Page:A Dictionary of Music and Musicians vol 4.djvu/343

VOGLER. of the first class. In return for these honours and emoluments he was not expected to perform any duties, or to take part in the opera unless at the performance of one of his own works. The Duke thought himself well repaid by the mere presence of such a celebrity.

Here then, at last, this musical Odysseus found a resting-place. Here he opened his last and most successful Tonschule; and in the remaining six and a half years of his life became very fond of the dull old town. It contained, in fact, everything necessary to make it a haven of rest. The accusations of charlatanism that he had so often combatted down to 1802, at any rate did not penetrate to Darmstadt. The musicians of the place held him in honour; he was surrounded by admiring and brilliant pupils, and his vanity rejoiced in the sunshine of Court favour. When the old love of change returned on him he could vary his routine of teaching and composing by short trips in the neighbourhood. Munich and its organs were a favourite haunt, especially in autumn. In 1810 he visited Frankfort, Mayence, Hanau, and Offenbach, with Weber, and made another visit to Frankfort for the production of his pupil's opera 'Sylvana' on Sept. 17. Two years later he journeyed through Munich to Vienna, where it was noticed that he 'preserved his long acknowledged mastery' of the organ. He employed himself in composing for stage, concert-room, and church, and his best work, the Requiem, was the occupation of his last days. On May 4, 1814, his friend Gottfried Weber visited him on passing through Darmstadt and remained till mid-day on the 5th. The Abbé was as lively and genial as ever. The two friends analysed music together, and talked of the principles of art and especially of music. Vogler expressed his hopes of being permitted to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of his ordination. The following day (May 6), at half past four in the morning, the old musician died of apoplexy. He was buried on the evening of the 7th, quietly, amid tokens of respect and grief from those who knew him, from his old scholar, the Grand Duchess, downwards. Wherever one of his numerous pupils was to be found, the intelligence came like a heavy blow, for it announced the loss of a musician zealous for his art and of a man devoted to his friends.

Vogler was short in stature, and latterly became corpulent. His arms were of great length, his hands enormous, and his general aspect has been described as that of a large fat ape. His singular character was strongly tinged with vanity, and not without a touch of arrogance. He delighted to array himself in his purple stockings and gold buckles, with his black silk ecclesiastical mantle and the grand cross of the Order of Merit given him by the Grand Duke of Hesse. He would take his prayer-book with him into society, and often kept his visitors waiting while he finished his devotions. Beneath his quaint exterior lay remarkable mental gifts, a great insight into character, and a powerful memory. Nor were his egotism and affectation without counterbalancing excellences. He was always anxious to avoid a quarrel, ready to acknowledge the merits of brother artists, and to defend them, even if they had opposed him, provided their music was good. The civility which he showed to Mozart is in marked contrast to Mozart's behaviour towards him. Moreover, his vanity did not blind him to his own defects. He was well aware that harmony, not melody, was the department in which he excelled. 'Had I your flow of melody,' he said to Sterkel, 'and you my science, we should be both great men.'

An enthusiastic contemporary calls him 'an epoch-making man.' The expression is too strong, but as a musical iconoclast Vogler certainly did excellent service. His incessant attacks on the pedantic methods of musical instruction and systems of harmony in vogue, and on the old methods of organ-building, were often extravagant and untrue, as, for example, the statement that Bach did not know what a chorale was. But all reformers are betrayed into exaggeration, and such utterances must not make us overlook the benefits that flowed from his demolition of musical fetishes. His attacks on rooted prejudices stimulated not only his pupils Weber and Meyerbeer, but acted indirectly on a wide circle.

As a composer it was his aim to retain the simple and severe beauty of the old church music and yet enrich it with the wealth of harmony at the command of modern music. He was thus most happy in his treatment of a canto fermo. He brought to this task a facility in vocal counter-point gained in the ecclesiastical schools of Italy,