DUST OF THE PAST

Taranaki Daily News, 27 January 1934, Page 13 (Supplement)

DUST OF THE PAST

ROMANTIC figures

(By

“Historicus.”)

Amadeus Wolfgang Mozart was bom on January 27, 1756; he died on December 5, 1791. Between those years he gave the world beautiful operas and concert pieces, vastly advanced the science of musical composition, opening the door to Beethoven,' and left the world a sweet memory of an unspoilt young genius and lover. The allegation that his father, a court musician in the service of an Austrian prince-archbishop, had tried to stop his son learning to play seems unbelievable, for Mozart played in public when five years old, and at six went with his little sister to play before the Imperial Court at Vienna. He was brought to London by his father when he was eight, and played to George 111, who pinched his cheek. So he toured Europe as a chilfl prodigy,, the pet and the marvel of a dozen courts, decorated by the Pope and recognised as a master by the musicians and composers of Italy. He wrote music—good music—in his teens and even before, and conducted his first opera in La Scala, Milan, when he was fourteen. He remained simple, unaffected, generous. Yet, though the friend of princes, the young genius was treated by the Archbishop of Salzburg, in whose service his father was, as a serf. On the assumption that he was hereditarily bound to be a court musician at Salzburg, he was recalled there, insulted, even, it is. said; beaten by lackeys for having absented himself too long from his duties in chapel. Even at the liberal-minded court of Vienna he was not free from insults ahd petty persecution. Those who patronised or snubbed him are forgotten, but the opera houses of the world are still filled to hear his “Marriage of Figaro” and “Magic Flute.” He died when writing his great “Requiem,” for which—final and greatest insult—he had been paid in advance by a patrician dilettante who meant to pass off the work as his own.

The life story of Sir H. M. Stanley, who was born on January 28, 1841, is more suited to the realmb of fiction than ordinary existence—much more in keeping with poor boy in the fairy story who marries the .King’s daughter. Stanley, of course, was not his correct name, but one he assumed after his adopted father, a citizen of New Orleans, U.S.A. Stanley was born in Wales, his name then being Rowlands. He was so poor that the poorhouse was responsible for him from the age of three to thirteen, when he went to New Orleans as a cabin boy, and met the man whose name he was destined to carry to fame. He served in the Confederate Army. Then he entered journalism. James Gordon Bennett, of the New York Herald, took Stahley under his wing, and in 1869 Bennett summoned him to Paris for a new commission. Journalists get some strange jobs at times, but Stanley was not quite prepared for the one in front of him. At that time Dr. Livingstone was lost somewhere in Africa. His commission was to go and find him. Stanley had never met Livingstone, and Africa was xather a Dark Continent at the time, so the task might truthfully be described as a “tall one.” and worthy of an American newspaper proprietor. However, Stanley did find Livingstone, as we all know; brought him back to health, and surveyed Lake Tanganyika with him in search of, the Nile source. During the rest of Stanley’s career Africa loomed large. He possessed a positive genius for handling native races. As Governor of the Congo he accomplished work of enormous difficulty with great success. In 1899 he received a knighthood. Five years later he died, leaving a story as romantic as any conceived in fiction. ■ # ■* # *

There is nothing new about bridges. Since man first threw a piece of wood across a stream, they have, like the oak tree, grown bigger and better, sometimes more ornate, fitted to take a place in Nature’s scheme of decoration, at times diverging into a business-like ugliness. On January 30, 1826, a bridge was declared open that was worthy to take a place in the surrounding scenery. It was the Menai Suspension Bridge built by Telford. Written as his chef d’oeuvre as far as this particular Side of his genius is concerned, it had been a stupendous task, occupying seven years. One hundred feet above high-water mark, the length of the roadway was one thousand feet. It cost one hundred and twenty thousand pounds to build. One of the greatest of the great engineers of his period, he had a life at interesting as his bridge was beautiful. Indissolubly associated with McAdam, in road construction, Telford did not, like his brother engineer,, succeed in getting his name immortalised in the dictionary, but he ranks with McAdam in the pioneer work of roadmaking. His father, a Dumfriesshire shepherd, died shortly after his birth, and he was thus left in the care of his mother, who was compelled to bring her Son up on the scanty earnings she could dbtain by farm work. His early years were spent herding cattle. Genius, however, will rise, no matter what its environment and opportunities. When he left the parish school, he continued his studies, and taught himself languages, at the same time gradually working his way as a mason, builder and engineer. At the top of his profession when he died, he was buried among the greatest in Westminster Abbey. s## . *

Once upon a time there was a lady blessed with a fairly large family, who lived in what has been described as great penury in Marseilles. That is, perhaps, the most suitable way to commence this anniversary, because, so very much like the poor children of the fairy story, they were all destined to decorate the ranks of royalty. The lady’s name was Letitia Bonaparte, which information, of course, gives you the whole story. Mde. Bonaparte had come from Ajaccio, Corsica, on the death of her husband. Monsieur Bonaparte had been a lawyer, and although he had taken a vigorous part in defending the island against the French, when resistance had become useless he found himself not averse to joining.their interest. On a visit to Paris he inadvertently laid the family fortunes, for there he succeeded in getting free admission into the military school of Brienne for his son Napoleon. Napoleon was only sixteen when his father died, and Mde Bonaparte removed to Marseilles, where she had little but the meagre pension given to Corsican refugees to live upon. Affluence, of which she does not seem to have been greatly enamoured, naturally followed the progress of her son. Few women are destined to watch their children rise to such power. Fewer still remain to witness the tragedy of their fall. Such was her lot. Her last years were spent in Rome, with her memories, where, she died on February 2, 1836, fifteen years after her famous son had passed into his last sleep on the island of St. Helena.