Even at Mannheim, which had the most perfect orchestra in Germany, the wind instruments—the bassoons and oboes—were not in tune.
As for the organ, it was torture to hear it played in Germany. In Berlin "the organs are big, clumsy, loaded with stops, noisy and out of tune." In Vienna, in the cathedral, "the organs are horribly out of tune." Even in Leipzig, in the holy city of the organ, the city of the great Johann Sebastian Bach, "despite all my investigations," says Burney, "I did not hear anyone play the organ well anywhere."
It would seem that with the exception of a few princely Courts, "where the arts," says Burney, "rendered power less insupportable, and intellectual diversions were perhaps as necessary as those of active life," the love of music was not nearly so ardent or so universal as in Italy.
During the first weeks of his tour Burney was disappointed:
"Travelling along the banks of the Rhine, from Cologne to Coblentz, I was peculiarly surprised to find no trace of that passion for music which the Germans are said to possess, especially on the Rhine.[1] At Coblentz, for example, although it was Sunday, and the streets were filled with crowds of people, I did not hear a single voice or instrument, as is usual in most Roman Catholic countries."
Hamburg, lately famed for its opera, the first and most celebrated in Germany, has become a musical Bœotia. Philipp Emmanuel Bach feels lost there. When Burney goes to see him, Bach tells him: "You have come here fifty years too late."
And in a jesting tone that conceals a little bitterness and shame, he adds:
- ↑ Burney passed through Bonn some time after Beethoven's death.
