 Section 35 of Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The World's Story Volume 7, Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland, edited by Eva March Tappar, Section 35. Handle, the Master of Oratorio. 1685-1759 by LB Urbino. George Frederick Handle was born in 1685. His father, a physician and surgeon of reputation, meant to have a lawyer son and had no sympathy with the boy's love of music. The Duke of Sax Wiesen felt, however, fortunately chance to hear him play on the church organ, and was so pleased with his ability that he persuaded the unwilling father to let his son study music. At the age of 26, Handle became chapel master of the Elector of Hanover. Somewhat later, he paid a visit to England, and did not keep his agreement to return promptly. When the Elector became George I of England, Handle was in disgrace with him, but he was restored to favour. At length, he became chapel master to the Duke of Shandos. It was then that he composed his magnificent anthems and organ fugues. In 1741, he brought out the Messiah, his masterpiece. It is said of his work that, in boldness and strength of style, and in the combination of vigor, spirit and invention in his instrumental compositions, he was never surpassed. His choruses have a grandeur and sublimity which have never been equalled. He died in 1759 and was buried in Westminster Abbey. The Editor Great in all the branches of his art, Handle is the real creator and perfecter of oratorio. Handle's rapidity in composition and creative power have seldom been reached, never surpassed, although every one of his grand oratorios shows an individual formation and collective characteristics which seem to have required most careful consideration. Handle was of a noble and commanding appearance. His face was handsome and he wore an expression of tranquility and mildness which strongly contrasted with that extreme violence in his character of which we have already made mention. One day, when the singer Cusoni refused to sing an air of the opera Othon, Handle seized her by the arm, dragged her to a window and threatened to throw her into the street if she obstinately refused to sing what he required. A poor, terrified woman uttered cries of despair and promised to sing whatever he desired. Librettists who presumed to make changes in the text without the master's consent were treated in the same rough manner as the interpreters of his music. Aside from this defect and some inclination for strong drink, the life of Handle is one of the purest that can be cited as an example to artists. While the extraordinary number of his compositions with which he enriched the church and the theatre is without doubt a sign of a wonderful facility in composition, it is also a striking proof of a regular and well-ordered life. Such a continuation of labour is incompatible with habits of dissipation and disorder. Handle considered his art a sort of priesthood, therefore that he might devote himself to it unreservedly, he remains single. His intimates were three particular friends, a painter named Goopy, a pupil named Smith, and a dire by the name of Hunter. Besides these, he received few visitors. He kept a loop from social gatherings with as much care as most artists seek them. Certain people of London finding that he sedulously refused all invitations to visit used to say of him, he is a bear. Be that is it may, this bear has left us masterpieces which he would in all probability not have done if he had sacrificed his time to the frivolous amusements of social life. Handle left seven manuscripts to his secretary. These manuscripts fell into the hands of a bookseller in Bristol and sold them to a Frenchman, Monsieur Victor Schlurcher, the esteemed author of a life of Handle. The Messiah, though written in London, was intended especially for Dublin where it was performed on April 13, 1742 to a large and enthusiastic audience. The proceeds amounting to £400 were given to the poor. One Sunday Handle asked the organist of a country church where he had attended divine worship to permit him to play the people out to which he readily consented. But the people were so attracted by his music that instead of vacating their seats they remained until the organist losing his patience told Handle that he could never play them out for they would stay in as long as he played. In the year 1738 alone Handle produced Saul, Israel, Dryden's Ode and the 12 Grand Concertos, works of different character and each of which was enough to establish the glory of a composer. While in Chester on his way to Ireland, Handle was detained by contrary winds. Wishing to employ this delay in trying his new music he sought for someone who could read music at sight. A house painter named Janssen was pointed out as the best the town afforded. Poor Janssen made such a bungal of it that the composer, purple with rage, cried out you scoundrel did you not tell me that you could sing at sight? Yes sir replied the astonished Janssen but not at first sight. Upon this Handle burst out laughing and the rehearsal proceeded no further. When Handle's Messiah was first performed the audience was much affected by the music but when the chorus struck up for the Lord God Omnipotent in the Alleluia they were so transported that they all, even the king who was present started up and remained standing till the chorus ended. The Messiah alone brought into the funds of the Foundling Hospital London no less than $10,299. We are told that Handle set more value on the oratorio of Theodora than any of his other works. Bernie says in 1749 his Theodora was so unfortunately neglected that he was glad to give orders for admission to any professors who did not perform. Two of these gentlemen, having afterwards applied to Handle for an order to hear the Messiah he cried out oh your servant, Mein Heron, you are a tamponal tainty. You would not come to Theodora, there was room enough to dance there when that was performed. This dear Theodora remained mysteries of his heart although she never brought him anything but an empty house. When a friend regretted that house was so poor Handle said, never mind the music will sound the better. One evening Mr Fontaine and Handle were walking together in Marlebon Gardens while the orchestra was playing. Come Mr Fontaine said Handle, let us sit down and listen to this piece, I want to know your opinion of it. They sat down and after a while Mr Fontaine turning to his companion said, it is not worth listening to, it's very poor stuff. You are right said Handle quietly, I thought so myself when I had finished it. Dr Quinn says, no man ever told a story with more effect but it was requisite for the hearer to have a knowledge of French, German, Italian and English, all of which languages he used in his narratives. Had he been as great a master of English as Swift his bon-mose would have been as frequent. It is stated that an old manager of a London theatre seeing at a rehearsal that the horn players were quiet asked them why they did not play. On their answering that they were counting their rests the indignant manager explained, rest indeed I pay you to play not to rest so either play up or go away. When the diploma of a doctor of music was offered to Handle he refused it, being asked why he did not take his degree. He replied, what the devil I throw my money away for that which the blockheads wish, I know want. In his will Handle bequeathed all his manuscripts his harpsichord and organ to Christopher Smith one of his pupils. Smith afterwards became attached to the household of George III who granted him a pension from his own privy purse presenting it with his own hands to Smith who was then growing old. Smith touched by the king's kindness offered a present which was more than royal. He gave to George III all Handle's manuscripts, the harpsichord and the marble bust made by Rubellac. Such is the origin of the Handelian collection at Buckingham Palace. End of section 35. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Helen Mapstone in Oxford, England. Section 36 of Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland. This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. The World Story Volume 7. Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland. Edited by Eva March Tappen. Section 36. The Unwritten Overture of Mozart. 1756 to 1791 by Herbert Rau. The great composer Mozart was born in 1756. He was an infant prodigy and at the age of five was composing music that even the most skillful performers found difficult to execute. Before he was 14 he had played at various courts, had published numerous sonatas and symphonies, and in Bologna had been elected Member and Master of the Chapel of the Philharmonic Academy. This was only the beginning of his work and his honors. Symphonies, sonatas, operas, concertos and masses marked by novelty and richness followed in rapid succession. Even the great expectations aroused by his marvelous boyhood were not disappointed. He has been called the Raphael musicians because his life, like that of Raphael, was so short and so full of accomplishment. He died in 1791, the editor. Venice, the ancient city, the pearl of Italy, everyone knows, but only those who have lived in Prague are acquainted with Little Venice. It is an island in the Moldau and belonged at the time of which we write to a company of sharpshooters of Prague. On certain days, all through the summer, they held meetings here and shot at a target for prizes. They had, moreover, excellent music on such occasions, so that Little Venice was a favourite place of resort for all pleasure-loving people. Half the island was given up to green grass and shrubbery, ending in a little thicket which made a cool lounging place on hot summer days. At the other end of the island was the shot house, from which a long alley between tall trees led down to the target on the bank of the river. In the great room of the shot house, which was really Little Venice, but gave its name to the whole island, hung upon the walls hundreds of painted targets perforated with the bullets of past prize matches. There was Venus rising from the sea foam, but there was a hole through her girdle. Next to her was that favourite character of those times, Harlequin, with the snow shot away. Further on was Diana, descending upon clouds to Edmian, but the murderous lead had taken her on the wing and an eye was gone. In fact, nothing had remained sacred to these frieshootsen, as they called themselves. Free shots indeed, they seemed to have been. There were Roman emperors in Greek goddesses, the Lila with a bullet hole through her shears, and Judas the betrayer who had received her shot through the bottom of his eye, which did not at all add to the amiability of that feature's expression. The free shots were extremely proud of these trophies of victory, and every good burger of Prague fancied that his wine tasted a little better in that room than anywhere else. During the summer Little Venice was always lively and gay with company, but the warm summer days were now past, and autumn had come. It was one of the last days of October, bright but cool, and there was only one guest to be seen. He was a man in a grey overcoat, with large-figured buttons, in black silk hoes and buckled shoes, and with the inevitable queue at the back of his handsome head. He was pacing up and down the long alley, evidently buried in absorbing thought. He seemed to be a strange fellow, for now his gaze was fixed on the ground, and then his head would be suddenly raised and his great beautiful eyes would descend and sparkle, as if mighty ideas were flashing through his brain. As one watched him, it would appear as if he were drinking in the sunshine in all the bright aspects of nature and working them into new forms in his own spirit. Yet a keen observer might have seen that the man neither saw nor heard anything about him. His mind was busy with another world, a diviner region, in which his face showed that he saw unspeakable beauty. A beggar spoke to him. Without looking at him, he put his hand in his pocket and gave the fellow a piece of money. The beggar looked surprised and delighted, and glanced in astonishment from the gift to the giver, for he held a bright taller in his hand. Hmm, he muttered. That's a fool. I must try him again. So he limped to the opposite end of the alley and begged of the abstracted man again, and again the man put his hand in his pocket and gave him something. The gift must have been a considerable one, for the beggar chuckled and limped away. But the man saw him not. Always brighter his eyes shone, and his face beamed more joyfully, as with a livelier motion of the hand he beat time to an invisible music. It is done, he spoke aloud to himself, stopping in his walk, done to the last note. But if I only had it written down, I hate the horribly tedious mechanical work of writing it. He went a few steps farther, stopped again and rubbed his forehead, as though it ached with the long concentration upon some intense labour. Then he said, smiling gaily to himself, I've got six or eight days yet, and thank heaven my memory will hold fast to every note of it. And the man, who of course was none other than the Mozart, walked back to the shot-house. Six days after this walk in Little Venice, Mozart was sitting in his room when Bondini entered. The empresario's face, usually so calm and good-humoured, betrayed by its look of anxiety that something lay heavy on his heart. Frank, and straight forward as ever, Mozart asked what was the matter. My dear maestro, answered Bondini, I should think you would know what the matter was. I? Who else? Is it about the opera? Yes. Why, I thought the rehearsal went capital-ly. Couldn't have been better. And tomorrow evening the curtain rises. Yes, at six o'clock. And the look of anxiety on Bondini's face deepened into despair at the thought. Well, what's the matter then? asked Mozart. Weren't the tickets all sold in advance a week ago? What more could the director ask? Nothing, only the opera can't be given tomorrow. Can't be given? cried Mozart, staring at Bondini with great eyes. What's the reason it can't be given? Bondini only spread his hands wide apart and gasped. Is sopariti sick? No. Your little wife? the director shook his head. In the devil's name then, who is it? Basi, Loli, Faglioni? Nobody's sick, said Bondini. See here my friend, and Mozart began to get angry. If you don't want to drive me mad, tell me what the matter is. Has the police got its nose into the affair at the last minute? Oh, bah, the police. Is it possible you don't know what the matter is? Do you mean to say that you don't know why I can't give it tomorrow? This Don Giovanni for which all Prague has been waiting impatiently, for which every seat was sold a week ago? No, I don't, said Mozart. Well, exclaimed the astonished Bondini, if a man was not ready to cry over it, he could laugh himself to death. It's nothing, nothing at all, only. You haven't ridden the overture yet. Oh, is that all? said Mozart. Oh, there's time enough for that. Bondini was thunderstruck. At last he stammered. Will the overture do a work like Don Giovanni? Amadeus smiled archily, then going up to Bondini he laid both hands on the director's shoulders, looked him in the eyes and asked, Do you suppose, my friend, that I would, with my own hands, best work of my life by a bad overture? No, cried Bondini, certainly not. Well then, set your mind at rest. But Maestro, the parts will have to be all copied. Tell the copyist to be here at seven o'clock tomorrow morning. And the rehearsal? Oh, this doubting Thomas, cried Mozart, laughing aloud. He doesn't know his own orchestra. I tell you, Bondini, my Prague orchestra plays at sight. You have an enormous faith, returned the director, still looking troubled. Everything depends on the overture. If that goes wrong, now Bondini, exclaimed Mozart coaxingly, just you trust to me in your orchestra. Well, all right. But if it goes straight, I shall hand you over to the inquisition. What for? As a sorcerer. Only see that the copyist is here at seven, and we shall need no sorcery. I will commence the overture at once. Goodbye. Bondini hurried away. Someone encouraged, as he saw the composer sit himself as a desk, take out his music paper, and dip his pen in the deep ink stand. Scarcely was he out of the house when Duchek entered the room. Mozart, he exclaimed, I have had the horse's hardest, and Constance and my wife are already in the carriage. It is a splendid day, and there won't be many more such this year. Come along! Amadeus jumped up as if Duchek had been in electric shock, seized his hat with one hand, and poked it his necktie with the other, and in two minutes was seated by the side of his wife, and the horses were off. When they came back, the short November afternoon had already darkened into evening, and through its darkness they saw from afar all the windows of the Duchek mansion illuminated as for some grand festival. Mozart was the first to notice it. What has broken loose at home? he exclaimed in astonishment. You will soon see, exclaimed Duchek. But what was Mozart's surprise on reaching the house at a lighting to find himself surrounded by a group of his best friends who have prepared a little feast in honour of the completion of Don Giovanni. It was a delightful company, while Andini was there with his little madcap of a wife, as well as all the members of the opera troupe except Sopariti, who, to the sorrow of everybody, had a headache, and had remained at home as a precaution against being ill the next day. She had set her heart on appearing in the opera, and was as pleased with her role as a child. The headache was reported as slight, so the company soon forgot the anxiety which its announcement had first excited. The evening and a good part of the night flew away in unrestrained merriment and gaiety, and at last they sat down to a fine supper. Everyone was in excellent spirits, but Mozart exceeded them all, laughing, joking, and reeling off endless streams of comic verse. Fill your glasses! cried Duchek. Here is to the success of Don Giovanni. The glasses clinked, and the toast was drunk with the greatest enthusiasm. Then said Bondini. It's all very well for you to drink to the success of the opera, but if you had suffered the anxiety and despair which I have for the last few days, until this forenoon, in fact. I'll so, as Duchek, while Mozart went on laughing and bantering with little Madame Bondini, not hearing what the others were saying. I'll so, returned the director, I will tell you, till this forenoon, our good Maestro hadn't ridden a stroke of the overture. What, exclaimed several voices at once, and is it done already? Certainly, said Bondini quietly, but when I left him he had gone to work on it. The opera couldn't possibly have been given otherwise. At that moment Mozart turned his merry face toward them. Well, cried Bondini, how did you get along with the overture this forenoon? With the overture! Mozart turned pale. Everybody started, and a universal expression of despair went from face to face. Amadeus pulled out his watch. It was almost midnight. It is, eh? said he thoughtfully. Then I've got no more time to lose. In ten minutes it will strike twelve, and at seven the copyists are to come. Some hours yet. Good night, gentlemen. Good night, ladies, I kiss your hands. Stanzerl, bring a glass of punch with you to keep me awake. And now may all the good spirits stand by me. Mozart hastened to his room where pen and paper were lying as he had dropped them in the forenoon. The company broke up in great anxiety and with gloomy forebodings in the morrow. For the opera could not be given without an overture. And what mortal could in a few hours of the night write one that would be worthy of the Don Giovanni. Bondini was in perfect despair, and only his wife kept up her courage and confidence. Meantime Mozart had seated himself. Just as he was on the point of diving into his work, he caught sight of Constance's face, which was full of deep sorrow. Stanzerl, said he in a gentle voice, my treasure, come here and let me whisper something in your ear. But woe for all, she replied imploringly, as if expecting some new prank. Won't you please begin? Come here, repeated her husband, pour your little ear down here a second. Constance obeyed. Amadeus gave a soft cheek a kiss, then whispered lightly. You'd needn't be a bit anxious, dear heart. It's all finished long ago. Oh, where? she exclaimed, her face lining up. Here, said Amadeus, laughing and pointing to his forehead, I finished the overture a week ago, and put it all away safely in my skull, only I was too lazy to do the hard work of writing it down. It will all be on paper by the time the copiest comes, and my Stanzer will be satisfied with it. I think the world will, too. If it has all stayed there where you put it, said Constance, a little dubiously. Ah, ah, cried Amadeus, laughing and beginning to write at the same time. If I could carry Algarries Miserie home with me when I was a youngster without dropping a note, I think I can carry an overture of my own for a week. Now then, Stanzel, sit down here by me and tell me a story out of the Arabian Nights, a ladden's lamp or something. That I shan't go to sleep. Shall I tell you about Noretyn Alley and Baderon Hassan? All right! And Constance set the glass of punch before him. Took her knitting work, seated herself by his side, and began. There was once in Egypt a very just and merciful sultan. His bravery made him the terror of all his neighbours. He loved the poor and shielded the orphans and protected his people from the oppressions of the rich. Now the vizier of the sultan was a wise and keen-sighted man who was learned in all arts and sciences. The sultan had two sons and the name of the elder was Noretyn Alley. So it went on for three hours. Mozart wrote rapidly, but now weariness began to overcome him and at last his yawns and nods grew more and more frequent till sleep could no longer be fought off. Constance clapped him on the shoulder and said, Dear, it won't go. You are too tired. Come, sleep an hour. I will keep awake and call you. Mozart rubbed his forehead and eyes. Well, he exclaimed drosely, I'll take your advice. But be sure you wake me up after an hour. And he laid down on the sofa. You are a good little wife, he whispered. Then kissed her at once and was asleep. Constance sat by his side and went on knitting. She thought in the times of her first love, the Christmas night when she had sent her dear friend at the little pocketbook, the fatal consequences which had followed upon that gift, and then the hour when it had, after long trial, made her happy at last. And as she thought over the past, image after image of her whole life arose before her, how many pleasant hours at the side of her husband, and ah, how many sorrowful and anxious ones, then she felt a thinking of the new opera and how much renown it would bring Amadeus and what a change it would make in their life. She sighed deeply, then put down her work in her lap and looked at the slumberer and thought, ah, if there might only be no more worrying about money. Then again she sank into dreams which linked from one to another, on and on. But how they were bright fancies, she was dreaming of a beautiful future. The hour had passed. She put out her hand and opened her lips to wake her husband. But he was sleeping so quietly. There will be time enough if I let him sleep one more little hour, she thought. His genius makes things easy for him which would be impossible to others. Sleep on, dear soul. In an hour you can go to work again. So she took up her knitting once more and went back to her dreams. At last the clock struck five. There was no more time to lose. Constance must wake her husband. He rubbed his eye, sprang up and looked at his watch. Five! he exclaimed, threatening her laughingly with his finger, that was contrary to the agreement. But you were having such a good sleep. Well, it will do yet, he answered. But now, dear child, go you to bed. You look utterly tired out. Constance obeyed and Mozart went at his work with fresh strength. Two hours afterwards the copyist entered. It was seven o'clock and the overture to Don Giovanni, that masterpiece of Mozart's creation, lay finished before him. End of section 36 Recording by Todd. Section 37 of Germany The Netherlands and Switzerland. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. The World's Story, volume seven, Germany. The Netherlands and Switzerland, edited by Eva March Tapin. Section 37. A visit to Beethoven, 1770 to 1827 by Richard Wagner. Beethoven, the greatest of composers, was born at Bonn in 1770. His musical education was begun when he was four years old by his father, who was a singer in the chapel of the Elector of Cologne. The boy's talent was obvious and in 1787, the Elector, at his own expense, sent him to study with Haydn in Vienna. His first compositions were published in 1795. In 1802, he began to be seriously troubled with deafness, a terrible disaster for a musician, and before many years, he had entirely lost his hearing. Nothing daunted he continued to compose his mighty works in which no trace of his affliction appears. He died in 1827 during a furious thunderstorm and his last words were, I shall hear in heaven. The following story is one of the two pieces of prose fiction written by Wagner, the hero of the tale has but one wish to see Beethoven. To gain a little money for the journey he degrades himself as he feels by composing some gallops. Even then he is too poor to pay carriage hire and therefore sets out on foot. On the way he is tormented by a rich Englishman bound on the same quest who does his best to force him into his carriage. Arrived in Vienna, the Englishman clings to him like a leech that we, as he persists in saying, shall meet Beethoven. On one occasion in a part the Englishman determined to throw himself before the master even leaves the skirt of his coat in the hero's restraining hands. At last the hero writes to Beethoven telling of his longing to meet him, Beethoven replies kindly and makes an appointment for the following morning. The editor. That night I could not sleep. What I had just gone through and what awaited me on the mar was too great and overwhelming to have let me carry it quietly into my dreams. I lay awake. I wandered. I prepared myself to appear before Beethoven. At last the day appeared I waited with impatience for a time suitable for a morning call. It came and I started forth. The most important event of my life stood before me, I trembled at the thought. But I was to pass through a terrible trial. Leaning against Beethoven's doorpost there awaited me with great sang foie, my demon, the Englishman. The villain had bribed everybody, finally even the landlord. The latter had read Beethoven's open note before I had seen it myself and had betrayed its contents to the Britain. A cold sweat burst from me at the sight. All romance, all divine ecstasy, disappeared. I was again in his power. Come said the wretch, let us introduce ourselves to Beethoven. At first I thought of helping myself out of the difficulty with a lie and asserting that I was not on the way to Beethoven at all. But he had once deprived me of all possibility of refuge by explaining to me with the greatest candor that he had discovered my secret and declaring that he would not leave me till we had seen Beethoven. I sought at first to dissuade him good-humoredly from his design in vain. I fell into a rage in vain. Finally, I hoped to escape him by fleetness of foot. I flew up the steps like an arrow and jerked at the bell like a madman. But before the door was opened, the man stood beside me, seized the skirt of my coat and said, Don't run away from me. I have a right to your coat, skirt, and I'll hold fast by them until we stand in Beethoven's presence. I turned upon him in a fury and struggled to free myself. I even felt tempted to defend myself by physical force against the proud son of Albion when suddenly the door was opened. An old servant appeared frowning as she discovered us in our extraordinary position and seemed about to shut the door again upon us. In my anxiety, I called my name aloud and affirmed that I had been invited by Herr Beethoven himself. The old woman was still in doubt for the sight of the Englishman seemed to rouse in her a very just suspicion when suddenly, as luck would have it, Beethoven himself appeared at the door of his study. Taking advantage of this moment, I rushed quickly in and sought to approach the master to excuse myself, but I dragged the Englishman in with me for he clung to me still. He carried out his purpose and did not let me go until we stood before Beethoven. I bowed and stammered out my name, and though he certainly did not understand it, he seemed to know that I was the one who had written to him. He motioned to me to go into his room and without being in the least disturbed by Beethoven's amazed look, my companion slipped hastily in after me. Here I was in the sanctuary, but the horrible embarrassment into which the villainous Britisher had led me, robbed me of all that beneficent move that was necessary to worthily enjoy my good fortune. Beethoven's appearance was certainly not in itself adapted to have an agreeable and soothing effect. He was in a somewhat disorderly desabille. He wore a red-willing belt around his body, long, stiff grey hair, hung in disorder about his head, and his gloomy, repellent expression did not tend to allay my confusion. We sat down at a table covered with pens and paper. There was a decided feeling of awkwardness. No one spoke. Beethoven was evidently out of temper at having to receive two persons instead of one. At last he began by saying in a harsh voice, you come from Al Blanc. I was about to answer but he interrupted me, laying a pencil and sheet of paper before me. He added, right, I cannot hear. I knew of Beethoven's deafness and had prepared myself for it. Nevertheless, it went through my heart like a pang when I heard his harsh and broken voice say, I cannot hear. To live in the world joyless and in poverty to find one's only exalted happiness in the power of music and to have to say I cannot hear. In one moment there came to me the full understanding of Beethoven's manner of the deep sorrow in his face, of the gloomy side-ness of his glance, of the fire-set heartiness of his lips he could not hear. Confused and without knowing what I said, I wrote an entreaty for his pardon and a brief explanation of the circumstances that have forced me to appear in the company of the Englishman. The latter sat silent and contented opposite Beethoven, who when he had read my words turned to him rather sharply with the inquiry what he desired from him. I have the honor, replied the Briton. I can't understand you, cried Beethoven, hastily interrupting him. I cannot hear and I can speak but little. Write down what you want with me. The Englishman quietly reflected for a moment then drew an elegant music book from his pocket and said to me, good, right, I request Herr Beethoven to look at this composition of mine if he finds a passage that does not please him, he will have the kindness to mark across against it. I wrote down his request, literally, in the hope that we might thus get rid of him and such was really the result. After Beethoven had read it, he laid the Englishman's composition on the table with a peculiar smile, nodded abruptly and said, I will send it to you. With this my gentleman was content. He rose, made an especially magnificent bow and took his leaf. I drew a long breath. He was gone. Now for the first time I felt myself in the very sanctuary. Even Beethoven's features grew obviously brighter. He looked quietly at me for a moment and began, the Englishman has caused you no little trouble, said he, find consolation with me. These travelling Englishmen have tortured me to death. They come today to see a poor musician as they would go tomorrow to look at some rare animal. I am heartily sorry to have confounded you with him. You wrote me that you were pleased with my compositions. I'm glad of that for I have little confidence now in pleasing people with my productions. This cordiality in addressing me soon did away with all my embarrassment. The thrill of joy ran through me at these simple words. I wrote that I was by no means the only one filled with such ardent enthusiasm for every one of his creations as to have no dearer wish than for instance to gain for my native city the happiness of seeing him once in its midst that he might then convince himself what effect his works produced upon the public. I can well believe he answered that my compositions are more appreciated in North Germany. The Viennese often provoke me. They hear too much wretched stuff every day to be always in the mood to take an earnest interest in anything serious. I sought to combat this view and instance the fact that I had yesterday attended a performance of Pidelio, which the Viennese public had received the most obvious enthusiasm. Hmm, hmm, matter the master, the Pidelio. But I know that the people only applauded out of vanity. After all, for they imagined that in my rearrangement of the opera I only followed their advice. So they seek to reward me for my trouble and cry bravo. It's a good nature, uneducated populace, for I like better to be among them than among wise people. Does Pidelio please you? I told him of the impression that the performance of the day before had made upon me and remarked that the whole had gained most gloriously by the additions that had been made to it. It is Vexatio's work, said Beethoven. I am no composer of operas. At least I know of no theatre in the world I would care to compose an opera again. If I should make an opera according to my own conception that people would absolutely flee from it. For there would be no heirs, duets, trios and all that nonsense to be found in it with which operas are stitched together nowadays and what I would substitute for these no singer would sing and no audience here. They all know nothing deeper than brilliant falsefids, sparkling nonsense and sugar coated dullness. The man who created a true musical drama would be looked upon as a fool and would be one in very truth if he did not keep such a thing to himself but wanted to bring it before the public. And how should one go to work? I asked excitedly to produce such a musical drama. As Shakespeare did when he wrote his plays was the almost angry answer then he continued the man who has to trouble himself with fitting all sorts of brilliant prattle to women with passable voices so that they may gain applause by it should make himself a Parisian man milliner not a dramatic composer. For myself I am not made for such trifling. I know very well that certain wise acres say of me for this very reason that though my ability and instrumentation I should never be at home in vocal music. They are right for they understand by vocal music only operatic music in as for my being at home in that heaven forbid. I ventured to ask if he really thought that anyone after hearing his Adelaide would dare to deny him the most brilliant genius for vocal music also. Well he said after short pause Adelaide and things of that kind are small matters after all that soon fall into the hands of the professional virtuosi to serve them as opportunities to bring out their brilliant art touches why should not vocal music form a great and serious genre by itself as well as instrumental. That should receive as much respect from the frivolous tribe of singers in its execution as is demanded of an orchestra in the production of a symphony. The human voice exists. It is a far more beautiful and noble organ of tone than any instrument of an orchestra ought it not to be brought into as independent use as this latter. What new results might not be gained by such a method for it is precisely the human voice utterly different by nature from the peculiarities of an instrument that could be brought out and retained and could be capable of the most varying combinations. In instruments the primal organs of creation and nature find their representation. They cannot be sharply determined and defined for they but repeat primal feelings as they come forth from the chaos when there were perhaps no human beings in existence to receive them in their hearts. With the genius of the human voice it is entirely otherwise this represents the human heart and is isolated individual emotion. Its character is therefore limited individual emotion but fixed and determined. Let these two elements be brought together then let them be united. Let those wild primal emotions that stretch out into the infinite that are represented by instruments be contrasted with the clear definite emotions of the human heart represented by the human voice. The addition of the second element will work beneficently and soothingly upon the conflict of the elemental emotions and give to their course a well-defined and united channel. The hope in receiving these elemental emotions will be measurably strengthened and broadened and may capable of feeling clearly what was before an uncertain presage of the highest ideal now changed into a divine knowledge. Beethoven paused here a moment as if fatigued then with a light sigh he continued. It is true that many obstacles are met with in the attempt to solve this problem in order to sing one has need of words. But what man could put into words the poetry that must form the basis of such a union of elements. Poetry must stand aside here for words are too weak things for this task. You will soon hear a new composition of mine which will remind you of what I am now explaining. It is a symphony with choruses. I call your attention to the difficulty that I have had in this in getting over the obstacle of the inadequacy of the poetry which I required to help me. Finally I decided to choose our shillers beautiful hymn to joy. This is at least a noble and elevating creation even though it is far from expressing but in this case it is true no verses in the world could express. Even now I can hardly comprehend the happiness that I enjoyed in the fact that Beethoven himself should thus help me by these explanations to the full understanding of his last giant symphony which at that time must have been barely finished but which was as yet known to no one. I expressed to him my enthusiastic thanks for this certainly rare condescension. At the same time I expressed the delighted surprise that he had given me in this news of a new and great work of his composition might soon be looked for. Tears stood in my eyes. I could have kneeled before him. Beethoven seemed to perceive my emotion. He looked at me half sorrowfully, half with a mocking smile as he said. You will be able to be my defender when my new work is spoken of. Think of me then. The wise people will believe me mad. At all events they will call me so. Yet you see here are a blank that I am not exactly a mad man though I might be unhappy enough to be one. People demand of me that I shall write according to their conception of what is beautiful and good. But they do not reflect that I, the poor deaf man must have thoughts that are all my own. That it is impossible for me to compose otherwise than as I feel. I cannot think and feel the things that they deem beautiful, he added ironically, that is my misfortune. With this he rose and strode up and down the room with short quick strides, deeply moved as I was. I also rose, I felt myself trembling. It would have been impossible for me to continue the conversation either by pantomime or writing. I perceived that the time had come to visit Mike Grobertonson to the master to write my deep felt thanks and my farewell seemed cold. I contented myself by taking my hat standing before Beethoven and letting him read in my eyes what was passing within me. He seemed to understand me. You were going, he asked, do you remain any time longer in Vienna? I wrote that I had no other aim in this journey than to become acquainted with him, that as he had deemed me worthy of such an unusual reception, I was more than happy to find my goal reached and should start the next day on my return. He answered smiling. You wrote to me how you furnished yourself with money for this journey. You should stay here in Vienna and make gallops. They are popular wares here. I declared that all that was over for me for that I knew nothing that could ever again seem to me to deserve such a sacrifice. Well, well, he said, perhaps something will yet be found. I, fool that I am, should be far better off if I made gallops. If I go on as I have hitherto, I shall always be in want. Bone voyage, he went on. Bear me in mind and console yourself with me in all your trials. Deeply moved and with tears in my eyes I was about to take my leave when he called to me. Let us finish up the musical Englishman. Let us see where the crosses come in. With this he sees the Englishman's music book and smilingly looked through it. Then he carefully folded it up again, wrapped it in paper, took up a heavy music pen and drew a gigantic cross across the whole wrapper. And then he handed it to me with the remark, kindly return the unfortunate being his masterpiece. He is an ass. And yet I envy him his long ears. Farewell, mind-leaver, and remember me in kindness. With this he dismissed me. Deeply agitated I passed out of the room and from the house. At the hotel I met the Englishman's servant as he was arranging his master's trunk in the travelling carriage. His goal too had been reached. I was compelled to confess that he too had shown persistency. I hurried to my room and made my preparations to begin the next day, my pedestrian journey back again. I had to laugh as I looked at the cross on the wrapper of the Englishman's composition. Yet the cross was a memorial of Beethoven and I begrudged it to the evil demon of my pilgrimage. My decision was quickly made. I took the wrapper off, took out my gallops and wrapped them instead in this condemnatory covering. I returned the Englishman his composition without a wrapper and the company did with a note in which I informed him that Beethoven envied him and that he declared he did not know where to put a cross on such a work. As I left the hotel I sought my wretched companion getting into his carriage. Goodbye, he shouted. You have done me a great service. I am delighted to have made Air Beethoven's acquaintance. Will you go to Italy with me? What are you after there? I want to make the acquaintance of Rossini. He is a very celebrated composer. Good luck, I called. I know Beethoven and with that I have enough for all my life. Reparted, I cast one longing look towards Beethoven's house and turned to the northward, exalted and ennobled in heart. End of section 37. This recording is in the public domain. Section 38. Of Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland. Read for LibriVox.org by April 6090, California, United States of America. Germany, Part 7. Two Wars with France. Historical note. During the passing years the Holy Roman Empire had maintained a shadowy existence though Voltaire had declared in the 18th century that it was neither Holy nor Roman nor an empire. After the French Revolution Napoleon brought about in 1806 what was known as the Confederation of the Rhine. This was a League of German States which agreed to assist him and to regard him as their protector. Francis II was now obliged to give up the crown of the empire and called himself Francis I, Emperor of Austria. Thus ended the Holy Roman Empire. In 1815 the German Confederation was formed. A loose union of Prussia, Austria for her German districts and many smaller states. This was unsatisfactory. Chiefly because the interests of the two great states of the Germans and the non-Germans were opposed. In 1861 William I came to the throne of Prussia with Bismarck as his prime minister. Bismarck declared that only blood and iron could settle the differences between the two states. And in 1866 the seven weeks war broke out. The result of this war was the complete separation of Austria and Germany and the recognition of Prussia as the head of the German Confederation. This contest had hardly come to a close before the ambition of Napoleon III brought about war between France and Prussia. The general cause of the war was the desire of the French to secure the Rhine as a boundary and the conviction that Prussia was becoming too powerful for the welfare of France. The war lasted but eight months and ended with the surrender of Paris. By the Treaty of Peace Germany received the greater part of the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine and an indemnity of one billion dollars. End of section 38 This recording is in the public domain. Section 39 of Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit Libravox.org. Recording by Greg Giordano. The World's Story, Volume 7. Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland. Edited by Ava March Tappen. Section 39 The Oath at the Grave of Frederick the Great. 1806 by Luisa Nulbach. Clara M. Munt. Up to 1806 Frederick William, King of Prussia, refused to oppose Napoleon, although the keen-eyed Queen Luisa had long urged him to resist the French with all his might. After Napoleon's victory at Oeum, however, even the King saw his danger and was at last aroused to range himself on the side of the foes of France. The Editor. This new victory, this new conquest Napoleon had made in Germany, held up before the King as a danger which managed himself and compelled him to take up arms for his own defence. The threatening and defiant language of the French Emperor sounded truly revolting to the heart of the German King. And instead of being intimidated by this new and unparalleled triumph by this threatening language Napoleon had made use of, he was only provoked to offer him resistance. He perceived all at once that he could only be the servant and slave of this powerful man or his enemy and that Napoleon never would tolerate anyone as an equal at his side. What were those three German princes who had found three crowns on the battlefield of Oeum? Those new kings of Wurtembourg and Bavaria, that Grand Duke of Baden, were only vassals and servants of the Emperor of France who had first given them to wear these crowns. King Frederick William needed no such crown. A genius stood at his side and breathed with a heavenly smile into his ear. Quote, it is better to die in an honourable struggle for freedom than to live in splendour and magnificence but with a stain on your honour. End quote. And the king listened to the voice of his genius. He listened to the voice of his ministers who implored him to defend the integrity of his state for the sake of the honour and welfare of Prussia and Germany. He listened to the voice of his people who demanded war loudly and ardently. He listened to the voice of the Emperor Alexander who vowed to him eternal love and eternal friendship. He listened finally to the voice of his own heart which was the heart of a true German and felt deeply the insult offered to him. King Frederick William listened to all these voices and resolved at length on war against France. On the third of November the Emperor Alexander and King Frederick William signed at Potsdam a secret treaty by which Prussia agreed to intervene between Napoleon and the Allies. By virtue of this treaty Prussia was to summon the Emperor of the French to re-establish the former treaties and to restore the former state of affairs. That is to say to give up almost all his conquests to indemnify Sardinia to recognize the independence of Naples of the German Empire of Holland of Switzerland and to separate the crown of Italy from that of France. If France should not consent to these conditions, Prussia agreed to ally herself openly and reservedly with the coalition and take the field with an army of 180,000 men. A Prussian negotiator was to lay these conditions before the Emperor Napoleon and determined which pressure should be obliged to act should expire four weeks after the date of the treaty. The King, who in his kindness was anxious to indemnify Minister von Haugwitz for the coldness with which he had been latterly treated by the Emperor's broken windows, had commissioned him to deliver a copy of the Treaty of Potsdam to Napoleon and to negotiate with him. Haugwitz therefore left Berlin in order to repair the Emperor's headquarters. It is true he did not know exactly where to find them but he was satisfied that Napoleon would take care to make his whereabouts known to him by fresh deeds of heroism and victories and how Haugwitz therefore set out. According to the wishes of the King of Prussia, the Treaty of Potsdam, for some time at least, was to be kept secret. Only those immediately concerned should be informed of its contents but not the public generally and no one was to suspect that Prussia ahead at length given up her policy of neutrality. This secrecy however was distasteful to the Emperor Alexander. Moreover, it made Minister von Hardenburg fear less the King at the decisive moment might be once more gained over to his former favorite policy of neutrality by the French party at court. It would be wise therefore to force the King so far forward as to render it impossible for him to recede and to betray so much of the secret of the concluded alliance as was required to fasten the King to it. Hence, the Emperor at the hour of his departure for Austria requested the Queen and King of Prussia to accompany him to the grave of Frederick the Great. At midnight, on the 5th of November, they repaired, therefore, to the garrison church at Potsdam, the lower vault of which contains the coffin of the Great King. A single torch bearer accompanied the August visitors whose steps resounded solemnly in the silent gloomy walls. Arriving at the King's coffin, the Emperor knelt down. His face, lighted up by the glare of the torch, was radiant with enthusiasm. On the other side of the dark vault stood the King and the Queen, both with folded hands. The King with the gloomy and reserved air, the Queen with her eyes turned to heaven and her face beaming with pious emotion and joy. Alexander, still remaining on his knees, now raised his folded hands toward heaven. Quote, at the grave of the most heroic King, he said in a loud and solemn voice, at the grave of Frederick the Great I swear to my ally, the King of Prussia, an oath of everlasting love and constancy. I swear an oath of everlasting constancy and love to the sacred cause which has united us for the most harvest. Never shall my constancy waver never shall my love grow cold, I swear it." He kissed the coffin and rose from his knees, his eyes, listening with tears, then turned toward the King as he said. Quote, it is your turn now, my brother, to swear at the oath. The King hesitated. The Queen laid her hand gently on his shoulder that he felt her breath like the kiss of an angel on his cheek. Swear the oath, my friend, my beloved, she whispered. Swear to be faithful to the Holy Alliance against the French tyrant. Swear everlasting constancy and love to our noble ally. The King hesitated no longer. He raised his head resolutely and approached the coffin, laying his hand upon it. He repeated in a grave and calm voice the words which the Queen uttered before, in which she now whispered the trembling lips. All three then grasped each other's hands over the coffin. Thus they stood a long while, deeply moved and silent. All at once the silence was interrupted by the loud ringing notes of the church's clock, announcing the first hour of the new day. Sounds died away and the chime and the bells now commenced playing in clear and sweet notes the old German hymn will bemer, treu, en redlichkeit bis andein gulysgrab. Footnote hold these hymn be honest and faithful until they lay thee in thy cool grave. End of footnote The King inclined his head as if in silent prayer an almost imperceptible, strange smile overspread the noble features of the Emperor. The Queen, however, glowing with enthusiasm, exclaimed, quote, God in the spirit of Frederick the Great give us the motto of our alliance, bemer, treu, en redlichkeit bis andein gulysgrab. Let us remember it as long as we live, end quote. Let us remember it, repeated the two sovereigns of the firm Manly Grasp. They looked at each other and with their eyes bade each other a last farewell. Then they turned silently away and left the royal vault. Five minutes later the Emperor Alexander of Russia was on his way to Olmuts in order to join there the Emperor Francis of Austria who had fled thither from Napoleon and his victorious army. At Olmuts the plan for the campaign of the Third Coalition against Napoleon was to be agreed upon. End of Section 39 This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Greg Giordano Newport Richie, Florida. Recording by April 690 California, United States of America. The World's Story, Volume 7 Germany, The Netherlands and Switzerland Edited by Eva March Tappen Section 40 Why the Philosopher's Letter Was Not Mailed 1806 by Louisa Mulbach, Clara M. Munt In 1806 King Frederick William III declared war against Napoleon. The French Conqueror dashed down upon his armies. In a single day he was victorious at Genet and Arstite and Prussia lay at his feet the editor. Profound silence brained in the small room. Books were to be seen everywhere on the shelves, on the tables and on the floor. They formed almost the only decoration of this room which contained only the most indispensable furniture. It was the room of a German savant, a professor at the far-famed University of Genet. He was sitting at the large oaken table where he was engaged in writing. His form, which was of middle height, was wrapped in a comfortable dressing gown of green silk trimmed with black fur which showed here and there if you worn out defective spots. A small green velvet cap the shape of which reminded the beholder of the cap of the learned melanchthong covered his expansive intellectual forehead which was shaded by sparse light brown hair. A number of closely written sheets of paper lay about the table before him on which the eyes of the savant of the philosopher were fixed. This savant in the lonely small room this philosopher was George Frederick William Hagel. For two days he had not left his room. For two days nobody had been permitted to enter it except the old waitress who silently and softly laid the cloth on his table and placed on it the meals she had brought for him from a neighbouring restaurant. Averting his thoughts from all worldly affairs the philosopher had worked and reflected and heard nothing but the intellectual voices that spoke to him from the depths of his mind. Without history had walked across the battlefield with mighty strides and performed immortal deeds and here in the philosopher's room the mind had unveiled its grand ideas and problems. On the 14th of October and in the night of the 14th and 15th Hagel finished his phenomenology of the mind a work by which he intended to prepare the world for his bold philosophical system and in which with the reign he had accomplished his first walk through the catacombs of the creative intellect. All the powers of strength and reality in his eyes sprung from the system which he strove to found in the sweat of his intellectual brow and his system had caused him to forget the great events that had occurred to his immediate neighbourhood. Now he had finished his work now he had written the last word. The pen dropped from his hands which he folded over his manuscript as if to bless it silently. He raised his head which up to this time he had bent over the paper and his blue eyes so gentle and lustrous turned toward heaven with a silent prayer for the success of his work. His fine intellectual face beamed with energy and determination the philosopher was conscious of the struggle to which his work would give rise in the realm of thought but he felt ready and prepared to meet his assailants. The work is finished he exclaimed loudly and joyfully it shall now go out into the world. He hastily folded up his manuscript wrapped a sheet of paper around it sealed it and directed it then he looked at his watch eight o'clock he said in a low voice if I make haste the postmaster will forward my manuscript today. He divested himself of his gown and dress then he took his hat and the manuscript and hastened down into the street toward the post office absorbed as he was in his reflections he saw neither the extraordinary commotion raining in the small university town nor the sad faces of the pastors by he only thought of his work and not of reality he now entered the post office all the doors were open all the employees were chatting with each other and no one was at the desk to attend to the office business and to receive the various letters Hegel, therefore, had to go to the postmaster who had not noticed him at all but was conversing loudly and angrily with several gentlemen who were present here's a package which I want you to send to Banberg said the philosopher handing his package to the postmaster the stagecoach has not set out yet I suppose the postmaster stared at him wonderingly no, he said it has not set out yet and will not set out at all it was now the philosopher's turn to look wonderingly at the postmaster it will not set out he asked, why not it is impossible in the general confusion and excitement there are neither horses nor men to be had today everybody is anxious and terrified but what happened he asked the philosopher in a low voice what, then you do not know yet the terrible events of the day Mr Professor exclaimed to the postmaster in dismay I do not know anything about them said the philosopher timidly and almost ashamed of himself perhaps you did not hear in your study the thunders of the artillery I heard occasionally a dull long continued noise but I confess I did not pay much attention to it what has occurred a battle has occurred exclaimed the postmaster and when I say battle I mean two battles one was fought here at Jenna and the other at Arstatt but here they did not know that a battle was going on at Arstatt and at Arstatt, like you Mr Professor they did not hear the artillery of Jenna and who has won the battle asked Hegel feelingly the upper Napoleon exclaimed the postmaster the Prussians are defeated, routed, dispersed they are escaping in all directions and when two French horsemen are approaching, hundreds of Prussians throw their arms away and beg for mercy the whole Prussian army has exploded like a soap bubble the king was constantly in the thickest of the fray he wished to die when he saw that all was lost the death seemed to avoid him two horses were killed under him but neither swore nor bullet struck him he is retreating now but the French are at his heels God grant that he may escape the commander in chief, the Duke of Brunswick was mortally wounded a bullet struck him in the face and destroyed his eyes oh it is a terrible disaster Prussia is lost and so is Sax Wimar for the emperor Napoleon will never forgive or duke that instead of joining the confederation of the Rhine he stood by Prussia and fought against France our poor state will have to atone for it Hegel had listened sadly to this loquatious man and his features had become gloomier and gloomier he felt dizzy and a terrible burden weighed down his breast he nodded to the postmaster and went out again into the street but his knees were trembling under him he slowly tottered toward his residence all at once a brilliant procession entered the lower part of the street drums and cheers resounded a large cavalcade was now approaching at its head mounted on a white horse with a waving mane and quivering nostrils wrote the man of the century the man with the marble face of a Roman emperor the Julius Caesar of modern history his eyes were beaming with courage and pride a triumphant smile was playing on his lips it was the triumphatur making his entry into the conquered city the philosopher thought of the history of ancient Rome and it seemed to him as though the face of the modern Caesar were that of a resuscitated statue of antiquity Napoleon now fixed his flashing eyes on the philosopher who felt that his glance penetrated into the innermost depths of his heart seized with awe Hegel took off his hat and bowed deeply the emperor touched his hat smilingly and thanked him then he galloped on followed by the whole brilliant suite of his marshals and generals the German philosopher stood still as if fixed to the ground and gazed after him musingly and absorbed in solemn reflections he himself the Napoleon of ideas had yet to win his literary battles in the learned world of Germany the emperor, the Napoleon of action had already won his battles and Germany lay at his feet vanquished, crushed, Germany seemed to have undergone her last death struggle in the battles of Gena and Arstatt End of section 40 This recording is in the public domain Section 41 of Germany The Netherlands and Switzerland Read for LibriVox.org by Sandra Schmidt The Queen of Prussia's Ride 1806 by A. L. A. Smith In the war with Napoleon Queen Louisa of Prussia herself took to field she was present at the battle of Gena and at the rout of the Prussian army she remained on the battleground it is said that the band of French Husars dashed upon her at full speed only three or four of her escort were with her and these were dispersed by the drawn swords of the enemy fortunately for her they were scattered upon a magnificent charger who glooped away for Weimar out distant the horses of the pursuers and saved the Queen from capture the editor Fair Queen away to thy charger speak a band of Husars thy capture seek o hast escape they are riding this way speak speak to thy charger without delay their nigh behold they come at the breakneck pace a smile triumphant elumes each face Queen of the Prussians now for a race to Weimar for safety fly she turned and her steed with a furious dash over the field like the lightning flash fled away like an arrow from steel crossbow over hill and dale in the sun's fierce glow the Queen and her enemies thundering go on toward Weimar they sped the royal corsa is swift and brave and his royal rider he tries to save but no, vive l'emporeur rings sharp and clear she turns and is startled to see them so near then softly speaks to her charger's ear and away he bounce like a row he speeds as though on the wings of the wind to Queen's pursuers are left behind no more she fears though each trooper grasps his reins stands up in his stirrups strikes spurs and strains for ride as they may her steed still gains and Weimar is just before safe the Kletterner ffainter grows she sees in the distance her laboring foes the gates of the fortress stand open wide to welcome the German nation's bride so dear with gallop and dash into Weimar she goes and the gates at once on her enemies close give thanks give thanks she's safe with those who hail her with cheer on cheer end of section 41 this recording is in the public domain section 42 of Germany the Netherlands and Switzerland read for Libriox.org by Alan Mapstone William of Prussia proclaimed German Emperor at Versailles by Anton von Werner Germany 1843 painting page 236 early in the 19th century the 39 German states united in a loose confederation Prussia was the most powerful but Austria held the presidency naturally there was jealousy between these two states this resulted in war the strongman Bismarck was prime minister of Prussia and the virtual controller of her destinies in this war Prussia was successful and was now at the head of a union of the Protestant Northern German states the Roman Catholic Southern states held back three years later however in 1870 the war with France aroused such enthusiasm for their country on the part of the southern states that they forgot their opposition King William at the head of his victorious troops was besieging Paris his headquarters were at Versailles in the Great Britain Versailles in the great gallery of the palace splendid with its mirrors and gilding and its ceiling paintings and made even more brilliant by the glowing banners of the German states and the uniforms of the officers William King of Prussia was declared on January the 18th 1871 William German Emperor in this picture the artist shows the climax of the memorable scene the proclamation has just been read and the great hall re-echoes with the shouts of the enthusiastic soldiers as with drawn swords they hail the new emperor behind him is the crown prince Frederick William before the steps stands Bismarck with the proclamation in his hand and beside him with one foot thrust forward is von Malk the commander of the German armies the end of section 42 this recording is in the public domain section 43 of Germany the Netherlands and Switzerland this is a Librevox recording all Librevox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit Librevox.org the world's story volume 7 Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland by Eva March Tappen section 43 the troubles of a correspondent in the Franco-Prussian war 1870 from all the year round when war was declared between France and Germany in the early summer of 1870 I was sent by a London paper to act as special correspondent with McMahons Core Darmay and leaving the town at 24 hours notice arrived at Strasbourg with by no means too much time to spare on arriving at Strasbourg I managed to be introduced in an informal manner to the gallant officer who commanded the army there assembled was not a little pleased when the marshal recognized me as having met me in Algeria some years before Frenchmen and more particularly French military men are somewhat backward or shy of fraternizing with new acquaintances but when the latter show any desire to know them and more particularly as was the case with me when they show anything like a genuine admiration of the many soldier-like qualities which are to be found among those who compose their armies they will always come more than halfway to meet foreigners in the bond of good fellowship when we reached worth it was evident that something very like a decisive engagement would take place and that either the French or the German army would be badly beaten before many hours were over I got away from the lines and with the help of a little of that gold which is a key to most doors managed to get up to the flat top of the tower which forms part of the village church and there witnessed what proved to be the beginning of the end of the war so far as the French army and nation were concerned to me as well as to my friends the day proved most unfortunate I felt so certain that McMahons troops would rally and eventually beat their enemy that I delayed coming down from the tower until it was too late by the time I got back to where I had left an old Britska with two screws of horses that I owned the French army was in full retreat for the vogue the Germans were in possession of the village and my conveyance together with my servant who drove it and all the clothes I had in the world had vanished as a matter of course not being able to speak German I was made a prisoner and taken before the officer commanding the brigade that held the place of the treatment I received from them I had nothing whatever to complain an officer who could speak English was sent for and when he had read my form office passport as well as my credentials for the paper I represented I was at once released on condition of giving my parole that I would not rejoin the French army for at least seven days I was then given a free pass by being made prisoner by any of the German troops and was told I might go where I liked but where to go and how to do so was now the question my carriage and all my kit having been looted as I afterwards found out by the German camp followers I had in the way of clothes what I stood in most fortunately my circular letter of credit had not shared the fate of the rest of my property I kept it in my breast pocket I was so glad that I had done so if I could only reach Karlsru I should be able to get whatever money I wanted but how to get there was the question it was some 30 or 40 English miles from where there was no conveyance of any sort to be had and even if the letter had been favourable my whole worldly wealth consisted with the exception of the letter of credit of something less than 20 francs if I could manage to walk all the way that very modest sum would suffice me for a very humble lodging each night and for a moderate amount of indifferent food I had however no choice walk I must if I did not want to be left to starve at worth the journey to Karlsru would help to pass away the seven days or at any rate a large portion of them during which I was under parole not to rejoin the French army to remain where I was or to follow the French through the vogue was equally impossible so I made it my mind and started upon what promise to be and what certainly proved a journey that was anything but pleasant whatever other drawbacks the road between worth and Karlsru had it was by no means a solitary or lonely route it would be difficult to say whether the wagons and other conveyances going towards Germany or those coming into France were more numerous the former were filled with French prisoners and wounded soldiers the latter with fresh German troops on route for the seat of war doctors and sisters of charity on their way to tend the sick of the German army and every sort of war stores and supplies it is possible to imagine there were three villages in the 30 miles of road where I found it possible to rest at night there was nothing in the shape of a bedroom or even of a bed to be had except at prices which my very limited amount of cash rendered impossible for me I was obliged to make the best of things to sleep as well as eat as best I could under such circumstances personal cleanliness was almost impossible when I arrived on the morning of the fourth day at Karlsru I was very far from being respectable in appearance at Gross's hotel the clerk in the bureau evidently did not like to admit me and it was only after I had shown him my passport that he ordered a room to be got ready for me I went at once to the bank named in my letter of credit got what money I required bought a suit and I've already made clothes and after a hot bath and using plenty of soap began to feel as if it were possible to be clean and comfortable again although it took two or three days before I could realize that I got rid of the dirt and discomfort brought about by my bag of bond like pedestrian journey on the third day after my arrival at Karlsru I started from badden then spent over the Swiss frontier to Basel and by that time the seven days having elapsed I crossed the French frontier and made my way to Leon following as well as I could the direction in which public report gave out that the army under McMahon was marching at Leon I learned that Marshall McMahon had with the army he commanded made his way to Ram when he intended to try to afford assistance to Bazin who was already surmounted at Metz the rail from Leon towards Ram had been cut by order of the French military so that I had no means whatever of pushing on except by purchasing an old rival trap of a carriage to supply the place of the one that had been taken by the German camp followers that were I was however fortunate enough to procure two active and fast horses which as will be seen presently proved in a great measure the means by which I afterwards was able to effect a very narrow escape that saved my life between Leon and Ram through Chalon at which places I saw for the first time the Frank, Ture or free shooters the core was in the most comprehensive possible meaning of the word irregular the men who composed it were not only irregular in everything they did but appeared to grow in their irregularity they seemed to have very few officers and the few they had were seldom if ever to be seen on duty with the men the latter had evidently souls above obedience they did very much what they'd like and in the manner they liked they evidently hated the regular army and the latter returned the compliment with interest I was very anxious to let my employers in London know the exact state of affairs in regard to the intended advance a McMahon towards Metz and how the attempt to relieve Baza had utterly failed to telegraph the news was impossible as all the wires had been cut by the enemy I prepared a long letter which gave many details that had not yet been published in England and I felt sure that if I could only manage to get what I had written to London it would do me no little credit as yet sedan was not even threatened by the Germans I knew the officers who commanded there very well and I resolved to push on by myself and see what could be done in the way of forwarding my letter and so were at the Belgian frontier whence it would be safe to reach London in 24 hours it took the best part of three days to reach sedan at sedan I was able to procure a horse and rode some 10 miles over the Belgian frontier to be on me where there were neither wars nor rumours of wars near my letter was posted, registered and sent off to London I then returned to sedan and having the horses harnessed to the wretched old conveyance of which I was the owner set off on my return to the headquarters of McMahon's army wherever they might be the Colonel in command at sedan was very kind to me gave me the best of food the most reliable of information advising me if I wanted to rejoin McMahon's army to make the best of my way to a small town called Moussaint some 15 or 20 miles off situated in the valley of the moose whence as he said I should be pretty sure of finding the headquarters of the army my coachman of Swiss whom I had engaged when I bought the trap at Leant told me that the drive from sedan to Moussaint would occupy about four hours going at a comparatively slow pace which could not knock up the horses it was agreed that we were to halt for an hour or so after we had been a couple of hours on the road I was very tired and sleepy when we left and therefore made myself comfortable to enjoy a good sleep thinking I should have at least two hours in which I could do so to my amazement we had not gone more than a couple or three miles from sedan when the carriage came to a sudden halt and I heard more than one rough voice ordering the driver not to move unless he wished to be shot running there I drew back the leather curtains and looked out when I found that some 30 or more armed men had surrounded the vehicle and two of them opening the door, ordered me in the most brutal manner to get out at first I thought they were soldiers and that they were laboring under some mistake having taken me to be somebody else but I soon discovered that they belonged to the Frank Thieleur and that they were intended to make me a prisoner I still thought there must be some mistake and asked them what they wanted telling them that I was an English newspaper correspondent who had accompanied McMahon all through the campaign and was now on my way to rejoin him Lou Monte, you lie, was the polite answer I got because one of them cocked his rifle and swore he would shoot me dead if I did not get out I thought that discretion was the better part of valor and got out upon the dusty road I asked where their officers were but they replied that there were none present and that Frenchman knew how to deal with Russian spies without being controlled by officers I asked them what I had done that I should be made a prisoner of they answered that I was a Prussian spy and that they intended to try me by court martial and shoot me I told them that if they would only come back to Sudan with me the commandant of the garrison would satisfy them that I was not a Prussian still as a spy but an Englishman who was going about his lawful work they said that the commandant at Sudan was like most of the French army a traitor to his country I did not believe a word he said but had determined to make me a prisoner and kill me anything so brutal as they were in their words a manner it has never been my lot to witness in any part of the world at last they decided to begin what they were pleased to call a consse de guerre or a court martial in order that they might try me for being as they asserted a Prussian spy on French soil I questioned whether in the history of the world a greater force or a more entirely one sided affair was ever and then on this occasion I was accused as I said before being a Prussian spy but what I came to spy upon or in whose employment I was my accusers who were also my judges did not say a couple of dozen times at least I was told that I was what they said when I denied it and said I was an Englishman I was told who monte you lie I have a 25 or 30 men present 12 resolved themselves into what they called a court a 13th individual acting as president I offered to show them in fact held out for their inspection my foreign office passport as well as a pass I had received from McMahon's chief of staff when I joined the army at Strasbourg but the first they would not even look at and the second they said was given by a man Marshall McMahon who was himself a traitor to France they did not seem to think it requisite that I should be put upon my defense one of them was called for it by the rest asked whether he could speak English and whether he would know an Englishman by sight when he saw him to both questions he answered in the affirmative he was then told to speak to me in English and to look at me and say if I was an Englishman he came up to me and muttered some gibberish which contained a few words that might by persons of a very strong imagination be called English I endeavoured to say a few words to him in my own tongue but he stopped me by shouting out that I was a Prussian that I spoke German and did not understand a word of English this seemed quite enough for those who were trying me after consulting together for a few minutes one of them announced in that loud voice that I had been found guilty of being a Prussian spy and that as such I was condemned to be shot he then told me looking at his watch and letting me look at mine that I had a quarter of an hour given me to live it doesn't prove that he meant what he said orders were given to 12 of the party to load their rifles and two others were told off to give me the coup de grâce in the event of my not being killed by the firing party in a word my lease of life seemed to be very near his termination and I felt very certain that I had not more than the 15 minutes the fellow named in which to live to analyse one's feelings or thoughts under such circumstances as impossible for about five minutes and a third of the time that was left me I felt utterly stunned and kept wondering whether those I had left behind in England would ever learn what my fate had been at last an idea sort of where Lauren Hope came to me and I lost no time before trying whether or not I could put it in execution I called one of the men who seemed to be a leader among his fellows and told him that I wished before being shot to see a priest which was a privilege in very great granted to even the greatest culprits in France and asked him to find out the curate or perished priest of the nearest village and bring him to me my idea was that by making this request I should at any rate gain a little time and that if this priest did come to see me it was possible although I feared not very probable he might have some influence with these men and might give them to send me to some military post where I should have just as done me my request did not seem to annoy my judges in the least on the contrary they approved of it and it once sent off a couple of messengers in different directions to look for this curate in the meantime my feelings and surroundings were by no means happy it is true that since they had sentenced me to be shot the men had most fortunately as it afterwards turned out unbound my hands and feet I was allowed to sit on the ground close to a wall a sentry with a loaded rifle being within a dozen yards of me and do notice was given that if I attempted to give away this man had orders to shoot me at once I was covered with dirt and dust the result of having been knocked down more than once when I was made a prisoner what the ultimate result of my reprieve might be or what the priests could do which seemed far from likely was I need hardly say utterly uncertain I kept on hoping for the very improbable best but fearing in my heart that the more than probable worse would be my fate at last what turned out to be my guardian angel appeared the messengers who had gone and served to the priests had been absent some little time and my captives were beginning to grumble and say that it was time to finish the business and shoot me offhand when all at once an old man Gar-shawm on the scene his falling piece over his shoulder and the red ribbon in the buttonhole of his blouse showing that he had served and served with honour in the French army he asked what was the matter and turning to me inquired whether I really was an Englishman I told him my story and showed him the different documents I had by me commencing with the pass given me by the chief of McMan's staff he read it carefully and I could see by his face that he was convinced I was telling the truth he then looked at my foreign office passport but did not seem able to make out what it meant all at once he left me and I saw him go to where my carriage was and while examining the vehicle and horses the latter most providentially as it turned out having never been unharnished he spoke a few words to the coachman he then came back to where I was asked me to show him again my different papers and then turning to some of the form to order who were standing near said in a loud voice that's you, you have made a great mistake and the person pointing to me is not a Russian he is an English officer of rank who has come to France in order that he may see and admire how Frenchmen defend their country even now French officers are expecting him at the headquarters of the army and then turning to me he said allan monsieur en route ne perdez pas en moment with that he caught hold of my arm hurried me away and before my enemies had time or anything like time to realize what he was doing we were not only inside the carriage but we were tearing along at a smart handgallot on the road to Moussin the anger and vexation of my captors may be imagined they are not the means of pursuing us but they fired several shots after us one of which went through the crown of my Billy Cog hat however I was saved and if ever one man saved the life of another that old guard, Jean Baitre saved mine when we arrived at Moussin I got 500 francs, 20 pounds on my letter of credit and made it the present to the old fellow who had behaved with such pluck and who had certainly risked his life to save me had we been caught before we reached the carriage nothing could have saved him from suffering with me the death to which I had been condemned End of section 43 this recording is in the public domain section 44 of Germany the Netherlands and Switzerland read for LibriVox.org by Alan Mapstone German wounded in the gallery of mirrors Versailles by Victor Bachereau-Reverchamps French artist 1842 painting page 248 In the palace of Versailles there is one room the superb gallery of mirrors that has seen strange vicissitudes it was built by Mansart in 1678 it is 240 feet long and 43 feet hardly and has 34 great mirrors it is richly ornamented with paintings and trophies and is the most splendid room in the whole splendid palace during the siege of Paris by the Germans the floors were trod by softly stepping nurses instead of nobles and mighty potentates and the mirrors reflected cots of wounded soldiers instead of the exquisite gowns of beautiful women and the insignia of royalty for the most magnificent apartment of Versailles was turned into a hospital for wounded German soldiers the palace has had an eventful history at first Louis XIII built a tiny hunting lodge in the woods and planned a great chateau Louis XIV instead of a chateau built a magnificent palace lavishing vast sums upon it in 1682 the court came to Versailles and for over a hundred years it was the principal residence of the French kings here Mary Antoinette played at being a peasant dairy maid the great halls have been the scene of important historical events here was signed the treaty of peace between France and England in which Great Britain recognised the independence of the United States here the Paris mob swarmed and drove Louis XVI and his queen to Paris for safety in the Franco-Prussian war the Germans used the palace's headquarters and it was here that on January 18th 1871 the king of Prussia was proclaimed German Emperor the inscription on the central building to all the glories of France is justified by the collection within hall after hall is filled with pictures commemorating historical events with statues, busts and portraits of famous people plans of important battles allegorical paintings views of royal palaces and arms of crusaders and kings end of section 44 this recording is in the public domain section 45 of Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland sung for LibriVox.org by Alan Mapstone The Watch on the Rhine by Max Schneckenberger this was a favourite song of the German soldiers during the war of 1870 the editor a voice resounds like thunder peel middashing waves and clang of steel the Rhine, the Rhine the German Rhine who guards today my stream divine Dear Fatherland no danger thine firm stan thy sons to watch the Rhine they stand 100,000 strong quick to avenge their countries wrong with filial of their bosom swell they'll guard the sacred landmark well Dear Fatherland no danger thine firm stan thy sons to watch the Rhine the dead of an heroic race from heaven look down and meet this gaze he swears with dauntless heart o Rhine be German as this breast of mine Dear Fatherland no danger thine firm stan thy sons to watch the Rhine while flows one drop of German blood or sword remains to guard thy flood while rifle rests in patriot hand no fo shall tread thy say no tread thy sacred strand Dear Fatherland no danger thine firm stan thy sons to watch the Rhine o three zones the river flows in golden light our banner glows our hearts will guard thy stream divine the Rhine the Rhine the German Rhine Dear Fatherland no danger thine firm stan thy sons to watch the Rhine Germany Part 8 Modern Germany Historical Note The success of the Prussian arms aroused national pride A closer union was again the cry and in 1871 King William I of Prussia was proclaimed German Emperor this title to be hereditary in the Prussian dynasty with the consolidation of all the German states under the leadership of Prussia and the recognition of the new empire as the dominant military power on the continent of Europe Germany entered upon a period of great prosperity Emperor William I was succeeded by his son Frederick III whose short reign was followed in 1888 by the accession to the throne of William II the present emperor this most independent of princes regarded nothing as too small for his attention nothing as too great for his control during his reign Germany has built up a colonial empire created a powerful navy and merchant marine extended to commercial and industrial activities throughout the world and increased her manufacturers more rapidly than any other country The German Empire of today is a union of 26 states under the presidency of the King of Prussia who has the title of German Emperor The Reichstag or Parliament represents the nation as a whole and consists of about 400 members who are elected for five years each The executive power is held by the emperor and the cabinet is responsible to him and not to parliament as in England End of section 46 This recording is in the public domain