmarks he got from Goebbels to expand Goethe’s house in Weimar (Strauss 2022, p. 112). He also obtained 150,000 marks for the foundation of a rest home for musicians (Strauss 2022, p. 115). On the 6th of September of 1949, Strauss, always keen to describe things and feelings as accurate as possible in music declared, after a short interlude of absence, on his deathbed: I’m not afraid of dying [...] I could compose everything I’m experiencing now—Actually, I wrote it 60 years ago [in Death and Transfiguration]. It’s quite right that way! (Gillian, 2014, p. 206).

Two days later, he had become his own music.

References Budden, J. 2002. Puccini. His Life and Works. Oxford University Press. Carner, M. 1992. Puccini. Duckworth. Cordisco Respighi, N. 2023. Giacomo Puccini. Bleu Nuit Editeur. CP. 1986. Carteggi Pucciniani, ed. Eugenio Gara. Ricordi. Del Fiorentino, D. 1952. Immortal Bohemian: An Intimate Memoir of Giacomo Puccini. PrenticeHall. Gillian, B. 2014. Richard Strauss: Magier der Töne. C. H. Beck. Kennedy, M. 1999. Richard Strauss. Man, Musician, Enigma. Cambridge University Press. Magri, G. 1992. L´uomo Puccini. Mursia. Panofsky, W. 1988. Richard Strauss. Alianza Editorial. Pernpeintner, A., and S. Schenk. 2020. Publisher and Editions. In Richard Strauss in Context, ed. M. Kristiansen and J.E. Jones, 284–291. Cambridge University Press. Phillips-Matz, M.J. 2002. Puccini: A Biography. Northeastern University Press. Pinzauti, L. 1975. Giacomo Puccini. Rai. Puccini, G. 2015. Giacomo Puccini. Epistolario I 1877–1896, ed. G. Biagi Ravenni and D. Schickling. Leo S. Olschki Editori. Puccini, G. 2018. Giacomo Puccini. Epistolario II 1897–1901, ed. G. Biagi Ravenni and D. Schickling. Leo S. Olschki Editori. Puccini, G. 2022. Giacomo Puccini. Epistolario III 1902–1904, ed. F. Cesari and M. Giuggioli. Leo S. Olschki Editori. Schickling, D. 2007. Giacomo Puccini. Biografie. Carus-Verlag Stuttgart. Seligman, V. 1938. Puccini Among Friends. Macmillan. Strauss, R. 2022. Moi, je fais l´Histoire de la musique, ed. C. Looten. Favard. Strauss, R., & Hofmannsthal, H. 1992. Correspondance 1900–1929, ed. B. Bandun. Favard. Wagner-Trenkwitz, C. 1999. Durch die Hand der Schönheit. Richard Strauss und Wien. Kremayr & Scherau. Warfield, S. 2010. Strauss and the Business of Music. In The Cambridge Companion to Richard Strauss, ed. C. Youmans, 242–255. Cambridge University Press. Zima, J.R. 2020. The composer. In Richard Strauss in Context, ed. M. Kristiansen and J.E. Jones, 172–180. Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 11

Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools to International Markets Pedro J. Galván Lamet and Daniel del Castillo Soto

Igor Stravinsky: “Let me say that I consider it’s a mistake to talk about “creating” art (...) as if it were contrary to selling art” (Stravinsky & Craft, 2013, p. 368).

P. J. G. Lamet (B) ESIC University, Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] D. del Castillo Soto UNIE University, Madrid, Spain © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 T. Baumert and F. Cabrillo (eds.), On Music, Money and Markets, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43226-2_11

225

226

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

Manuel de Falla: “I beg him, as I do to you now, in case it is possible for you to get me some little lesson, and if this is not easy, as I fear at most, some productive occupation, as a desk or store clerk. I am willing to work in anything” (Titos, 2008, p. 59)

The Modern Composer: Monk or Prophet? Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky were born only six years apart. From the birth of the former to the death of the latter 96 years elapsed. During that period, mostly in the twentieth century, profound transformations took place in the way classical music was managed. Both of them witnessed rapid changes in the production systems of high culture. Each composer faced those changes following different paths, Falla remained in tradition while Stravinsky moved to more radical innovation. The twentieth century was a turbulent one. Wars and revolutions had devastating consequences for both composers, even the Russian suffered an expropriation. They operated in an international market which was affected by the suspension of economic and legal relations between States. In the currency market there were devaluations and paralysations. The activity of publishing companies stopped, and there were alterations of property and copyright rights as well. Both, the Spaniard and the Russian, faced these adversities, despite their persistent health problems.1 Both were good managers and negotiators of their work, the most important fact being their ability to create a network of personal contacts that 1

Stravinsky suffered tuberculosis, typhoid fever, a severe liver infection and even died of cerebral thrombosis. Falla suffered from continuous illnesses, from stomach problems to lung problems, including tuberculosis.

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

227

supported them, replacing the non-existent institutional support in their respective countries. Our composers experienced the transformation of a cultural system that was based on the economy of the national, bourgeois, and aristocratic elites, to a nascent cultural industry. Integration into a consumer society was the goal. To this end, the media brought high culture closer to spectacle and mass entertainment. The nineteenthcentury modes of classical music production, based on the commissions of private patrons, the circuits of the great theatres, and the publishing of scores, still in force, turned towards the means of production of the entertainment industry with its new means of communication and reproduction. Radio was the beginning, the recording industry, television, and cinema came later. In short, a new cultural model with a new type of international artist emerged, which transcended national and even ideological borders (White & Martín Bermúdez 1989, p. 143). The internationality of Falla and Stravinsky had the same beginning in Paris and the same end in the American continent. Falla settled in Argentina due to the effects of the Civil War in Spain and the Second World War in Europe. He would die in Alta Gracia, a city in the Argentinian province of Cordoba. Stravinsky gradually moved away from his homeland, first because of his brilliant success, then because of the Great War and the Russian Revolution, which would ruin him. First, he adopted the French nationality, later he became an American, favoured by the situation of the Cold War. Once in New York, he devoted himself to a feverish activity to make a profit and sustain his long internal exile, until he died exhausted but rich and famous. Initially Paris was the centre of the musical market, the city welcomed both musicians because of the attractiveness of the origin of their music, Russia and Spain, countries that were still considered enigmatic by the European high culture. They had the same managers, businessmen, and publishers (Sopeña 1956, p. 21). They presented a relatively common proposal to renew their respective musical traditions with an attempt at the spiritual contribution of classical music to modern culture (White & Martín Bermúdez 1989, p. 233). This common starting point would evolve into two totally divergent artistic proposals after the Parisian experience. Falla and Stravinsky were friends and mutual admirers, they also had common economic interests. Their friendship is shown by their correspondence and the portraits they even exchanged. In 1929, Falla sent to the Russian composer a reproduction of a portrait with the following dedication: “To Igor Stravinsky, the ‘Chosen One’, with all my old and deep affection”. In reply, Stravinsky also sent him a reproduction of one of his own, thus dedicated: “Here you have, my dear Falla, my portrait in exchange of yours, which has given me immense joy”. Both portraits painted by Pablo Picasso (Nommick 2007). A year later, Stravinsky insisted on sending to Falla a photo from his childhood, and wrote: “To Manuel de Falla, whom this child adores with all his heart”. Falla always expressed his admiration for the Russian, proof of this is the opinion he reflected in an article written by him in Spain.2 He considered him the prophet of the new spiritual music. Stravinsky, on his behalf, declared a condescending, though 2

Falla, M. “El gran músico de nuestro: Igor Stravinsky”. La Tribuna. 5th of June 1916, p. 27.

228

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

sincere appraisal of the music of the Cadiz born composer (Stravinsky 1936, p. 84). However, he described him as “intolerant, ultra-shy and humourless, but the most fervent of my musician friends” (Craft 2003, p. 76). The Spanish musician lived an austere life. He was catholic, chaste, discreet, and hardworking, with a mixture of asceticism and romanticism. Regarding Stravinsky’s life, his biographers coincide in their description of his life. His temperament made him provocative and eloquent, with a hypnotic appearance (Boucourechliev, 1987, p. 169). His lifestyle was intense and emotionally tumultuous (Predota 2021). Triumphant avant-gardist, gambler, and heavy drinker are some of the adjectives that describe a magnetic and chameleonic artist, precursor of postmodern art (Boucourechliev 1987, p. 248). According to his official biographer, he led an itinerant life framed by the love of sex, whiskey, and money, a creative life full of extraordinary encounters with musicians, poets, painters, dancers, directors, and businessmen (Craft 2003, p. 191). The economic management of both artists had coincidences and differences. Meticulousness and concern for business details were common to both. In their approach to business and expenditures they were different. Falla based his management on prudence, saving and tradition. Stravinsky was not austere, and would push the commercial limits of his profession, offering his own celebrity as a worldwide commodity. It is well known that Manuel de Falla kept strict control of his accounts. It is possible that this was due to the difficult circumstances he had to face in his youth as his family went bankrupt. The Spaniard did not squander although he was generous in almsgiving and charitable works (Sopeña 1988, p. 137). As a negotiator, he was demanding in the conditions of his agreements. One of his objectives was always to guarantee a minimum of quality for the execution of his works. His beginning had the support of the Spanish caciquismo.3 His triumph in Paris led to interest in his work in Spain. But one of the keys was that he surrounded himself with a small group of trustworthy friends. They collaborated with Falla in his administrative and financial dealings and put him in contact with artists and patrons of the European elite. Thus, the combination of his seriousness with money, his network of personal relationships, and his success in London and Paris provided him with financial stability. Igor Stravinsky, on the other hand, started from a more favourable artistic and material environment. Nevertheless, he experienced economic ruin and precariousness at some points in his life as well. The Russian understood his work as a modern profession, his professional activity went beyond the simple composition of works, extending to commercial management and the promotion of his celebrity, the symbolic capital.4 This was his priority. Far from the austere character of Falla,

3

Originally a common practice in rural Spain, it consisted of using a landowner’s position to influence the votes of his tenants and employees. 4 Concept defined by sociologist Pierre Bordieu that refers to the value given to a person or object by a social group.

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

229

Stravinsky was cosmopolitan and diverse in his style and interests. A strong personality allowed him to form a dense network of relationships of all kinds: great writers, Hollywood stars, great thinkers, and artists. His collaborators varied according to the needs of the new and diverse projects. Technicians, instrumentalists, dancers, choreographers, conductors, librettists, etc., would be part of this network of relationships. Due to the development of all this he also needed permanent assistants and secretaries. The best known was Robert Craft, biographer and musician, who got to be his personal assistant, almost an adopted son, and who lived with the Stravinsky couple for a time. As an artist he would reinvent himself several times until he arrived in the USA where he became a naturalized citizen in 1940, going so far as to say that he would like to be known as a “Californian composer” (Cross 2015, p. 178). He became the most famous and profitable composer of the twentieth century, as his friend Picasso had done in the painting world. His financial work, inspired by his businessman friend Diaghilev, consisted of exploiting this fame in every possible way. Unlike Diaghilev, he had great control over his business. Many of the letters deal with routine business matters. The composer was constantly preoccupied with the details of a commission, and sometimes changed his mind even after he had already accepted an offer. (Joseph 2001, p. 197)

He lived his last stage obsessed by the profitability of his work and not so much by his expenses because he liked to live well and stay in luxury hotels but at the same time, he deducted any small bill. Stravinsky’s avarice, as well as his extreme and, in some cases, unpredictable generosity, towards those around him, is proverbial, and he is the first to laugh at it. There is not a piece of thread that he does not carefully guard nor an unused stamp that he does not remove, he does not answer a stranger if the letter does not come with postage, and a whole voluminous correspondence can be sent to claim an overdue debt, however small it may be. (Boucourechliev 1987, p. 261)

Regarding the analysis of the economic life of the two authors, we have consulted different sources. For Manuel de Falla, we must highlight the excellent work of Titos Martínez5 on the Spanish musician. In the case of Igor Stravinsky, we have documented ourselves through his diaries, memoirs, and by numerous biographers.

5

In this magnificent study, Música y finanzas (2008), Titos Martínez makes a detailed analysis of Falla’s economic life.

230

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

The Assault on Paris: Anti-Bohemian or Avant-Garde? Manuel de Falla (1876–1946) came from a Cádiz family6 with Catalan ancestry. At first the family had a comfortable economy. But due to the mismanagement of his father they began to have financial problems until they almost went bankrupt. The losses were 65,000e/20237 in a ten-year period (Titos 2008, p. 23). The Falla family had to move from Cadiz to Madrid in search for a solution to their difficult economic circumstances. In 1897 they had to regularly visit the Montes de Piedad 8 in the capital. They had to pawn all their belongings -even pawning their pawned tickets again-. The limit of the situation reached a limit point when in 1910 they had to settle an accumulated a grocery bill with a carpet (ibid., pp. 42–44). In this difficult environment, Falla continued his training with the classes he received from the influential Spanish musicologist Felipe Pedrell.9 A good friend10 of the family paid for the classes. These difficult circumstances conditioned his attitude towards thrift and his ascetic and charitable spirit. He imitated his father’s meticulous habit of meticulously recording all monetary movements, first in his youth in a disorderly manner and then rigorously throughout his career (ibid., p. 45). Falla, like any musician of his time, had few options for earning a living: giving piano lessons, writing a work that could be popular and profitable (ibid., pp. 42– 44), winning a prestigious competition, or succeeding in Paris. In a first attempt between 1899 and 1905, Falla wrote five zarzuelas,11 but without any success. Then he entered the competition organized by the Academia de San Fernando which in 1905 promoted Spanish opera. He obtained the first prize with the work La Vida Breve (Fernández Shaw 1972). The prize included the possibility of performing the work at the Teatro Real in Madrid, but it was not possible due to problems that arose between the public and the theatre managers (Sopeña 1976, pp. 38–39). Due to these obstacles, he was forced to move on to Paris. There he did succeed and acknowledged “if it were not for Paris, I would still be buried in Madrid, my first prize would be in a frame and my opera in a closet” (De Márquez 1968, p. 43). Unlike Falla, Igor Fyodorovich Stravinsky (1882–1971) had a brilliant start. His father was a well-known opera singer with a recognized career and a certain economic 6

Originally from Cadiz, an Andalusian coastal city in southern Spain with a great tradition of popular flamenco music. 7 The amounts in pesetas describing Manuel de Falla’s finances have been updated to 2023 euros. Many of the amounts have been taken from the book by Titos Martínez (Titos 2008) where he presented them in pesetas updated to 2007 in great detail. Our conversion to Euros 2023 will have a rounding that we believe will not imply a loss of relevant information for the reader. 8 The montes de piedad were institutions that existed in Spain similar to the pawnshops managed by the church and that did not charge interest and were laxer in terms. 9 Felipe Pedrell (Tortosa, 1941—Barcelona, 1922) was a Spanish musician and musicologist, who laid the foundations of Spanish musical nationalism around flamenco. He was also a teacher of the musicians Granados, Albéniz and Turina. 10 Melquiades Almagro a wealthy family friend. 11 The zarzuela is a form of theatrical music or stage musical genre that originated in Spain. It distinguishes by containing instrumental, vocal, and spoken parts.

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

231

stability. However, the relationship with his son, according to the artist himself, lacked affection.12 A key event in the musician’s life was that he interrupted his law studies thanks to advice from Rimsky-Korsakov, who was to become his teacher and mentor. He also told Stravinsky to avoid studying at the conservatory. Rimsky-Korsakov guided his first steps towards professionalization by encouraging him to participate in musical evenings in St. Petersburg where he would meet his first publishers: Belajeff, Jurgenson, and Kussewitzky (Boucourechliev 1987, pp. 29–35). But the most important fact that took place in there was that he was heard for the first time by Sergei Diaghilev. This happened in 1909. The music promoter chose the young man to make his debut in Paris, beginning a collaboration that lasted for years and from which Stravinsky would learn how the music business worked (Lindlar 1995, pp. 10–11). The Parisian experience was for both musicians a positive one. Being in Paris at that time was the only way to get in touch with the international network of managers, publishers, and artists that formed the select group of the music market. It was a place with lavish parties, open to the world with modernity as its identity. The buzzwords were “advanced” and “anti-romantic” (Siohan 1983, p. 27). In Paris their works were seen as novelties from a peripheral Europe (Martínez del Fresno 2016), and at the same time of this, both evolved in style.13 Both musicians managed to conquer Paris, and felt it as a second homeland, Falla as an anti-bohemian (Sopeña 1956), Stravinsky as an avant-gardist. In 1907 Falla arrived in Paris encouraged by the Spanish musician Joaquín Turina.14 He was a complete stranger, shy and self-conscious about his premature baldness. With the support of relatives and Spanish musicians living there, he stepped aside from the avant-garde eccentricities in vogue. Very different was Stravinsky’s landing in Paris in 1910, as enfant terrible of Diaghilev’s hand, which guaranteed him an immediate and dazzling success, and which led him, in time, to become a French citizen in 1936. Falla survived in Paris with a “discreetly precarious” economy (Titos 2008, p. 386) In 1908 his expenses were approximately 1500e/2023 per month. Among his expenses, the amounts for tobacco and hygiene goods and the piano rent stand out. His professional beginnings were very hard, giving poorly paid lessons and also working as a pianist in a puppet show. At times, he had to draw upon food coupons published in newspapers by food brands as a source of nourishment (ibid., p. 50). In 1908 he received financial aid from the Spanish crown, after being recommended

12

We highlight the similarity of both biographies, on the one hand, in the figure of the nanny as a child transmitter of native folklore as it was the case of the Morilla—a gypsy who took care of Falla—on the other hand Bertha, Stravinsky’s beloved lover. 13 According to Nommick and El influjo de Felip Pedrell en la obra y el pensamiento de M. de Falla. Recerca Musicológica, XIV–XV, 2004–2005, p. 292) Falla “will especially learn to use all the great resources of the modern orchestra and will considerably enrich its harmonic resources”. 14 Joaquín Turina (Seville, 1882—Madrid, 1949) Spanish musician representative of musical nationalism who studied and developed part of his career in Paris.

232

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

by the Spanish pianist and musician Isaac Albéniz.15 The amount was 5,000 euros/ 2023 per year, but this amount was not continual. He met great musicians who would endorse his work. In 1909 he was recommended by Debussy and Ravel to release his Cuatro piezas españolas and finally received an amount equivalent to 1,200e/ 2023 (ibid., pp. 53–54). The following year he released Trois mélodies published by Rouart Lerolle et Cie. The Junta de Ampliación de Estudios16 denied him a scholarship. Falla found support in his maternal uncle Pedro Jaime Matheu, who lent him money to travel to his concerts in London in 1911, as well as inviting him to lunch many times (Sopeña, 1988, p. 55). These first successes would allow him to send money to his parents. It would be in Paris where he also met his economic advisor and personal friend Leopoldo Matos.17 In Paris he reinforced his habit of controlling all his expenses, for this he kept the matrices of the check books (ibid., p. 14). At this stage Falla began his contacts with European publishers. First, the Italian publisher Ricordi18 (ibid., p. 57) was interested in his work and offered him a libretto inspired by that of the Álvarez Quintero brothers,19 but they did not reach an agreement. The publisher would later comment that “it is the first time I offer a contract and they discuss it with me”. A verbal contract was also agreed with the English publisher Max Esching for the rights to the work in exchange for a fixed salary and insurance on the royalties to be collected (Titos, 2008, p. 57). At this time Falla began to be aware of the economic value of his work. This gave him more confidence to negotiate and demand better conditions. Falla became a professional musician in Paris. In those years this would have been impossible in Spain, the composer himself said: “to publish in Spain is worse than not publishing, it is as if throwing music into a well” (De Márquez 1968, p. 43). Falla and Stravinsky met in Paris in 1910. It was the Russian’s first visit to the city for the premiere of The Firebird. They shared a network of contacts. Two people are essential to understand how contracts and commissions were obtained in those years in Paris: the Princess of Polignac, Winnaretta Singer,20 and Sergei Diaghilev.21 Winnaretta Singer devoted much of her economic empire to supporting artists, musicians, and writers. She commissioned works from both musicians, although she had a predilection for Stravinsky (Siohan 1983, p. 120). Her parties and artistic

15

Isaac Albéniz (Comprodon, 1860—Cambo-Les-Bains, 1909) was a Spanish musician trained in Belgium with great success in Paris as a virtuoso pianist. 16 Was an institution created in 1907 to promote the scientific research and education in Spain. 17 Leopoldo Matos (Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, 1878 - Fuenterrabía, 1936) was a conservative monarchist lawyer and politician. He served as minister and financial advisor, who was assassinated in the Civil War. 18 The Italian publisher Ricordi also acquired the rights to the unfinished Atlántida during his Argentine stage. 19 Spanish playwrights of popular success. This commission had previously been offered to Puccini. 20 Heiress to the Singer sewing machine empire, she was a prominent patron of artists. 21 Considered the inventor of modern entertainment.

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

233

evenings in Paris and Venice were famous (Sopeña 1988, p. 124).22 At these events, good contacts were made to access business opportunities. Sergei Diaghilev was a prestigious promoter of musical performances. Both musicians benefited from working closely with the Russian promoter because of the boost they received from the international exposure this visionary provided. Diaghilev’s prominence came in this way, because being an artistic entrepreneur is the only way of life in which an amateur becomes a protagonist of art (ibid., p. 24). His conception of spectacle and music anticipated the new modes of production of high culture. A new vision, aesthetic coherence, and the unity of painters and musicians were his main contributions. He was able to bring together the classical tastes of the elite with the innovations of the modern avant-garde and promoted a new type of audience. Diaghilev activated the commercialization of his works all over the world (Stravinsky & Craft, 1959, p. 47).23 Arguably, Diaghilev made possible the beginning of two musical careers that would not have had the same outcome if they had remained trapped in their restricted domestic markets of Russia and Spain. However, not everything was perfect with Diaghilev. Both Falla and Stravinsky suffered from the financial shenanigans, stinginess, and wastefulness of their manager. Regardless this fact, for Stravinsky, Diaghilev was more than a manager since he was his discoverer and at the same time an older brother who offered him “a blank check to make his dreams come true” (Sopeña 1956, p. 25). The collaboration lasted twenty years, during which the artistic, emotional, and economic tensions did not stop (Lindlar 1995, pp. 99–100). According to Vera, Stravinsky’s second wife, the only opinion that mattered to the musician was that of Diaghilev. This was because the impresario had an extraordinary intuition for success. There were quarrels over money and professional jealousy. These situations complicated this intense and creative relationship. An example of those disputes was when in 1909 the Moscow Free Theatre commissioned the opera The Nightingale from Stravinsky. Diaghilev had completely ignored this work as it was the first major work Stravinsky had produced outside his influence. But the impresario realized his mistake when he knew that the theatre had agreed to pay Stravinsky 10,000 rubbles,24 a huge sum of money for the time. Diaghilev was furious because he could have had this opera for free and get the business (Stravinsky & Craft 1959, p. 61). From Diaghilev, Stravinsky would learn the music business. He would learn how to control the production, selecting his collaborators, synthesizing ideas, connecting artists, and ensuring the cohesion of the ensemble. This knowledge would be helpful later in his career in the United States. Stravinsky’s great preoccupation with money prompted Diaghilev to say ironically that the last two letters of his friend Igor’s name were OR—gold in French (White & Martín Bermúdez, 1989, p. 55). 22

“Salon de la Polignac” brought together, without a doubt, the most outstanding of the artistic and literary musical “avant-garde” of Paris (…) Winnaretta was interested in the modern Spanish school music. It was there that Albéniz’s Iberia was premiered. Among the audience Falla, was rather stunned by the celebrities (Gibson, 1985). 23 Diaghilev had not so much good musical judgement as an immense gift for recognizing the potential for success of a piece of music or a work of art in general. 24 490.000e/2023.

234

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

The Collapse: Nationalist or Stateless? The Great War caused the dismantling of the cultural world in Europe. Festivals, concerts, operas, ballets, recordings and performances stopped, and royalty income ceased as well. The international component of the sector was severely damaged. Paris was at war, Falla would return to the archaic Spain and Stravinsky would begin his long period of statelessness. Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes dissolved, and the Russian tandem took refuge in Switzerland, in a difficult financial situation. In addition, Stravinsky had spent a lot of money to bring his mother from Russia. The income generated by his property in Russia rarely covered his family’s needs (Siohan 1983, p. 73).25 The first time Stravinsky assumed the role of conductor would be in Geneva in a performance of The Firebird. During the Swiss stage, his protector, the Princess de Polignac, visited him and commissioned an opera, Renard. Diaghilev would be in charge of putting it on. The musician accepted the commission for 2,50026 Swiss francs and another 12,00027 went to Diaghilev to make the premiere a reality (Boucourechliev 1987, p. 183). This fact produced a confrontation between the two, since Diaghilev considered the amount charged by the musician disproportionated in relation to the total of the operation (Stravinsky & Craft, 1959, p. 61). The impresario disowned the musician’s ambition and autonomy. In his own words: Our Igor, always money, money, money, and for what? This Renard is nothing more than some old leftovers he found in his dresser drawer. (ibid., p. 108)

The first publisher to come to Stravinsky’s rescue was a Geneva concert pianist, Adolphe Henn,28 who in 1917 published Renard even though the work had not yet been released.29 It was in this Swiss stage where the Russian composer began to develop his economic activity outside Diaghilev. He would do so by reinforcing his negotiating power vis-à-vis publishers, something he would repeat years later in the framework of the negotiation with Bessel’s Russian firm. The composer himself recalled this negotiation: I remember fighting over money with Bessel, who said that we demanded too much (...) Moussorgsky30 only received a fraction of what he asked for. I replied that precisely because they had given Moussorgsky nothing, and because they had managed to starve the poor fellow to death, that was reason enough for them to give us more. (Stravinsky & Craft, 1959, p. 66)

25

The family consisted at that time of Stravinsky himself, his wife, his four children and his mother. 40.000e/2023. 27 192.000e/2023. 28 Adophe Hess (Geneva, 1872 - Geneva, 1955) was a Swiss publisher, son of an instrument maker (1872–1955). In 1896 he published works by Swiss musicians, among others. 29 Walsh, E. Web Chester https://www.wisemusicclassical.com/composer/1530/Igor-Stravinsky/. 30 Modest Moussorgky was a Russian composer who represented the romanticism during the second half of the nineteenth century. 26

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

235

Meanwhile, Falla returned to Madrid without resources and with problems generated by the international situation. For example, relations with the publisher Max Esching were interrupted, perhaps because the agreement was verbal. Falla had already received an advance from this publisher in July 1914 to compose an opera and was later informed of the interest in continuing with some of his works such as Amor Brujo or Canciones populares. They had also offered him, while living in Paris, 5,000 euros/2023 for the rights to the Nocturne, something Falla rejected because he considered the amount too low and because he was not in financial difficulties at the time. Nonetheless, in Madrid the situation was different.31 Falla had to ask urgently his friend and counsellor Matos for help to support his family, which consisted of himself, his parents, and his sister. His friend lovingly replied, “my wallet is yours”. Matos, using his contacts, obtained official aid for the musician based on fictitious conferences and reports, which Falla only signed.32 (Titos, 2008, pp. 65–69). The situation changed at the end of 1914. La vida es breve was finally released at Teatro de la Zarzuela. Falla demanded fair royalties and decent performances and a minimum number of performances (ibid., 64).33 The Spanish aristocracy also mobilized to support him. In 1919 The Duque of Alba34 brought together a group of aristocrats to create a fund35 for the musician. Spain’s neutrality during the Great War activated cultural life and the country received numerous intellectuals and musicians. Stravinsky left for Madrid in search of Diaghilev, who was arriving in Spain from a tour in the United States (Boucourechliev, 1987, p. 126).36 The moment they met, the musician greeted him as a brother (White & Martín Bermúdez, 1989, p. 49). They visited El Escorial and Toledo together Which left Stravinsky impressed by the closeness of Spanish and Russian mysticism (Siohan, 1983, p. 78). It was also in Madrid where Falla resumed contact with Stravinsky and Diaghilev, since in 1916 they performed in the Spanish capital The Firebird and Petrusshka. The impresario wanted a show with Spanish music and suggested to Falla that it would be based on Noches en los jardines de España. Thus, they undertook a journey through Andalusia (Titos, 2008, p. 67). The aim was to capture ideas and atmospheres for the staging. This work would never be released as a dance performance, but as a work for piano and orchestra. Falla, on his behalf, set out to create a ballet based on 31

The situation reached such a point that Falla even offered to work as a shopkeeper (Titos 2008, p. 59). 32 The reports covered the following topics: music education, French music, modern orchestra, creation of classes for the conservatory of musical technique, the teaching of harmony and composition. He also charges for three non-deliver lectures, for which he only has to obtain the certificates in order to be able to charge them. 33 A minimum of 30 performances in Madrid and 50 in the provinces. 34 Jacobo Fitz-James Stuart Falcó (Madrid, 1878—Lausanne 1953) XVII Duke of Alba. 35 The amount was e20,000/2023, which he would receive in monthly payments of e1,300/2023 (Titos 2008, p. 69). 36 Diaghilev and his ballet had travelled to the United States in 1916 without Stravinsky, despite requesting to direct at the Metropolitan.

236

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

his work El corregidor y la Molinera, although it would take him two years to finish it. Diaghilev first commissioned Falla to compose Pulcinella and gave him Pergolesi’s melodies as inspiration (Pahissa 1956). Notwithstanding, Falla, immersed as he was in the composition of the ill-fated Fuego fatuo, had to reject the commission. Diaghilev then passed the job on to Stravinsky, who was apparently unaware that the proposal had initially been offered to Falla (Titos, 2008, p. 82). Falla wanted to consolidate this artistic triangle in 1917 by inviting Stravinsky on a trip through different Spanish cities, with Diaghilev, Massien, and the dancer Félix Fernández. The Russian was unable to attend. After two years of work, Falla released El sombrero de tres picos in 1919. It was launched in London with great success,37 with the collaboration of Picasso. Surprisingly, Falla would no longer receive royalties in England that Diaghilev should have sent him for this work. Falla chose not to claim those royalties (ibid., pp. 151–152). Perhaps the Spanish musician understood the relevant contribution of his promoter, beyond mere monetary profitability. In 1919 in London, Falla sold to Chester House for 1,000 English pounds38 the publishing and performance rights of the following works: El sombrero de tres picos, Amor brujo, El retablo de Maese Pedro and Le printemps de Psyché. However, Falla retained the recording and stage rights (ibid., pp. 72–74). His French publisher also paid him at the end of the war, 20,000 euros/2023. It is in 1920 when economic stability began for Falla. His international image began to consolidate in Paris, and he launched Noches jardines de España and El sombrero de tres picos with Diaghilev. He regularized his relationship with the Escher House39 and began relationships with different European publishers, rigorous monitoring his copyrights. This policy would lead him to harmonize the different interests and conflicts between his publishers and the Spanish Society of Authors. Falla managed to get the publishers Chester and Esching to assign by mutual agreement the representation rights each of them held. For these negotiations he counted on the collaboration and advice of Matos (ibid., p. 74). From 1920 onwards, in order to avoid the devaluation of the francs he received from his French publisher, he exchanged them for pounds, which he sent to Spain in monthly transfers. On the other hand, the money collected from Chester, in pounds, about 53,000e/2023, would be delivered and guarded by his counsellor friend. In 1924 Matos was very scrupulous with the administration of the money that Falla had put in his hands, and he sent him 5% interest on the amounts he kept, sending him the corresponding interest until 1928. In 1926 Matos recommended some investments in securities. Finally, the advisor sent Falla 55,000 euros/2023, paid back in liquidation of recording rights and the money he administered (ibid., 37

Falla was unable to attend the London premiere because a telegram informed him that his mother was dying. 38 40.000£/2023. 39 In 1928, Falla offered his work Concierto para clavichenvalo to Esching, his French publisher, as a gesture of loyalty.

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

237

p. 126). From then on, and until 1928, economic relations between the two were infrequent. Stravinsky’s economic and personal situation would be marked until his death by a new shock. The Russian Revolution in March 1917 plunged him into great agitation and an “instinctive revulsion” (Siohan 1983, p. 80). With the rise to power of the Bolsheviks, his properties in St. Petersburg and Ustilug were expropriated. It also affected him that the United States and Russia had not ratified the Berne Convention on copyright,40 his scores were not properly protected in the United States (White & Martín Bermúdez 1989, p. 54). Moreover, in this complicated context, the deaths of his younger brother Guri, and his nanny Bertha, the only people in his family whom he loved, added an emotional burden to his already complicated economic situation. Stravinsky travelled to Rome to see Diaghilev again, where he would also meet Picasso, whose conversations and example would inspire him to start, years later, on his path to celebrity. To cope with his financial situation, Stravinsky decided to create a small travelling musical show to animate Swiss musical life. With the support of Winterthur’s patron, Werner Reinhart, and his generous endorsement (Siohan 1983, pp. 87–88). He was able to compose A Soldier’s Tale41 in 1917. This work would later inspire Falla in his composition El retablo de maese Pedro. The connection between the two musicians is reflected in the following anecdote: Falla told his friend Arthur Rubinstein in 1918 that his Russian friend was bankrupt. Therefore, the famous pianist commissioned two piano works, one from Stravinsky who wrote Piano-rag-music (1919) and the other from Falla who composed Fantasia Baetica (1919) (Nommick 2007). The difficulties led Stravinsky to develop his entrepreneurial and negotiating skills. He negotiated with Blaise Cendrars for the publication of Ragtime (1917–1918) at the Parisian publisher Editions de la Sirène,42 but by 1918, Stravinsky was already seeking a safer contract with a more important publisher. In 1920 he premiered The Rite of Spring in Paris, with the financial support of 300,000 francs43 donated by his lover Coco Chanel (Boucourechliev 1987, p. 152). To diversify and increase his income, he became a conductor and performer in 1921, conducting Petruchka for Alfonso XIII at the Teatro Real in Madrid (Lindlar 1995, p. 14), and from that moment on his tours would multiply (Siohan 1983, p. 118). It would be in 1922 when he decided to be the interpreter of his own works, since the fees received by the great interpreters were equivalent to a commission for the composition of a long work. Interpretation would become his main income source during his long career (Boucourechliev 1987, p. 169). He also signed a six-year contract with Pleyel to record piano versions of his major works on pianola rolls 40

The Berne Convention was established in 1886 to protect literary and artistic works and the rights of their authors and to control who, how and under what conditions these works would be used internationally. 41 The conception of Manuel de Falla’s El retablo de maese Pedro (1923) is directly linked to the figure of Igor Stravinsky. Princess Edmond de Polignac commissioned Falla to create a work on the model of Stravinsky’s Renard (1915–1916). 42 Walsh, E. Web Chester https://www.wisemusicclassical.com/composer/1530/Igor-Stravinsky/. 43 42.000e/2023.

238

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

(Siohan 1983, p. 14). This was also the time when he met Vera Sudeikina, who would become his mistress and second wife. His first tours as a conductor would take place in 1924 in Europe, in Belgium, and Spain. As an interpreter he would play in Denmark, Poland, Holland, Germany, Switzerland, and France. The following year he made his first tour of the United States (ibid., 173) and signed his first contract with the Brunswick label.

Consolidation: Friends or Partners? In this new stage, the two musicians would devote themselves to the management of their financial affairs through a diligent epistolary activity which they found difficult to cope with, given its quantity and complexity. Falla would do it from his affordable home in Granada.44 Stravinsky, after living ten years in Switzerland, would do it from France where he settled in 1920, and where he became a naturalized citizen in 1936. Exceptions aside—such as some trips to Europe—Falla was prudent in the management of his assets (Titos, 2008, p. 18). Falla scrupulously guarded his rights as a creator, causing frequent tensions with his publishers, who believed they were paying too much money and wanted to review their agreements, an attitude that outraged the artist from Cadiz (ibid., p. 116). The musician would respond to his musical commitments in Europe and Spain, and made an effort to promote Andalusian music, but he was not very successful. He organized a Cante Jondo contest45 in Granada. He was also participated in the founding in 1923 of an Andalusian orchestra, La Bética. By then, Falla was a pillar of Spanish culture, creating a centre of musical and literary interest46 around him. With his influence, he secured financial backing47 for his disciple Ernesto Halffter48 (ibid., p. 210). Thanks to the correspondence with his two best financial advisors, the aforementioned Leopoldo Matos and the banker Rodríguez Acosta, we can see his bank movements and the management of his financial affairs between 1926 and 1935. The former was fully confident that the situation would remain stable for Falla. The bad times have passed, and you are already in the desired balance of needs and means, precursor of the triumphant ecstasy that I see clearly in you every day. (ibid., p. 116)

44

In 1921 Falla moves to live in Granada for 80 pesetas per month (230e/2023). The cante jondo is a vocal style of flamenco music. 46 Federico García Lorca y Rafael Alberti, among others. 47 One thousand pesetas paid from the pocket of the Duke of Alba in monthly instalments of 800e/ 2023. 48 Precocious Spanish musician, disciple of Falla and responsible after the latter’s death for the completion of his work Atlántida. 45

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

239

With the establishment of the Republic in Spain in 1931, Falla opened an account at the Comptoir National d’Escompte in Paris with 40,000e/2023 (ibid., pp. 164– 169) which was cancelled in 1938. In addition, in 1936 he bought French Treasury bonds at 5% with an investment of 30,000e/2023, which he had to sell in 1937 at the request of the Spanish government due to the decree law of that year that limited the holding of foreign currency, losing 3,300e/2023. It does not seem that these operations were aimed at speculation, but rather a search for diversification and profitability of long-term savings (ibid., p. 271). He transferred what was left to his account in Granada, which had been slowly dwindling since the Civil War. He also opened another account at Banco Rodriguez Acosta with a balance of e14,000/2023 from an advance on his work Atlantida. He withdrew from the bank fortnightly or weekly the money strictly necessary to meet his controlled expenses. This habit would support him for the rest of his life, even in Argentina (ibid., p. 158). The expenditures from 1929 to 1939 in the Rodriguez Acosta Bank account had the following proportions: 63% in house expenses, rent, food, medicines, donations, clothing, 29% in purchase of securities and maintenance of the accounts, and 8% in miscellaneous transfers. Stravinsky was characterized by a complex and ambiguous economic management in his relationship with his publishers. Changes in property and copyright jurisdictions in the European context conditioned his exploitation. In addition to a constant compositional activity to satisfy his commissions. The greatest difficulties arose, as we know, from his earliest and most famous works. The rights to The Firebird and Petrushka were sold to Russian publishers Jurgenson of Moscow and Russian Editions respectively. Problems began when, after the Russian Revolution, Jurgenson was nationalized, but his German office continued to function and, without informing the composer, he sold the rights of The Firebird to Robert Forberg’s publishing house in Leipzig. In 1922 the musician sold the publishing rights to the London publisher Chester.49 This prompted Folberg to sue Chester. Chester lost. Later in 1933 a Mainz publisher, Schott, who had bought the rights from Forberg, made an agreement with Chester so that he could distribute the work in a restricted territory. It seems that Stravinsky acted in this way out of anxiety to recover the rights to his work, since he could not get anything out of them.50 Stravinsky’s income came from commissions for new works, especially in the United States. He explained his strategy: The trick is to choose the commission yourself, compose what you want to compose, and then have it commissioned.

In 1929, the composer received commissions from Boston Symphony Orchestra and in 1931 the publisher Willy Strecker, director of the Schott house, commissioned him to write a violin concerto. In 1933, Ida Rubinstein offered him $7,50051 for the opera 49

Walsh E. Stravinsky biography https://www.wisemusicclassical.com/composer/1530/Igor-Stravi nsky/. 50 Russia, as mentioned above, had not signed the Berne Convention. 51 175.000$/2023.

240

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

Persephone, the same amount he was paid for The Fairy’s Kiss. Stravinsky, interested in how to monetize his concerts, composed Duo concertante in 1935 to perform with his son Sviatolav Soulima-Stravinsky. In 1936, Lincoln Kirstein of the American Ballet and his patron Edward Warburg commissioned Card Game and another work for the anniversary of the founding of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. He also had some very eccentric commissions. Rake’s progess, which was commissioned by a wealthy heir who was an fond of art, on the condition that he himself would be present during the piano performance and could act as a live critic (Boucourechliev 1987, p. 223). This rapprochement with the United States was reinforced by the cold reception his works received from the French public. But above all because of personal crisis caused by a series of personal losses and internal conflicts that ended up pushing his career towards America. This crisis had already begun in 1929 with the death of Diaghilev, which left him a great void. In addition, his internal conflict over his double life with his first wife and his mistress Vera Sudeikina. Yet, it was in 1938 when his emotional situation worsened: his wife and his eldest daughter Ludmilla died of tuberculosis, and he was admitted to a sanatorium for five months. His mother died the following year. Under these difficult circumstances, he received a proposal to give lectures at Harvard University,52 and live in the United States for a year in 1939–1940 (ibid., pp. 213–214). The economic offer was tempting, $10,000.53 The offer included all kinds of benefits, teaching in French, time for his concert tours. The Russian accepted and did not return to Europe.

American Exiles Both musicians lived the last stage of their lives in the American continent. This was common among artists and intellectuals fleeing the war. Argentina was Falla’s destination, Stravinsky’s was the United States. In 1939 Falla had no job in post-war Spain. His view of the Argentine opportunity was the following: My income is very meager and I take advantage of this happy occasion to compensate myself a little for my current economic situation. (Viniegra and Lasso 1989, pp. 64–65)

Falla died in 1946 in an economic situation that could be described as “foreseeing austerity”. Stravinsky, bewitched by the financial opportunities offered by Hollywood and the United States, decided to transform his career and make his name that of a world celebrity. The musician became a tireless promoter of himself and his music, exploring each and every one of the commercial capabilities of his fame. He died rich, twenty-five years after Falla. 52

Lectures prepared with his collaborators, Pierre Souvtchinsky and Roland-Manuel, an editorial work on conversations with Stravinsky published as Poetics of Music. 53 220.000$/2023.

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

241

The situation in Spain pushed Falla to move to Argentina. The context of violence and terror that the Civil War conflict brought with it affected him. The attacks on the Catholic Church, the loss of personal friends like Leopoldo Matos and artistic friends like Federico García Lorca, are some examples. Economic and health problems did the rest since “he began to feel like a ghost in a world that had died” (Titos, 2008, p. 287). Under these circumstances, in 1939, the Institute of Spanish Culture of Buenos Aires invited Falla to visit Argentina. The outbreak of World War II confirmed his decision to leave Europe. He left for Buenos Aires with little less than e5,500/ 2023. On the ship he received a telegram from Franco’s government offering him a life pension of more than 40,000e/2023 per year. Falla replied that he preferred to postpone it. Although he needed it because as soon as he arrived in Argentina, he asked for an advance on the concerts he had booked, which in total meant an income for the composer of 100,000e/2023 (ibid., pp. 299–301). His income was limited to what he obtained in Argentina because the income that he was supposed to receive from Europe by way of royalties was blocked by the war, and also his health prevented him from properly attending to these matters: Owing to the lack of help [...] and on account of continual illnesses, I have abandoned many of my own interests of an economic nature, to the great satisfaction of my publishers.54

Falla’s relationship with European publishers came to a standstill and Spain did not send him money because the Spanish Institute of Foreign Currency did not authorize it, since this implied the use of foreign currency that “the government wants to reserve for the needs of the country”.55 The Society of Authors in Argentina proposed to him in 1943 to take charge of the administration of his interests in the world, but he preferred to avoid it by keeping a certain distance (ibid., pp. 349–350). Falla’s situation was complicated, his accounts in Argentina marked 1,300 pesos in one of them56 and an overdraft of 175 pesos in the other.57 Jaime Pahissa,58 using a pseudonym, described this situation in an article in the Madrid newspaper Arriba. It was then when Falla was authorized to send a thousand pesos59 on account of his frozen royalties in London, Paris, and Spain (Casanovas, 1976, p. 62) The musician thus received 25,000 euros/2023, but he himself requested that these payments be suspended so as not to spend all his savings in Spain, which were estimated at 250,000 euros/2023. This paradoxical situation could be explained by Falla’s intention to return to Spain and also to spare his sister an uncertain future (Titos, 2008, p. 356). Falla’s tight economy motivated the Franco regime to try to attract him and his international prestige. Nonetheless, Falla, regarding the Franco regime, acted with a 54

Publicaciones del Archivo M. de Falla. Granada 2008, p. 340 refers to a letter of Falla to Segismundo Romero. 55 Publicaciones del Archivo M. de Falla. Granada 2008, p. 348. AMF folder 9152 Letters from Joaquín Guichot, 9-VII-1940. 56 5500e/2023. 57 750e/2023. 58 Jaime Pahissa (Barcelona, 1880—Buenos Aires, 1969) was a Spanish musician, author of the first biography of Falla. 59 4300e/2023.

242

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

certain ambiguity, accepting some honours such as the Gran Cruz de Alfonso X el Sabio and rejecting others such as that of Honorary Advisor of the Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, as well as the Presidency of the Institute of Spain (see the Appendix). He used his ministerial contacts to help his friends, Miguel Salvador, sentenced to death, and Rivas Cherif,60 who was in jail. In 1946 he was once again promised financial comforts, “he is offered everything he desires: travel expenses, a comfortable house in Spain, a pension, and whatever he needs to live in peace and be able to work as he pleases” (ibid., pp. 369–371). Falla resisted, citing health reasons and political instability in Europe. After Falla’s death his sister María del Carmen inherited approximately 350,000e/ 2023 in liquid assets, but there was no real estate, just some furniture kept in a convent (ibid., pp. 379–380). In 1947 a debate began about Falla’s fortune, arguing that he died rich and insinuating that he was a miser, since it was claimed that he had 1.8 million euros/2023 in his possession. Titos argues, after his exhaustive investigation of the musician’s accounts, that this amount does not correspond to reality. It is estimated that during his life in Spain between 1929 and 1939 Falla spent around 2,400e/2023 per month. In Argentina, despite his difficult situations in different years, his average expenditure amounted to e3,300/2023, which indicates that his situation was not opulent but far from poverty (ibid., pp. 380–386). Perhaps his assets would have been greater if he had not rejected millionaire contracts in North America, such as the refusal of a blank check to Paramount for the film adaptation of Amor brujo, or the Retablo. In that sense, his demonstrated interest in putting the quality of his work before its commercial use made him miss opportunities to earn more money. As we have seen, it does not seem that Falla had a great fortune and therefore his charitable character must be valued. He had a daily charge for alms which gave him a feeling of satisfaction. Falla wrote to his friend Matos: What makes me most happy [...] is that I can and will be able to alleviate at least a little bit as many and as urgent other people’s needs as I find.61

In his will he left a part for the support of the Catholic Church, masses for his soul and his deceased. Stravinsky’s economic reaction to his new American context was radically different from that of Falla. He was especially anxious (Joseph, 2001) to prosper in the years immediately following his immigration to the United States. He felt cheated by Europe and was eager to be compensated by Hollywood: He chose to play the American game in order to integrate, he chose to continue to make a living from his music instead of asking for government or private subsidies as was the old European style (Boucourechliev, 1987, p. 223). 60

Cipriano Rivas Cherif (Madrid, 1891—Mexico 1967) was a Spanish playwright and brother-inlaw of Manuel Azaña, who had been President of the Spanish Republic. 61 Publicaciones del Archivo M. de Falla. Granada 2008 send to AHLP Photocopy in Amf folder 7265/2 Letter from Manuel de Falla, 30-III-1929.

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

243

In 1945 Stravinsky became an American citizen. The Russian musician possessed “a rare gift for seamlessly switching between the worlds of high culture and pop culture” (Joseph, 2001). Stravinsky needed to be a public figure, to be accepted, even to be popular, and he was. Thus, when he arrived in the United States, he underwent a transformation to become a real businessman. One of the Russian’s favourite pp. phrases was a quote from Charles Dickens “people should not be shocked that artists want to make money” (ibid., 3–4). When a priest asked him if he considered himself rich after winning the $18,000 Sibelius Prize,62 Stravinsky replied: “I may be rich, father, but I am very miserly.“ The musician laughed at his own greed, peeled off obsolete stamps, kept pieces of thread, would not answer a letter to a stranger if it did not contain an envelope with the return postage (Boucourechliev, 1987, pp. 261–262). In the 1940s Stravinsky began his path to become a celebrity, surrounding himself with occasional friends, especially with movie stars and directors. His name began to sell itself. The musician commented that more than one producer promised him huge amounts of money just for allowing his name to be used in music written by someone else (Joseph, 2001, pp 102–105): I was even offered a hundred thousand dollars63 for a movie soundtrack, and when I refused, I was told that I would receive the same amount if I allowed someone else to write the music on my behalf. Still, I like to negotiate with movie people, as they rarely try to hide their motives by saying artistic nonsense. They want my name, not my music. (Craft, 2003, p. 179)

Stravinsky wanted to collaborate with the seventh art because his economy needed quick income (Boucourechliev, 1987, pp. 183–222). But also, in the cinema he encountered the well-known problems of copyrights. Disney offered him 5,000 dollars64 to use a retouched version of his Consecration of Spring, to which he never agreed. The request was accompanied by polite news informing him that if he did not agree it would be used anyway. The composition had no recognized copyrights in the United States, being registered only in Russia (ibid., p. 99). We know that Falla was also tempted by Hollywood. Moreover, to use La danza del fuego -for a short film- they offered him 30065 dollars, an amount that his intermediary Iriberri managed to increase to a thousand66 but the maestro refused. After Falla’s death, his sister Carmen was informed that Don Manuel had authorized the operation for 2,00067 dollars and the film Carnegie Hall was distributed a year after his death. One strategy of Stravinsky’s in America was to take advantage of what he had already composed, reusing it in a kind of creative economy. Examples of this are: a score for a film about Nazis in Norway that became Four Norwegian Impressions, another about Russians became Sherzo a la Russe, and Bernadette de Lourdes became Symphony in Three Movements. 62

300.000$/2023. 2 million/2023. 64 110.000$/2023. 65 5.000$/2023. 66 17.000$/2023. 67 44.000$/2023. 63

244

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

The Dali-esque eccentricity that Americans seemed to expect from such a genius also had its place. He composed a polka for an elephant, the Circus Polka, a commission he would only accept if the elephant was young (ibid., p. 170). Another income source came with the definitive solution to rescue the author’s copyrights to his most famous works. In 1945 Ralph Hawkes visited him in Hollywood representing the international publishing house Boosey and Hawkes Ltd.68 The publisher proposed to make a new version of these works with some changes, and then register them under a new Boosey and Hawkes Ltd copyright. Stravinsky accepted and signed an exclusivity contract with this publisher for all his future works, and a lifetime pension contract (Lindlar, 1995, p. 19). After an agreement that guaranteed a sufficient income, Stravinsky developed a frenetic activity centred on himself in different lines of business (Joseph, 2001, pp. 197–198). From record production to the exclusive sale of his original scores. Among them, the television production of his works. He would take advantage of the American trend that existed in those years in the promotion of television as an audiovisual medium. How to turn us all into intellectuals is the challenge of television, the great art had to be present for the whole nation. Stravinsky’s name had an important cultural weight and an unappealable slogan “the world’s greatest living composer”, if his music was valued enough to be broadcasted in the living room, better to sit down and listen to it. Stravinsky “was well aware of the potential of this young industry”. He was a fan of television, often watching sitcoms, animal shows, and just about anything that was funny (ibid., pp. 138–139), especially westerns, as well as mediocre films (ibid., p. 106). As for the recording industry, in 1925 he had signed an exclusive contract with Columbia New York whereby he was to record his compositions as a pianist and as a conductor exclusively every year (Stravinsky, 1936, p. 113). In 1953 this contract was extended for all his works (Lindlar, 1995, p. 15). Stravinsky saw his recorded output as a studying document and not as a substitute for live audience (Boucourechliev, 1987, p. 193). For Stravinsky, editing texts and books was an important component of the dissemination and promotion of his work, but he rarely wrote them himself, always relying on collaborators, editors, and proofreaders. In the United States he was more aware of the importance of interviews, prepared for any question from the media, and knew how to give intelligent, if not fake, answers on the spot.69 In the United States the musician realized that he had to take control of the news and hoaxes that impacted negatively on his reputation. For this reason, Robert Craft became his “official” biographer as a source of proven truthfulness in everything related to his figure. The idea was that instead of wasting time with interviews full of mistakes or inopportune questions, he would record his own conversations during the tours, the first recordings volume was published in 1956 (White & Martín Bermúdez 1989, p. 116). The Stravinsky-Craft tandem was also able to assume a greater productive capacity for 68

With offices in London, New York and Berlin. Lee T. Stravinsky’s sophisticated poetics and polemics (1900–1945) Dr. T. Patrick Carrabré Brandon University 4-15-2015 p1.

69

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

245

the Stravinsky label, as Craft could assume almost the entire management functions of the business. Stravinsky strove to market his original scores. Coveted for their meticulous execution and graphic quality, they fetched exorbitant prices almost in the manner of the great painters, although he sometimes had difficulty finding buyers willing to face his prices. In an unpublished letter from 1950, the publisher Broude Brothers, who had to return several of the composer’s scores, informed him that a buyer could not afford the prices Stravinsky had set for Persephone ($7,000),70 Mavra ($4,500)71 (Joseph, 2001, p. 197). Finally, we will talk about the Stravigor. It was a gadget with a special marker for drawing pentagrams in a single stroke. This made it possible to draw musical notes on any paper, and at the same time create a fetish object, which could also be sold (Siohan, 1983, p. 93). His fame was demonstrated by several facts. He was on the cover of the Times in 1948 and Newsweek magazine in 1962 (Joseph, 2001, p. 2). Modifying the national anthem got him arrested (Boucourechliev, 1987, p. 224). In 1962 he was received by President Kennedy, and that same year, he was invited to the USSR by Khrushchev. In 1965 two films about him were shot. But his fame went beyond the terrestrial realm, he was elected intergalactic emissary of the planet Earth, with his Sacrificial Dance from Le Sacre du printemps, which is on board the Voyager spacecraft (Joseph, 2001, p. 15). ∗ ∗ ∗ The art world is a network of relationships between people whose cooperative activity produces artistic works (Becker, 2008). Each artist works at the centre of this network of collaborators, whose participation is essential. The works are not the product of individual “artists” with a rare or special gift, but the consequence of the collectives of people who cooperate in that field. Given the historical circumstances that both musicians went through, they were forced to build a network of personal relationships to sustain their economic management, replacing national and international institutional support, which was repeatedly interrupted. They faced very similar backgrounds, world wars, and civil wars in their countries of origin. They faced them differently, but both of them achieved their goals, regarding Falla it was a quiet life, on Stravisnky’s behalf living several lives. From local, fragmented publishing houses, they gradually moved to a market made up of international publishers and major media and record labels. His adaptation to the changes experienced by the music sector was different, the Spaniard chose a country twinned with Spain. Stravinsky, however, ended up working in the leading country of the world economy, witnessing the birth of the new model of consumption that would later spread throughout the so-called Western world. Falla created a network of close friendships with politicians, bankers, and artists, which allowed him to develop his musical work in an artisanal and quiet way. He 70 71

90.000$/2023. 60.000$/2023.

246

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

faced setbacks in a defensive manner, adapting to them in a constant way that allowed him to maintain sufficient status and comfort. Falla would be buried under the crypt of the Cathedral of Cadiz with tints of sanctity, and under a clear epitaph, Soli Deo Honor et Gloria (Only to God honour and glory). This type of traditional fame and the network that supported it were very different for Stravinsky, who also had an important network of relationships, but these were mutating according to the needs of each moment, to the point that it was commonly said: “Stravinsky cultivates and exploits his allies” (Hamilton, 1984). The world of music in the United States and culture had changed, thanks to a new mass public, which had access to art through technology and its new forms of publishing -television, cinema, discography-, which boosted the cultural industry. As we have seen, the Russian musician needed to expand his network of influences, from personal friends and secretaries to artists and collaborators of all kinds. As he broadened his styles and media, his collaborators became more specialized, due to new artistic challenges or new media in which his work was distributed or communicated. Thus, he expanded his network of contacts until he entered the world of stars and celebrities. In the face of setbacks, Stravinsky doubled the bet, to convince a planetary public and then become a popular celebrity, similar to those in cinema or rock. He created a new category linked to self-promotion (Joseph, 2001, p. 2) As a summary of his trajectory during his lifetime, “Stravinsky and his associates traded […] to turn Stravinsky into a celebrity called ‘Stravinsky’” (Cross, 2015, p. 191). A star as a mark does not die. His remains rest—next to those of his wife—in Venice, and close to those of his compatriot, friend, and business-partner Diaghilev.

An Appendix for Spanish Readers: Manuel de Falla and the Exchange Rate of the Peseta Juan Velarde Fuertes72 In 1868 a new currency was created in Spain, the peseta, which would be the base of its monetary system until the country’s integration into the Eurozone. In its origins the peseta was linked to the Latin Monetary System. This was formed by France, whose currency was the franc; Italy, with the lira, and a series of neighbouring countries with different currencies, but exactly the same as far as their silver and gold content was concerned. And all these countries applied similar economic policies, as if it were a first European Monetary System. But for trade and investments relations with Great Britain and other countries it was also necessary to take into account the value of the peseta in terms of gold.

72

Professor Juan Velarde Fuertes (1927–2023) passed away shortly after delivering his contribution to this book which is reproduced here in a slightly shortened form by kind permission of his family.

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

247

After the third, and final, Carlist war73 ended in 1876 industrialization accelerated in the country. And with the help of the Spanish territories of America—Cuba and Puerto Rico—and Asia—the Philippine Islands- foreign investment went up in Spain. Growing economic relations with the United States and a certain imitation of Germany’s policy forced the question of the exchange rate of the peseta in relation to other currencies to be raised frequently. Later, the arrival in Spain of capital from Cuba and the Philippines, after Spain lost those territories in 1898, and the advantages that the country obtained from its neutrality in World War I produced an influx of gold and foreign currency, which significantly increased the reserves of the Bank of Spain. Debate then began about the effects of the international value of the peseta in the functioning of the Spanish economy. The measures adopted by minister Cambó on private banking in the early 1920s and the possibility of rediscounting debt securities in the Bank of Spain provided liquidity to the Spanish economy and the country’s economy grew at a good pace. If in 1922 the GDP per capita was the equivalent of today’s 3,595 euros, the same variable had grown in 1929 to today’s 4,436 euros. But at that time the international economic crisis broke out, which in Spain coincided with a serious political conflict that would lead to the end of the monarchy and the establishment of a republic in 1931. In the international markets there was a sharp fall in the value of the peseta against gold, the pound, and the dollar, one of the causes of which was the high deficit of the public sector. In the economic and political debates of the time, discussions about the economic crisis and the international value of the peseta were mixed, and attempts were made to find a solution to both problems. In 1929 the Minister of Finance, José Calvo Sotelo, commissioned the most prestigious economist of the country, Antonio Flores de Lemus, to chair a committee that would prepare a report on the relevance of the exchange rate of the peseta in the Spanish economy, the result of which was the well-known report on the implementation of the gold standard in Spain.74 A few months later, in 1930, came to Spain J.M. Keynes, accompanied by his wife, the beautiful Russian dancer Lydia Lopokova, who some years earlier had visited the country as a soloist with the famous Russian Ballets. In this trip Keynes talked to another well-known Spanish economist, Luis Olariaga, who was well acquainted with banking and the English financial system from having lived and worked in London for several years; and that had already met Keynes in 1922 at the Genoa Conference, where the situation of the international monetary system after the World War I was discussed. It seems that Olariaga and Keynes discussed the main problems of the Spanish economy. And Olariaga published in the newspaper El Sol an article presenting the views of the British economist on the international crisis and the problem of the exchange rate of the peseta (Baumert & Caro Casana, 2010). Keynes said that, in those initial moments of the crisis, the depreciation of the peseta facilitated Spanish exports and generated a boost to economic growth. For this reason, he 73

The Carlist Wars were civil wars that took place in Spain from 1833 to 1876. Dictamen de la Comisión nombrada por Real orden de 9 de enero de 1929, para el estudio de la implantación del patrón de oro. Madrid, 1929.

74

248

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

believed that it would be a mistake to raise the international value of the peseta. But, if the depreciation of the Spanish currency were so large as to generate inflation, this policy should be changed and the international price of the peseta should be raised, using the gold reserves of the Bank of Spain. Keynes added that selling that gold to raise the international value of the peseta was not like selling some of the magnificent paintings in the Prado Museum, which the country should never part with. An issue, by the way, that arose during the Spanish Civil War of 1936–1939 when some politicians on the Republican side came to think about the possibility of selling paintings by Velázquez, Murillo, or Goya to finance the acquisition of war material abroad. When the article on Keynes’s views was published there were reactions against his ideas. In El Diario Universal, the newspaper of the Count of Romanones,75 it was said: “We already have another Drake here who is coming to steal our gold.” The idea that the peseta should not be devalued was widespread. Manuel Argüelles, Minister of Finance and Economy in 1930 stated that his objective was to raise the international value of the peseta. But the economic situation did not help him. In August 1930, when there was a sharp depreciation of the currency, he assured the king that things would improve quickly. But the data showed the opposite. And eventually he had to resign. The issue was the subject of national debate. And, according to what Pedro Sáinz Rodríguez—who became Minister of Culture in Franco’s first government—told me, Franco himself, a few years before the start of the civil war, was in favour of devaluing the peseta, arguing that this could increase the income of many people. We know that Franco was a reader of El Sol; but we have no evidence that he read Keynes’s statements. It is possible that he did. Years later, when he was already Head of State, Franco published, under a pseudonym, several articles with clearly pro-Keynesian arguments in the newspaper Arriba. After the end of the civil war in 1939, José Larraz was appointed Minister of Finance. During the war Larraz had been in charge of restoring financial order in the nationalist zone; and one of the policies he adopted was to raise as much as possible the value of the “national” peseta, both against other currencies and against the “republican” peseta. This was not only an economic strategy, but also a military strategy, since it made more difficult for the government of the republican zone to buy war material abroad. As Finance minister, Larraz was also in favour of a high international price of the peseta. Among the Spanish intellectuals and artists there was a deep division because of the war, some favouring one side and others the other. One of the supporters of the national side was the music composer Manuel de Falla. In 1938 the Institute of Spain was created, which brought together the Royal Academies. And it was decided that, due to his great artistic merits, its first president would be Manuel de Falla. But the composer was not in the country at that time. Because of his extensive international

75

Alvaro Figueroa, Count of Romanones, was an influential Spanish politician three times prime minister from 1912 to 1919.

11 Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky: From National Schools …

249

activities, he travelled widely abroad, especially to Latin America; and so he never came to take office. When I was president of the Institute of Spain, I found a letter from Falla to Larraz, written from Buenos Aires. In it, the composer indicated that he was willing to transfer to Spain a significant amount of money, which he had obtained outside the country thanks to his copyrights, concerts, records, and lectures. But he pointed out that, if the official exchange rate of the peseta were applied, this would imply a substantial reduction in his economic well-being; and for this reason, he asked that the exchange rate applied to his remittances were not the official one, but the world market rate. I was able to see a note from Larraz in which he said that no privileges should be granted to Falla, because every good Spaniard should accept Spanish law. The result was that Falla got angry and never returned to Spain. Only in 1946 his corpse was repatriated. Years passed and Spain completely changed its monetary policy and unified exchange rates. Over time it joined the euro zone. For this reason, the danger that something similar to what happened to Manuel de Falla could happen to any Spanish artist disappeared. If he had been able to see these reforms, Falla would surely have dedicated some of his works to the great Spanish economist Ullastres and the great international economist Per Jacobsson, who in 1959 managed to erase forever the goal of seeking a high international price for the peseta.76

References Becker, Howard S. 2008. Los mundos del arte: sociología del trabajo artístico. Buenos Aires: Prometeo Libros. Boucourechliev, André. 1987. Igor Stravinsky. Madrid: Turner Música. Casanovas, José. 1976. Manuel de Falla: Cien años. Barcelona: Nuevo Arte Thor. Craft, Robert. 2003. Conversaciones con Igor Stravinsky. Alianza editorial. Cross, Jonathan. 2015. Igor Stravinsky. London: Reaktion Books. De Márquez, Suzanne. 1968. Manuel de Falla. Barcelona: Labor. Fernández Shaw, G. 1972. Larga historia de “La vida breve”. Revista de Occidente. Hamilton, David. 1984. The Business of Composing. New York Times, January 5. Joseph, Charles M. 2001. Stravinsky Inside Out. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Lindlar, Heinrich. 1995. Guide to Stravinsky. Madrid: Alianza editorial. Martínez del Fresno, Beatriz. 2016. El alma rusa en el imaginario español de la Edad de Plata (1914–1923). Cuadernos de Historia Contemporánea 38. Nommick, Yvan. 2007. Falla y Stravinsky: Una amistad hispano-rusa. La opinión de Granada, January 14. Nommick, Yvan. 2007. Diaghilev, Falla y los Ballets Russes. La opinión de Granada, July 7. Pahissa, Jaime. 1956. Vida y obra de Manuel del Falla. Buenos Aires: Ricordi. Predota, Georg. 2021. Igor Stravinsky. Interlude. March 3. Siohan, Robert. 1983. Stravinsky. Barcelona: Antoni Bosch. 76

Alberto Ullastres was the Spanish Minister for the Economy from 1957 to 1965. Per Jacobsson served as the managing director of the IMF from 1956 to 1963. Both economists played an important role in the reforms of the Spanish economy carried out in 1959.

250

P. J. G. Lamet and D. del Castillo Soto

Sopeña, Federico. 1956. Stravinsky. Madrid: Sociedad de Estudios y Publicaciones. Sopeña, Federico. 1976. Manuel de falla y el mundo de la cultura española. Madrid: Instituto de España. Sopeña, Federico. 1988. Vida y obra de Falla. Madrid: Turner Música. Stravinsky, Igor. 1936. Chronicle of My Life. Buenos Aires: Sur. Stravinsky, Igor, and Craft, Robert. 1959. Conversations with Igor Stravinsky. New York: Doubleday & Company Inc. Stravinsky, Igor, and Craft, Robert. 2013. Memorias y comentarios. Barcelona: Acantilado. Titos Martínez, Manuel. 2008. Música y finanzas. Biografía económica de Manuel de Falla. Granada: Publicaciones Archivo M. de Falla. Viniegra y Lasso de la Vega, Juan J. 1989. Vida íntima de Manuel de Falla. Madrid: Sociedad general de autores españoles. Walter White, Eric, and Martín Bermúdez, Santiago. 1989. Stravinsky. Barcelona: Salvat. Baumert, Thomas, and Caro Casana, Jerusalén. 2010. De maestro a Maestro: Luis de Olariaga entrevista John Maynard Keynes, pp. 617…626 in Perdices de Blas, Luis, and Baumert, Thomas. La hora de los economistas. Madrid: Ecobook.