Aged fifteen, during a Mexican revolution, Carlos Chávez had the dangerous task of taking the train to town several times a week for supplies. Once, when the military were hunting revolutionaries, a bullet came flying through the train window, whistled past him, within an inch of his head, killing the man in the seat beside him. The iron which entered the head of his neighbor left its mark on the soul of the boy, giving him a hatred of cruelty and oppression which he always retained.
Carl Davidov (1838-1889), aged just 25 he was hailed as Europe’s greatest cello virtuoso.
Yet he loathed practicing, instructing his students to play in new strings for him.
In spite of this, he became favoured at the Russian court, with the title ‘Soloist to His Majesty’,
a position with duties and expectations.
In 1875 Anton Rubinstein was asked to make arrangements to entertain the King and Queen of Sweden with a musical evening,
a program which included Davidov in a trio and as soloist.
At the last moment, it was found that Davidov had spontaneously left on a tour of Finland, without leave.
A serious matter, he could have lost his court position, with ramifications of further disgrace.
On the day of the planned musical evening, Davidov was awakened at 5 am, by the hotel porter.
It was explained when he was shown the following telegram:
Telegraph from the Minister of the Household to His Majesty the Czar:
To all chiefs of police in Finland:
Sir Edward Elgar practised amateur chemistry from a laboratory erected in his back garden.
He stowed an excessive amount of highly flammable phosphoric mixture in a water butt for ‘safekeeping’.
His friend, W. H. Reed—leader of the London Symphony Orchestra—reported a near disaster:
A sudden unexpected crash … shook the room … The water butt had blown up … and the liberated water went down the drive in a solid wall …
Silence reigned for a few seconds. Then all the dogs in Herefordshire gave tongue …
After a moment's thought, Edward lit his pipe and strolled down to the gate, andante tranquillo …
A neighbour … called out, ‘Did you hear that noise, sir: it sounded like an explosion?’ ‘Yes’, said Sir Edward. ‘I heard it; where was it?’
Frederick II of Prussia (Frederick the Great, 1712-86),
patron of music, flute-player and a student of Quantz,
used to ride into battle with his doctor alongside.
He liked to have his veins opened from time to time, to calm his nerves.
He would also calm himself with a cup of coffee, preferably made with champagne.
Surely playing his flute would have been a safer alternative, and, hopefully, more relaxing!
The Hungarian composer Karl Goldmark (1830-1915),
composer of 2 violin concertos, and the Rustic Wedding Symphony, narrowly avoided being shot as a rebel,
apparently for giving a concert, forbidden at that time of political urest.
He was engaged as a violinist in the Orchestra at Györ (German: Raab).
There, during the revolution he was arrested as a spy and nearly shot, being saved at the eleventh hour by the intervention of a colleague.
Louis Jullien (1812-1860), conductor and composer of dance music, decided to set the Lord’s Prayer to music.
Many of his friends pointed out to him that the public would find the combination of composer
of popular music and so sacred a subject somewhat incongruous.
With his usual self-sufficiency, Jullien replied that a composition bearing on its title page
two of the greatest names in history could not fail to be a success.
Near the end of his life when he was playing the piano, he suddenly rose,
clutching a knife, and addressing a young lady visitor, told her that he ‘ had an inspiration from Heaven to kill her!’
With great presence of mind she said that she was prepared to die, but asked for one favour.
She begged that he would let her hear some of his own compositions on the piccolo. He consented.
When he went to fetch the instrument, she locked the door and called for assistance.
He was taken to La Folie St James where he died, raving mad.
Antonio Lolli (c.1730-1802) was for a time violinist to the Empress Catherine the Great.
Catherine had a reputation for having multiple lovers, and had a special affection for Lolli during the ten years he spent at court.
The relationship almost ended in disaster for the violinist,
when Catherine’s chief of police misinterpreted his absolute monarch’s desire to have her pet spaniel,
also called Lolli, stuffed and put into a glass case.
Not surprisingly, Lolli left Russia soon afterwards.
Josef Mysliviček (1737-1781), a composer greatly respected by Mozart,
lost his nose as a result of syphilis.
The disfigurement blunted his career, for he never regained his social standing.
He succumbed at the age of 43.
George Onlsow (1784-1853, a noted French composer with English ancestry, contemporaneous with Beethoven)
became deaf in one ear when struck by a stray bullet in a hunting accident.
His String Quintet No. 15 Le Quintette de la balle (Quintet of the Bullet) was the musical rendering of this episode.
Django Reinhardt, born Jean-Baptiste (1910-1953) guitarist who played with Stéphane Grappelli in the Quintette du Hot Club de France.
A gypsy and therfore in danger during the German occupation of WWII, he tried to flee France, to be stopped at the border by the German command.
The SS officer in charge who had a love of jazz music, sent Reinhardt back to Paris to play guitar.
So is one’s life determined, on the musical preferences of a military officer: Paris or a concentration camp!
Bedřich Smetana (1824-1884) died in insane asylum, literally driven mad by tinnitus.
Aged less than 20, Carl Maria von Weber (1786-1826) had a near-fatal accident,
swallowing some engraving acid and permanently impairing his voice.
Pianist Paul Wittgenstein lost his right arm in WWI. He developed an extraordinary left hand technique,
commissioning concerti from Richard Strauss, Ravel, Prokofiev, Korngold, & Benjamin Britten.
An Instrument Escapes Death
Napoleon’s favourite cellist Jean-Louis Duport, playing on the Stradivarius cello now known as the Duport,
gave a private recital for the Emperor who appeared, booted and spurred.
After listening with pleasure, he approached Duport, complimented him, and, grasping the cello with his usual forcefulness,
asked, “How the devil do you hold this, Monsieur Duport?”
On sitting down, he squeezed the unfortunate cello between his spurred boots.
The marks of the spurs said to be still visible on the sides of the cello.