The Life of Ludwig van Beethoven, Volume II (of 3)

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Title: The Life of Ludwig van Beethoven, Volume II (of 3)
Author: Thayer, Alexander Wheelock
Language: English
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Transcriber's Note

Bold text is indicated by ~tildes~, and italics by _underscores_.

THE LIFE OF LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
VOLUME II

[Illustration]

[Illustration: BEETHOVEN

After Mähler's Portrait of 1804

From the copy in possession of Mrs. Jabez Fox]

The Life of

Ludwig van Beethoven

~By~ Alexander Wheelock Thayer

Edited, revised and amended from the original
English manuscript and the German editions
of Hermann Deiters and Hugo Riemann, concluded,
and all the documents newly translated

Henry Edward Krehbiel

Volume II

Published by

The Beethoven Association

New York

~SECOND PRINTING~

From the press of G. Schirmer, Inc., New York

Printed in the U. S. A.

Contents of Volume II

PAGE

CHAPTER I. The Year 1803--Cherubini’s Operas in Vienna
and Rivalry between Schikaneder and the Imperial
Theatres--Beethoven’s Engagement at the Theater-an-der-Wien
--“Christus am Ölberg” again--Bridgetower
and the “Kreutzer” Sonata--Career of the
Violinist--Negotiations with Thomson for the Scottish
Songs--New Friends--Willibrord Mähler’s Portrait of
Beethoven--Compositions of the Year--A Pianoforte
from Erard 1

CHAPTER II. The Year 1804--Schikaneder Sells His
Theatre and is then Dismissed from the Management--
Beethoven’s Contract Ended and Renewed by
Baron Braun--The “Sinfonia Eroica”--Prince Louis
Ferdinand of Prussia--Quarrel between Beethoven
and von Breuning--The “Waldstein” Sonata--Sonnleithner,
Treitschke and Gaveaux--Paër and His Opera
“Leonora”--“Fidelio” Begun--Beethoven’s Growing
Popularity--Publications of the Year 22

CHAPTER III. The Year 1805--Schuppanzigh’s First Quartet
Concerts--First Public Performance of the
“Eroica”--Pleyel--The Opera “Leonore,” or “Fidelio”;
Jahn’s Study of the Sketchbook--The Singers and the
Production--Vienna Abandoned by the Aristocracy as
French Advance--Röckel’s Story of the Revision of the
Opera--Compositions and Publications of the Year 41

CHAPTER IV. The Year 1806--Repetitions of “Fidelio”:
A Revision of the Book by von Breuning--Changes
in the Opera--The “Leonore” Overtures--A Second
Failure--Beethoven Withdraws the Opera from the
Theatre--Marriage of Karl Kaspar van Beethoven--A
Journey to Silesia--Beethoven Leaves Prince Lichnowsky’s
Country-seat in Anger--George Thomson and
His Scottish Songs--Compositions and Publications of
the Year--The “Appassionata” Sonata and Rasoumowsky
Quartets--Reception of the Quartets in Russia and
England--The Concerto for Violin 57

CHAPTER V. Beethoven’s Friends and Patrons in the
First Lustrum of the Nineteenth Century--Archduke
Rudolph, an Imperial Pupil--Count Andreas Rasoumowsky--
Countess Erdödy--Baroness Ertmann--Marie
Bigot--Therese Malfatti--Nanette Streicher--Doctor
Zizius--Anecdotes 78

CHAPTER VI. Princes and Counts as Theatrical Directors:
Beethoven Appeals for an Appointment--Vain
Expectations--Subscription Concerts at Prince Lobkowitz’s--
The Symphony in B-flat--Overture to “Coriolan”--Contract
with Clementi--Errors in the Dates of Important Letters--
The Mass in C--A Falling-out with Hummel--The “Leonore”
Overtures again--Performances of Beethoven’s Works at the
“Liebhaber” Concerts--The Year 1807 98

CHAPTER VII. The Year 1808--Johann van Beethoven
Collects a Debt and Buys an Apothecary Shop in
Linz--Wilhelm Rust--Plans for New Operas--Sketches
for “Macbeth”--Imitative Music and the “Pastoral”
Symphony--Count Oppersdorff and the Fourth Symphony--A
Call to Cassel--Organization of Rasoumowsky’s
Quartet--Appreciation of Beethoven in Vienna:
Disagreement with Orchestral Musicians--Mishaps at
the Performance of the Choral Fantasia 114

CHAPTER VIII. Jerome Bonaparte’s Invitation--A New
Plan to Keep Beethoven in Vienna--The Annuity Contract--
Ries’s Disappointment--Farewell to Archduke
Rudolph in a Sonata--The Siege and Capitulation of
Vienna--Seyfried’s “Studies”--Reissig’s Songs--An
Abandoned Concert--Commission for Music to “Egmont”--
Increased Cost of Living in Vienna--Dilatory
Debtors--Products of 1809 135

CHAPTER IX. The Years 1807-09: a Retrospect--Beethoven’s
Intellectual Development and Attainments: Growth after
Emancipation from Domestic Cares--His Natural Disposition--
Eager in Self-Instruction--Interest in Oriental Studies--His
Religious Beliefs--Attitude towards the Church 163

CHAPTER X. The Year 1810--Disappointing Decrease in
Productivity--The Music for “Egmont”--Money from
Clementi, and a Marriage Project--A New Infatuation
Prompts Attention to Dress--Therese Malfatti--Beethoven’s
Relations with Bettina von Arnim--Her
Correspondence with Goethe--A Question of Authenticity
Discussed--Beethoven’s Letter to Bettina--An
Active Year with the Publishers 170

CHAPTER XI. The Year 1811--Bettina von Arnim--The
Letters between Beethoven and Goethe--The Great
Trio in B-flat--Music for a New Theatre in Pesth:
“The Ruins of Athens” and “King Stephen”--Compositions
and Publications of the Year 196

CHAPTER XII. The Year 1812--Reduction of Income from
the Annuity--The Austrian “Finanzpatent”--Legal
Obligation of the Signers to the Agreement--First
Performance of the Pianoforte Concerto in E-flat--A
Second Visit to Teplitz--Beethoven and Goethe--Amalie
Sebald--Beethoven in Linz--He Drives His
Brother Johann into a Detested Marriage--Rode and
the Sonata Op. 96--Spohr--The Seventh and Eighth
Symphonies--Mälzel and His Metronome--A Canon
and the Allegretto of the Eighth Symphony 211

CHAPTER XIII. The Year 1813--Beethoven’s Journal--Illness
of Karl Kaspar van Beethoven--He Requests
the Appointment of His Brother as Guardian of His
Son--Death of Prince Kinsky--Obligations under the
Annuity Agreement--Beethoven’s Earnings--Mälzel
and “Wellington’s Victory”--Battle Pieces and Their
Popularity--Postponement of the Projected Visit to
London--The Seventh Symphony--Spohr on Beethoven’s
Conducting--Concerts, Compositions and Publications
of the Year 239

CHAPTER XIV. The Year 1814--Success of “Wellington’s
Victory”--Umlauf Rescues a Performance--Revival
and Revision of “Fidelio”--Changes Made in the
Opera--Success Attained--The Eighth Symphony--Beethoven
Plays in the Great Trio in B-flat--Anton
Schindler Appears on the Scene--The Quarrel with
Mälzel--Legal Controversy and Compromise--Moscheles
and the Pianoforte Score of “Fidelio”--The Vienna Congress--
Tribute from a Scottish Poet--Weissenbach--Tomaschek--
Meyerbeer--Rasoumowsky’s Palace Destroyed by Fire 261

CHAPTER XV. The Year 1815--New Opera Projects Considered--
“Romulus and Remus”--Settlements with the Heirs of Prince
Kinsky--Unjust Aspersions on the Conduct of Kinsky and
Lobkowitz--“The Mount of Olives” in England--Negotiations with
English Publishers--Diabelli--Charles Neate--Death of Karl
Kaspar van Beethoven--His Wishes with regard to the
Guardianship of His Son--Growth of Beethoven’s Intimacy
with Schindler--Compositions and Publications of the Year 304

CHAPTER XVI. The Year 1816--A Commission from the Gesellschaft
der Musikfreunde--Guardianship of Nephew
Karl--Giannatasio del Rio--Beethoven’s Music in
London--The Philharmonic Society--Three Overtures
Composed, Bought and Discarded--Birchall and
Neate--The Erdödys--Fanny Giannatasio--“An die
ferne Geliebte”--Major-General Kyd--Accusations
against Neate--Letters to Sir George Smart--Anselm
Hüttenbrenner--The Year’s Productions 329

CHAPTER XVII. The Year 1817--Beethoven and the
Public Journals of Vienna--Fanny Giannatasio’s Journal--
Extracts from Beethoven’s “Tagebuch”--The
London Philharmonic Society again--Propositions Submitted
by Ries--Nephew Karl and His Mother--Beethoven’s
Pedagogical Suggestions to Czerny--Cipriani
Potter--Marschner--Marie Pachler-Koschak--Another
Mysterious Passion--Beethoven and Mälzel’s Metronome--An
Unproductive Year 358

CHAPTER XVIII. The Year 1818--Gift of a Pianoforte
from John Broadwood--The Composer Takes Personal
Charge of His Nephew--His Unfitness as Foster-father
and Guardian--Abandonment of His Projected Visit
to London--The Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde’s
Oratorio--The Nephew and a Mother’s Legal Struggle
for Possession of Her Son--The Case Reviewed--The
Predicate “van” and Beethoven’s Nobility--Archduke
Rudolph Becomes Archbishop of Olmütz--Work on the
Mass in D, Ninth Symphony and Grand Trio in B-flat 390

Chapter I

The Year 1803--Cherubini’s Operas in Vienna--Beethoven’s Engagement
at the Theater-an-der-Wien--“Christus am Ölberg” again--Bridgetower
and the “Kreutzer” Sonata---Negotiations with Thomson--New
Friends--Mähler’s Portrait of Beethoven.

Kotzebue, after a year of activity in Vienna as Alxinger’s successor in
the direction, under the banker Baron von Braun, of the Court Theatre,
then a year of exile in Siberia (1800), whence he was recalled by that
semi-maniac Paul, who was moved thereto by the delight which the little
drama “Der Leibkutscher Peters III.” had given him--then a short time
in Jena, where his antagonism to Goethe broke out into an open quarrel,
established himself in Berlin. There he began, with Garlieb Merkel
(1802), the publication of a polemical literary journal called the
“Freymüthige,” Goethe, the Schlegels and their party being the objects
of their polemics. Spazier’s “Zeitung für die Elegante Welt” (Leipsic)
was its leading opponent, until the establishment of a new literary
journal at Jena.

At the beginning of 1803, Kotzebue was again in Vienna on his way to
Italy. Some citations from the “Freymüthige” of this time have an
especial value, as coming, beyond a doubt, from his pen. His position
in society, his knowledge from experience of theatrical affairs
in Vienna, his personal acquaintance with Beethoven and the other
persons mentioned, all combine to enable him to speak with authority.
An article in No. 58 (April 12) on the “Amusements of the Viennese
after Carnival,” gives a peep into the salon-life of the capital, and
introduces to us divers matters of so much interest, as to excuse the
want of novelty in certain parts.

... Amateur concerts at which unconstrained pleasure prevails are
frequent. The beginning is usually made with a quartet by Haydn or
Mozart; then follows, let us say, an air by Salieri or Paër, then
a pianoforte piece with or without another instrument ~obbligato~,
and the concert closes as a rule with a chorus or something of
the kind from a favorite opera. The most excellent pianoforte
pieces that won admiration during the last carnival were a new
quintet[1] by Beethoven, clever, serious, full of deep significance
and character, but occasionally a little too glaring, here and
there ~Odensprünge~ in the manner of this master; then a quartet by
Anton Eberl, dedicated to the Empress, lighter in character, full
of fine yet profound invention, originality, fire and strength,
brilliant and imposing. Of all the musical compositions which have
appeared of late these are certainly two of the best. Beethoven has
for a short time past been engaged, at a considerable salary, by
the Theater-an-der-Wien, and will soon produce at that playhouse
an oratorio of his composition entitled “Christus am Ölberg.”
Amongst the artists on the violin the most notable are Clement,
Schuppanzigh (who gives the concerts in the Augarten in the summer)
and Luigi Tomasini. Clement (Director of the orchestra an-der-Wien)
is an admirable concert player; Schuppanzigh performs quartets
very agreeably. Good dilettanti are Eppinger, Molitor and others.
Great artists on the pianoforte are Beethofen [~sic~], Hummel,
Madame Auernhammer and others. The famous Abbé Vogler is also here
at present, and plays fugues in particular with great precision,
although his rather heavy touch betrays the organist. Among the
amateurs Baroness Ertmann plays with amazing precision, clearness
and delicacy, and Fräulein Kurzbeck touches the keys with high
intelligence and deep feeling. Mesdames von Frank and Natorp,
formerly Gerardi and Sessi, are excellent singers.

A few words may be added to this picture from other sources. Salieri’s
duties being now confined to the sacred music of the Imperial Chapel,
Süssmayr being far gone in the consumption of which he died on Sept.
16 (of this year--1803), Conti retaining but the name of orchestral
director (he too died the next year), Liechtenstein and Weigl were now
the conductors of the Imperial Opera; Henneberg and Seyfried held the
same position under Schikaneder, as in the old house, so now in the new.

Schuppanzigh’s summer concerts in the Augarten, and Salieri’s Widows
and Orphans concerts at Christmas and in Holy Week, were still the
only regular public ones. Vogler had come from Prague in December, and
Paër, who had removed to Dresden at Easter, 1802, was again in Vienna
to produce his cantata “Das Heilige Grab,” at the Widows and Orphans
Concert. It was a period of dearth at Vienna in operatic composition.
At the Court Theatre Liechtenstein had failed disastrously; Weigl had
not been able to follow up the success of his “Corsär,” and several
years more elapsed before he obtained a permanent name in musical
annals by his “Schweizerfamilie.” Salieri’s style had become too
familiar to all Vienna longer to possess the charms of freshness
and novelty. In the Theater-an-der-Wien, Teyber, Henneberg, Seyfried
and others composed to order and executed their work satisfactorily
enough--indeed, sometimes with decided, though fleeting, success. But
no new work, for some time past, composed to the order of either of
these theatres, had possessed such qualities as to secure a brilliant
and prolonged existence. From another source, however, a new, fresh and
powerful musical sensation had been experienced during the past year at
both: and in this wise:

[Sidenote: CHERUBINI’S OPERAS IN VIENNA]

Schikaneder produced, on the 23rd of March, a new opera which had
been very favorably received at Paris, called “Lodoiska,” the music
composed “by a certain Cherubini.” The applause gained by this opera
induced the Court Theatre to send for the score of another opera
by the same composer, and prepare it for production on the 14th of
August, under the title “Die Tage der Gefahr.” Schikaneder, with
his usual shrewdness, meantime was secretly rehearsing the same
work, of which Seyfried in the beginning of July had made the then
long journey to Munich to obtain a copy, and on the 13th--one day
in advance of the rival stage--the musical public was surprised and
amused to see “announced on the bill-board of the Wiener Theater the
new opera ‘Graf Armand, oder Die zwei unvergessliche Tage.’” In the
adaptation and performance of the work, each house had its points of
superiority and of inferiority; on the whole, there was little to
choose between them; the result in both was splendid. The rivalry
between the two stages became very spirited. The Court Theatre selected
from the new composer’s other works the “Medea,” and brought it out
November 6. Schikaneder followed, December 18, with “Der Bernardsberg”
(“Elise”), “sadly mutilated.” Twenty years later Beethoven attested
the ineffaceable impression which Cherubini’s music had made upon him.
While the music of the new master was thus attracting and delighting
crowded audiences at both theatres, the wealthy and enterprising Baron
Braun went to Paris and entered into negotiations with Cherubini, which
resulted in his engagement to compose one or more operas for the Vienna
stage. Besides this “a large number of new theatrical representations
from Paris” were expected (in August, 1802) upon the Court stage.
“Baron Braun, who is expected to return from Paris, is bringing the
most excellent ballets and operas with him, all of which will be
performed here most carefully according to the taste of the French.”
Thus the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung.”

These facts bring us to the most valuable and interesting notice
contained in the article from the “Freymüthige”--the earliest record of
Beethoven’s engagement as composer for the Theater-an-der-Wien.

Zitterbarth, the merchant with whose money the new edifice had
been built and put in successful operation, “who had no knowledge
of theatrical matters outside of the spoken drama,” left the stage
direction entirely in the hands of Schikaneder. In the department
of opera that director had a most valuable assistant in Sebastian
Meier--the second husband of Mozart’s sister-in-law, Mme. Hofer, the
original ~Queen of Night~--a man described by Castelli as a moderately
gifted bass singer, but a very good actor, and of the noblest and
most refined taste in vocal music, opera as well as oratorio; to whom
the praise is due of having induced Schikaneder to bring out so many
of the finest new French works, those of Cherubini included. It is
probable, therefore, that, just now, when Baron von Braun was reported
to have secured Cherubini for his theatre, and it became necessary
to discover some new means of keeping up a successful competition,
Meier’s advice may have had no small weight with Schikaneder. Defeat
was certain unless the operas, attractive mainly from their scenery and
grotesque humor, founded upon the “Thousand and One Nights” and their
thousand and one imitations, and set to trivial and commonplace tunes,
should give place to others of a higher order, quickened by music more
serious, dignified and significant.

Whether Abbé Georg Joseph Vogler was really a great and profound
musician, as C. M. von Weber, Gänsbacher and Meyerbeer held him to
be, or a charlatan, was a matter much disputed in those days, as the
same question in relation to certain living composers is in ours.
Whatever the truth was, by his polemical writings, his extraordinary
self-laudation, his high tone at the courts whither he had been called,
his monster concerts, and his almost unperformable works, he had made
himself an object of profound curiosity, to say the least. Moreover,
his music for the drama “Hermann von Staufen, oder das Vehmgericht,”
performed October 3, 1801, at the Theater-an-der-Wien (if the same as
in “Hermann von Unna,” as it doubtless was), was well fitted to awaken
confidence in his talents. His appearance in Vienna just now was,
therefore, a piece of good fortune for Schikaneder, who immediately
engaged him for his theatre.

[Sidenote: ENGAGED TO COMPOSE AN OPERA]

Whether Beethoven had talents for operatic composition, no one
could yet know; but his works had already spread to Paris, London,
Edinburgh, and had gained him the fame of being the greatest living
instrumental composer--Father Haydn of course excepted--and this much
might be accepted as certain: viz., that his name alone, like Vogler’s,
would secure the theatre from pecuniary loss in the production of ~one~
work; and, perhaps--who could foretell?--he might develop powers in
this new field which would raise him to the level of even Cherubini! He
was personally known to Schikaneder, having played in the old theatre,
and his “Prometheus” music was a success at the Court Theatre. So he,
too, was engaged. The correspondent of the “Zeitung für die Elegante
Welt” positively states, under date of June 29th: “Beethoven is
composing an opera by Schikaneder.” There is nothing very improbable in
this, though circumstances intervened which prevented the execution of
such a project. Still the fact remains, that Schikaneder--that strange
compound of wit and absurdity; of poetic instinct and grotesque humor;
of shrewd and profitable enterprise and lavish prodigality; who lived
like a prince and died like a pauper--has connected his name honorably
with both Mozart and Beethoven.

These plain and obvious facts have been so misrepresented as to
make it appear that this engagement of Beethoven was a grand stroke
of policy conceived and executed by Baron von Braun, who, at the
Theater-an-der-Wien (“newly built and to be opened in 1804”), had
suddenly become aware of a genius and talent, to which, notwithstanding
the “Prometheus” music, at the Imperial Opera, he had been oblivious
during the preceding ten years! The date of the transaction is a
sufficient confutation of this; as also of the notion that the success
of the “Christus am Ölberg” led to his engagement. On the contrary,
it was his engagement that enabled Beethoven to obtain the use of the
Theater-an-der-Wien to produce that work in a concert to which we now
come.

The “Wiener Zeitung” of Saturday, March 26 and Wednesday, March 30,
1803, contained the following

NOTICE

On the 5th (not the 4th) of April, Herr Ludwig van Beethoven will
produce a new oratorio set to music by him, “Christus am Ölberg,”
in the R. I. privil. Theater-an-der-Wien. The other pieces also to
be performed will be announced on the large bill-board.

Beethoven must have felt no small confidence in the power of his name
to awaken the curiosity and interest of the musical public, for he
doubled the prices of the first chairs, tripled those of the reserved
and demanded 12 ducats (instead of 4 florins) for each box. But it was
his first public appearance as a dramatic vocal composer, and on his
posters he had several days before announced with much pomp that all
the works would be of his composition. The result, however, answered
his expectations, “for the concert yielded him 1800 florins.”

The works actually performed were the first and second Symphonies,
the Pianoforte Concerto in C minor and “Christus am Ölberg”; some
others, according to Ries, were intended, but, owing to the length
of the concert, which began at the early hour of six, were omitted
in the performance. As no copy of the printed programme has been
discovered, there is no means of deciding what these pieces were;
but the “Adelaide,” the ~Scena et Aria~ “Ah, perfido!” and the trio
“Tremate, empj, tremate,” suggest themselves, as vocal pieces well
fitted to break the monotony of such a mass of orchestral music.
It seems strange--knowing as we do Beethoven’s vast talent for
improvisation--that no extempore performance is reported.

“The symphonies and concertos,” says Seyfried, “which Beethoven
produced for the first time (1803 and 1808) for his benefit at the
Theater-an-der-Wien, the oratorio, and the opera, I rehearsed according
to his instructions with the singers, conducted all the orchestral
rehearsals and personally conducted the performance.”[2]

The final general rehearsal was held in the theatre on the day of
performance, Tuesday, April 5. On that morning, as was often the
case when Beethoven needed assistance in his labors, young Ries was
called to him early--about 5 o’clock. “I found him in bed,” says Ries,
“writing on separate sheets of paper. To my question what it was he
answered, ‘Trombones.’ At the concert the trombone parts were played
from these sheets. Had the copyist forgotten to copy these parts?
Were they an afterthought? I was too young at the time to observe the
artistic interest of the incident; but probably the trombones were an
afterthought, as Beethoven might as easily have had the ~uncopied parts
as the copied~.” The correspondent of the “Zeitung für die Elegante
Welt” renders a probable solution of Ries’s doubt easy. He found the
music to the “Christus” to be “on the whole good, and there are a few
admirable passages, an air of the ~Seraph~ with trombone accompaniment
in particular being of admirable effect.” Beethoven had probably found
the aria “Erzittre, Erde” to fail of its intended effect, and added
the trombone on the morning of the final rehearsal, to be retained or
not as should prove advisable upon trial.[3] Ries continues:

[Sidenote: PRODUCTION OF “THE MOUNT OF OLIVES”]

The rehearsal began at 8 o’clock in the morning. It was a terrible
rehearsal, and at half after 2 everybody was exhausted and more
or less dissatisfied. Prince Karl Lichnowsky, who attended the
rehearsal from the beginning, had sent for bread and butter, cold
meat and wine in large baskets. He pleasantly asked all to help
themselves and this was done with both hands, the result being that
good nature was restored again. Then the Prince requested that the
oratorio be rehearsed once more from the beginning, so that it
might go well in the evening and Beethoven’s first work in this
genre be worthily presented. And so the rehearsal began again.

Seyfried in the article above quoted gives a reminiscence of this
concert:

At the performance of the Concerto he asked me to turn the pages
for him; but--heaven help me!--that was easier said than done. I
saw almost nothing but empty leaves; at the most on one page or
the other a few Egyptian hieroglyphs wholly unintelligible to me
scribbled down to serve as clues for him; for he played nearly all
of the solo part from memory, since, as was so often the case, he
had not had time to put it all on paper.[4] He gave me a secret
glance whenever he was at the end of one of the invisible passages
and my scarcely concealable anxiety not to miss the decisive moment
amused him greatly and he laughed heartily at the jovial supper
which we ate afterwards.

The impression made on reading the few contemporary notices of this
concert is that the new works produced were, on the whole, coldly
received. The short report (by Kotzebue?) in the “Freymüthige” said:

Even our doughty Beethofen, whose oratorio “Christus am Ölberg”
was performed for the first time at surburban Theater-an-der-Wien,
was not altogether fortunate, and despite the efforts of his many
admirers was unable to achieve really marked approbation. True,
the two symphonies and single passages in the oratorio were voted
very beautiful, but the work in its entirety was too long, too
artificial in structure and lacking expressiveness, especially in
the vocal parts. The text, by F. X. Huber, seemed to have been as
superficially written as the music. But the concert brought 1800
florins to Beethofen and he, as well as Abbé Vogler, has been
engaged for the theatre. He is to write one opera, Vogler three;
for this they are to receive 10 per cent. of the receipts at the
first ten performances, besides free lodgings.

The writer in the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” alone speaks of
the “Christus” as having been received with “extraordinary approval.”
Three months afterwards another correspondent flatly contradicts this:
“In the interest of truth,” he writes, “I am obliged to contradict
a report in the ‘Musikalische Zeitung’; Beethoven’s cantata did not
please.” To this Schindler remarks: “Even the composer agreed with
this to this extent--that in later years he unhesitatingly declared
that it had been a mistake to treat the part of ~Christ~ in the modern
vocal style. The abandonment of the work after the first performance,
as well as its tardy appearance in print (about 1810), permit us to
conclude that the author was not particularly satisfied with the manner
in which he had solved the problem, and that he probably made material
changes in the music.” The “Wiener Zeitung” of July 30, 1803, gives
all the comment necessary on the “abandonment” and probable changes in
the work, by announcing that “the favorable reception” of the oratorio
had induced the Society of Amateur Concerts to resolve to repeat it on
August 4. Moreover, Sebastian Meier’s concert of March 27, 1804, opened
with the second Symphony of Beethoven and closed with “Christus am
Ölberg,” being its fourth performance in one year.[5]

A few days after this public appearance we have a sight of Beethoven
again in private life. Dr. Joh. Th. Helm, the famous physician and
professor in Prague, then a young man just of the composer’s age (he
was born December 11, 1770), accompanied Count Prichnowsky on a visit
to Vienna. On the morning of the 16th of April these two gentlemen
met Beethoven in the street, who, knowing the Count, invited them to
Schuppanzigh’s, “where some of his pianoforte sonatas which Kleinhals
had transcribed as string quartets were to be rehearsed. We met,”
writes Held, in his manuscript autobiography (the citations were
communicated to this work by Dr. Edmund Schebek of Prague)

a number of the best musicians gathered together, such as the
violinists Krumbholz, Möser (of Berlin), the mulatto Bridgethauer,
who in London had been in the service of the then Prince of
Wales, also a Herr Schreiber and the 12 years’ old[6] Kraft who
played second. Even then Beethoven’s muse transported me to
higher regions, and the desire of all of these artists to have
our musical director Wenzel Praupner in Vienna confirmed me in
my opinion of the excellence of his conducting. Since then I have
often met Beethoven at concerts. His piquant conceits modified the
gloominess, I might say the lugubriousness, of his countenance. His
criticisms were very keen, as I learned most clearly at concerts of
the harpist Nadermann of Saxony and Mara, who was already getting
along in years.

[Sidenote: BRIDGETOWER AND THE “KREUTZER SONATA”]

The “Bridgethauer,” mentioned by Held--whose incorrect writing of the
name conveys to the German its correct pronunciation--was the “American
ship captain who associated much with Beethoven” mentioned by Schindler
and his copyists.

George Augustus Polgreen Bridgetower--a bright mulatto then 24 years
old, son of an African father and German or Polish mother, an applauded
public violinist in London at the age of ten years, and long in the
service, as musician, of the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV--was
never in America and knew as much probably of a ship and the science of
navigation as ordinary shipmasters do of the violin and the mysteries
of musical counterpoint. In 1802 he obtained leave of absence to visit
his mother in Dresden and to use the waters of Teplitz and Carlsbad,
which leave was prolonged that he might spend a few months in Vienna.
His playing in public and private at Dresden had secured him such
favorable letters of introduction as gained him a most brilliant
reception in the highest musical circles of the Austrian capital, where
he arrived a few days before Held met him at Schuppanzigh’s. Beethoven,
to whom he was introduced by Prince Lichnowsky, readily gave him aid
in a public concert. The date of the concert has not been determined
precisely; it was probably on May 24th. It has an interest on account
of Beethoven’s connection with it; for the day of the concert was the
date of the completion and performance of the “Kreutzer” Sonata.

The famous Sonata in A minor, Op. 47, with concertante violin,
dedicated to Rudolph Kreutzer in Paris [says Ries on page 82 of the
“Notizen”], was originally composed by Beethoven for Bridgetower,
an English artist. Here things did not go much better (Ries is
referring to the tardiness of the composition of the horn sonata
which Beethoven wrote for Punto), although a large part of the
first Allegro was ready at an early date. Bridgetower pressed
him greatly because the date of his concert had been set and he
wanted to study his part. One morning Beethoven summoned me at
half after 4 o’clock and said: “Copy the violin part of the first
Allegro quickly.” (His ordinary copyist was otherwise engaged.)
The pianoforte part was noted down only here and there in parts.
Bridgetower had to play the marvellously beautiful theme and
variations in F from Beethoven’s manuscript at the concert in the
Augarten at 8 o’clock in the morning because there was no time to
copy it. The final Allegro, however, was beautifully written,
since it originally belonged to the Sonata in A major (Op. 30),
which is dedicated to Czar Alexander. In its place Beethoven,
thinking it too brilliant for the A major Sonata, put the
variations which now form the finale.[7]

Bridgetower was thoughtful enough to leave in his copy of the Sonata a
note upon that first performance of it, as follows:

Relative to Beethoven’s Op. 47.

When I accompanied him in this Sonata-Concertante at Wien, at the
repetition of the first part of the Presto, I imitated the flight,
at the 18th bar, of the pianoforte of this movement thus:

[Illustration: 1^{ma} volta

2^{da} volta]

He jumped up, embraced me, saying: “Noch einmal, mein lieber
Bursch!” (“Once again, my dear boy!”) Then he held the open pedal
during this flight, the chord of C as at the ninth bar.

Beethoven’s expression in the Andante was so chaste, which always
characterized the performance of all his ~slow movements~, that it
was unanimously hailed to be repeated twice.

George Polgreen Bridgetower.

[Sidenote: THE CAREER OF BRIDGETOWER]

Bridgetower was mentioned in a letter from Beethoven to Baron von
Wetzlar, in this language, under date May 18:

Although we have never addressed each other I do not hesitate
to recommend to you the bearer, Mr. Brishdower, a very capable
virtuoso who has a complete command of his instrument.

Besides his concertos he plays quartets admirably. I greatly
wish that you make him known to others. He has commended himself
favorably to Lobkowitz and Fries and all other eminent lovers (of
music).

I think it would be not at all a bad idea if you were to take him
for an evening to Therese Schönfeld, where I know many friends
assemble and at your house. I know that you will thank me for
having made you acquainted with him.

Bridgetower, when advanced in years, talking with Mr. Thirlwall about
Beethoven, told him that at the time the Sonata, Op. 47, was composed,
he and the composer were constant companions, and that the first copy
bore a dedication to him; but before he departed from Vienna they had a
quarrel about a girl, and Beethoven then dedicated the work to Rudolph
Kreutzer.[8]

[Sidenote: SUMMER LODGINGS AT DÖBLING]

When Beethoven removed from the house “am Peter” to the theatre
building, he took his brother Karl (Kaspar) to live with him,[9] as
twenty years later he gave a room to his ~factotum~ Schindler. This
change of lodgings took place, according to Seyfried, before the
concert of April 5--which is confirmed by the brother’s new address
being contained in the “Staats-Schematismus” for 1803--that annual
publication being usually ready for distribution in April.[10] At the
beginning of the warm season Beethoven, as was his annual custom,
appears to have passed some weeks in Baden to refresh himself and
revive his energies after the irregular, exciting and fatiguing city
life of the winter, before retiring to the summer lodgings, whose
position he describes in a note to Ries (“Notizen,” p. 128) as “in
Oberdöbling No. 4, the street to the left where you go down the
mountain to Heiligenstadt.”

The Herrengasse is still “die Strasse links” at the extremity of the
village, as it was then; but the multiplication of houses and the
change in their numbers render it uncertain which in those days bore
the number 4. At all events it had, in 1803, gardens, vineyards or
green fields both in front and rear. True, it was half an hour’s walk
farther than from Heiligenstadt to the scenes in which he had composed
the second Symphony, the preceding summer; but, to compensate for this,
it was so much nearer the city--was in the more immediate vicinity
of that arm of the Danube called the “Canal”--and almost under its
windows was the gorge of the Krottenbach, which separates Döbling from
Heiligenstadt, and which, as it extends inland from the river, spreads
into a fine vale, then very solitary and still very beautiful. This
was the house, this the summer, and these the scenes, in which the
composer wrought out the conceptions that during the past five years
had been assuming form and consistency in his mind, to which Bernadotte
may have given the original impulse, and which we know as the “Heroic
Symphony.”[11]

Let us turn to Stephan von Breuning and a new friend or two. Archduke
Karl, by a commission dated January 9, 1801, had been made Chief
of the “Staats- und Konferenzial-Departement für das Kriegs- und
Marine-Wesen,” and retained the position still, notwithstanding his
assumption of the functions of Hoch- und Deutsch-Meister. He undertook
to introduce a wide-reaching reform at the War Department, which
demanded an increase in the number of Secretaries and scriveners.
Stephan von Breuning is the second in the list of five appointed in
1804, Ignatz von Gleichenstein the fifth. It is believed, that the
Archduke had discovered the fine business talents, the zeal in the
discharge of duty and the perfect trustworthiness of Breuning at the
Teutonic House, and that at his special invitation the young man this
year exchanged the service of the Order for that of the State. There
is abundant evidence, that the young Rhinelanders then in Vienna were
bound to each other by more than the usual ties: most of them were
fugitives from French tyranny, and liable to conscription if found in
the places of their birth, though this was not the case with Breuning.
There was, in addition to the ordinary feeling of nationality, a common
sense of exile to unite them. Between Breuning and Gleichenstein
therefore--two amiable and talented young men thus thrown into daily
intercourse--an immediate and warm friendship would naturally spring
up; and an introduction of the latter to Breuning’s friend Beethoven
would inevitably follow, in case they had not known each other in the
old Bonn days.

[Sidenote: ASSOCIATION WITH W. J. MÄHLER]

Another young Rhinelander, to whom Beethoven became much attached,
and who returned the kindness with warm affection for him personally
and a boundless admiration for his genius, became known to the
composer also just at this time. Willibrord Joseph Mähler, a native of
Coblentz--who died in 1860, at the age of 82 years, as pensioned Court
Secretary--was a man of remarkably varied artistic talents, by which,
however, since he cultivated them only as a dilettante and without
confining himself to any one art, he achieved no great distinction.
He wrote respectable poetry and set it to correct and not unpleasing
music; sang well enough to be recorded in Boeckh’s “Merkwürdigkeiten
der Haupt- und Residenz-Stadt Wien” (1823) as “amateur singer,” and
painted sufficiently well to be named, on another page of Boeckh,
“amateur portrait painter.” He painted that portrait of the composer,
about 1804-5, which is still in possession of the Beethoven family, and
a second 1814-15--(Mr. Mähler could not recall the precise date)--once
owned by Prof. Karajan. Several of the portraits now in possession of
the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna are from his pencil; but
two or three of the very best specimens of his skill have been sold to
a gentleman in Boston, U.S.A.[12]

Soon after Beethoven returned from his summer lodgings to his apartment
in the theatre building, Mähler, who had then recently arrived in
Vienna, was taken by Breuning thither to be introduced. They found
him busily at work finishing the “Heroic Symphony.” After some
conversation, at the desire of Mähler to hear him play, Beethoven,
instead of beginning an extempore performance, gave his visitors the
finale of the new Symphony; but at its close, without a pause, he
continued in free fantasia for ~two hours~, “during all which time,”
said Mr. Mähler to the present writer, “there was not a measure which
was faulty, or which did not sound original.” He added, that one
circumstance attracted his particular notice; viz.: “that Beethoven
played with his hands so very still; wonderful as his execution was,
there was no tossing of them to and fro, up and down; they seemed to
glide right and left over the keys, the fingers alone doing the work.”
To Mr. Mähler, as to most others who have recorded their impressions of
Beethoven’s improvisations, they were the ~non plus ultra~ of the art.

There was, however, be it noted in passing, a class of good musicians,
small in number and exceptional in taste, who, precisely at this time,
had discovered a rival to Beethoven, in this his own special field.
Thus Gänsbacher writes, as cited by Frölich in his “Biographie Voglers”:

Sonnleithner gave a musical soirée in honor of Vogler and invited
Beethoven among others. Vogler improvised at the pianoforte on a
theme given to him by Beethoven, 4-1/2 measures long, first an
Adagio and then fugued. Vogler then gave Beethoven a theme of
three measures (the scale of C major, ~alla breve~). Beethoven’s
excellent pianoforte playing, combined with an abundance of the
most beautiful thoughts, surprised me beyond measure, but could
not stir up the enthusiasm in me which had been inspired by
Vogler’s learned playing, which was beyond parallel in respect of
its harmonic and contrapuntal treatment.

An undated note of Beethoven, to Mähler, which belongs to a somewhat
later period--since its date is not ascertainable nor of much
importance--may be inserted here, as an introduction to Mr. Mähler’s
remarks upon the portrait to which it refers:

I beg of you to return my portrait to me as soon as you have made
sufficient use of it--if you need it longer I beg of you at least
to make haste--I have promised the portrait to a lady, a stranger
who saw it here, that she may hang it in her room during her stay
of several weeks. Who can withstand such charming importunities, as
a matter of course a portion of the lovely favors ~which I shall
thus garner~ will also fall to ~you~.

To the question what picture is here referred to, Mr. Mähler replied
in substance: “It was a portrait, which I painted soon after coming
to Vienna, in which Beethoven is represented, at nearly full length,
sitting; the left hand rests upon a lyre, the right is extended, as
if, in a moment of musical enthusiasm, he was beating time; in the
background is a temple of Apollo. Oh! If I could but know what became
of the picture!”

“What!” was the answer, to the great satisfaction of the old gentleman,
“the picture is hanging at this moment in the home of Madame van
Beethoven, widow, in the Josephstadt, and I have a copy of it.”[13]

The extended right hand--though, like the rest of the picture, not very
artistically executed--was evidently painted with care. It is rather
broad for the length, is muscular and nervous, as the hand of a great
pianist necessarily grows through much practice; but, on the whole, is
neatly formed and well proportioned. Anatomically, it corresponds so
perfectly with all the authentic descriptions of Beethoven’s person,
that this alone proves it to have been copied from nature and not drawn
after the painter’s fancy. Whoever saw a long, delicate hand with
fingers exquisitely tapering, like Mendelssohn’s, joined to the short
stout muscular figure of a Beethoven or a Schubert?

A few of Beethoven’s letters belonging to this period must be
introduced here. The first, dated September 22, 1803, addressed to
Hoffmeister, is as follows:

Herewith I declare all the works concerning which you have written
to me to be your property; the list of them will be copied again
and sent to you signed by me as your confessed property. I also
agree to the price, 50 ducats. Does this satisfy you?

Perhaps I may be able to send you instead of the variations for
violin and violoncello ~a set of variations for four hands~ on a
song of mine with which you will also have to print the poem by
Goethe, as I wrote these variations in an album as a souvenir and
consider them better than the others; are you content?

The ~transcriptions~ are not by me, but I revised them and improved
them in part, therefore do not come along with an announcement that
I had arranged them, because if you do you will lie, and, I haven’t
either time or patience for such work. Are you agreed?

Now farewell, I can wish you only large success, and I would
willingly give you everything as a gift if it were possible for
me thus to get through the world, but--consider, everything about
me has an official appointment and knows what he has to live on,
but, good God, where at the Imperial Court is there a place for a
~parvum talentum com ego~?

[Sidenote: CORRESPONDENCE WITH GEORGE THOMSON]

In this year began the correspondence with Thomson. George Thomson,
a Scotch gentleman (born March 4, 1757, at Limekilns, Dunfermline,
died at Leith, February 18, 1851), distinguished himself by tastes and
acquirements which led to his appointment, when still a young man,
as “Secretary to the Board of Trustees for the Encouragement of Arts
and Manufactures in Scotland”--a Board established at the time of the
Union of the Kingdoms, 1707 (not the Crowns, 1603), of England and
Scotland--an office from which he retired upon a full pension after
a service of fifty years. He was, especially, a promoter of all good
music and an earnest reviver of ancient Scotch melody. As one means
of improving the public taste and at the same time of giving currency
to Scotch national airs, he had published sonatas with such melodies
for themes, composed for him by Pleyel in Paris, and Koželuch in
Vienna---two instrumental composers enjoying then a European reputation
now difficult to appreciate. The fame of the new composer at Vienna
having now reached Edinburgh, Thomson applied to him for works of
a like character. Only the signature of the reply seems to be in
Beethoven’s hand:

A Monsieur
George Thomson, Nr. 28 York Place
Edinburgh. North Britain
Vienna le 5. 8^{bre} 1803.

Monsieur!

J’ai reçu avec bien de plaisir votre lettre du 20 Juillet. Entrant
volontiers dans vos propositions je dois vous declarer que je suis
prêt de composer pour vous six sonates telles que vous les desirez
y introduisant même les airs ecossais d’une manière laquelle la
nation Ecossaise trouvera la plus favorable et le plus d’accord
avec le genie de ses chansons. Quant au honoraire je crois que
trois cent ducats pour six sonates ne sera pas trop, vu qu’en
Allemagne on me donne autant pour pareil nombre de sonates même
sans accompagnement.

Je vous previens en même tems que vous devez accelerer votre
declaration, par ce qu’on me propose tant d’engagements qu’après
quelque tems je ne saurois peutêtre aussitôt satisfaire à vos
demandes.--Je vous prie de me pardonner, que cette reponse est si
retardée ce qui n’a été causée que par mon sejour à la campagne et
plusieurs occupations tres pressantes.--Aimant de preference les
airs eccossais je me plairai particulierement dans la composition
de vos sonates, et j’ose avancer que si nos interêts s’accorderront
sur le honoraire, vous serez parfaitement contenté.

Agréez les assurances de mon estime distingué.

Louis van Beethoven.

Mr. Thomson’s endorsement of this letter is this:

50 D. 1803. Louis van Beethoven, Vienna, demands 300 ducats for
composing six Sonatas for me. Replied 8th Nov. that I would give no
more than 150, taking 3 of the Sonatas when ready and the other 3
in six months after; giving him leave to publish in Germany on his
own account, the day after publication in London.

The sonatas were never composed. Not long afterwards, on October
22, Beethoven, enraged at efforts to reprint his works, issued the
following characteristic fulmination in large type, filling an entire
page of the journal:

WARNING.

Herr Carl Zulehner, a reprinter at Mayence, has announced an
edition of all my works for pianoforte and string instruments. I
hold it to be my duty hereby publicly to inform all friends of
music that I have not the slightest part in this edition. I should
not have offered to make a collection of my works, a proceeding
which I hold to be premature at the best, without first consulting
with the publishers and caring for the correctness which is wanting
in some of the individual publications. Moreover, I wish to call
attention to the fact that the illicit edition in question can
never be complete, inasmuch as some new works will soon appear
in Paris, which Herr Zulehner, as a French subject, will not be
permitted to reprint. I shall soon make full announcement of a
collection of my works to be made under my supervision and after a
severe revision.[14]

[Sidenote: MEISSNER’S ORATORIO TEXT REJECTED]

Alexander Macco, the painter, after executing a portrait of the Queen
of Prussia, in 1801, which caused much discussion in the public press
but secured to him a pension of 100 thalers, went from Berlin to
Dresden, Prague, and, in the summer of 1802, to Vienna. Here he became
a great admirer of Beethoven, both as man and artist, and claimed
and enjoyed so much of his society as the state of his mind and body
would allow him to grant to any stranger. Macco remained but a few
months here and then returned to Prague, whence he wrote the next year
offering to Beethoven for composition an oratorio text by Prof. A. G.
Meissner--a name just then well known in musical circles because of
the publication of the first volume of the biography of Kapellmeister
Naumann. If Meissner had not removed from Prague to Fulda in 1805, and
if Europe had remained at peace, perhaps Beethoven might, two or three
years later, have availed himself of the offer; just now he felt bound
to decline it, which he did in a letter dated November 2, 1803. In it
he said:

I am sorry, too, that I could not be oftener with you in Vienna,
but there are periods in human life which have to be overcome
and often they are not looked upon from the right point of view,
it appears that as a great artist you are not wholly unfamiliar
with such, and so--I have not, as I observe, lost your good will,
of which fact I am glad because I esteem you highly and wish
that I might have such an artist ~in my profession~ to associate
with. Meissner’s proposal is very welcome, nothing could be more
desirable than to receive such a poem from him, who is so highly
honored as a writer and who understands musical poetry better than
any other German author, but at present it is impossible for me to
write this oratorio because I am just ~beginning my opera~ which,
together with the performance, may occupy me ~till Easter~--if
Meissner is not in a hurry to publish his poem I should be glad
if he were to leave the composition of it to me, and if the poem
is not completed I wish he would not hurry it, since before or
after Easter I would come to Prague and let him hear some of my
compositions, which would make him more familiar with my manner of
writing, and either--inspire him further--or perhaps, make him stop
altogether, etc.

Was, then, the correspondent of the “Zeitung für die Elegante Welt”
right? Had Beethoven really received one of Schikaneder’s heroic texts?
This much is certain: that in the words “because I am just beginning
my opera,” no reference is made to the “Leonore” (“Fidelio”). They may
only express his expectation of beginning such a work immediately;
or they may refer to one already begun, of which a fragment has
been preserved. In Rubric II of the sale catalogue of Beethoven’s
manuscripts and music, No. 67, is a “vocal piece with orchestra,
complete, but not entirely orchestrated.” It is an operatic trio[15];
the dramatis personæ are ~Porus~, ~Volivia~, ~Sartagones~; the
handwriting is that of this part of the composer’s life; and the music
is the basis of the subsequent grand duet in “Fidelio,” “O namenlose
Freude.” The temptation is strong to believe that Schikaneder had
given Beethoven another “Alexander,” the scenes laid in India--a
supplement to that with which his new theatre had been opened two years
before. However this was, circumstances occurred, which prevented its
completion, or indeed the composition by Beethoven of any text prepared
by Schikaneder.

The compositions which may safely be dated 1803, are few in
comparison with those of 1802. The works published in the course
of the year were the two Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. 31, Nos. 1 and
2 (in Nägeli’s “Répertoire des Clavecinistes”); the three Violin
Sonatas, Op. 30 (Industrie-Comptoir); the two sets of Variations,
Op. 34 and 35 (Breitkopf and Härtel); the seven Bagatelles, Op. 33
(Industrie-Comptoir); the Romanza in G for Violin, Op. 40 (Hoffmeister
and Kühnel); the arrangement for Pianoforte and Flute (or Violin)
Op. 41 of the Serenade (Op. 25), which was not made by Beethoven but
examined by him and “corrected in parts” (Hoffmeister and Kühnel);
the two Preludes for Pianoforte, Op. 39 (Hoffmeister and Kühnel); two
songs, “La Partenza” and “Ich liebe dich” (Traeg); a song, “Das Glück
der Freundschaft,” Op. 88 (Löschenkerl in Vienna and Simrock in Bonn),
of which Nottebohm found a sketch amongst the sketches for the “Eroica”
Symphony in the book used in 1803 and which, therefore, though it may
have been an early work, was probably rewritten in 1803; and the six
Sacred Songs by Gellert, dedicated to Count Browne (Artaria). The two
great works of the year were the “Kreutzer” Sonata for Violin and the
“Sinfonia Eroica.” The title of the former, “Sonata per il Pianoforte
ed un Violino obligato in uno stilo (~stile~) molto concertante quasi
come d’un Concerto,” is found on the inner side of the last sheet of
the sketchbook of 1803 described by Nottebohm. Beethoven wrote the
word “brillante” after “stilo” but scratched it out. It is obvious
that he wished to emphasize the difference between this Sonata and its
predecessors. Simrock’s tardiness in publishing the Sonata annoyed
Beethoven. He became impatient and wrote to the publisher as follows,
under date of October 4, 1804:

[Sidenote: KREUTZER AND HIS SONATA]

Dear, best Herr Simrock, I have been waiting with longing for the
Sonata which I gave you--but in vain--please write me what the
condition of affairs is concerning it--whether or not you accepted
it from me merely as food for moths--or do you wish to obtain a
special Imperial ~privilegium~ in connection with it?--well it
seems to me that might have been accomplished long ago.--Where in
hiding is this slow devil--who is to drive out the sonata--you are
generally the quick devil, are known as Faust once was as being in
league with the imp of darkness and for this reason you are ~loved~
by your ~comrades~; but again--where in hiding is your devil--or
what kind of a devil is it that sits on my sonata and with whom
~you~ have a misunderstanding?--Hurry, then, and tell me when I
shall see the sonata given to the light of day--when you have told
me the date I will at once send a little note to Kreutzer, which
you will please be kind enough to enclose when you send a copy (as
you in any event will send your copies to Paris or even, perhaps,
have them printed there)--~this Kreutzer is a dear, good fellow~
who during his stay here[16] gave me much pleasure. I prefer his
unassuming manner and unaffectedness to all the ~Extérieur~ or
~intérieur~ of all the virtuosi--as the sonata is written for a
thoroughly capable violinist, the dedication to him is all the
more appropriate--although we correspond with each other (i. e.,
a letter from me once a year)--I hope he will not have learned
anything about it....

As a proof of the growing appreciation of Beethoven in foreign lands it
may be remarked here that in the summer of 1803 he received an Erard
pianoforte as a gift from the celebrated Parisian maker. The instrument
belongs to the museum at Linz and used to bear an inscription, on the
authority of Beethoven’s brother Johann, that it was given to the
composer by the city of Paris in 1804. The archives of the Erard firm
show, however, that on the 18th of Thermidor, in the XIth year of the
Republic (1803), Sébastien Erard made a present of “un piano forme
clavecin” to Ludwig van Beethoven in Vienna.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Probably the Quintet for Pianoforte and Wind-Instruments, Op. 16,
published in March, 1801.

[2] “Cäcilia.” IX, p. 219.

[3] The English editor of this biography found trombone parts written
out by Beethoven among Mr. Thayer’s posthumous papers; they belonged
to the Trio in the Scherzo of the Ninth Symphony, and Beethoven’s
instructions to the copyist where to introduce them in the score
plainly showed that they were an afterthought.

[4] It was not the case this time, for the manuscript of this Concerto
bears in the composer’s hand the date “1800.”

[5] In a Conversation Book from the year 1825, Holz writes that till
then “Christus am Ölberg” had always drawn full houses, but that the
court official in charge of musical affairs (~Hofmusikgraf~) had not
allowed further performances to be given.

[6] Anton Kraft was 14-1/2 years old at the time.

[7] The following observation on the sonata by Czerny is also
interesting: “In the Sonata written for Bridgetower and dedicated to
Kreutzer, Op. 47 (of which the first movement was composed in four
days and the other two [?] added from a sonata already completed), the
concluding passage

[Illustration]

is said to be borrowed from a piece of Kreutzer’s already in print. I
had this assurance immediately after the publication of the Beethoven
Sonata from a French musician (1805). It would be worth while to
investigate the matter. Perhaps therein lies the reason of its
dedication.” And further: “Bridgetower was a mulatto and played very
extravagantly; when he played the sonata with Beethoven it was laughed
at.”

[8] Letters and other documents, some of which were placed in Mr.
Thayer’s hands by Samuel Appleby, Esq., relative to Bridgetower, are
printed in an appendix to Vol. II of the first German edition of
this biography and as foot-notes and otherwise in Vol. III. What is
essential in the memoranda and documents can be put into a much smaller
compass. The subscription for the concert amounted to 1140 florins and
the list was headed by the English envoy. Bridgetower’s father was
known in England as the “Abyssinian Prince,” and Mr. Thayer speculates
whether the title was genuine or but a sobriquet given to him suggested
by Dr. Johnson’s “Rasselas”; but it will appear presently that he was
called an “African Prince,” not an Abyssinian; how his father got to
Biala in Poland, where Bridgetower was born, or whether his mother was
a German or a Pole, remains a mystery which has not yet been cleared
up. The first memorandum of information in Mr. Thayer’s collection was
in the shape of an excerpt from a communication from London written by
Abt Vogler and printed in Bossler’s “Musikalische Correspondenz” on
July 7, 1790. Abt Vogler’s letter bears date London, June 6, 1790; in
it he said:

“Last Wednesday, June 2nd, I attended a concert here in Hanover Square
where two young heroes contested with each other on the violin and
all music-lovers and cognoscenti found most agreeable entertainment
for three hours. The two played concertos alternately and both won
the warmest applause. The quartet, however, which was played by young
virtuosi whose combined ages did not reach 40 years, by virtue of a
fine, cheerful, witty and yet harmonious performance exceeded all the
expectations that experienced players could gratify. The first violin
was played by Clement of Vienna, eight and one-half, the second by
Bridgetower of Africa, ten years of age.”

The Prince of Wales, afterwards King George IV, took the youth into his
service as first violinist in the Pavilion at Brighton. The next piece
of information which reached Thayer told of Bridgetower’s first concert
in Dresden on July 24, 1802. A second concert was given on March 18,
1803, at which a brother of the violinist, who played the violoncello,
took part. A letter from Friedrich Lindemann, a member of the Prince of
Wales’s orchestra, dated January 14, 1803, contained the information
that a letter of Bridgetower’s forwarded to Brighton by a certain
“Billy” Cole had been placed in the hands of the Prince, who read it at
once, appeared to be highly satisfied, and granted the writer’s request
to be permitted to go to Vienna. Thayer did not learn the dates of
Bridgetower’s birth or death, but Dr. Riemann in his revision of the
second Volume says that he died “between 1840 and 1850.” This is an
error.

In the May number for 1908 of “The Musical Times” (London) Mr. F. G.
Edwards printed the results of an investigation into Bridgetower’s
life, and provided some new and definite information from a collection
of letters and documents in the possession of Arthur F. Hill,
F.S.A. From this article it appears that Bridgetower was a pupil of
Barthélemon, Giornovichi, Thomas Attwood and--as he claimed--Haydn.
If he really was a pupil of Haydn, he must, as Mr. Edwards pointed
out, have been in the neighborhood of Vienna before he had completed
his tenth year. To this the present writer adds that if he had been
a pupil of Haydn’s the latter would not have omitted his name in the
list of names which he made of the London musicians on his first visit
to the English metropolis, for he included “Clement ~petit~,” who was
then between ten and eleven years old. (See, “Music and Manners in
the Classical Period,” by H. E. Krehbiel, p. 77.) He made his first
public appearance in Paris at a Concert Spirituel on April 13, 1789.
In the announcement of this concert he was described as “Mr. Georges
Bridgetower, né aux colonies anglaises, âgé de 9 ans.” (Yet his
passport issued by the police authorities, gives Biala in Poland as his
birthplace.) A concert for his benefit was given on May 27, 1789, at
the Salle du Panthéon. Soon thereafter he crossed the channel and, if
his father is to be believed, he played for the first time in England
before George III and his court at Windsor Castle. Next he appears at
Bath, the “Morning Post” of November 25, 1789, reporting “Amongst those
added to the Sunday promenade were the African Prince in the Turkish
attire. The son of this African Prince has been celebrated as a very
accomplished musician.” The same newspaper, on December 8, a fortnight
later, tells of a concert given on the Saturday morning immediately
preceding the publication which was “more crowded and splendid than has
ever been known at this place, upwards of 550 people being present.
Rauzzini was enraptured, and declared that he had never heard such
execution before, even from his friend La Motte, who was, he thought,
much inferior to this wonderful boy. The father was in the gallery, and
so affected by the applause bestowed on his son, that tears of pleasure
and gratitude flowed in profusion.”

It would seem as if the modern methods of advertising musical artists
is far behind the old in the impudent display of charlantanry. The
plain “Georges” of the first Paris concert, the later George Polgreen,
in the announcement of his first concert in Bath becomes George
Augustus Frederick. Why? The Christian name of the Prince of Wales was
George Augustus Frederick. In this announcement he is described as “a
youth of Ten Years old, Pupil of the celebrated HAYDN.” The newspapers
were amiable or gullible, or both.

The lad played a concerto between “the 2d and 3d Acts” of “The Messiah”
at a performance of Handel’s oratorio given for the benefit of Rauzzini
on Christmas eve of the same year. He gave a concert in Bristol on
December 18, 1789, leading the band “with the coolness and spirit
of a Cramer to the astonishment and delight of all present,” and on
New Year’s day, 1790. Next he went to London, where, at Drury Lane
Theatre on February 19, 1790, he played a solo at a performance of
“The Messiah.” Referring to the Lenten concerts of that year, Parke
says in his “Musical Memoirs”: “Concertos were performed on the oboe
by me and on the violin for the first time by Master Bridgetower, son
of an African Prince, who was attended by his father habited in the
costume of his country.” The concert described by Abt Vogler was under
the patronage of the Prince of Wales. At the Handel Commemoration of
1791 in Westminster Abbey, Bridgetower and Hummel, in scarlet coats,
sat on either side of Joah Bates at the organ and pulled out the stops
for him. He played in the orchestra at the Haydn-Salomon concerts in
1791, at several of the Lenten concerts in the King’s Theatre in 1792,
and on May 28 he performed a concerto by Viotti at Mr. Barthélemon’s
concert, the announcement stating that “Dr. Haydn will preside at the
pianoforte.” (Haydn’s note-book contains no mention of the concert,
which would in likelihood have been the case had Bridgetower ever been
his pupil.) He was plainly on terms of intimacy with such musicians as
Viotti, François Cramer, Attwood, and later of Samuel Wesley, who wrote
of him in a tone of enthusiastic appreciation.

In 1802, being then in the Prince of Wales’s band at Brighton, he
obtained leave, as Thayer notes, to visit Dresden and take the baths
at Teplitz and Carlsbad; eventually, too, as we have seen, to visit
Vienna. The passport issued to him in Vienna for his return to London
described him as “a musician, native of Poland, aged 24 years, medium
height, clean shaven, dark brown hair, brown eyes and straight, rather
broad nose.” He seems to have become a resident of London and to have
continued in favor with musical and other notables for a considerable
space, for Dr. Crotch asks his aid in securing the patronage of the
Prince Regent for a concert.

He received the degree of Bachelor of Music, on presentation of the
usual exercise, from the University of Cambridge in 1811. There follow
some years during which his life remains obscure, but in which he lived
on the Continent. He was in Rome in 1825 and 1827; back in London in
1843, when Vincent Novello sent him a letter which he signed “your
much obliged old pupil and professional admirer.” John Ella met him in
Vienna in 1845, but he was again in London in 1846, and there he died,
apparently friendless and in poverty, on February 29, 1860. In the
registry of his death, discovered by Mr. Edwards, his age is set down
as 78 years; but he must have been eighty if he was nine when he played
at the first concert in Paris in 1789. He was born either in 1779 or
1780. He published some pianoforte studies in 1812 under the title
“Diatonica Armonica” which, with a few other printed pieces, are to be
found in the British Museum. A ballad entitled “Henry,” which was “Sung
by Miss Feron and dedicated with permission to Her Royal Highness the
Princess of Wales,” was evidently composed in 1810.

[9] “Hr. Karl v. Beethoven lives auf-der-Wien 26.”
“Staats-Schematismus,” 1803, p. 150; and ~ibid.~ 1804, p. 154. “Hr.
Ludwig van Beethofen, auf-der-Wien 26.”--See “Auskunftsbuch,” 1804,
p. 204. “An-der-Wien, No. 26. Bartolomä Zitterbarth, K. K. Prin.
Schauspielhaus.”--See “Vollständiges Verzeichniss aller ... der
numerirten Häuser, deren Eigenthümer,” etc., etc., Wien, 1804, p. 133.

[10] A letter printed in 1909 by Leopold Schmidt in his collection
from the archives of the Simrock firm, confirms the change of lodgings
to the theatre and also brother Karl’s activity as correspondent
and arranger. In it he offers a grand Sonata for violin, to appear
simultaneously in London, Leipsic, Vienna and Bonn, for 30 florins;
a grand Symphony for 400 florins. When the “Kreutzer” Sonata was
published (it was announced by Träg on May 18, 1805) Karl acknowledged
the receipt of a copy in a letter to Simrock, adding that all the other
publishers sent six copies of the works printed by them and asking for
the remaining five. Simrock took him to task rather sharply for what
he considered a piece of presumption, in a letter which he enclosed to
Ferdinand Ries with the statement that he might read it if he wanted
to. “I bought the Sonata of Louis van Beethoven,” says the indignant
publisher, “and in his letter concerning it there is not a word about
giving him six copies in addition to the fees--a matter important
enough to have been mentioned; I was under the impression that Louis
van Beethoven composed his own works; what I am certain of is that
I have fully complied with all the conditions of the contract and
am indebted to nobody.” In the note to Ries he calls Karl’s conduct
“impertinent and deserving of a harsher treatment, for Herr Karl seems
to me incorrigible.”

[11] Thayer considered the “first street to the left” to be the
Herrengasse. J. Böck (Gnadenau) argued in “Die Musik.” Vol. II, No.
6, that the house in which the “Eroica” was composed was the present
Hauptstrasse No. 92 of Döbling and bore the old No. 4 of the Hofzeile.
In 1890 the owner of the house and the Männergesangsverein of Döbling
placed a tablet on the “Eroica” house, whose occupants “were still in
possession of a tradition concerning Beethoven’s occupation of it.” So
says Dr. Riemann.

[12] Th. von Frimmel discusses the Beethoven portraits in his “Neue
Beethoveniana,” p. 189 ~et seq.~, and “Beethoven-Studien,” Vol. II
(1905).

[13] A copy of this portrait which belonged to Thayer is now in the
possession of Mrs. Jabez Fox, and is presented in photogravure as
frontispiece to the present volume.

[14] The publication of a complete edition of his composition
frequently occupied the mind of Beethoven. In 1806 Breitkopf and Härtel
tried to get all of Beethoven’s works for publication by them; it is
likely that similar efforts on the part of Viennese publishers date
back as far as 1803. Later the plan plays a rôle in the correspondence
with Probst and Simrock. As late as 1824 it was urged by Andreas
Streicher. It has already been said that Beethoven at an early date
desired to make an arrangement with a publisher by which he might be
relieved of anxiety about monetary matters. He wanted to give all his
compositions to one publisher, who should pay him a fixed salary.

[15] Nottebohm, “Skizzenbuch, etc., 1803,” p. 56, says “quartet.”

[16] Kreutzer came to Vienna with Bernadotte in 1789.

Chapter II

The Year 1804--The “Sinfonia Eroica”--Beethoven and Breuning--The
“Waldstein” Sonata--Sonnleithner, Treitschke and Gaveaux--“Fidelio”
Begun--Beethoven’s Popularity.

During the winter 1803-04 negotiations were in progress the result of
which put an end for the present to Beethoven’s operatic aspirations.
Let Treitschke, a personal actor in the scenes, explain:[17]

On February 24, 1801, the first performance of “Die Zauberflöte”
took place in the Royal Imperial Court Theatre beside the
Kärnthnerthor. Orchestra and chorus as well as the representatives
of ~Sarastro~ (Weinmüller), the ~Queen of Night~ (Mme.
Rosenbaum), ~Pamina~ (Demoiselle Saal) and the ~Moor~ (Lippert)
were much better than before. It remained throughout the year
the only admired German opera. The loss of large receipts and
the circumstance that many readings were changed, the dialogue
shortened and the name of the author omitted from all mention,
angered S. (Schikaneder) greatly. He did not hesitate to give free
vent to his gall, and to parody some of the vulnerable passages
in the performance. Thus the change of costume accompanying the
metamorphosis of the old woman into ~Papagena~ seldom succeeded.
Schikaneder, when he repeated the opera at his theatre, sent a
couple of tailors on to the stage who slowly accomplished the
disrobing, etc. These incidents would be trifles had they not been
followed by such significant consequences; for from that time dated
the hatred and jealousy which existed between the German operas
of the two theatres, which alternately persecuted every novelty
and ended in Baron von Braun, then manager of the Court Theatre,
purchasing the Theater-an-der-Wien in 1804, by which act everything
came under the staff of a single shepherd but never became a single
flock.

Zitterbarth had, some months before, purchased of Schikaneder all his
rights in the property, paying him 100,000 florins for the privilegium
alone; and, therefore, being absolute master, “had permitted a
dicker down to the sum of 1,060,000 florins Vienna standard....
The contract was signed on February 11th and on the 16th the
Theater-an-der-Wien under the new arrangement was opened with Méhul’s
opera ‘Ariodante.’”[18]

Zitterbarth had retained Schikaneder as director; but now Baron Braun
dismissed him, and the Secretary of the Court Theatres, Joseph von
Sonnleithner, for the present acted in that capacity.

The sale of the theatre made void the contracts with Vogler and
Beethoven, except as to the first of Vogler’s three operas, “Samori”
(text by Huber), which being ready was put in rehearsal and produced
May 7th.

It was no time for Baron Braun, with three theatres on his hands, to
make new contracts with composers, until the reins were fairly in his
grasp, and the affairs of the new purchase brought into order and in
condition to work smoothly; nor was there any necessity of haste;
the repertory was so well supplied, that the list of new pieces for
the year reached the number of forty-three, of which eighteen were
operas or ~Singspiele~. So Beethoven, who had already occupied the
free lodgings in the theatre building for the year which his contract
with Zitterbarth and Schikaneder granted him, was compelled to move.
Stephan von Breuning even then lived in the house in which in 1827 he
died. It was the large pile of building belonging to the Esterhazy
estates, known as “das rothe Haus,” which stood at a right angle to
the Schwarzspanier house and church, and fronted upon the open space
where now stands the new Votiv-Kirche. Here also Beethoven now took
apartments.[19]

It is worth noting, that this was the year--October, 1803 to October,
1804--of C. M. von Weber’s first visit to Vienna, and of his studies
under Vogler. He was then but eighteen years old and “the delicate
little man” made no very favorable impression upon Beethoven. But at
a later period, when Weber’s noble dramatic talent became developed
and known, no former prejudice prevented the great symphonist’s due
appreciation and hearty acknowledgment of it.

[Sidenote: CLEMENTI COMES TO VIENNA]

Among the noted strangers who came to Vienna this spring was Clementi.

“He sent word to Beethoven that he would like to see him.” “Clementi
will wait a long time before Beethoven goes to him,” was the reply.
Thus Czerny.

When he came (says Ries) Beethoven wanted to go to him at once, but
his brother put it into his head that Clementi ought to make the
first visit. Though much older Clementi would probably have done
so had not gossip begun to concern itself with the matter. Thus it
came about that Clementi was in Vienna a long time without knowing
Beethoven except by sight. Often we dined at the same table in the
Swan, Clementi with his pupil Klengel and Beethoven with me; all
knew each other but no one spoke to the other, or confined himself
to a greeting. The two pupils had to imitate their masters, because
they feared they would otherwise lose their lessons. This would
surely have been the case with me because there was no possibility
of a middle-way with Beethoven. (“Notizen,” p. 101.)

[Sidenote: THE “EROICA” AND NAPOLEON]

Early in the Spring a fair copy of the “Sinfonia Eroica” had been
made to be forwarded to Paris through the French embassy, as Moritz
Lichnowsky informed Schindler.

In this symphony (says Ries) Beethoven had Buonaparte in his mind,
but as he was when he was First Consul. Beethoven esteemed him
greatly at the time and likened him to the greatest Roman consuls.
I as well as several of his more intimate friends saw a copy of
the score lying upon his table, with the word “Buonaparte” at the
extreme top of the title-page and at the extreme bottom “Luigi van
Beethoven,” but not another word. Whether, and with what the space
between was to be filled out, I do not know. I was the first to
bring him the intelligence that Buonaparte had proclaimed himself
emperor, whereupon he flew into a rage and cried out: “Is then he,
too, nothing more than an ordinary human being? Now he, too, will
trample on all the rights of man and indulge only his ambition. He
will exalt himself above all others, become a tyrant!” Beethoven
went to the table, took hold of the title-page by the top, tore it
in two and threw it on the floor. The first page was rewritten and
only then did the symphony receive the title: “Sinfonia eroica.”

There can be no mistake in this; for Count Moritz Lichnowsky, who
happened to be with Beethoven when Ries brought the offensive news,
described the scene to Schindler years before the publication of the
“Notizen,”

The Acts of the French Tribunate and Senate, which elevated the
First Consul to the dignity of Emperor, are dated May 3, 4, and 17.
Napoleon’s assumption of the crown occurred on the 18th and the
solemn proclamation was issued on the 20th. Even in those days,
news of so important an event would not have required ten days to
reach Vienna. At the very latest, then, a fair copy of the “Sinfonia
Eroica,” was complete early in May, 1804. That it was a copy, the
two credible witnesses, Ries and Lichnowsky, attest. Beethoven’s
own score--purchased at the sale in 1827, for 3 fl. 10 kr., Vienna
standard (less than 3-1/2 francs), by the Vienna composer Hr. Joseph
Dessauer--could not have been the one referred to above. It is, from
beginning to end, disfigured by erasures and corrections, and the
title-page could never have answered to Ries’ description. It is this:

(At the top:) N. B. 1. Cues for the other instruments are to be
written into the first violin part.

~Sinfonia Grande~
[Here two words are erased]
___
804 im August
del Sigr
Louis van Beethoven
Sinfonie 3 Op. 55

(At the bottom:) N. B. 2. The third horn is so written that it
can be played by by [~sic~] a ~primario~ as
well as a ~secundario~.

A note to the funeral march, is evidently a direction to the copyist,
as are the remarks on the title-page:

N. B. The notes in the bass which have stems upwards are for the
violoncellos, those downward for the bass-viol.

One of the two words erased from the title was “Bonaparte”; and just
under his own name Beethoven wrote with a lead pencil in large letters,
nearly obliterated but still legible, “Composed on Bonaparte.”

It is confidently submitted, therefore, that all the traditions derived
from Czerny, Dr. Bertolini and whomsoever, that the opening Allegro
is a description of a naval battle, and that the ~Marcia funebre~
was written in commemoration of Nelson or Gen. Abercrombie,[20] are
mistakes, and that Schindler is correct; and again, that the date “804
im August,” is not that of the composition of the Symphony. It is
written with a different ink, darker than the rest of the title, and
may have been inserted long afterwards, Beethoven’s memory playing him
false. The two “violin adagios with orchestral accompaniment” offered
by Kaspar van Beethoven to André in November, 1802, cannot well be
anything but the two Romances, yet that in G, Op. 40, bears the date
1803. Perhaps Kaspar wrote before it was complete. But what can be
said to this? It is perfectly well known that Op. 124 was performed
on October 3, 1822; yet the copy sent to Stumpff in London bore this
title: “Overture by Ludwig van Beethoven, composed for the opening
of the Josephstadt Theatre, towards the end of September, 1823, and
performed for the first time on October 3, 1824, Op. 124.” That the
“804 im August” may be an error, is at all events possible, if not
established as such. “Afterwards,” continues Ries, “Prince Lobkowitz
bought this composition for several years’ [?] use, and it was
performed several times in his palace.”

There is “an anecdote told by a person who enjoyed Beethoven’s
society,”[21] in Schmidt’s “Wiener Musik-Zeitung” (1843, p. 28),
according to which, as may readily be believed, this work, then so
difficult, new, original, strange in its effects and of such unusual
length, did not please. Some time after this humiliating failure
Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia paid a visit to the same cavalier
(Lobkowitz) in his countryseat.... To give him a surprise, the new
and, of course, to him utterly unknown symphony, was played to the
Prince, who “listened to it with tense attention which grew with
every movement.” At the close he proved his admiration by requesting
the favor of an immediate repetition; and, after an hour’s pause, as
his stay was too limited to admit of another concert, a second. “The
impression made by the music was general and its lofty contents were
now recognized.”

To those who have had occasion to study the character of Louis
Ferdinand as a man and a musician, and who know that at the precise
time here indicated he was really upon a journey that took him near
certain estates of Prince Lobkowitz, there is nothing improbable in
the anecdote. ~If~ it be true, and the occurrence really took place at
Raudnitz or some other “countryseat” of the Prince’s, the rehearsals
and first performances of the Symphony at Vienna had occurred, weeks,
perhaps months, before “804 im August.” However this be, Ries was
present at the first rehearsal and incurred the danger of receiving a
box on the ear from his master.

In the first Allegro occurs a wicked whim (~böse Laune~) of
Beethoven’s for the horn; in the second part, several measures
before the theme recurs in its entirety, Beethoven has the horn
suggest it at a place where the two violins are still holding a
second chord. To one unfamiliar with the score this must always
sound as if the horn player had made a miscount and entered at the
wrong place. At the first rehearsal of the symphony, which was
horrible, but at which the horn player made his entry correctly,
I stood beside Beethoven, and, thinking that a blunder had been
made I said: “Can’t the damned hornist count?--it sounds infamously
false!” I think I came pretty close to receiving a box on the
ear. Beethoven did not forgive the slip for a long time. (P. 79,
“Notizen.”)

It was bad economy for two young, single men, each to have and pay
for a complete suite of apartments in the same house, especially for
two who were connected by so many ties of friendship as Breuning and
Beethoven. Either lodging contained ample room for both; and Beethoven
therefore very soon gave up his and moved into the other. Breuning
had his own housekeeper and cook and they also usually dined together
at home. This arrangement had hardly been effected when Beethoven was
seized with a severe sickness, which when conquered still left him the
victim of an obstinate intermittent fever.

[Sidenote: A QUARREL WITH VON BREUNING]

Every language has its proverbs to the effect that he who serves not
himself is ill served. So Beethoven discovered, when it was too late,
that due notice had not been given to the agent of Esterhazy, and that
he was bound for the rent of the apartments previously occupied. The
question, who was in fault, came up one day at dinner in the beginning
of July, and ended in a sudden quarrel in which Beethoven became so
angry as to leave the table and the house and retire to Baden with the
determination to sacrifice the rent here and pay for another lodging,
rather than remain under the same roof with Breuning. “Breuning,”
says Ries, “a hot-head like Beethoven, grew so enraged at Beethoven’s
conduct because the incident occurred in the presence of his brother.”
It is clear, however, that he soon became cool and instantly did his
best to prevent the momentary breach from becoming permanent, by
writing--as may be gathered from Beethoven’s allusions to it--a manly,
sensible and friendly invitation to forgive and forget. But Beethoven,
worn with illness, his nerves unstrung, made restless, unhappy,
petulant by his increasing deafness, was for a time obstinate. His
wrath must run its course. It found vent in the following letters to
Ries, and then the paroxysm soon passed.

The first of the letters was written in the beginning of 1804,

Dear Ries: Since Breuning did not scruple by his conduct to present
my character to you and the landlord as that of a miserable,
beggarly, contemptible fellow I single you out first to give my
answer to Breuning by word of mouth. Only to the one and first
point of his letter which I answer only in order to vindicate my
character in your eyes. Say to him, then, that it never occurred
to me to reproach him because of the tardiness of the notice, and
that, if Breuning was really to blame for it, my desire to live
amicably with all the world is much too precious and dear to me
that I should give pain to one of my friends for a few hundreds
and more. You know yourself that altogether jocularly I accused
you of being to blame that the notice did not arrive on time. I am
sure that you will remember this; I had forgotten all about the
matter. Now my brother began at the table and said that he believed
it was Breuning’s fault; I denied it at once and said that you
were to blame. It appears to me that was plain enough to show that
I did not hold him to blame. Thereupon Breuning jumped up like a
madman and said he would call up the landlord. This conduct in the
presence of all the persons with whom I associate made me lose my
self-control; I also jumped up, upset my chair, went away and did
not return. This behavior induced Breuning to put me in such a
light before you and the house-steward, and to write me a letter
also which I have answered only with silence. I have nothing more
to say to Breuning. His mode of thought and action in regard to me
proves that there never ought to have been a friendly relationship
between him and me and such certainly will not exist in the future.
I have told you all this because your statements degraded all my
habits of thinking and acting. I know that if you had known the
facts you would certainly not have made them, and this satisfies me.

Now I beg of you, dear Ries! immediately on receipt of this letter
go to my brother, the apothecary, and tell him that I shall leave
Baden in a few days and that he must engage the lodgings in Döbling
immediately you have informed him. I was near to coming to-day;
I am tired of being here, it revolts me. Urge him for heaven’s
sake to rent the lodgings at once because I want to get into them
immediately. Tell it to him and do not show him any part of what
is written on the other page; I want to show him from all possible
points of view that I am not so small-minded as he and wrote to him
only after this (Breuning’s) letter, although my resolution to end
our friendship is and will remain firm.

Your friend
Beethoven.

Not long thereafter there followed a second letter, which Ries gives as
follows:

Baden, July 14, 1804.

If you, dear Ries, are able to find better quarters I shall be
glad. I want them on a large quiet square or on the ramparts....
I will take care to be at the rehearsal on Wednesday. It is not
pleasant to me that it is at Schuppanzigh’s. He ought to be
grateful if my humiliations make him thinner. Farewell, dear Ries!
We are having bad weather here and I am not safe from people; I
must flee in order to be alone.

[Sidenote: END OF A FRIENDSHIP THREATENED]

From a third letter, dated “Baden, July 24, 1804,” Ries prints the
following excerpt:

... No doubt you were surprised at the Breuning affair; believe
me, dear (friend), my eruption was only the outburst consequent on
many unpleasant encounters between us before. I have the talent in
many cases to conceal my sensitiveness and repress it; but if I am
irritated at a time when I am more susceptible than usual to anger,
I burst out more violently than anybody else. Breuning certainly
has excellent qualities, but he thinks he is free from all faults
and his greatest ones are those which he thinks he sees in others.
He has a spirit of pettiness which I have despised since childhood.
My judgment almost predicted the course which affairs would take
with Breuning, since our modes of thinking, acting and feeling
are so different, but I thought these difficulties might also be
overcome;--experience has refuted me. And now, no more friendship!
I have found only two friends in the world with whom I have never
had a misunderstanding, but what men! One is dead, the other still
lives. Although we have not heard from each other in nearly six
years I know that I occupy the first place in his heart as he
does in mine. The foundation of friendship demands the greatest
similarity between the hearts and souls of men. I ask no more than
that you read the letter which I wrote to Breuning and his letter
to me. No, he shall never again hold the place in my heart which
once he occupied. He who can think a friend capable of such base
thoughts and be guilty of such base conduct towards him is not
worth my friendship.

The reader knows too well the character of Breuning to be prejudiced
against him by all these harsh expressions written by Beethoven in a
fit of choler of which he heartily repented and “brought forth fruits
meet for repentance.” But, as Ries says, “these letters together
with their consequences are too beautiful a testimony to Beethoven’s
character to be omitted here,” the more so as they introduce, by the
allusions in them, certain matters of more or less interest from the
“Notizen” of Ries. Thus Ries writes:

One evening I came to Baden to continue my lessons. There I found
a handsome young woman sitting on the sofa with him. Thinking
that I might be intruding I wanted to go at once, but Beethoven
detained me and said: “Play for the time being.” He and the lady
remained seated behind me. I had already played for a long time
when Beethoven suddenly called out: “~Ries, play some love music~”;
a little later, “~Something melancholy!~” then, “~Something
passionate!~” etc.

From what I heard I could come to the conclusion that in some
manner he must have offended the lady and was trying to make
amends by an exhibition of good humor. At last he jumped up
and shouted: “Why, all those things are by me!” I had played
nothing but movements from his works, connecting them with short
transition-phrases, which seemed to please him. The lady soon went
away and to my great amazement Beethoven did not know who she was.
I learned that she had come in shortly before me in order to make
Beethoven’s acquaintance. We followed her in order to discover her
lodgings and later her station. We saw her from a distance (it
was moonlight),[22] but suddenly she disappeared. Chatting on all
manner of topics we walked for an hour and a half in the beautiful
valley adjoining. On going, however, Beethoven said: “I must find
out who she is and you must help me.” A long time afterward I met
her in Vienna and discovered that she was the mistress of a foreign
prince. I reported the intelligence to Beethoven, but never heard
anything more about her either from him or anybody else.

The rehearsal at Schuppanzigh’s on “Wednesday” (18th) mentioned in
the letter of July 14th, was for the benefit of Ries, who was to play
in the first of the second series of the regular Augarten Thursday
concerts which took place the next day (19th) or, perhaps, the 26th.
Ries says on page 113 of the “Notizen”:

Beethoven had given me his beautiful Concerto in C minor (Op. 37)
in manuscript so that I might make my first public appearance ~as
his pupil~ with it; and I am the only one who ever appeared as such
while Beethoven was alive.... Beethoven himself conducted, but
he only turned the pages and never, perhaps, was a concerto more
beautifully accompanied. We had two large rehearsals. I had asked
Beethoven to write a cadenza for me, but he refused and told me to
write one myself and he would correct it. Beethoven was satisfied
with my composition and made few changes; but there was an
extremely brilliant and very difficult passage in it, which, though
he liked it, seemed to him too venturesome, wherefore he told me to
write another in its place. A week before the concert he wanted to
hear the cadenza again. I played it and floundered in the passage;
he again, this time a little ill-naturedly, told me to change it. I
did so, but the new passage did not satisfy me; I therefore studied
the other, and zealously, but was not quite sure of it. When the
cadenza was reached in the public concert Beethoven quietly sat
down. I could not persuade myself to choose the easier one. When
I boldly began the more difficult one, Beethoven violently jerked
his chair; but the cadenza went through all right and Beethoven was
so delighted that he shouted “Bravo!” loudly. This electrified the
entire audience and at once gave me a standing among the artists.
Afterward, while expressing his satisfaction he added: “But all the
same you are willful! If you had made a slip in the passage I would
never have given you another lesson.”

A little farther on in his book Ries writes (p. 115):

The pianoforte part of the C minor Concerto was ~never completely
written out~ in the score; Beethoven wrote it down on separate
sheets of paper expressly for me.

This confirms Seyfried, as quoted on a preceding page.

“Not on my life would I have believed that I could be so lazy as I am
here. If it is followed by an outburst of industry, something worth
while may be accomplished,” Beethoven wrote at the end of his letter
of July 24. He was right. His brother Johann secured for him the
lodging at Döbling where he passed the rest of the summer, and where
the two Sonatas Op. 53 and 54, certainly “something worth while,” were
composed. In one of the long walks, previously described by Ries,

in which we went so far astray that we did not get back to Döbling,
where Beethoven lived, until nearly 8 o’clock, he had been all the
time humming and sometimes howling, always up and down, without
singing any definite notes. In answer to my question what it
was he said: “A theme for the last movement of the sonata has
occurred to me.” When we entered the room he ran to the pianoforte
without taking off his hat. I took a seat in a corner and he soon
forgot all about me. Now he stormed for at least an hour with the
beautiful finale of the sonata. Finally he got up, was surprised
still to see me and said: “I cannot give you a lesson to-day, I
must do some more work.”

[Sidenote: THE F MINOR SONATA, OP. 57]

The Sonata in question was that in F minor, Op. 57. Ries had in the
meantime fulfilled Beethoven’s wish for a new lodging on the ramparts,
by engaging for him one on the Mölkerbastei three or four houses only
from Prince Lichnowsky in the Pasqualati house--“from the fourth
storey of which there was a beautiful view,” namely, over the broad
Glacis, the northwestern suburb of the city and the mountains in the
distance. “He moved out of this several times,” says Ries, “but always
returned to it, so that, as I afterwards heard, Baron Pasqualati was
good-natured enough to say: ‘The lodging will not be rented; Beethoven
will come back.’” To what extent Ries was correctly informed in this
we will not now conjecture. The lessons of Förster’s little boy had
been interrupted so long as his teacher dwelt in the distant theatre
buildings; they were now renewed, the first being particularly
impressed upon his memory by a severe reproof from Beethoven for
ascending the four lofty flights of stairs too rapidly, and entering
out of breath: “Youngster, you will ruin your lungs if you are not more
careful,” said he in substance.

The two new Sonatas were finished and were now made known to
Beethoven’s intimates. In the one in C major, Op. 53, there was a
long Andante. A friend of Beethoven’s said to him that the Sonata was
too long, for which he was terribly taken to task by the composer.
But after quiet reflection Beethoven was convinced of the correctness
of the criticism. The Andante was therefore excluded and its place
supplied by the interesting Introduction to the Rondo which it now has.
A year after the publication of the Sonata it also appeared separately.
In these particulars Ries is confirmed by Czerny, who adds: “Because
of its popularity (for Beethoven played it frequently in society) he
gave it the title ‘Andante favori.’ I am the more sure of this since
Beethoven sent me the proof together with the manuscript for revision.”
The arrangement for string quartet may have been made much later,
probably by Ries (?).

This Andante (Ries continues) has left a painful memory in me. When
Beethoven played it for the first time to our friend Krumpholtz and
me, it delighted us greatly and we teased him until he repeated it.
Passing the door of Prince Lichnowsky’s house (by the Schottenthor)
on my way home I went in to tell the Prince of the new and glorious
composition of Beethoven’s, and was persuaded to play it as well
as I could remember it. Recalling more and more of it the Prince
urged me to repeat it. In this way it happened that the Prince also
learned a portion of the piece. To give Beethoven a surprise the
Prince went to him the next day and said that he too had composed
something which was not at all bad. In spite of Beethoven’s remark
that he did not want to hear it the Prince sat down and to the
amazement of the composer played a goodly portion of the Andante.
Beethoven was greatly angered, and this was the reason why I ~never
again heard Beethoven play~.

Prince Louis Ferdinand, now on his way into Italy, made a short stay
at Vienna, renewing his acquaintance with Beethoven; but of their
intercourse few particulars are known. Ries relates (“Notizen,” p.
111), that an old countess gave a little musical entertainment “to
which, naturally, Beethoven was invited. When the company sat down to
supper, plates for the high nobility only were placed at the Prince’s
table--none for Beethoven. He flew into a rage, made a few ugly
remarks, took his hat and went away. A few days later Prince Louis gave
a dinner to which some members of the first company, including the old
countess, were invited. When they sat down to table the old countess
was placed on one side of the Prince, Beethoven on the other, a mark of
distinction which Beethoven always referred to with pleasure.”

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND BREUNING RECONCILED]

The Pianoforte Concerto in C minor was then in the hands of the
engraver; upon its publication in November, Prince Louis Ferdinand’s
name appeared upon the title. Concerning the compositions of the
Prince, Beethoven remarked: “Now and then there are pretty bits in
them”--so said Czerny. Before this time Beethoven and Breuning “met
each other by accident and a complete reconciliation took place
and every inimical resolve of Beethoven’s, despite their vigorous
expression in the two letters, was wholly forgotten.”--(Ries.)
And not this alone; he “laid his peace offering on the altar of
reconciliation.” It was the best picture of himself which exists from
those years, a beautiful miniature painted upon ivory by Hornemann,
still in the possession of Breuning’s heirs. With it he sent the
following letter:

Let us bury behind this picture forever, my dear Steffen, all
that for a time has ~passed between us~. I know that I broke your
heart. The feelings within me which you must have noticed have
sufficiently punished me for that. It was not ~wickedness~ that
I felt towards you; no, if that were so I should never again be
worthy of your friendship; passion on ~your part~ and ~on mine~;
but mistrust of you arose in me; men came between us who are not
worthy of ~you~ and ~me~. My portrait was long ago intended for
you; you know that I always intended it for somebody. To whom could
I give it with so warm a heart as to you, faithful, good, noble
Steffen! Forgive me if I have pained you; I suffered no less. When
I no longer saw you near me I felt for the first time how dear to
~my~ heart you are and always will be.

Surely you will come to my arms again as in past days.

Nor was the reconciliation on Breuning’s part less perfect. On the 13th
of November he writes to Wegeler and, to excuse his long silence, says:

He who has been my friend from youth is often largely to blame that
I am compelled to neglect the absent ones. You cannot conceive,
my dear Wegeler, what an indescribable, I might say, fearful
effect the gradual loss of hearing has had upon him. Think of the
feeling of being unhappy in one of such violent temperament; in
addition reservedness, mistrust, often towards his best friends,
in many things want of decision! For the greater part, with only
an occasional exception when he gives free vent to his feelings on
the spur of the moment, intercourse with him is a real exertion,
at which one can scarcely trust to oneself. From May until the
beginning of this month we lived in the same house, and at the
outset I took him into my rooms. He had scarcely come before he
became severely, almost dangerously ill, and this was followed
by an intermittent fever. Worry and the care of him used me
rather severely. Now he is completely well again. He lives on the
Ramparts, I in one of the newly-built houses of Prince Esterhazy in
front of the Alstercaserne, and as I am keeping house he eats with
me every day.

Not a word about the quarrel! Not a word to intimate that Beethoven had
not occupied his rooms with him until at the usual time for changing
lodgings he had crossed the Glacis to Pasqualati’s house; not a word of
complaint--nothing but deepest pity and heartiest sympathy.

In December the famous Munich oboist Ramm was in Vienna and took part
with Beethoven in one of Prince Lobkowitz’s private concerts. Beethoven
directed the performance of the “Sinfonia Eroica” and in the second
part of the first Allegro, “where the music is pursued for so many
measures in half-notes against the beat,” he, as Ries says, threw the
orchestra into such confusion that a new beginning had to be made.

On the same evening he played his Quintet for Pianoforte and
Wind-instruments with Ramm as oboist. In the last Allegro there
are several holds before the theme is resumed. At one of these
Beethoven suddenly began to improvise, took the Rondo for a theme
and entertained himself and the others for a considerable time,
but not the other players. They were displeased and Ramm even
very angry. It was really very comical to see them, momentarily
expecting the performance to be resumed, put their instruments
to their mouths only to put them down again. At length Beethoven
was satisfied and dropped into the Rondo. The whole company was
transported with delight.

Turn we again to the Theater-an-der-Wien, for a new contract has been
made with Beethoven, by which his operatic aspirations and hopes are
again awakened, with a better prospect of their gratification. At the
end of August Sonnleithner retired from the direction and Baron Braun
took the extraordinary step of reinstating his former rival and enemy,
Schikaneder--a remarkable proof of the Baron’s high opinion of his tact
and skill in the difficult business of management.

When one calls to mind the extraordinary praises which have been
bestowed upon Baron Braun for his supposed patronage of Beethoven,
it is worth noting, as a coincidence if nothing more, that now when
Schikaneder finds himself in a strait for novelty and new attractions
for his stage, the project of appealing to Beethoven’s genius is
revived.

Before proceeding, a word upon Sonnleithner and Treitschke may be
permitted.

[Sidenote: SONNLEITHNER AND TREITSCHKE]

The eldest son, born 1765, of Christoph Sonnleithner, Doctor of Laws
and Dean of the Juridical Faculty at Vienna, Joseph Ferdinand by
name, was educated to his father’s profession, and early rose to the
positions of Circuit Commissioner and Royal Imperial Court Scrivener
(~Kreis-Kommissär und K. K. Hof-Concipist~). All the Sonnleithners,
from Dr. Christoph down to the excellent and beloved representative of
the family, Leopold, his grandson who died in 1878, have stood in the
front ranks of musical dilettanti, as composers, singers, instrumental
performers and writers on topics pertaining to the art. Joseph
Ferdinand was no exception. He gave his attention particularly to
musical and theatrical literature, edited the Court Theatre Calendars,
1794-5, so highly lauded by Gerber, and prepared himself by appropriate
studies to carry out Forkel’s plan of a “History of Music in Examples,”
which was to reach the great extent of 50 volumes, folio. To this end
he spent nearly three years, 1798-1802, in an extensive tour through
northern Europe making collections of rare, old music. Upon his return
to Vienna, resigning this project again into the hands of Forkel, he
became one of the earliest partners, if not one of the founders, of the
publishing house known as the “Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir” (Bureau
d’Arts et d’Industrie), of which Schreyvogel was the recognized head.
The latter had been appointed Secretary of the Court Theatre in 1802,
but resigned, and, on February 14, 1804, Sonnleithner “was appointed,
and on this account was most honorably retired from his former post
as Court Scrivener.” On what grounds he has been called an “actor”
(~Schauspieler~) is unknown.

One of his colleagues in the various offices of the Court Theatres
was Georg Friedrich Treitschke, born in 1776, a native of Leipsic,
who came to the Court Theatre in 1800 as an actor, but whose talents
and fine character raised him in the course of the next two years to
the position of poet and stage-manager of the German Court Opera,
a post which he still and for many years continued to hold. He was
therefore now (1804) in close business relations with Baron Braun and
Sonnleithner; and, until some proof be adduced of lapse of memory--for
his known probity forbids all suspicion of intentional or careless
misrepresentation--his statements in regard to them may be accepted
with perfect confidence.

Treitschke wrote thus in the “Orpheus” of 1841 (p. 258):

At the end of 1804 Baron von Braun, the new owner of the Royal
Imperial priv. Theater-an-der-Wien, commissioned Ludwig van
Beethoven, then in the full strength of youth, to write an opera
for that playhouse. Because of his oratorio, “Christus am Ölberg,”
it was believed that the master might do as much for dramatic music
as he had done for instrumental. Besides his honorarium[23] he was
offered free lodgings in the theatre buildings. Joseph Sonnleithner
undertook to provide the text, and chose the French book, “L’Amour
conjugal,” although it had already been set by Gaveaux and to
Italian words as “Leonora” by Paër, but had been translated from
both dramatizations into German. Beethoven had no fear of his
predecessors and went to work with eager delight, so that the opera
was nearly finished by the middle of 1805.[24]

Such is Treitschke’s simple and compendious statement of the facts; a
statement which has been affirmed to contain “manifold errors,” yet, in
truth, not a single point in it can be controverted.

In Paris, at the close of the 18th century, Shakespeare’s “being taken
by the insolent foe and redemption thence” was by far the most popular
subject for the stage. Doubtless so many facts stranger than fiction
in recent narratives of escape from dungeon and guillotine, rendered
doubly fascinating by beautiful exhibitions of disinterested affection,
exalted generosity and heroic self-sacrifice, were not without their
effect upon public taste. Certain it is that no other class of subjects
is so numerously represented in the French drama of that precise period
as this. “Les deux Journées” by J. N. Bouilly stands confessedly at
its head. In Beethoven’s opinion in 1823, this and “La Vestale” were
the two best texts then ever written. Two years before the “Deux
Journées”--that is, on February 19th, 1798--the same poet had produced
another of that class of texts, which, if less abounding in pleasing
and exciting scenes, still contained one supreme moment that cannot
readily find its like. This was “Léonore, ou l’Amour conjugal”; the
seventeenth and last in Fétis’ list of Pierre Gaveaux’s thirty-five
operas and operettas.

[Sidenote: THE FRENCH ORIGINAL OF “FIDELIO”]

Gaveaux was a singer at the Théâtre Feydeau in Paris--a man of no great
musical science, but gifted with a natural talent for melody and for
pleasing though not always correct instrumentation, which secured the
suffrages of the Feydeau audience for nearly all the long list of his
productions. These were mostly short pieces in one act, in which he
wrote the principal tenor part for himself. His “Le petit Matelot”
(1794), as “Der kleine Matrose,” became immediately popular throughout
Germany; Rellstab at Berlin published a pianoforte arrangement of it
in 1798; and it so endured the fluctuations in public taste as still
to be performed at Frankfort-on-the-Main in 1846. This was followed by
his “L’Amour filial,” and others, so that, in short, whatever faults
the critics found in his music, he was one of those French composers,
to whose productions the managers of German opera houses ever had an
eye. As the “Léonore” was published in score soon after its production,
the names of its authors, Bouilly and Gaveaux, as well as its success
at the Théâtre Feydeau, ensured its becoming known in Germany, and, but
for the use of its subject by Paër, it might perhaps have been simply
translated and performed with the original music. Rewritten in Italian,
it was one of the first texts put into Paër’s hands after his removal
to Dresden, and was produced on the 3d of October, as the opening piece
of the winter season 1804-5.

The first performance was another triumph for Paër, who, satisfied with
it, departed for Vienna next day on his way to Italy. It requires no
great sagacity to perceive, on the one hand, that the Directors of the
Imperial Italian Opera--on whose stage at the least eleven of Paër’s
works had been given, several of them originally written for it--would
not fail to secure a copy of the new composition; and, on the other,
that the composer would seek the fame and profit of its reproduction
there.[25] Jahn in his preface to Beethoven’s “Leonore” has discussed
the great inferiority of the Dresden Italian text to the original;
its defects would be equally apparent to Sonnleithner; and this
consideration, with perhaps later news from Dresden, would convince him
that the performance of Paër’s composition at Vienna would be at best a
doubtful venture.[26]

[Sidenote: POPULARITY OF BEETHOVEN’S MUSIC]

At this point, when the first of the solo sonatas written for the
enlarged pianoforte (Op. 53) is ready for the press; when the
Pianoforte Concerto in C minor has just been published; the “Sinfonia
Eroica,” with its daring novelties of ideas and construction is
awaiting public performance, and the composer has entered the lists to
compete with Cherubini in another form of the art--here seems to be the
fitting place for a few notes upon the degree of popularity, and the
extent of circulation, to which his previous compositions had already
attained.

We have not written very lucidly, if it be not sufficiently clear that,
at Vienna, the works of no other of the younger generation of composers
had so ready and extensive a sale as Beethoven’s, notwithstanding their
most attractive qualities to many, were repellent to others. That was
a question of taste. But in these last weeks of 1804, a proof of their
general popularity was in preparation by Schreyvogel and Rizzi, which,
so far as the present writer has examined the German periodical press
from 1790 to 1830, is without a parallel. It was a complete classified
catalogue of the “Works of Herrn Ludwig van Beethoven,” published as an
advertisement, January 30, 1805, in the “Wiener Zeitung,” announcing
them as “to be had at the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir at Vienna in
the Kohlmarkt, No. 269.”

At the end of 1796--a few sets of Variations excepted--only the first
three of Beethoven’s ~opera~ had appeared. Four years afterwards the
first publishing houses of Leipsic contend with those of Vienna for his
manuscripts, notwithstanding the worse than contemptuous treatment of
his works by the newly founded musical journal.

In January, 1801, at Breslau “the pianoforte players gladly venture
upon Beethoven and spare neither time nor pains to conquer his
difficulties.” In June, Beethoven has “more commissions, almost, than
it was possible to fill” from the publishers--he “demands and they
pay.” In 1802, Nägeli of Zürich, passing all the older composers by,
applies to him for sonatas with which to introduce to the public his
costly enterprise of the “Répertoire des Clavecinistes.” In 1803,
although Simrock, of Bonn, had a branch house at Paris, and printed
editions of his townsman’s more important works for circulation in
France, Zulehner of Mayence finds the demand for them sufficient to
warrant the announcement of a complete and uniform edition of the
“Works for Pianoforte and String Instruments.” In May of the same
year the “Correspondence des Amateurs-Musiciens” informs us that at
Paris a part of the pianoforte virtuosos play only Haydn, Mozart and
Beethoven, and spite of the difficulties offered by their works there
are “quelquefois des Amateurs qui croient les jouer”; and, soon after
this, an application comes to Beethoven from distant Scotland for half
a dozen sonatas, on Scotch themes.[27]

The first two Concertos for Pianoforte and Orchestra, published in
1801, are reported to have been played in public within two years
at Berlin and Frankfort-on-the-Main; the third, advertised in
November, 1804, was produced the next month at Berlin. The first
Symphony had hardly left Hoffmeister’s press, when it was added to
the repertory of the Gewandhaus Concert, at Leipsic, and during the
three following years was repeatedly performed at Berlin, Breslau,
Frankfort-on-the-Main, Dresden, Brunswick and Munich; the second,
advertised in March, 1804, was the opening symphony of Schick and
Bohrer’s (Berlin) concerts in the Autumn. The “Prometheus” overture was
played in the same concerts, December 2, 1803--ten days earlier than
the oldest discovered advertisement of its publication. The instant
popularity of the Septet in all its forms is well known.

A public performance of the Horn Sonata, March 20, 1803, at the concert
of Dulon, the blind flute player, is worth noting, because the pianist
was “young Bär”--Meyerbeer.

In our day and generation, to offer so meagre a list of public
productions as a proof of popularity in the case of a new author of
orchestral works, would be ridiculous. In the multiplication of musical
journals and the greatly extended interest taken in musical news
wherever an orchestra exists equal to the performance of a symphony,
there is also someone to report its doings. This is as it should be.
Then, except in the larger capitals, this was rarely so. Hence the few
notes above, compiled from the correspondence of the single musical
journal of the time, are more than suggestive--they are proof--of many
an unrecorded production of the works they name. But more noteworthy
than the statistics given by the various correspondents, is this: that,
whatever praises they bestow upon the concertos and symphonies of
others, they rank Beethoven alone with Haydn and Mozart; and this they
do, even before the publication of the third Concerto and the Second
Symphony.

Beethoven, then, though almost unknown personally beyond the limits
of a few Austrian cities--unaided by apostles to preach his gospel,
owing nothing to journalist or pamphleteer, disdaining, in fact, all
the arts by which dazzling but mediocre talent pushes itself into
notoriety--had, in the short space of eight years, by simple force of
his genius as manifested in his published works, placed himself at the
head of all writers for the pianoforte, and in public estimation risen
to the level of the two greatest of orchestral composers. The unknown
student that entered Vienna in 1792, is now in 1804 a recognized
member of the great triumvirate, to whose names in 1870, in spite of
all the polemics of preachers of a new gospel, the world still persists
in giving the place of highest honor in the roll of instrumental
composers. Then, as now--now, as then--they are Haydn, Mozart and
Beethoven.

The lists of the ascertained compositions and publications for the year
1804 are surprisingly short; but as no really sufficient reason for the
fact can be given, none shall be attempted.[28] The former are only the
two Sonatas, Op. 53 and Op. 54, and the “Andante favori”; but the final
revision of the “Sinfonia Eroica” probably was made at the beginning of
the year.

The publications were these:

1--Second Symphony, D major, Op. 36, dedicated to Prince Carl
Lichnowsky, advertised by the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir,
Vienna, March 10.

The arrangement of this Symphony for pianoforte, violin and
violoncello, which was published by the same firm in 1806, is
indirectly claimed by Ries as his work, notwithstanding the title
bears the words “par l’auteur même.” Czerny confirms Ries in these
terms: “The arrangement of the second Symphony as a Pianoforte Trio
was made by Ries; Beethoven gave it to me for correction of certain
things with which he was dissatisfied.”

2--Song with pianoforte accompaniment: “Der Wachtelschlag,”
advertised with the preceding.

3--VII Variations on “God save the King,” for Pf., advertised with
the preceding.

4--III Marches for Pf., four hands. Op. 45, dedicated to Princess
Esterhazy, advertised with the preceding.

5--V Variations for Pf., on “Rule Britannia,” advertised by the
same, June 20th.

6--Sonata in E-flat major, Op. 31, No. 3, published by Nägeli in
his “Répertoire des Clavecinistes,” Cat. II.

FOOTNOTES:

[17] “Orpheus,” 1841, p. 248.

[18] Allg. Mus. Zeit. XXIV, p. 320.

[19] But Ries says that Beethoven hired these lodgings besides those in
the theatre.

[20] See, in the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” III, a criticism of “Nelson’s Great
Seabattle,” for pianoforte, violin and violoncello by Ferd. Kauer.
Years afterward this piece may have been confounded with the Symphony
in Dr. Bertolini’s memory. From Otto Jahn’s papers we learn that Dr.
Bertolini told him that the first idea of the “Sinfonia eroica” was
suggested to Beethoven by Bonaparte’s expedition to Egypt (May, 1798);
and the rumor of Nelson’s death at the battle of Aboukir (June 22),
at which Nelson was wounded in the head, was the cause of the funeral
march. Czerny wrote: “According to Beethoven’s long-time friend, Dr.
Bertolini, the first idea of the ‘Sinfonia eroica’ was suggested by
the death of the English general Abercrombie; hence the naval (not
land-military) character of the theme and the entire first movement.”
Music of a naval character to celebrate the death of an army officer!
Czerny seems to have been at least temporarily weak either in history
or logic.

[21] Dr. Schmidt is of opinion that this anecdote was contributed to
his journal by Hieronymus Payer, certainly good authority.

[22] “Full moon, July 22,” almanac of 1804.

[23] This honorarium was a share in the receipts.

[24] In the second (German) edition of Thayer’s “Life,” etc., Dr.
Riemann amends this statement in the text as follows: These statements
of Treitschke’s prove to be inaccurate, inasmuch as it has definitively
been determined that Beethoven began work on “Leonore” before Paër’s
opera had been produced in Dresden, i. e., October 3, 1804. This is
proved by the discovery of sketches for the early numbers of the opera
among sketches for the “Eroica” symphony, and is confirmed by Ries.
The latter says: “When he composed ‘Leonore’ he had free lodgings for
a year in the Wiedener Theatre; but as these opened on the courtyard
they were not agreeable to him. He therefore hired, ~at the same time~,
quarters in the Rothes Haus on the Alserkaserne.” “Now,” Nottebohm
continues, “Beethoven lived in the Theater-an-der-Wien in May, 1803,
and later in the Rothes Haus in the spring of 1804.” Consequently he
must have worked on the opera ~before~ the spring of 1804. Nottebohm
assumes that between the abandonment of work on Schikaneder’s text
and the beginning of work on “Leonore” there could not be more than
a quarter of a year. It is very probable that Beethoven dropped
work on Schikaneder’s text when the latter’s activity as director
came to an end on February 11, 1804; but it does not follow that he
may not already have approached the setting of Bouilly’s text, as
translated into German by Sonnleithner, who now undertook the work
of administration. At any rate it is an error to assert that the
commission to compose the book was not offered to him until the fall
of 1804. Indeed, the question is whether or not Beethoven’s occupancy
of lodgings in the theatre was interrupted at all. It ought also to be
borne in mind that in view of his relations with Baron von Braun and
Sonnleithner, Beethoven may have known before the conclusion of the
contract that Schikaneder’s direction was to be terminated--reasons
enough for believing that there is nothing improbable in the theory
that the composer began work on “Leonore” before the end of 1803.

[25] Dr. Riemann here inserts: “If this was not the case the
explanation lies in the fact that the attention of Sonnleithner, who
had to provide texts for both Beethoven and Cherubini, had previously
been directed to the ‘Léonore’ of Bouilly and Gaveaux, and Beethoven
had already begun work on it.”

[26] It was not until February 8, 1809, that Paër’s opera was performed
in Vienna, long after Beethoven had withdrawn his opera and when Baron
von Braun was no longer Intendant. The story to which Ferdinand Hiller
gave currency about the production of Paër’s opera and the attendance
of Beethoven upon it in company with the composer must be rejected for
chronological reasons. (Riemann.)

[27] In September, 1804, Muzio Clementi, who was not only a fine
musician but also a clever business man, made an arrangement with
Breitkopf and Härtel, by which he secured all the compositions which
Beethoven might bring that firm, for England at one-half the honorarium
paid to the composer. (See an article by Max Unger in “The Monthly
Record,” Nov.-Dec., 1908.)

[28] Nottebohm’s researches (~cf.~ “Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 416 ~et
seq.~) show that Beethoven sketched all the movements of the Triple
Concerto, Op. 56, in 1804; that the beginning of the work on the
“Waldstein” Sonata. Op. 53, dates back to 1803, or at the latest the
early part of 1804; sketches for Op. 54 are missing, but the three
numbers of Op. 57 are so fully represented among the opera sketches
that Schindler’s statement that the so-called “Appassionata” Sonata was
composed at Count Brunswick’s in 1806 is to be understood as referring
only to its definitive working out and the making of a fair copy; the
date of the performance of “Leonore” (“Fidelio”), taken in connection
with a revision of the air in E major, show that the “Leonore”
sketchbook, between which and the book of 1803 there seems to have been
another, of which no trace has been found, may have extended to the
beginning of 1805.

Chapter III

The Year 1805--First Public Performance of the “Heroic
Symphony”--The Opera “Leonore,” or “Fidelio”--A Study of the
Sketchbook--The Singers and the Production.

The life of an author or composer, when absorbed in the study of a
great work, falls into a routine of daily labor that presents few
salient points to the biographer. Thus it was with Beethoven during
the first two-thirds of the year 1805. What has been preserved of his
correspondence is very little in quantity and of slight value. Ries
was away with Lichnowsky in Silesia during all the warm season, and,
very soon after his return, was forced to depart again from Vienna
for Bonn; hence the “Notizen” fail us in perhaps the most interesting
period of the young man’s four years of pupilage under Beethoven--that
of the composition of “Leonore,” or “Fidelio.” The history of the year
is, in the main, the history of that work; and unfortunately a very
unsatisfactory one. Not to break the thread of the story hereafter, the
few events of the first half of the year unconnected with it, shall
first be disposed of.

Schuppanzigh had discovered and taught a boy of great genius for the
violin, Joseph Mayseder by name (born October 16, 1789), who was
already, in his sixteenth year, the subject of eulogistic notices
in the public press. With this youth as second, Schreiber, “in the
service of Prince Lobkowitz,” for the viola, and the elder Kraft,
violoncellist, Schuppanzigh during the winter 1804-5 gave quartets “in
a private house in the Heiligenkreuzerhof, the listeners paying five
florins in advance for four performances.” Up to the end of April the
quartets given were by Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Eberl, Romberg, with
“occasionally larger pieces. Of the latter great pleasure was given by
the beautiful Beethoven Sextet in E-flat, a composition which shines
resplendent by reason of its lively melodies, unconstrained harmonies,
and a wealth of new and surprising ideas.” So it is reported in the
“Allg. Mus. Zeit.,” VII, 535, of the Sextet for wind-instruments, which
afterwards received the opus number 71, but was composed “in 1796 at
the latest,” says Nottebohm, and, not improbably in its original form,
in Bonn.

It was to the discredit of Vienna, where instrumental performers
of rare ability so abounded, that for several years regular public
orchestral concerts, save those at the Augarten in summer, had been
abandoned. Sensible of this, the bankers Würth and Fellner during
the winter of 1803-4 “had gathered together on all Sunday mornings a
select company (nearly all dilettanti) for concerts restricted for the
greater part to pieces for full orchestra, such as symphonies (among
them Beethoven’s First and Second), overtures, concertos, which they
played in really admirable style.” There were also “some overtures by
a certain Count Gallenberg” who “imitated, or rather copied, Mozart
and Cherubini so slavishly, following them even in the details of keys
and modulations so faithfully, that it was easy to tell the titles of
the overtures over whose lasts his had been made with the greatest
certainty.” Thus the correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” (VI, 467).
In these concerts Clement of the Theater-an-der-Wien was director.

They were renewed the present winter, and new performances of
Beethoven’s first two Symphonies, and the Concerto in C minor (Op.
37)--pianoforte part by Ries[29]--prepare the way for the production
of “an entirely new symphony”--“a long composition extremely difficult
of performance, in reality, a tremendously expanded, daring and wild
fantasia”; wanting “nothing in the way of startling and beautiful
passages, in which the energetic and talented composer must be
recognized; but often it loses itself in lawlessness”; the writer
“belongs to Herr van Beethoven’s sincerest admirers, but in this
composition he must confess that he finds too much that is glaring and
bizarre, which makes a survey too difficult; and the principle of unity
is almost wholly lost sight of.” It was the “Sinfonia Eroica”--its
first semi-public production. Its first really public performance
was in the Theater-an-der-Wien, on Sunday evening, April 7th, where
it began the second part of a concert given for his own benefit by
Clement. The programme announces it thus: “A new grand symphony in
D-sharp by Herrn Ludwig van Beethoven, dedicated to his Serene Highness
Prince Lobkowitz. The composer has kindly consented to conduct the
work.”

[Sidenote: PUBLIC PERFORMANCE OF THE “EROICA”]

Czerny remembered, and told Jahn, that on this occasion “somebody
in the gallery cried out: ‘I’ll give another kreutzer if the thing
will but stop!’” This is the key-note to the strain in which the
Symphony was criticized in communications to the press, that are now
among the curiosities of musical literature. The correspondent of the
“Freymüthige” divided the audience into three parties.

Some, says he, Beethoven’s particular friends, assert that it is
just this symphony which is his masterpiece, that this is the true
style for high-class music, and that if it does not please now,
it is because the public is not cultured enough, artistically, to
grasp all these lofty beauties; after a few thousand years have
passed it will not fail of its effect. Another faction denies
that the work has any artistic value and professes to see in it
an untamed striving for singularity which had failed, however, to
achieve in any of its parts beauty or true sublimity and power. By
means of strange modulations and violent transitions, by combining
the most heterogeneous elements, as for instance when a pastoral
in the largest style is ripped up by the basses, by three horns,
etc., a certain undesirable originality may be achieved without
much trouble; but genius proclaims itself not in the unusual and
the fantastic, but in the beautiful and the sublime. Beethoven
himself proved the correctness of this axiom in his earlier works.
The third party, a very small one, stands midway between the
others--it admits that the symphony contains many beauties, but
concedes that the connection is often disrupted entirely, and that
the inordinate length of this longest, and perhaps most difficult
of all symphonies, wearies even the cognoscenti, and is unendurable
to the mere music-lover; it wishes that H. v. B. would employ his
acknowledgedly great talents in giving us works like his symphonies
in C and D, his ingratiating Septet in E-flat, the intellectual
Quintet in D (C major?) and others of his early compositions which
have placed B. forever in the ranks of the foremost instrumental
composers. It fears, however, that if Beethoven continues on his
present path both he and the public will be the sufferers.... The
public and Herr van Beethoven, who conducted, were not satisfied
with each other on this evening; the public thought the symphony
too heavy, too long, and Beethoven himself too discourteous,
because he did not nod his head in recognition of the applause
which came from a portion of the audience.

This clear, compendious and valuable statement of the conflicting
opinions of the first auditors of the “Eroica” renders farther
citations superfluous; but a story--characteristic enough to be
true--may be added: that Beethoven, in reply to the complaints of too
great length, said, in substance: “If ~I~ write a symphony an hour
long it will be found short enough!” He refused positively to make any
change in the work, but deferred to public opinion so far, as, upon
its publication, to affix to the title of the Symphony a note to the
effect, that on account of its great length it should be played near
the beginning of a concert, before the audience was become weary.

Beethoven, though choleric and violent in his anger, was placable.
The theft of the Quintet in C dedicated to Count Fries, as related by
Ries, and Beethoven’s warning against the pirated edition, will be
remembered. Nottebohm has sufficiently established the fact that the
engraved plates were not destroyed, as supposed by Ries, but afterwards
again used with the composer’s consent and even his corrections. A
short letter to the offending publisher (June 1) shows that his wrath
was already appeased, and seems to indicate a purpose to grant him the
copyright of a new quintet--a purpose which, under the pressure of his
opera, and the subsequent invasion of the French, remained unexecuted.

Ignatz Pleyel, born in 1757, the twenty-fourth child of a schoolmaster
at Ruppersthal, a village a few miles from Vienna, a favorite pupil
of Haydn and just now the most widely known and popular living
instrumental composer except his master, came from Paris this season to
revisit, after many years’ absence, the scenes of his youth. He brought
with him his last new quartets, “which,” writes Czerny,

were performed before a large and aristocratic society at the house
of Prince Lobkowitz. At the close, Beethoven, who was also present,
was requested to play something. As usual he let himself be begged
for an infinitely long time and at last almost dragged by two
ladies to the pianoforte. In an ill humor he grabs a second violin
part of the Pleyel quartet from a music desk, throws it on the rack
of the pianoforte and begins to improvise. He had never been heard
to improvise more brilliantly, with more originality and splendor
than on this evening! but through the entire improvisation there
ran through the middle voices like a thread or ~cantus firmus~ the
notes, in themselves utterly insignificant, which he found on the
accidentally opened page of the quartet, upon which he built up the
most daring melodies and harmonies in the most brilliant concerto
style. Old Pleyel could show his amazement only by kissing his
hands. After such improvisations Beethoven was wont to break out
into a ringing peal of amused laughter.

Beethoven’s abandonment (if there really was one) of the rooms in the
theatre in the spring of 1804, and his subsequent relinquishment of the
apartments in “das Rothe Haus” to share those of Breuning, compelled
his brother Kaspar to seek a lodging of his own, which he found for the
present on the Hohen Markt. But the new contract, with Baron Braun,
gave the composer again a right to the apartments in the theatre
building, which he improved, at the same time retaining the dwelling in
the Pasqualati house. The city directory for 1805 gives his address
at the theatre, and there he received visitors; at the Pasqualati
house he was accustomed to seclude himself for work, forbidding his
servant to admit any person whatever. In the summer he retired to
Hetzendorf, and wrought out his opera, sitting in the same crotched
oak in the Schönbrunn Garden where, four years before, he had composed
the “Christus am Ölberg.” Thus again he had three lodgings at the same
time, as in the preceding summer; with this difference, that now one
was no expense to him. The thousand times repeated story of Ries, that
in 1804 he had ~four~ dwellings at once, is a mistake.

[Sidenote: THE SKETCHES FOR “FIDELIO”]

Before his migration to Hetzendorf--say about the middle of
June--Beethoven had completely sketched the music of his opera. This
is made sufficiently certain by one of those whimsical remarks that he
was in the habit of making on the blank spaces of whatever manuscript
he happened to have before him. In this case he writes: “June 2d Finale
always simpler. All pianoforte music also. God knows why my pianoforte
music always makes the worst impression, especially when it is badly
played.” This is in the midst of sketches to the final chorus of the
opera, and is written upon the upper outer corner of page 291 of the
“Leonore” sketchbook which became the property of Mr. Paul Mendelssohn,
of Berlin. The principal value of this manuscript lies of course in
the insight which it gives the musician into the master’s methods of
composition;[30] but for the biographer the volume is by no means
without its value. Its striking confirmation of the previously formed
opinion, that two current notions in relation to the composition of
the opera are erroneous, well repays the toil of studying it through.
First: A misinterpreted sentence in Jahn’s article on “Leonore,
oder Fidelio,” has originated and given currency to the idea that
Beethoven’s “daring enthusiasm for the welfare of men and their rights”
led him to begin his sketches for the opera with the “second finale,
with its hymn-like character.” But the sketchbook, if it proves
anything, proves this: that Beethoven began at the beginning and took
up all the principal numbers in order, as they stood in Sonnleithner’s
text; that the final choruses were the last to be sketched; and
that this sketchbook happens to begin in the midst of the chorus of
prisoners (originally the second finale) because the previous studies
are wanting.

This volume contains the first sketches of Nos. 11, 18, 15a, 17a and
18a (appendix) of Jahn’s edition; Nos. 1 and 5 occur, but not in the
original studies; Nos. 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10 are either entirely
wanting or only come up in mere fragmentary afterthoughts, as No. 9,
on page 51, where Beethoven has written at the top of the page: “in
the duet between P. and R.” and just below: “dann schleich ich,” with
a hint (4 bars of music unisono) for the accompaniment. Afterthoughts
for the duet “Um in die Ehe”--~Fidelio~ and ~Marcelline~--occur also
on pages 23, 344, and possibly one or two others, but not more.
The studies for ~Fidelio’s~ recitative “Ach brich noch nicht” and
aria “Komm Hoffnung” (No. 11), which are found near the end of the
volume, seem to form a marked exception to the rule; but if these are
really the first sketches, their appearance after the final scenes is
explained by two remarks in Beethoven’s hand on page 344: “Duetto with
Müller (~Marcelline~) and ~Fidelio~ aside,” and “Aria for ~Fidelio~,
another text which agrees with her.” These notes clearly indicate a
change of plan in connection with the duet, and that the beautiful air,
“Komm Hoffnung,” did not stand in Sonnleithner’s original text.

[Sidenote: PATIENT LABOR ON THE OPERA]

The other current error thoroughly exploded by the sketchbook is
this, namely, that the noblest passages in the opera are a sort of
spontaneous outpouring in music of feelings and sentiments awakened,
or rendered intense and vivid, by the unfortunate love-affairs of the
composer. Now, there is nothing from the first page to the last of this
manuscript that conveys the impression of any such spontaneity. Every
number, as it now stands complete in the score, was the tardy result of
persevering labor--of the most painstaking study.

Where Jahn says: “I have not had an opportunity to study many of
Beethoven’s sketchbooks, but I have found no instance in which one was
not compelled to recognize that the material chosen was not the best,
or to deplore that the material which he rejected had not been used,”
he might have added, with truth, that some of the first ideas noted to
passages, now among the gems of the opera, are commonplace and trivial
to such a degree, that one can hardly attribute them to Beethoven. Yet,
there they are in his own hand. Jahn’s compendious general description
of the contents of this manuscript cannot be improved, except in a
single passage, in which, probably trusting his memory a little too
much, he conveys the mistaken (as we think) impression, that the aria
of ~Marcelline~ is here first sketched.

The sketches [says he] are, naturally enough, of very different
kinds; in part they are widely varying efforts to give musical
expression to the same text, and many numbers, like the airs
of ~Marcelline~ and ~Pizarro~, the grave duet, a few striking
passages, appear for the first time with motivi wholly different
from those now to be found in the opera.... At other times, whole
pieces are written down in a breath essentially as they have
remained.

This is rather too strongly expressed, unless Jahn had in mind the
arias of ~Rocco~ and ~Marcelline~.

By the side of such passages are examples of indefatigable detail
work, which cannot find a conclusion, of turning not only single
motivi and melodies but the tiniest elements of them this way and
that, and out of all conceivable variations to draw out the form
that is best. One is amazed at this everlasting experimentation
and cannot conceive how it will be possible to create an organic
whole out of such musical scraps. But if one compares the completed
art-work with the chaos of sketches one is overwhelmed with wonder
at the creative mind which surveyed its task so clearly, grasped
the foundation and the outlines of the execution so firmly and
surely that with all the sketches and attempts in details the
whole grows naturally from its roots and develops. And though
the sketches frequently create the impression of uncertainty
and groping, admiration comes again for the marvelously keen
self-criticism, which, after everything has been tested with
sovereign certainty, retains the best.[31]

In the notices of the “Leonore” sketchbook, made for use in this
work, are copied ~eighteen~ different beginnings to ~Florestan’s~
air, “In des Lebens Frühlingstagen,” and ten to the chorus, “Wer ein
holdes Weib”; others being omitted, because illegible or little more
than repetitions. The studies for that wondrous outburst of joy, “O
namenlose Freude,” are numerous; but the first bars of the duet are the
same in all of them, having been taken by Beethoven from an “old opera.”

It certainly seems a little like cold-blooded cruelty thus ruthlessly
to demolish the structure of romance which has been rising for thirty
years on the sandy foundation laid by Schindler in his story of the
Countess Guicciardi, and of which, through some fancied connection, the
opera “Leonore” has become an imposing part. But facts are stubborn
things, and here they are irreconcilable with the romance.

Inborn genius for musical composition, untiring industry, and the
ambition to rival Cherubini in his own field, sufficiently explain the
extraordinary merits of this work of Beethoven; want of practice and
experience in operatic writing, its defects.

Beethoven’s seclusion at Hetzendorf from June to September (probably)
and his labor of reducing the chaos of the sketchbook into the
order and beauty of the score of “Leonore”--on which, as he told
Schindler, he wrought in the bright summer days, sitting in the
shades of Schönbrunn--are unbroken for us except by his first meeting
with Cherubini. Some time in July--for that master arrived in Vienna
after the 5th of that month, and Vogler was in Salzburg before the
28th--“Cherubini, Beethoven and Vogler were gathered together at
Sonnleithner’s; everybody played, Vogler first, and without ceasing,
so that the company meanwhile sat down to table. Beethoven was full
of attention and respect toward Cherubini.” Such is Jahn’s note of a
communication to him by Grillparzer; and Czerny told him: “B. did not
give Cherubini a friendly reception in 1805, as the latter complained
to Czerny later.”

At the end of the summer season Beethoven returned to town with his
opera ready to be put in rehearsal. Here Ries found him. “He was really
fond of me,” says he, “and gave me a comical proof of the fact in one
of his fits of absentmindedness”; and Ries goes on to relate in the
“Notizen”:

When I came back from Silesia, where, on Beethoven’s
recommendation, I had spent a considerable time as pianoforte
player for Prince Lichnowsky on his estate, I went into his room;
he was about to shave and had lathered himself up to the eyes (for
his fearful beard extended so far). He jumped up, embraced me
cordially and, behold! he had transferred the soap from his left
cheek to my right so completely that there was nothing left of it
on him. Didn’t we laugh!

With all his kindness to Ries, Beethoven had neither forgotten nor
forgiven the affair of the “Andante favori”:

One day when a small company including Beethoven and me breakfasted
with Prince (Lichnowsky) after the concert in the Augarten (8
o’clock in the forenoon), it was proposed that we drive to
Beethoven’s house and hear his opera “Leonore,” which had not
yet been performed. Arrived there Beethoven demanded that I go
away, and inasmuch as the most urgent appeals of all present were
fruitless, I did so with tears in my eyes. The entire company
noticed it and Prince Lichnowsky, following me, asked me to wait
in an anteroom, because, having been the cause of the trouble, he
wanted to have it settled. But the feeling of hurt to my honor
would not admit of this. I heard afterward that Prince Lichnowsky
had sharply rebuked Beethoven for his conduct, since only love for
his works had been to blame for the incident and consequently for
his anger. But the only result of these representations was that
Beethoven refused to play any more for the company.

It so happened, that Ries thus lost his only opportunity ever to hear
the “Leonore-Fidelio” music in its original form; but this Beethoven
could not anticipate, as he could have no suspicion that they were
so soon to be parted. Bonn, being now under French rule, Ries was
liable to conscription, and notice came that he was among the first
drawn. “He was therefore,” says the ‘Harmonicon,’ “obliged to return
home immediately, for his disobedience would have exposed his father
and family to the risk of ruin.” Before Ries’ departure from Vienna,
Beethoven, himself unable to afford him pecuniary assistance, again
proved his kindly feelings towards his pupil by giving him a letter
commending him to the benevolence of Princess Liechtenstein.

“To Beethoven’s rage,” says Ries, “the letter was not delivered, but I
kept the original, written on an unevenly cut quarto sheet, as a proof
of Beethoven’s friendship and love for me.” Three years will elapse
before we meet Ries again in Vienna--the greater part of which period
he passed at Paris in such discouraging circumstances, that he thought
seriously of abandoning his profession.

[Sidenote: FIRST PERFORMANCE OF “FIDELIO”]

At the Theater-an-der-Wien none of the new operas produced this season
had long kept the stage; although two of them--Schikaneder’s “Swetard’s
Zaubergürtel,” music by Fischer, and his “Vesta’s Feuer,” music by
J. Weigl--were brought out “with very extraordinary splendor of
decorations and costumes.” It was now Autumn and the receipts did not
cover the expenses of the theatre. “From the distance,” says Treitschke,

the storm of war rolled towards Vienna and robbed the spectators of
the calm essential to the enjoyment of an art-work. But just for
this reason all possible efforts were made to enliven the sparsely
attended spaces of the house. “Fidelio” was relied upon to do its
best, and so, under far from happy auspices, the opera was produced
on November 20 (1805). It was possible efficiently to cast only the
female parts with Mlles. Milder and Müller; the men left all the
more to be desired.

Anna Milder (born December 13, 1785), now just completing her
twentieth year, was that pupil of Neukomm to whom Haydn had said half
a dozen years before: “My dear child! You have a voice like a house!”
Schikaneder gave her her first engagement and she began her theatrical
career April 9, 1803, in the part of ~Juno~ in Süssmayr’s “Spiegel von
Arkadien,” with a new grand aria composed for her by him. Beethoven
had now written the part of ~Fidelio~ for her. In later years it was
one of her grand performances; though, judging from the contemporary
criticisms, it was now somewhat defective, simply from lack of stage
experience. Louise Müller, the ~Marcelline~, “had already (in April,
1805) developed in a few years into a tasteful and honest singer,
although she did not have the help of a voice of especial volume.” She
became, in the opinion of Castelli, “a most amiable actress and good
singer, particularly in the comic genre.”

Demmer, “trained in Cologne,” is reported in 1799, when singing at
Frankfort-on-the-Main, as having “a firm, enduring voice with a high
range; he played semi-comic rôles admirably. He was best in airs
in which there was little agility and more sustained declamation.”
Castelli praises him; but all contemporary accounts agree that he was
not equal to the part of ~Florestan~, for which he was now selected.

Sebastian Meier, brother-in-law to Mozart (the musical reformer of
this theatre), “was insignificant as a singer, but a valiant actor,”
says Castelli, who knew him most intimately. Schindler has an anecdote
of him as ~Pizarro~, apparently derived from Beethoven, to the effect
that he had a high opinion of his own powers; that he used to swear by
Mozart and confidently undertake everything. In view of this Beethoven
resolved to cure him of his weakness, and to this end wrote the passage
in Pizarro’s air:

[Illustration: Pizarro

Bass

Bald wird sein Blut verrinnen
Bald krümmet sich der Wurm
]

the voice moves over a series of scales, played by all the strings,
so that the singer at each note which he has to utter, hears an
appogiatura of a minor second from the orchestra. The ~Pizarro~
of 1805 was unable with all his gesticulation and writhing to
avoid the difficulty, the more since the mischievous players in
the orchestra below maliciously emphasized the minor second by
accentuation. ~Don Pizarro~, snorting with rage, was thus at the
mercy of the bows of the fiddlers. This aroused laughter. The
singer, whose conceit was thus wounded, thereupon flew into a rage
and hurled at the composer among other remarks the words: “My
brother-in-law would never have written such damned nonsense.”

Weinkopf (~Don Fernando~) had “a pure and expressive bass voice,”
but his part was too meagre and unimportant to affect the success or
failure of the opera.

Caché (~Jaquino~), according to Castelli, was a good actor,

who was also made serviceable in the opera because Meyer, the
stage-manager, knew that good acting, in comic operas, was
frequently more effective than a good voice. It was necessary to
fiddle his song-parts into his head before he came to rehearsals.

Rothe (~Rocco~) was so inferior both as actor and singer, that his name
is not to be found in any of the ordinary sources of Vienna theatrical
history.

One can well believe that very considerable difficulties attended
the performance, as Treitschke states. His words, in a passage above
cited, as well as certain expressions of Beethoven’s a few months
later, indicate that the opera was hurriedly put upon the stage, and
the inadequacy of the singers thus increased by the lack of sufficient
rehearsals. Seyfried says, “I directed the study of the parts with
all the singers according to his suggestions, also all the orchestral
rehearsals, and personally conducted the performance.” In 1805 Seyfried
was young, talented, ambitious, zealous, and nothing was wanting on his
part to insure success.

[Sidenote: INCIDENTS AT THE REHEARSALS]

Speaking of the rehearsals recalls to mind one of those bursts
of puerile wrath, which were passed over with a smile by some of
Beethoven’s friends, but gave serious offense to others. Mähler
remembered that at one of the general rehearsals the third bassoon
was absent; at which Beethoven fretted and fumed. Lobkowitz, who was
present, made light of the matter: two of the bassoons were present,
said he, and the absence of the third could make no great difference.
This so enraged the composer, that, as he passed the Lobkowitz Place,
on his way home, he could not restrain the impulse to turn aside and
shout in at the great door of the palace: “Lobkowitzian ass!”

There were various stumbling-blocks in the vocal score of “Leonore.”
Schindler on this point has some judicious remarks (in his third
edition), and they are borne out by his record of conversations with
Cherubini and Anna Milder. During his years of frequent intercourse
with Beethoven and subsequently, “Leonore” was a work upon whose origin
and failure he took much pains to inform himself, and its history as
finally drawn up by him is much more satisfactory and correct than
others of greater pretensions.

Outside the narrow circle of the playhouse, weightier matters than a
new opera now occupied and agitated the minds of the Viennese. On the
20th October, Ulm fell. On the 30th Bernadotte entered Salzburg, on
his way to and down the Danube. Vienna was defenceless. The nobility,
the great bankers and merchants--all whose wealth enabled and whose
vocations permitted it--precisely those classes of society in which
Beethoven moved, which knew how to appreciate his music, and of whose
suffrages his opera was assured, fled from the capital. On November 9th
the Empress departed. On the 10th the French armies had reached and
occupied the villages a few miles west of the city. On November 13th,
about 11 o’clock in the forenoon, the vanguard of the enemy, Murat and
Lannes at the head, 15,000 strong, representing all branches of the
service, entered Vienna in order of battle, flags flying and music
sounding.

On the 15th, Bonaparte issued his proclamation from Schönbrunn, which
he made his headquarters. Murat quartered himself in the palace of
Archduke Albert; General Hulin, in that of Prince Lobkowitz. It was
just at this most unlucky of all possible periods that Beethoven’s
opera was produced; on November 20, 21 and 22.

Beethoven’s friend, Stephan von Breuning, prepared a pretty surprise
for him by printing a short complimentary poem and having it
distributed in the theatre at the second performance. It is preserved
in the “Notizen” (p. 34).[32] Beethoven desired to retain the original
title of the opera, “Leonore,” and the directors of the theatre have
been severely censured from that day to this for persisting in giving
and retaining the title “Fidelio”; but unjustly; for, considering the
relations in which Paër stood to Baron Braun, it was surely enough to
have taken his subject, without stealing his title.

[Sidenote: RECOLLECTIONS OF A SINGER]

A young man, educated at the University of Munich, had for some time
past been private secretary to the Bavarian ~Chargé des Affaires~ at
Salzburg. The approach of the French armies after the fall of Ulm
made his position and prospects very uncertain. It was just then that
an agent of Baron Braun came thither in search of a young, fresh
tenor to succeed Demmer, whose powers were fast yielding to time. The
engagement was offered him and thus it came about, that J. A. Röckel,
in the Autumn of 1805, became first tenor in the Theater-an-der-Wien.
After appearing in divers characters with much success, considering
his inexperience, he was offered the part of ~Florestan~ in the
contemplated revival of “Fidelio.” A conversation with the singer at
Bath in April, 1861, is authority for these particulars, and a letter
from him dated February 26 of the same year adds more. Röckel wrote:

It was in December, 1805--the opera house An-der-Wien and both
the Court theatres of Vienna having been at that time under the
intendance of Baron Braun, the Court Banker--when Mr. Meyer,
brother-in-law to Mozart and Regisseur of the opera An-der-Wien,
came to fetch me to an evening meeting in the palace of Prince
Charles Lichnowsky, the great patron of Beethoven. “Fidelio” was
already a month previously performed An-der-Wien--unhappily just
after the entrance of the French, when the city was shut against
the suburbs. The whole theatre was taken up by the French, and
only a few friends of Beethoven ventured to hear the opera. These
friends were now at that soirée, to bring Beethoven about, to
consent to the changes they wanted to introduce in the opera in
order to remove the heaviness of the first act. The necessity of
these improvements was already acknowledged and settled among
themselves. Meyer had prepared me for the coming storm, when
Beethoven should hear of leaving out three whole numbers of the
first act.

At the soirée were present Prince Lichnowsky and the Princess, his
lady, Beethoven and his brother Kaspar, [Stephan] von Breuning,
[Heinrich] von Collin, the poet, the tragedian Lange (another
brother-in-law to Mozart), Treitschke, Clement, leader of the
orchestra, Meyer and myself; whether Kapellmeister von Seyfried was
there I am not certain any more, though I should think so.

I had arrived in Vienna only a short time before, and met Beethoven
there for the first time.

As the whole opera was to be gone through, we went directly to
work. Princess L. played on the grand piano the great score of the
opera and Clement, sitting in a corner of the room, accompanied
with his violin the whole opera by heart, playing all the solos
of the different instruments. The extraordinary memory of Clement
having been universally known, nobody was astonished by it, except
myself. Meyer and I made ourselves useful, by singing as well as
we could, he (basso) the lower, I the higher parts of the opera.
Though the friends of Beethoven were fully prepared for the
impending battle, they had never seen him in ~that~ excitement
before, and without the prayers and entreaties of the very delicate
and invalid princess, who was a second mother to Beethoven and
acknowledged by himself as such, his united friends were not likely
to have succeeded in this, even to themselves, very doubtful
enterprise. But when after their united endeavors from seven
till after one o’clock, the sacrifice of the three numbers was
accomplished, and when we, exhausted, hungry and thirsty, went to
restore ourselves by a splendid supper--then, none was happier and
gayer than Beethoven. Had I seen him before in his fury, I saw him
now in his frolics. When he saw me, opposite to him, so intently
occupied with a French dish, and asked me what I was eating, and I
answered: “I don’t know!” with his lion-voice he roared out: “He
eats like a wolf--without knowing what! Ha, ha, ha!”

The condemned three numbers were:

1. A great aria with chorus of ~Pizarro~;

2. A comic duo between ~Leonore~ (~Fidelio~) and ~Marcelline~, with
violin and violoncello solo;

3. A comic terzetto between ~Marcelline~, ~Jacquino~ and ~Rocco~.

Many years after, Mr. Schindler found the scores of these three
pieces amongst the rubbish of Beethoven’s music, and got them as a
present from him.

A question has been raised as to the accuracy of Röckel’s memory in
his statement of the numbers cancelled on this occasion; to which it
may be remarked, that the particulars of this first and extraordinary
meeting with Beethoven would naturally impress themselves very deeply
upon the memory of the young singer; that the numbers to be condemned
had been previously agreed upon by the parties opposed to the composer
in the transaction, and doubtless made known to Röckel; that Röckel’s
relations to Meyer were such as to render it in the highest degree
improbable, that he should confound ~Rocco’s~ gold aria with either of
the ~Pizarro~ airs with chorus belonging to Meyer’s part; that both of
these belong to the first and second original acts--i. e., to the first
act of the opera as Röckel knew it; that he (Röckel) in his letter
to the writer is not reporting upon the pieces actually omitted in
the subsequent performance three or four months later, but upon those
which, at this meeting, Beethoven was with great difficulty persuaded
to omit: that the objections made to them were not to the music, but
because they retarded the action; and, therefore, that the decision
now reached was by no means final, provided the end desired could be
attained in some other way. Perhaps it may yet appear that Beethoven,
now cunningly giving way, succeeded in winning the game, and retaining
all three of the pieces condemned.

Outside theatrical circles we catch also a glimpse or two of Beethoven
in these months. Pierre Baillot, the violinist, was in Vienna just
before the French invasion on his way to Moscow, and was taken by Anton
Reicha to see Beethoven.

They did not find him in his lodgings but in a by no means
elegant inn in the Vorstadt. What first attracted the attention
of the Frenchman was that Beethoven did not have the bulldog,
gloomy expression which he had expected from the majority of
his portraits; he even thought he recognized an expression of
good-nature in the face of the composer. The conversation had just
got well under way when it was interrupted by a terrific snore. It
came from a stableman or coachman who was taking his little nap in
a corner of the room. Beethoven gazed at the snorer a few moments
attentively and then broke out with the words: “I wish I were as
stupid as that fellow.”[33]

Schindler closes his account of these last five years in Beethoven’s
life with great propriety and elegance by quoting a passage copied by
the master from Christian Sturm’s “Betrachtungen.” It is made up of
scattered sentences which may be found on page 197 of the ninth edition
(Reutlingen, 1827):

To the praise of Thy goodness I must confess that Thou hast tried
all means to draw me to Thee. Now it hath pleased Thee to let me
feel the heavy hand of Thy wrath, and to humiliate my proud heart
by manifold chastisements. Sickness and misfortune hast Thou sent
to bring me to a contemplation of my digressions. But one thing
only do I ask, O God, cease not to labor for my improvement. Only
let me, in whatsoever manner pleases Thee, turn to Thee and be
fruitful of good works.

[Sidenote: WORKS PUBLISHED IN 1805]

The publications for the year 1805 were the Two Easy Sonatas, G minor
and G major, Op. 49, advertised by the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir,
on January 23; Trio (arranged from the Septet) for Pf., Violin (or
Clarinet) and Violoncello, E-flat, Op. 38, advertised by the same
institution on the same date; Prelude for the Pf., F minor, advertised
by the same on January 30; Romance for Violin and Orchestra, F major,
Op. 50, advertised by the same on May 15; Sonata in C major for Pf.,
Op. 53, dedicated to Count Waldstein, advertised with the Romance;
song, “An die Hoffnung,” Op. 32, advertised by the same on September
18; Six Variations for Pf. four hands, on “Ich denke Dein,” advertised
by the same on January 23; Minuet in E-flat for Pf., advertised by same
on January 30; Scene and Air, “Ah, perfido! spergiuro,” in pianoforte
score, published by Hoffmann and Kühnel.

The compositions which were completed were the opera “Leonore”
(“Fidelio”) in its first form; the Concerto for Pf. and Orchestra, G
major, Op. 58 (this on the authority of Nottebohm); the Pf. Sonata in F
major. Op. 54; perhaps also may be added the Concerto for Pf., Violin
and Violoncello, C major. Op. 56. It was sketched at the beginning of
the year and was written, as Schindler states, for Archduke Rudolph,
Seidler, violin, and Kraft, violoncello; it may well have been
completed so as to be played by the winter of 1805-1806.

FOOTNOTES:

[29] Again played by him at the opening of Schuppanzigh’s Augarten
concerts in the Spring.

[30] See Nottebohm’s study of the sketches for “Fidelio” in “Zweite
Beethoveniana,” p. 409 ~et seq.~; also what Jahn has to say, and the
results of Erich Prieger’s labors in connection with the reprint of the
original form of the opera.

[31] Jahn, “Gesammelte Schriften,” p. 244.

[32] To the opinions of the reviewers some attention must be given; it
does not seem advisable to quote them ~in extenso~. The “Freymüthige”
describes the military occupation of Vienna, the officers quartered
in the city proper, the private soldiery in the suburbs. At first
the theatres were empty, but gradually the French began to visit
them and at the time of writing were more numerous in the playhouses
than the Austrians. “Fidelio,” the new opera by Beethoven, did not
please. It was given a few times only and the house was empty after
the first performance. The music did not meet the expectations of
the cognoscenti and music-lovers, lacking the passionate expression
which is so compelling in Mozart and Cherubini. The music is beautiful
in places, but as a whole the opera is far from being a perfect or
successful work. The “Zeitung für the Elegante Welt” records that the
music is “ineffective and repetitious,” and did not add to the writer’s
opinion of Beethoven’s talent for vocal writing formed on hearing his
cantata (“Christus am Ölberg”). In its issue of January 8, 1806, the
correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” says that he had expected
something very different, in view of Beethoven’s undisputed talent.
Beethoven had often sacrificed beauty to newness and singularity and
therefore something new and original had been expected, but these were
the qualities which were least noticeable. The music is distinguished
neither by invention nor execution. The overture is not comparable
with that of “Prometheus.” As a rule there is nothing new in the
vocal parts; they are generally too long, the text is ceaselessly
repeated and the characterization misses fire, as, for instance, in
the duet after the recognition. A canon in the first act and an aria
in F [E] are more successful, though the pretty accompaniment with
its three horns ~obbligato~ and bassoon is somewhat overloaded. The
choruses, especially the song of the prisoners, are a failure. Dr.
Henry Reeve, of Norwich, England, one of the earliest collaborators
on the “Edinburgh Review,” then a young man of 25, was in Vienna at
the time of the French invasion and attended the second representation
of the opera on November 21st. Sir George Grove sent a copy of a page
from his journal to Thayer. He thought the plot a sad mixture of bad
action and romantic situations, but the airs, duets and choruses worthy
of all praise. The “overtures,” of which there was one for every act,
were too artificial to be generally agreeable and an appreciation of
their beauties would require frequent hearing. Beethoven sat at the
pianoforte and conducted the performance--a little, dark, young-looking
man, who wore spectacles.

[33] “Signale für die Musikalische Welt,” June 21, 1866.

Chapter IV

The Year 1806--Repetition of “Fidelio”--Changes in the Opera--Its
Withdrawal--Journey to Silesia--Correspondence with Thomson--The
Scottish Songs.

Excerpts from a letter written on June 2, 1806, by Stephan von Breuning
to his sister and brother-in-law, make a fair opening for the story
of the year 1806. In it he reports on “Fidelio.” The letter, though
written in the middle of the year, has reference to the period between
the original performance late in 1805 and the repetition in the spring
of 1806, a period in which it would seem, from the absence of all
epistolary writings, Beethoven was in no mood, or too much occupied
otherwise, for correspondence. Von Breuning writes:

Nothing, perhaps, has caused Beethoven so much vexation as
this work, the value of which will be appreciated only in the
future.... Beethoven, who had also observed a few imperfections
in the treatment of the text in the opera, withdrew it after
three representations. After order had been restored he and I
took it up again. I remodelled the whole book for him, quickening
and enlivening the action; he curtailed many pieces, and then it
was performed three[34] times with great success. Now, however,
his enemies in the theatre arose, and as he had offended several
persons, especially at the second representation, they succeeded in
preventing further performances. Before this, many obstacles had
been placed in his way; to let one instance stand as proof for the
others, he could not even get permission to secure an announcement
of the opera under the changed title “Fidelio,” as it is called in
the French original, and as it was put into print after the changes
were made. Contrary to promise the first title “Leonore” appeared
on the poster. This is all the more unpleasant for Beethoven since
the cessation of the performances on which he was depending for
his honorarium, which consists in a percentage of the receipts,
has embarrassed him in a financial way. He will recover from the
set-back all the more slowly since the treatment which he has
received has robbed him of a great deal of his pleasure in and love
for work....

The words “Fidelio” and “Leonore” are here misplaced, interchanged,
whether by Breuning or his copyist is not known. The letter is a
reflection of Beethoven’s disappointment and indignation at fancied
injuries; it was written in ignorance of divers material facts, and
contains inaccuracies, which--since its publication by Wegeler in
1838--have colored many attempts to write the early history of the
opera.

It is a circumstance, noteworthy and not easily to be explained, that
Breuning, instead of Sonnleithner, revised the text and made the new
disposition of the scenes. For the alterations and suppressions, both
in the text and the music, made at this time, the reader is referred
to the edition of “Leonore” prepared by Otto Jahn, and published by
Breitkopf and Härtel in 1852, and the preface to the edition of the
“Fidelio” of 1805 published by Erich Prieger.

At the performances in November, the effect of the overture had been
ruined by a passage in the Allegro, which was too difficult for the
wood-wind instruments. “Instead of simply removing this obstacle (31
measures),” says Schindler, “Beethoven thought it advisable to rewrite
the whole, inasmuch as he was already engaged upon a revision of other
parts of the work. He retains the motivi of the Introduction as well
as the Allegro, has the motivo of the latter played by violoncellos
and violins simultaneously for the sake of greater sonority, and on
the existing foundation rears a new structure, including several new
thoughts.”[35]

[Sidenote: THE OVERTURES TO “FIDELIO”]

And thus for Beethoven the winter passed. To compete with successful
new works which Schikaneder offered the Vienna audiences of 1806,
was no light matter; and it is easy to imagine, that Beethoven felt
this, and determined, at all events in his own field of instrumental
composition, to leave no doubt who was master. Hence, that monumental
work, the great overture to “Leonore” in its second form. He was, as
usual, dilatory in meeting his engagements. January and February passed
and March drew to its close, and the overture was not ready. This was
too much for Baron Braun’s patience. He, therefore, selected the best
night of the season--Saturday, March 29, the last before the closing
of the theatre for Holy Week and Easter--and gave Beethoven distinctly
to understand, that if the opera was not performed on that evening, it
should not be given at all. This was effectual and the new score was
sent in; but so late, as Röckel well remembered, as to allow but two or
three rehearsals with pianoforte and one only with orchestra; and these
were directed by Seyfried--the composer appearing at neither.

Beethoven and Breuning supposed that a change of title from “Fidelio”
to “Leonore” had been agreed to by the directors, and indeed the new
text-book and Breuning’s poem on the occasion were so printed; but
it was determined otherwise. By the new arrangement of the scenes,
the number of acts was reduced to two. The new playbill therefore
substitutes “Opera in two Acts” for “three”; excepting this, the
change of date, and of Röckel’s for Demmer’s name as ~Florestan~, it
is a facsimile of the previous ones, and announces: “Fidelio oder die
Eheliche Liebe.” For this determination the directors may well have
urged, not only a proper regard for the composer of “Sargino” and the
(Italian) “Leonore,” but the manifest impropriety of misleading the
public by giving a new title to a work which remained essentially
unchanged. As on the original production, Breuning wrote a poem: “To
Herr Ludwig van Beethoven, on the occasion of the reproduction of the
opera composed by him and first performed on November 20, 1805, now
given under the new title ‘Leonore.’”

[Sidenote: UNSUCCESSFUL PERFORMANCES]

The correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.,” under date of April 2,
writes: “Beethoven has again produced his opera ‘Fidelio’ on the
stage with many alterations and abbreviations. An entire act has been
omitted, but the piece has benefited and pleased better.” On Thursday,
the 10th, it was given again. The following letters from Beethoven
to Sebastian Meier, referring to this performance, complain of “many
blunders” in the choruses, ask for new rehearsals, and say:

Please ask Mr. Seyfried to conduct my opera to-day, I want to look
at and hear it from a distance, thus at least my patience will not
be so greatly tried as if I were to hear my music bungled close
at hand! I cannot think otherwise than that it is done purposely.
I will say nothing about the wind-instruments, but that all ~pp~,
~crescendo~, all ~decres.~ and all ~forte~, ~ff~, have been elided
from my opera; at any rate they are not played. All delight in
composing departs when one hears it (one’s music) played ~thus~!

Seyfried’s autograph record of all performances in the
Theater-an-der-Wien, through a long series of years, gives “Sargino”
instead of “Fidelio,” for Saturday the 12th--and “Agnes Bernauer”
for the Sunday and Monday following. That this old, well-known drama
was so repeated affords a strong presumption that an opera--we think
“Fidelio”--was withdrawn “because obstacles had suddenly appeared”
after it was too late to supply its place with another. At all events,
the production of “Fidelio” on Thursday, April 10th, was the last; for
which fact, two explanations are given--that in Breuning’s letter, and
one by Röckel in his letter to the author. Breuning attributes it to
the composer’s enemies--to a cabal, to “several persons whom Beethoven
had offended, especially at the second representation”; Röckel, to
Beethoven’s own imprudence and folly.

Breuning, a Secretary in the War Office, could have had little leisure
for theatrical matters in those melancholy days during the French
occupation and immediately after; it is a cause of surprise, that
he found time for the revision of the “Fidelio” text; his record,
therefore, could hardly have been made except upon the representations
of his friend--the last man to admit that he was in fault. But
Röckel was behind the scenes in a double sense: he sang the part of
~Florestan~ and while Beethoven’s “friends were, most of them, married
men, not able to walk and dine out with him (as he writes) like myself,
another bachelor, to whom he took a fancy--I could call upon him in the
morning and in fine weather stroll and dine with him in the country.”
Breuning and Röckel are alike men of unimpeachable veracity; but the
latter speaks from personal knowledge and observation.

Breuning’s statement is improbable. Who were Beethoven’s enemies? Who
formed the cabal? Baron Braun, Schikaneder, Seyfried, the Stage-manager
Meier, Director Clement, the solo singers (Mlle. Milder, Weinkopf,
Röckel), were all his friends; and, for anything now known, so were
Mlle. Müller, Rothe and Caché. As to orchestra and chorus, they might
refuse to play under Beethoven as conductor--nothing more; and, as he
had already conducted four if not five times, this would create no
great difficulty, as the baton would necessarily pass into the hands
of Seyfried at the first or second subsequent performance. Moreover,
now that the opera was fairly upon the stage and making its way, it
was for the interest of all parties, from Baron Braun down to the
scene-shifters, to continue it so long as it would draw an audience.
That it was making its way is proved not only by all the contemporary
accounts, but by this: that notwithstanding the necessarily empty
houses in November, Beethoven’s percentage of the receipts finally
amounted to nearly 200 florins.

[Sidenote: THE COMPOSER IN A RAGE]

In the second of the notes to Meier, Beethoven is guilty of monstrous
injustice. A moment’s reflection shows this. The orchestra and chorus
had duly rehearsed and three times publicly performed “Fidelio” as
first written. Since then (see Jahn’s edition) most of the numbers,
perhaps every one, had been more or less changed. Now every musician
knows that it is easier to play a piece of new music correctly at
sight, than a well-known composition in which material alterations
have been made. And yet, because some forty men--playing on a dozen
different instruments, and after a single rehearsal at which the
composer was not present to explain his intentions--did not effect
the impossibility of reading the music correctly and at the same time
note all the marks of expression, Beethoven writes: “I cannot think
otherwise than that is done purposely!”

All things considered, there can be no hesitation in preferring the
testimony of the singer of ~Florestan~, to that of the Court War
Councillor.

When the opera was produced in the beginning of the following
year (writes Röckel) it was exceedingly well received by a select
public, which became more numerous and enthusiastic with each new
representation; and no doubt the opera would have become a favorite
if the evil genius of the composer had not prevented it, and as
he, Beethoven, was paid for his work by a percentage, instead of
a mere honorarium, an advantage which none enjoyed before him,
it would have considerably advanced his pecuniary arrangements.
Having had no theatrical experience, he was estimating the receipts
of the house much higher than they really were; he believed
himself cheated in his percentage, and without consulting his real
friends on such a delicate point, he hastened to Baron Braun--that
high-minded and honorable nobleman--and submitted his complaint.
The Baron, seeing Beethoven excited and conscious of his ~one
susceptibility~ (i. e., suspicious temper), did what he could to
cure him of his suspicions against his employees, of whose honesty
he was sure. Were there any fraud, the Baron said, his own loss
would be beyond comparison more considerable than Beethoven’s. He
hoped that the receipts would increase with each representation;
until now, only the first ranks, stalls and pit were occupied; by
and by the upper ranks would likewise contribute their shares.

“I don’t write for the galleries!” exclaimed Beethoven.

“No?” replied the Baron, “My dear Sir, even Mozart did not disdain
to write for the galleries.”

Now it was at an end. “I will not give the opera any more,” said
Beethoven, “I want my score back.” Here Baron Braun rang the bell,
gave orders for the delivery of the score to the composer, and
the opera was buried for a long time. From this encounter between
Beethoven and Baron Braun one might conclude that the former’s
feelings had been injured by the comparison with Mozart; but since
he revered Mozart highly, it is probable that he took offence
more at the manner in which they were uttered than at the words
themselves.--He now realized plainly that he had acted against his
own interests, and in all probability the parties would have come
to an amicable understanding through the mediation of friends if
Baron Braun had not very soon after retired from the management of
the united theatres, a circumstance that led to a radical change of
conditions.

In truth, Beethoven had overshot the mark. The overture was too novel
in form and grand in substance to be immediately understood; and, in
1806, there was not an audience in Europe able to find, in the fire and
expression of the principal vocal numbers, an adequate compensation
for the superficial graces and melodic beauties of the favorite operas
of the time, and which seemed to them to be wanting in “Fidelio.” Even
Cherubini, who was all this time in Vienna, failed to comprehend fully
a work which, though a first and only experiment, was destined to an
ever-increasing popularity, when nearly all his own then universally
admired operas had disappeared from the stage. Schindler records that
he “told the musicians of Paris concerning the overture that because of
its confusion of modulations he was unable to recognize the principal
key.” And farther, that he (Cherubini), in listening to “Fidelio,” had
come to the conclusion that till then Beethoven had paid too little
heed to the art of singing, for which Salieri was not to blame.

In 1836, Schindler conversed with the ~Fidelio~ of 1805-06, Madame
Milder-Hauptmann, on the subject: “She said, among other things, that
she, too, had had severe struggles with the master chiefly about the
unbeautiful, unsingable passages, unsuited to her voice, in the Adagio
of the air in E major--but all in vain, until, in 1814, she declared
that she would never sing the air again in its then shape. That worked.”

Anselm Hüttenbrenner, who became a pupil of Salieri a dozen years
later, wrote in a letter to Ferdinand Luib, under date February 21,
1858: “Speaking of Beethoven Salieri told me the composer had submitted
‘Fidelio’ to him for an opinion: he had taken exception to many
things and advised Beethoven to make certain changes; but Beethoven
had ‘Fidelio’ performed just as he had written it--and never visited
Salieri again.” These last words are too strong; Beethoven’s pique
against his old master was in time forgotten; for Moscheles (also in a
letter to Luib) writes on February 28, 1858: “I cannot recall seeing
Schubert at Salieri’s, but I do remember the interesting circumstance
that once I saw a sheet of paper lying at Salieri’s on which in great
letters written by Beethoven were the words: ‘~The pupil Beethoven was
here!~’”

A letter by Beethoven to Baron von Braun refers to the incidents just
described and asks permission to get from the theatre orchestral parts,
as follows:

~Flauto primo~, the three trombones and the four horn parts of my
opera. I need these parts, but only for a day, in order to have a
few trifles copied for myself which ~could not be written into the
score for want of room~, also because ~Prince Lobkowitz~ thinks ~of
giving the opera at his house~ and has asked it of me.

There were other reasons why Beethoven desired to render his score
perfect. Whether the opera was performed in the Lobkowitz palace is not
recorded; but Breuning ends his letter of June 2nd thus: “I will not
write you the news that Prince Lichnowsky has now sent the opera to the
Queen of Prussia, and that I hope the performances in Berlin will show
the Viennese what they have at home.”

Breuning’s hope was vain; the opera was not given in Berlin.

[Sidenote: MARRIAGE OF KARL KASPAR VAN BEETHOVEN]

The order of time requires a passing notice of a family event which
proved in the end a cause of infinite trouble and vexation to Beethoven
and all connected with him by the ties of kindred or friendship.
Whether his brother Kaspar’s salary was increased above 250 florins,
before his appointment in 1809 as Liquidators’-Adjunct with 1000
florins and 160 fl. for lodgings, does not appear; beyond a doubt it
had been. But, be this as it may, he now found himself in a position to
marry, and on the 25th of May “a marriage contract was closed between
Carl Caspar v. Beethoven, R. I. Officer of the Revenue, and of this
city (Vienna) and Theresia Reiss, daughter of Anton Reiss, civilian,
upholsterer.” Their only child, a son, was born--according to the
baptismal certificate--on September 4th, 1806.

Reiss was a man of considerable wealth, for one in his sphere of life,
and able, it is said, to give his daughter a marriage portion of 2000
florins; it appears, too, that the valuable house in the Alservorstadt,
owned by Karl at the time of his death, was an inheritance of his wife
from her father’s estate; indeed, half the right to the property was
legally secured to her. So much has been wantonly and falsely written
upon this marriage and its consequences, as to render it proper to add
here: Karl van Beethoven’s character and temperament were not fitted to
render a wife permanently happy; on the other hand his wife, before her
husband’s death, dishonored him by an intrigue with a medical student;
but there is no reason whatever to believe that the marriage, at the
time it took place, was not considered a good one for, and by, all
parties concerned.

The notices of Beethoven’s own movements during this year are scanty.
“Fidelio” and studies to instrumental works employed him during the
winter (1805-6), but not to the exclusion of the claims of social
intercourse, as one of his characteristic memoranda indicates. It is
written with lead pencil on a page of the new quartet sketches: “Just
as you are now plunging into the whirlpool of society--just so possible
is it to compose ~operas~ in spite of social obstacles. Let your
deafness no longer be a secret--even in art.”

Breuning’s report (June 2), that Beethoven “had lost a great deal of
his pleasure in and love for work,” had even then ceased to be true.
On the 26th of May, the first of the Rasoumowski Quartets had been
begun--and with it began a series of works which distinguished the
year 1806 as one of astonishing productiveness--but more on this point
in due time. It is quite certain that he took no summer lodgings: this
and other considerations confirm Schindler’s statement, that, when the
revision of a copy of his opera for Berlin had been finished, he went
into Hungary to enjoy “a short rest with his friend Count Brunswick.”
Thence he journeyed into Silesia to the seat of Prince Lichnowsky near
Troppau.

[Sidenote: NEGOTIATIONS WITH BREITKOPF AND HÄRTEL]

Two documents now come up for consideration which fill a hiatus left by
the author in the original edition of this work. They are the letters
to which reference was made by the English editor in his comments
on Beethoven’s love-affairs (Vol. I, p. 344). Both are addressed to
Breitkopf and Härtel, the first dated “Vienna, July 5, 1806,” the
second “Grätz, den 3ten Heumonath, 1806”--“Heumonath” meaning July.
The inaccuracy of the latter date is too obvious to call for extended
comment; Beethoven could not apologize on the third day of the month
for tardiness in replying to a letter in answer to one which he had
dispatched on the fifth. It is not permissible to play fast and loose
with Beethoven’s dates, despite their frequent faultiness; we must
accept them when they are upheld by corroborative evidence, but reject
them when it is plainly impossible to conceive them as correct. In
explanation of the obvious incorrectness of the second date it is
suggested that when Beethoven wrote “Heumonath,” i. e., July, he meant
to write “Herbstmonath,” i. e., September. Irrespective of their dates,
however, the letters furnish evidence of Beethoven’s creative activity
during the summer of 1806. The first letter is as follows:

Vienna, July 5, 1806.

I inform you that my brother is going to Leipsic on business of
his chancellary and I have given him to carry the overture to my
opera in pianoforte arrangement, my oratorio and a new pianoforte
concerto--you may also negotiate with him touching some new violin
quartets of which I ~have already completed one~ and am purposing
to devote myself almost wholly to this work. As soon as you have
come to an understanding with my brother I will send you the
pianoforte arrangement of my opera--you may also have the score.

I hear that the symphony which I sent you last year and ~which you
returned to me~ has been roundly abused in the Musikal. Zeitung,
I have not read it, if you think that you do ~me~ harm by this
you are mistaken, on the contrary you bring your newspaper into
discredit by such things--all the more since I ~have not made any
secret~ of the fact that you sent back ~this symphony~ and other
compositions--Please present my compliments to Herr V. Rochlitz, I
hope his bad blood toward me has become a little diluted, say to
him that I AM BY NO MEANS SO IGNORANT of foreign literature not to
know that ~Herr v. Rochlitz has written some very pretty things~,
and if I should ever come to Leipsic I am convinced that we shall
become right good friends without ~causing injury or loss to his
criticisms~....

The pianoforte concerto referred to is that in G major, Op. 58; the
Quartets, the set Op. 59; the symphony, the “Eroica.” The second letter
was written from Prince Lichnowsky’s castle, Grätz, near Troppau in
Silesia. Breitkopf and Härtel’s endorsement shows that it was received
and answered in September:

Grätz, Heu-Monath 3rd, 1806.

Rather too much to do and the little journey here I could not
answer your letter at once--although I at once decided to accept
your offer, since my comfort, too, will be promoted by such an
arrangement and many unavoidable disorders obviated--I willingly
obligate myself not to sell any more of my works to any one except
you nor abroad except in the cases now specified, viz: whenever
advantageous offers are made to me by foreign publishers I will
inform you of the fact; and if you are otherwise inclined I will at
once arrange that you shall have ~the same work for Germany~ for
a smaller honorarium.--The second case is this: if I should leave
Germany, which is easily possible, that you may ~still participate
as above~, if you so desire--If these conditions are agreeable to
you write me--I believe the plan mutually helpful--as soon as I
learn your opinion of the matter--you may have at once 3 violin
quartets, a new pianoforte concerto, a new symphony, the score of
my opera and my oratorio.

My present place of sojourn is here in Silesia so long as autumn
lasts--with Prince Lichnowsky--who sends greetings to you--My
address is L. v. Beethoven in Troppau.

Breitkopf and Härtel’s endorsement is as follows: “~Resp.~ (i. e.,
~responsum~). Let him propose the honorarium; if acceptable we will
send him a contract for three years.” In reply to this Beethoven wrote
a letter dated Vienna, Nov. 18, 1806, in which he said:

Partly my distractions in Silesia, partly the events which have
taken place in your country, were to blame that I did not answer
your letter before now--should the present condition of affairs
prevent your entering into an engagement with me, you are not bound
to anything--only I beg you to answer at once by post, so that in
case you do not care to make a contract with me--I need not let
my works lie idle. With regard to a contract for three years I am
disposed to enter into it with you at once if you will agree that
I sell several works to England or Scotland. It is understood of
course ~that the works which you have received from me or which
I sold you belong only to you, namely are your sole property and
have nothing to do with those of France, England or Scotland--but
I must have the privilege to dispose of other works in those
countries--But in Germany, you and no other publisher would be
the owner of my works~. I would willingly renounce the sale of my
works in those countries, but I have received from Scotland such
weighty offers and such an honorarium as I could not ask of you,
besides a connection with foreign countries is always important
for the fame of an artist and in the event of his travelling--As,
for instance, in the case of Scotland, I have the right to sell
the same works in Germany and France, I would gladly let you have
them for Germany and France--so that only London and Edinburgh (in
Scotland) would be lost to your sales.... For the present I offer
you three quartets and a pianoforte concerto--I cannot give you the
promised symphony yet--because a gentleman of quality has taken it
from me, but I have the privilege of publishing it in half a year.
I ask of you 600 florins for the three quartets and 300 fl. for the
concerto, ~both amounts~ in Convention Florins according to the 20
florin scale.

The negotiations were without result and the compositions mentioned
were published by the Industrie-Comptoir. The symphony referred to was
doubtless the fourth, in B-flat, and the “gentleman of quality” in all
likelihood Count von Oppersdorff, to whom it was dedicated.

In October Breuning wrote to Wegeler: “Beethoven is at present in
Silesia with Prince Lichnowsky and will not return till near the end of
this month. His circumstances are none of the best at present, since
his opera, owing to the cabals of his opponents, was performed but
seldom, and therefore yielded him nothing. His spirits are generally
low and, to judge by his letters, the sojourn in the country has not
cheered him.” This visit to the Prince came to an abrupt termination in
a scene which has been a fruitful theme for the silly race of musical
novelette writers. The simple truth is related by Seyfried in the
appendix to his “Studien” (page 23) and is here copied literally except
for a few additional words interspersed, derived by the present writer
from a conversation with the daughter of Moritz Lichnowsky:

When he (Beethoven) did not feel in the mood it required repeated
and varied urgings to get him to sit down to the pianoforte.
Before he began playing he was in the habit of hitting the keys
with the flat of his hand, or running a single finger up and down
the keyboard, in short, doing all manner of things to kill time
and laughing heartily, as was his wont, at the folly. Once while
spending a summer with a Mæcenas at his countryseat, he was so
pestered by the guests (French officers), who wished to hear him
play, that he grew angry and refused to do what he denounced as
menial labor. A threat of arrest, made surely in jest, was taken
seriously by him and resulted in Beethoven’s walking by night to
the nearest city, Troppau, whence he hurried as on the wings of the
wind by extra post to Vienna.[36]

In the “Grenzboten,” Vol. XVI, No. 14, April 3, 1857, Fräulein
Giannatasio del Rio relates that, in 1816, Beethoven told how once
during the invasion when the Prince had a number of Frenchmen as
his guests, he (the Prince) repeatedly tried to coerce him to
play for them on the pianoforte and that he had stoutly refused;
which led to a scene between him and the Prince, whereupon B.
indiscreetly and suddenly left the house.--He once said that it
is easy to get along with nobility, but it was necessary to have
something to impress them with.

To propitiate him for the humiliation which he had suffered, the bust
of his patron had to become a sacrifice; he dashed it into pieces from
its place on a cabinet to the floor. Alois Fuchs recorded an anecdote
which illustrates the feeling which made Beethoven so unwilling to play
before the French officers. After the battle at Jena (October 14, 1806)
Beethoven met his friend Krumpholz, to whom he was warmly attached,
and, as usual, asked him, “What’s the news?” Krumpholz answered
that the latest news was the report just received that the great
hero Napoleon had won another decisive victory over the Prussians.
Greatly angered, Beethoven replied to this: “It’s a pity that I do not
understand the art of war as well as I do the art of music, I would
conquer him!”

A very natural query arises here: how did Beethoven meet the expenses
of these costly journeys? In answer it may be said that there is good
reason to believe that he borrowed and used his brother Johann’s scanty
savings.

[Sidenote: THOMSON AND SCOTTISH SONGS]

A letter by Beethoven, dated November 1, introduces a new topic. At
the time of the Union of the Kingdoms of England and Scotland, 1707,
a “Board of Trustees for the Encouragement of Arts and Manufactures
in Scotland” was established. About 1785 George Thomson became its
Secretary. He had some knowledge of musical science, and was an
enthusiastic lover of Scottish airs and melodies. His official position
brought him into correspondence with educated and influential people in
all parts of the kingdom, and afforded him singular facilities for the
execution of an early formed project--that of making the most extensive
collection possible of the music of Scotland. Many compilations,
various in extent and merit, had been published, but all of them, as
Thomson justly remarks, “more or less defective and exceptionable.” In
one of his prefaces he says:

To furnish a collection of all the fine airs, both of the plaintive
and the lively kind, unmixed with trifling and inferior ones--to
obtain the most suitable and finished accompaniments, with the
addition of characteristic symphonies to introduce and conclude
each air--and to substitute congenial and interesting songs, every
way worthy of the music, in the room of insipid or exceptionable
verses, were the great objects of the present publication....

For the composition of the symphonies and accompaniments, he
entered into terms with Mr. Pleyel, who fulfilled part of his
engagement satisfactorily; but having then stopped short, the
editor found it necessary to turn his eyes elsewhere. He was so
fortunate, however, as to engage Mr. Koželuch, and afterwards, Dr.
Haydn, to proceed with the work, which they have finished in such a
manner as to leave him nothing to regret on Mr. Pleyel’s breach of
engagement, etc., etc.

Doubtless Thomson would have applied sooner to Haydn, had he known
that the great master would condescend to such a labor. The appearance
of William Napier’s two volumes of “Original Scots Songs, in three
parts, the Harmony by Haydn,” removed any doubt on this point. For
Napier, Haydn simply added a violin part and a figured bass; for
Thomson, a full pianoforte score, parts for violin and violoncello,
and an instrumental introduction and coda. A very remarkable feature
of the enterprise was, that the composers of the accompaniments had
no knowledge of the texts, and the writers of the poetry no knowledge
of the accompaniments. The poets, in many cases, had a stanza of the
original song as a model for the metre and rhythm; in all others, they
and the composers alike received the bare melody, with nothing else to
guide them in their work but Italian musical terms: allegro, moderato,
andante, etc., etc., affettuoso, espressivo, scherzando, and the like.
This is also true of the Welsh and Irish melodies. Beethoven began his
labors for Thomson with the last named. In the preface to the first
volume, dated “Edinburgh, anno 1814,” after describing his work in
collecting Irish airs, Thomson says:

They were sent to Haydn to be harmonized along with the Scottish
and Welsh airs; but after that celebrated composer had finished
the greater part of those two works, his declining health only
enabled him to harmonize a few of the Irish Melodies; and upon his
death, it became necessary to find another composer to whom the
task of harmonizing them should be committed.[37] Of all composers
that are now living, it is acknowledged by every intelligent and
unprejudiced musician, that the only one, who occupies the same
distinguished rank with the late Haydn is BEETHOVEN. Possessing
the most original genius and inventive fancy, united to profound
science, refined taste and an enthusiastic love of his art--his
compositions, like those of his illustrious predecessor, will
bear endless repetition and afford ever new delight. To this
composer, therefore, the Editor eagerly applied for symphonies
and accompaniments to the Irish Melodies; and to his inexpressible
satisfaction, Beethoven undertook the composition. After years of
anxious suspense and teazing disappointment, by the miscarriage
of letters and manuscripts, owing to the unprecedented difficulty
of communication between England and Vienna, the long expected
symphonies and accompaniments at last reached the Editor, three
other copies having previously been lost upon the road.

Near the close of his preface, Thomson says: “After the volume was
printed and some copies of it had been circulated, an opportunity
occurred of sending it to Beethoven, who corrected the few inaccuracies
that had escaped the notice of the Editor and his friends; and he
trusts it will be found without a single error.”

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN’S SUGGESTED ARRANGEMENTS]

Following is a translation of the letter to Thomson referred to:

Vienna, November 1, 1806.

Dear Sir:

A little excursion to Silesia which I have made is the reason why
I have postponed till now answering your letter of July 1. On my
return to Vienna I hasten to communicate to you what I have to say
and what I have decided as to the proposals you were so kind as to
make me. I will speak with all candor and exactitude, which I like
in business affairs, and which alone can forestall any complaint on
either side. Here, then, my dear Sir, are my statements:

1^{mo}. I am not indisposed, on the whole, to accept your
propositions.

2^{do}. I will take care to make the compositions easy and
pleasing, as far as I can and as far as is consistent with that
elevation and originality of style which, as you yourself say,
favorably characterize my works and from which I shall never
derogate.

3^{tio}. I cannot bring myself to write for the flute, as this
instrument is too limited and imperfect.

4^{to}. In order to give the compositions which you will publish
greater variety and to leave myself a freer field in them, though
the task of making them easy would always be an embarrassment to
me, I shall promise you only three trios for violin, viola and
violoncello, and three quintets for two violins, two violas and one
violoncello. Instead of the remaining three trios, I will send you
three quartets and, finally, two sonatas for pianoforte with an
accompanying instrument, and a quintet for two violins and flute.
In a word, I would ask you with regard to the second series of the
compositions you ask for, to rely upon my taste and good faith and
I assure you that you shall be entirely satisfied.

If you cannot agree to any of these changes, I shall not insist
upon them obstinately.

5^{to}. I should be glad if the second series of compositions were
published six months after the first.

VI^{to}. I desire a clearer explanation of the expression which
I find in your letter that no copy printed under my name shall
be introduced into Great Britain; for if you agree that these
compositions are to be published also in Germany and even in
France, I do not understand how I shall be able to prevent copies
from being taken to your country.

7^{mo}. Finally as to the honorarium, I shall expect you to send
me 100 pounds sterling, or 200 Vienna ducats in gold, and not in
Vienna bank-notes, which under the present circumstances are at too
great a discount; for if paid in these notes the sum would be as
little in proportion to the works which I should deliver to you as
to the fees which I receive for all my other compositions. Even a
fee of 200 ducats in gold is by no means excessive payment for all
that is demanded to meet your wishes.

The best way of making the payment will be for you, on the dates
when I forward you the first and second series of compositions, to
send me each time by post a bill of exchange for 100 ducats in gold
drawn upon a house in Hamburg; or for you to commission somebody in
Vienna to hand me such a bill of exchange each time, as he receives
from me the first and second series.

At the same time please let me know the date on which each series
will be published by you in order that I may engage the publishers
who issue these compositions in Germany and France, to abide by the
same.

I hope that you will find my explanations reasonable and of such
a sort that we can reach some definite agreement. In this case it
will be best to draw up a formal contract which please have the
kindness to prepare in duplicate; and I will return you one copy
signed by me.

I await your answer, that I may begin on the work; and I remain
with distinguished consideration, my dear Sir,

Your obedient servant,

Louis van Beethoven.

P.S.

I shall be glad to meet your wish that I provide little Scottish
songs with harmonized accompaniments; and in this matter I await
a more definite proposal; since it is well known to me that Herr
Haydn was paid one pound sterling for each song.

The original of this letter--in possession of the heirs of Mr.
Thomson--is in French, the signature only being in Beethoven’s hand.
Of its various propositions, that in the postscript alone led to any
results.

[Sidenote: COMPOSITIONS OF 1806]

And now to the compositions of the year. A song translated by Breuning
from a French opera, “Le Secret,” was probably the first fruits of
the newly awakened “desire and love for work,” which proved so nobly
productive during his summer absence from Vienna; it is the one
published at different times under the titles “Empfindungen bei Lydiens
Untreue,” and “Als die Geliebte sich trennen wollte.” A slight token
of gratitude for the recent zealous kindness of Breuning in the matter
of the opera, such as this song, would not long be delayed even by
Beethoven. But, whether or not this was the first composition after
the withdrawal of “Fidelio,” it is certain that, just one week before
the date of Breuning’s letter, Beethoven had set himself resolutely
to work upon grander themes than Empfindungen bei Lydiens or any
other Mädchens Untreue. These are now to be considered. He began
the quartets, Op. 59, on May 26. Certain studies to “Fidelio,” not
previously mentioned, are contained in a sketchbook of the Landsberger
Collection of Autographs, the principal contents of which are sketches
for the second, fourth, fifth, sixth and ninth Symphonies, and for
“Fidelio.” This, at first view, seems to confirm an assertion of
Czerny’s--not accepted by Schindler, who in this case is the better
authority--namely, that the Ninth Symphony, except its choral Finale,
was projected many years before its composition; but the book itself
affords a strong argument against it; it being, as the present writer
is convinced, not a manuscript in its original form, but one made up
of parts of several different books, stitched together subsequently
for the better preservation of these various symphonic studies. In
it, however, the sketches for the Fourth Symphony are in immediate
connection with those for “Fidelio.” The list, then, of important
works sketched during the progress of the opera, is this: Triple
Concerto, Op. 56; Sonata in F minor, Op. 57; Pf. Concerto in G, Op.
58; Rasoumowsky Quartets, Op. 59; Fourth Symphony, B-flat, Op. 60;
Fifth Symphony, C minor, Op. 67; Sixth Symphony, “Pastorale,” Op. 68.
Omitting the first as belonging to 1805, and the last two as belonging
to 1807-1808, the other four, we conceive, may be dated 1806. They
afford a striking example of Beethoven’s habit of working on several
compositions at the same time, and, moreover, as we believe, of his
practice in such cases of giving the works opus numbers in the order of
their completion. In this order we will take them up. “The first work
which followed the exertions caused by the opera,” writes Schindler,
“was the Sonata in F minor, Op. 57.... The master composed it
straightway from beginning to end, during a short period of rest at the
house of his friend Count Brunswick, to whom, as is known, the sonata
is dedicated.”

Beethoven, journeying into Silesia after his visit to Brunswick, took
the manuscript and had it also with him on his return to Vienna per
extra post from Troppau after the explosion at Lichnowsky’s. “During
his journey,” wrote M. Bigot half a century afterwards on a printed
copy belonging to the pianist Mortier de Fontaine,

he encountered a storm and pouring rain which penetrated the trunk
into which he had put the Sonata in F minor which he had just
composed. After reaching Vienna he came to see us and laughingly
showed the work, which was still wet, to my wife, who at once began
to look carefully at it. Impelled by the striking beginning she sat
down at the pianoforte and began playing it. Beethoven had not
expected this and was surprised to note that Madame Bigot did not
hesitate at all because of the many erasures and alterations which
he had made. It was the original manuscript which he was carrying
to his publisher for printing. When Mme. Bigot had finished playing
she begged him to give it to her; he consented, and faithfully
brought it to her after it had been printed.

Czerny says, very justly, of the unauthorized change afterwards made in
the title: “In a new edition of the Sonata in F minor, Op. 57, which
Beethoven himself considered his greatest, the title ‘Appassionata,’
for which it is too great, was added to it. This title would be more
fitly applied to the E-flat Sonata, Op. 7, which he composed in a very
impassioned mood.”

The Pf. Concerto in G, Op. 58, is dated by Schindler 1804, “according
to information given by F. Ries”; the new edition of Breitkopf and
Härtel’s thematic catalogue says (p. 197): “The Concerto was finished
in the year 1805,” without mentioning its authority. If it had nothing
better than Ries’s anecdote to offer in proof, the opinion may still
be entertained confidently, that this work remained still unfinished
until the approach of the concert season, towards the end of the year
1806.[38]

[Sidenote: THE RASOUMOWSKY QUARTETS]

The Quartets, Op. 59, certainly belong to this year. “Quartetto
1^{mo}.... Begun on May 26, 1806,” are Beethoven’s own words; and the
opus number, the reports of their production during the next winter,
and, especially, the date of their publication, making allowance for
Rasoumowsky’s right to them for a year, all point to November or
December as the latest possible date for their completion. The idea
of employing popular airs as themes was by no means new to Beethoven.
Without referring to the example set by Haydn, Pleyel, Koželuch, it had
been proposed to him by Thomson; and as to Russian melodies, he must
have read the “Allg. Musik-Zeitung” very carelessly not to have had
his curiosity aroused by the articles on Russian music published in
that journal in 1802--a curiosity which, in the constant intercourse
between Vienna, Moscow and St. Petersburg, there would be no difficulty
in gratifying. Czerny writes, however, “He had pledged himself to weave
a Russian melody into every quartet.” But Lenz, himself a Russian and
a musician, says: “The Russian themes are confined to the Finale of
No. 1 and the third movement of the second Quartet.” This is a case
in which Czerny’s authority can scarcely be gainsaid; otherwise, it
might be supposed that the composer of his own motion introduced these
two themes in compliment to Rasoumowsky. “The Adagio, E major, in the
second Rasoumowsky Quartet, occurred to him when contemplating the
starry sky and thinking of the music of the spheres,” writes Czerny in
Jahn’s notes.

Perhaps no work of Beethoven’s met a more discouraging reception from
musicians, than these now famous Quartets. One friendly contemporary
voice alone is heard--that of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” Czerny told Jahn,
that “when Schuppanzigh first played the Rasoumowsky Quartet in F,
they laughed and were convinced that Beethoven was playing a joke
and that it was not the quartet which had been promised.” And when
Gyrowetz bought these Quartets he said: “Pity to waste the money!”
The Allegretto vivace of the first of these quartets was long a rock
of offence. “When at the beginning of the year 1812,” says Lenz, “the
movement was to be played for the first time in the musical circle of
Field Marshal Count Soltikoff in Moscow, Bernhard Romberg trampled
under foot as a contemptible mystification the bass part which he was
to play. The Quartet was laid aside. When, a few years later, it was
played at the house of Privy Councillor Lwoff, father of the famous
violinist, in St. Petersburg, the company broke out in laughter when
the bass played his solo on ~one~ note.--The Quartet was again laid
aside.”

Thomas Appleby, father of Samuel Appleby, collector of valuable papers
referring to the violinist Bridgetower, was a leader in the musical
world of Manchester, England, and a principal director of concerts
there. When these quartets came out in London, Clementi sent a copy
of them to him. They were opened and thrown upon the pianoforte. Next
day Felix Radicati and his wife, Mme. Bertinotti, called and presented
letters, they being upon a concert tour. During the conversation the
Italian went to the pianoforte, took up the quartets and seeing what
they were, exclaimed (in substance): “Have you got these here! Ha!
Beethoven, as the world says, and as I believe, is music-mad;--for
these are not music. He submitted them to me in manuscript and, at his
request, I fingered them for him. I said to him, that he surely did not
consider these works to be music?--to which he replied, ‘Oh, they are
not for you, but for a later age!’”

Young Appleby believed in them, in spite of Radicati, and after he
had studied his part thoroughly, his father invited players of the
other instruments to his house and the first in F was tried. The first
movement was declared by all except Appleby to be “crazy music.” At the
end of the violoncello solo on one note, they all burst out laughing;
the next four bars all agreed were beautiful. Ludlow, an organist, who
played the bass, found so much to admire and so much to condemn in the
half of this second movement, which they succeeded in playing, as to
call it “patchwork by a madman.” They gave up the attempt to play it,
and not until 1813, in London, did the young man succeed in hearing the
three Quartets entire, and finding them, as he had believed, worthy of
their author.

[Sidenote: THE YEAR’S PUBLICATIONS]

The Symphony in B-flat, Op. 60, was the great work of this summer
season. Sketches prove that its successor, the fifth in C minor, had
been commenced, and was laid aside to give place to this. Nothing more
is known of the history of its composition except what is imparted by
the author’s inscription on the manuscript: “Sinfonia 4^{ta} 1806. L.
v. Bthvn.”

In singular contrast to these grand works and contemporary with
their completion, as if written for amusement and recreation after
the fatigue of severer studies, are the thirty-two Variations for
Pianoforte in C minor. They belong to this Autumn, and are among the
compositions which their author would gladly have seen pass into
oblivion. Jahn’s notes contain an anecdote in point. “Beethoven once
found Streicher’s daughter practising these Variations. After he had
listened for a while he asked her: “By whom is that?” “By you.” “Such
nonsense by me? O Beethoven, what an ass you were!””

Although the composer did not succeed in bringing his new Symphony and
Concerto to public performance this year, an opportunity offered itself
for him to give the general public as fine a taste of his quality as
composer for the violin, as he had just given to the frequenters of
Rasoumowsky’s quartet parties in the Op. 59, namely, Op. 61, the work
superscribed by its author: ~Concerto par Clemenza pour Clement, primo
Violino e Direttore al Theatro a Vienne, dal L. v. Bthvn., 1806~;--or,
as it stands on Franz Clement’s concert programme of December 23 in
the Theater-an-der-Wien: “2. A new Violin Concerto by Hrn. Ludwig van
Beethoven, played by Hrn. Clement.” It was preceded by an overture by
Méhul, and followed by selections from Mozart, Cherubini and Handel,
closing with a fantasia by the concert-giver. When Dr. Bertolini told
Jahn that “Beethoven as a rule never finished commissioned works until
the last minute,” he named this Concerto as an instance in point; and
another contemporary notes that Clement played the solo ~a vista~,
without previous rehearsal. The list of publications this year is short:

~LI^{me} Sonata pour le Pianoforte~, F major, advertised April 9 in
the “Wiener Zeitung” by the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir. There is
no tradition that Beethoven ever explained why he called this his
~fifty-first~, or the F minor his ~fifty-fourth~ Sonata. The best
that Czerny could suggest is that “perhaps he sketched that number
in manuscript and then destroyed them or used them in another form.”
Others have made lists of all the works in sonata-form, including
the symphonies; but none has been so probably right as to produce
conviction.

~Grand Trio pour deux Hautbois et un Cor Anglais~, C major, advertised
by Artaria and Co., April 12, without opus number. At a later date it
was called Op. 87. The same work for two violins and viola, and as a
sonata for pianoforte and violin, was advertised at the same time.
“Andante” (Favori) in F major, for Pianoforte. This was originally the
second movement of the Sonata, Op. 53--according to the anecdote before
given from Ries’s “Notizen.”

“Sinfonia eroica,” Op. 55, dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz, advertised by
the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir on October 29.

Besides these works, Johann Traeg advertised on June 18 “6 Grands Trios
pour le Pianoforte, violon obligé et violoncello ad lib.,” Op. 60,
Nos. 1 and 2. These are arrangements of the Quartets, Op. 18. Also “3
Grands Trios pour le Pianoforte, Violon et Violoncello,” Op. 61, No.
1; arrangements of the Trios, Op. 9. Before February, 1807, the other
numbers of the two works had been completed and had left the press. The
opus numbers were not recognized by Beethoven, for, as is seen above,
60 and 61 belong to original works of a very different order.

FOOTNOTES:

[34] Twice only.

[35] In the chapter immediately preceding the present one in the
revised German edition of this biography, Dr. Riemann introduces the
following: “Through the efforts of Otto Jahn, Gustav Nottebohm and
Erich Prieger, it has been made possible measurably to observe the
transformations which ‘Fidelio’ underwent between its first production
and its publication. The mysterious disappearance (possibly theft) of
several scores made it extremely difficult to determine the form in
which it was represented--‘Fidelio’ in three acts in 1805, ‘Leonore’
in two acts in 1806, and ‘Fidelio’ in two acts in 1814--the statements
touching the omissions and restorations of single numbers being
insufficient and not free from contradictions. About 1850, however.
Otto Jahn succeeded in putting together a score of the second revision
of 1806 from the separate parts; of this he published a vocal score
with pianoforte accompaniment towards the close of 1853 through
Breitkopf and Härtel. He also gave some hints concerning its variations
from the score of 1805. After another half-century Erich Prieger
collected the material for a restoration of the work as it was at the
first production in 1805, compiled a vocal score and gave it to the
public through Breitkopf and Härtel. More than that--he occasioned its
performance at the centennial celebration in the Royal Opera House
in Berlin.” From Prieger’s preface we take in part the following
statements:

“In 1807 Breitkopf and Härtel published three numbers from the second
revision of 1806--viz: the Trio in E-flat, ‘Ein Mann ist bald gewonnen’
(afterwards elided), the canon quartet, and the duet ‘Gut, Söhnchen,
gut’; not until 1810 was a vocal score of the second version published.
It came from the press of Breitkopf and Härtel, but was without
overtures and finales. The overture in C, No. 3, which was performed
with the opera in 1806, was published by Breitkopf and Härtel, also
in 1810; the overture in C, No. 2, with which the representation of
1805 began, edited by Otto Jahn, was published by B. and H. at the end
of 1853. (It was performed in Leipsic on January 27 of that year.)
Nottebohm notes the performance of the four overtures on January
11, 1840, and a publication in 1842; but this refers to the work as
disfigured by cuts. The so-called ‘first’ C major overture found
amongst Beethoven’s posthumous effects and published by Haslinger as
Op. 138 is in reality the first of the series, the one which, according
to Schindler’s report (third edition, I, 127), was tried over once at
Prince Lichnowsky’s and put aside as too simple, but purchased at once
by Haslinger. It is true that Nottebohm discovered sketches for the
overture in company with sketches for the symphony in C minor and, from
this fact, argued that the overture had been composed between April,
1807, and December, 1808 (see ‘Beethoveniana,’ pp. 60 ~et seq.~): but
in his analysis of the sketchbook of 1803, extending from October,
1802, to April, 1804, he shows the presence of sketches for ‘Leonore’
among such for the ‘Eroica,’ which proves that Beethoven worked on the
opera as early as 1803 and that ‘these labors were so far advanced
when the performance of Paër’s opera became known (October 3, 1804)
that there could be no thought of an abandonment.’ But this demolishes
the theory that Op. 138 must have been composed in 1807-08, and we are
compelled to believe with Kalischer that Schindler’s account is correct
and that Haslinger (Steiner and Co.) had for years been in possession
of the first overture to ‘Leonore’ which ‘had been laid aside after
a trial in 1805,’ and that in 1823, at a time when Schindler was
Beethoven’s confidant, the composer demanded that it be published and
Haslinger refused, saying: ‘We bought those manuscripts and paid for
them; consequently they are our property, and we can do with them as we
will.’ Only one thing remains problematical, and that is, what could
have persuaded Haslinger to state that he had found the overture in a
packet of dances which he purchased at the sale of Beethoven’s effects.
Kalischer calls attention to a letter from Fanny Hensel to Rebekka
Dirichlet, written after the music festival at Düsseldorf in 1836 under
the direction of Mendelssohn (see ‘Die Familie Mendelssohn,’ II, 9):
‘Oh, Becky! We have got acquainted with an overture to ‘Leonore’; a
new piece. It is notorious that it has never been played; it did not
please Beethoven and he put it aside. The man had no taste! It is so
refined, so interesting, so fascinating that I know few things which
can be compared with it. Haslinger has printed a whole edition and will
not release it. Perhaps he will do so after this success.’ That seems
to have been the case; but Haslinger permitted the work to be played
as early as February 7, 1828, at a concert of Bernhard Romberg’s and
elsewhere. In his book ‘Beethoven’s Studien im Generalbass, etc.,’
1832, Seyfried connects this overture with the project, never carried
out, of a production of the opera in Prague in 1807. ‘For the theatre
in Prague,’ he says, ‘Beethoven wrote a less difficult overture which
Haslinger, afterward R. I. Court Music Dealer, ~acquired at auction~’;
to which Haslinger replied: ‘This overture is already engraved in score
and orchestral parts and, together with other arrangements of it, will
yet appear in the course of this year.’ Nottebohm, too, convinced that
the sketches for the overture had to be placed in 1807, and doubtless
influenced by Seyfried’s statement, accepted the theory that it had
been intended for Prague. Seyfried’s statement, however, in view of
the involved story of the manuscript in the hands of Haslinger, lacks
credibility, and is probably to be charged to the account of Haslinger,
who may not have wanted to tell the truth for fear that it might lessen
the market value of the work.”--

To this the English editor feels in duty bound to say that Nottebohm’s
argument seems to him at all points invulnerable. The autograph of
the overture is no longer in existence. The score bought by Haslinger
and the parts are copies which Beethoven corrected. On the first
violin part the copyist had written “Ouvertura”; Beethoven added “in
C, Characteristic Overture.” Under this title the composition was
announced by Haslinger in 1828. He did not publish it at the time,
but there were many references to it at its performance at Romberg’s
concert and at other times as a “Characteristic” overture which had
been found among Beethoven’s posthumous papers. Between 1828 and 1832,
when Haslinger finally gave the work to the public, somebody made the
discovery, which ought to have been made at sight of the manuscript,
certainly at the first performance in 1828 (the melody of ~Florestan’s~
song occurring in it as one of the themes), that there was a connection
between it and “Fidelio.” When Haslinger published it, therefore, he
abandoned the title under which he had announced it four years before,
and called it: “Overture in C, composed in the year 1805 for the opera
‘Leonore,’ etc.” Every student knows how valuable Nottebohm’s studies
of the sketches are in the determination of dates. Composers usually
write the overtures to their operas last; indeed, they must do so when
utilizing thematic material drawn from the vocal numbers. Mr. Thayer
has already called attention to the fact that the vocal numbers were
taken up in the order of their occurrence, as Beethoven’s sketches
show. They also show that the overture was sketched after all the vocal
numbers had been planned. And the overture thus sketched was that known
as No. 2. There is no hint of the overture No. 1 in the sketches made
in 1804 and the beginning of 1805. Schindler says that Haslinger bought
the overture immediately after it had been laid aside by Beethoven.
That would have been in 1805. But Haslinger was not in Vienna till
1810. If Steiner and Co., with which firm Haslinger associated himself
shortly after his arrival in the Austrian capital and of which the
firm of Tobias Haslinger was the successor, was meant by Schindler,
it remains a mystery that the publishers, so intimately connected
with Beethoven, should have kept an overture under lock and key for
23 years and then have given it out as a work bought at the sale of
Beethoven’s effects. That circumstance could only awaken the suspicion
that the composer did not think it worthy of his name and fame. If he
did so think, he would not have demanded that Haslinger publish it in
1823. Judging by internal evidence the overture certainly seems to be
an earlier work than the overtures which the world knows by the titles
“Leonore,” Nos. 2 and 3; but contemporary reports (a letter from Vienna
printed in the “Journal des Luxus und der Moden,” Weimar, 1808) offer
evidence in addition to the testimony of Seyfried that Beethoven did
write a new overture for the projected Prague performance. No doubt
Beethoven was convinced, soon after the revival in 1806, that the
third “Leonore” was too long and too severe a piece for its purpose;
he was still of that opinion when he revised the opera for the revival
of 1814, as is evidenced by his composing the “Fidelio” overture in
E, and, more than that, consenting to the use of the overture to “The
Ruins of Athens” at the first performance. Mr. Thayer was quite as
capable of judging of the value of the evidence in the case as his
editors; he was familiar with Nottebohm’s contention; and in his
history of the year 1807 he unhesitatingly sets down the overture
known as “Leonore, No. 1” as that designed for Prague. There is no new
evidence so far as this writer knows which could justify a reversal of
the opinion which has prevailed amongst musical scholars since 1872.

[36] Frimmel, in his “Beethoven” (second edition, 1893 p. 42), tells
the story in essentially the same manner on the authority of a grandson
of Dr. Weiser, house physician of Prince Lichnowsky; Dr. Weiser’s
version had previously been printed by Franz Xaver Bach in the “Wiener
Deutsche Zeitung” of August 31, 1873. In both cases the story ends with
Beethoven’s sending a letter to Lichnowsky containing this passage:
“Prince, what you are you are by accident and birth; what I am I am
through myself. There have been and will still be thousands of princes;
there is only one Beethoven.” Authentic or not, the expression might
well have come from the lips of Beethoven in a fit of anger.

[37] Thomson’s memory was a little at fault when this preface was
written; the proposal was made to Beethoven before Haydn’s death.

[38] But on March 27, 1806, Beethoven offered the Concerto to
Hoffmeister and Kühnel together with “Christus am Ölberg” for 600
florins. The work, if not completed, must have been well under way
early in the year.

Chapter V

Beethoven’s Friends and Patrons in the First Lustrum of the
Nineteenth Century--An Imperial Pupil, Archduke Rudolph--Count
Rasoumowsky--Countess Erdödy--Baroness Ertmann--Marie
Bigot--Therese Malfatti--Nanette Streicher--Zizius--Anecdotes.

He who dwells with wife and children in a fixed abode, usually finds
himself, as age draws on, one of a small circle of old friends; and
hoary heads, surrounded by their descendants, the inheritors of
parental friendships, sit at the same tables and make merry where they
had gathered in the prime of life. The unmarried man, who can call no
spot on earth’s surface his own, who spends his life in hired lodgings,
here to-day and there to-morrow, has, as a rule, few friendships of
long standing. By divergency in tastes, opinions, habits, increasing
with the years, often by the mere interruption of social intercourse,
or by a thousand equally insignificant causes, the old ties are
sundered. In the memoranda and correspondence of such a man familiar
names disappear, even when not removed by death, and strange ones take
their places. The mere passing acquaintance of one period becomes the
chosen friend of another; while the former friend sinks into the mere
acquaintance, or is forgotten. Frequently no cause for the change can
be assigned. One can only say--it happened so.

Thus it was with Beethoven, even to a remarkable degree; in part
because of his increasing infirmity, in part owing to peculiarities of
his character. It was his misfortune, also, that--having no pecuniary
resource but the exercise of his talents for musical composition, and
being at the same time too proud and too loyal to his ideas of art to
write for popular applause--he was all his life long thrown more or
less upon the generosity of patrons. But death, misfortune or other
causes deprived him of old patrons, as of old friends, and compelled
him to seek, or at least accept, the kindness of new ones. A part of
this chapter must be devoted to certain new names in both categories,
which become prominent in his history in the years immediately before
us.

[Sidenote: A TALENTED ARCHDUKE]

Archduke Rudolph Johann Joseph Rainer, youngest son of Emperor Leopold
II, and half-brother of Emperor Franz, was born January 8, 1788, and
therefore was, at the end of 1805, just closing his seventeenth year.
Like his unfortunate uncle, Elector Maximilian, he was destined to the
church, and like him, too, he had much musical taste and capacity. His
private tutors were all men of fine culture, and one of them, Joseph
Edler von Baumeister, Doctor of Laws, remained in later years in his
service and will be met with hereafter. In music he, with the children
of the imperial family, was instructed by the R. I. Court Composer,
Anton Tayber, and made such good progress that, if tradition may be
trusted, he, while still but a boy, played to general satisfaction in
the salons of Lobkowitz and others. But an archduke has not much to
fear from hostile criticism; a better proof that he really possessed
musical talent and taste is afforded by the fact that, so soon as he
could emancipate himself from Tayber, and have a voice in the selection
of a teacher, he became a pupil of Beethoven. It is largely possible
that the old relation of the composer to Maximilian may have had
some influence upon the determination of his nephew; and it is very
probable that Rudolph’s decision was based upon the great reputation of
Beethoven and the respect in which, as he saw, the artist was held by
the Schwarzenbergs, Liechtensteins, Kinskys, and their compeers. But
whatever weight be allowed to these and like considerations, it must
have been something more than a capricious desire to call the great
pianist “master,” which made him his pupil, friend and patron until
death parted them. One necessarily thinks better of his musical talents
for this, just as Maximilian’s musical taste and insight stand higher
in our estimation because of his early appreciation of Mozart’s genius.

The precise date of Beethoven’s engagement has eluded the research of
even the accurate and indefatigable Köchel. There is so little doubt,
however, that he was the immediate successor of Tayber, as to render
reasonably certain that it occurred at the end of the young Archduke’s
fifteenth year--that is, in the winter of 1803-4. It is perhaps worth
remarking, that the “Staats-Schematismus” for 1803 first gives, in the
R. I. Household, a separate chamber to the boys, Rainer and Rudolph;
three years later “Archduke Rudolph, coadjutor of the Archbishopric of
Olmütz,” is given one alone; but before 1806 he certainly was the pupil
of Beethoven.

In Fräulein Giannatasio’s notices from the years 1816-18,[39] she
relates:

At that time Beethoven gave lessons to Archduke Rudolph, a brother
of Emperor Franz. I once asked him if the Archduke played well.
“When he is feeling just right,” was the answer, accompanied by
a smile. He also laughingly referred to the fact that he would
sometimes hit him on the fingers, and that when the august
gentleman once tried to refer him to his place, he pointed for
justification to a passage from a poet, Goethe, I think.

It must have been a mistake of the young lady’s to make Beethoven speak
here in the present tense; for it is incredible that he should have
taken such a liberty in 1816-17, when Rudolph was a man of some thirty
years; or indeed at any time after the first lessons in his boyhood.
The anecdote therefore in some degree supports the conjecture above
offered. So also does Schindler’s statement--a point on which he was
likely to be well informed by the master himself--that the pianoforte
part of the Triple Concerto, Op. 56, was written for the Archduke;
for this work was sketched, at the latest, in the spring of 1805, and
surely would not have been undertaken until the composer thoroughly
knew his pupil’s powers, and that his performance would do the master
no discredit. And finally, what Ries relates is in the tone of one
who had personal knowledge of the circumstances detailed; and thus
determines the date as not later than 1804:

Etiquette and all that is connected with it was never known to
Beethoven [?] nor was he ever willing to learn it. For this
reason he often caused great embarrassment in the household of
Archduke Rudolph when he first went to him. An attempt was made
by force to teach him to have regard for certain things. But this
was intolerable to him; he would promise, indeed, to mend his
ways but--that was the end of it. Finally one day when, as he
expressed it, he was being tutored [~als man ihn, wie er es nannte,
hofmeisterte~] he angrily forced his way to the Archduke and flatly
declared that while he had the greatest reverence for his person,
he could not trouble himself to observe all the regulations which
were daily forced upon him. The Archduke laughed good-naturedly
and commanded that Beethoven be permitted to go his own gait
undisturbed--it was his nature and could not be altered.

At all events it may be accepted as certain that Beethoven had
now, 1805-6, formed those relations with the Archduke, which were
strengthened and more advantageous to him with each successive year,
until death put an end to them.

Two brothers, differing in age by nineteen years, owed their rise
from the condition of singers at the Russian Court into positions
of great wealth and political importance to their gratification of
the lascivious lusts of two imperial princesses, afterwards known in
history as the Empresses Elizabeth Petrowna and Catherine II. Thus the
two Rasums, born in 1709 and 1728, of half-Cossack parentage, in the
obscure Ukraine village of Lemeschi, became the Counts Rasoumowsky,
nobles of the Russian Empire. They were men of rare ability, and, like
Shakespeare’s ~Duncan~, “bore their faculties so meek,” that none of
the monarchs under whom they served, not even those who personally
disliked either of them, made him the victim of imperial caprice or ill
will. A whimsical proof of the rapidity with which the new name became
known throughout Europe is its introduction in 1762 into a farce of the
English wit, Samuel Foote.[40] The Empresses provided their paramours
with wives from noble families and continued their kindness to the
children born of these unions--one of whom came in time to occupy a
rather prominent place among the patrons of Beethoven.

[Sidenote: COUNT ANDREAS RASOUMOWSKY]

Andreas Kyrillovitch (born October 22, 1752), fourth son of the
younger Rasoumowsky, was destined for the navy and received the best
education possible in those days for his profession, even to serving in
what was then the best of all schools, an English man-of-war. He had
been elevated to the rank of captain when, at the age of 25, he was
transferred to the diplomatic service. He was Ambassador successively
at Venice, Naples, Copenhagen and Stockholm; less famous, perhaps, for
his diplomacy than notorious for the profuseness of his expenditures,
and for his amours with women of the highest rank, the Queen of Naples
not excepted.

Rasoumowsky was personally widely known at Vienna, where he had
married (November 4, 1788) Elizabeth, Countess Thun, elder sister of
the Princess Charles Lichnowsky, and whither he was transferred as
Ambassador early in 1792, being officially presented to the Emperor on
Friday, May 25, as the “Wiener Zeitung” records. Near the end of Czar
Paul’s reign (in March, 1799) he was superseded by Count Kalichev;
but on the accession of Alexander was restored, his “presentation
audience” taking place October 14, 1801. His dwelling and office
had formerly been in the Johannes-Gasse, but now (1805-6) he was in
the Wallzeil, but on the point of removing to a new palace built by
himself. Schnitzer says: “Rasoumowsky lived in Vienna like a prince,
encouraging art and science, surrounded by a luxurious library and
other collections and admired and envied by all; what advantages
accrued from all this to Russian affairs is another question.” This
palace, afterwards nearly destroyed by fire and rebuilt, is now, after
various vicissitudes, the seat of the Imperial Geological Institute,
Landstrasse, Rasoumowsky-Gasse No. 3.

True to the traditions of his family, the Count was a musician and one
of the best connoisseurs and players of Haydn’s quartets, in which he
was accustomed to play the second violin. It is affirmed, evidently
on good authority, that he had studied these works under that master
himself. It would seem a matter of course, that this man, so nearly
connected, too, with Lichnowsky, was one of the first to appreciate
and encourage the genius of the young Beethoven upon his removal from
Rome to Vienna. In fact, this has been affirmed most positively and
discoursed upon at great length; and yet the few known data on this
point--all of a negative character--are in conflict with that opinion.
Neither Wegeler nor Ries mentions Rasoumowsky. Whatever Seyfried and
Schindler may conjecture, all the facts given by them belong to the
period on which we are now entering. Up to Op. 58, inclusive, not
a composition of Beethoven’s is dedicated to Rasoumowsky. Just now
(end of 1805), the Count has given the composer an order for quartets
with Russian themes, original or imitated; but only once, in all the
contemporary printed or manuscript authorities yet discovered, have the
two names been brought into connection; namely, in the subscription to
the Trios in 1795, where we find the Countess of Thun, her daughters
and the Lichnowskys down (in the aggregate) for 32 copies, and “S. E.
le Comte Rasoumoffsky, Embassadeur de Russie”--for one.

[Sidenote: COUNTESS ERDÖDY AND BARONESS ERTMANN]

The Hungarian Count Peter Erdödy married, June 6, 1796, the Countess
Anna Marie Niczky (born 1779), then just seventeen years of age.
Reichardt describes her, in December, 1808, as a “very beautiful, fine
little woman who from her first confinement (1799) was afflicted with
an incurable disease which for ten years has kept her in bed for all
but two to three months”--in which he greatly exaggerates the evil
of her condition--“but nevertheless gave birth to three healthy and
dear children who cling to her like burs; whose sole entertainment
was found in music; who plays even Beethoven’s pieces right well and
limps with still swollen feet from one pianoforte to another, yet is
so merry and friendly and good--all this often saddens me during an
otherwise joyous meal participated in by six or eight good musical
souls.” There is nothing to show how or when the very great intimacy
between the Countess and Beethoven began; but for many years she is
prominent among the most useful and valued of his many female friends,
and it is not at all improbable that the vicinity of the Erdödy estate
at Jedlersee am Marchfelde was one reason for his frequent choice of
summer lodgings in the villages on the Danube, north of the city. Their
intercourse was at length (about 1820) abruptly terminated by the
banishment for life of the Countess beyond the limits of the Austrian
Empire--unhappily, for reasons that cannot be impugned. It is a sad and
revolting story, over which a veil may be drawn. There is no necessity,
arising from Beethoven’s relations to her, to give it now the publicity
which was then so carefully and effectually avoided. It is even
possible that Beethoven’s heart was never wrung by a knowledge of the
particulars.

The Baroness Dorothea von Ertmann, wife of an Austrian officer who
was stationed in those years at or near Vienna, studied Beethoven’s
compositions with the composer, and became, as all contemporary
authorities agree, if not the greatest player of these works at least
the greatest of her sex. Reichardt, a most competent judge, heard her
repeatedly in the winter of 1808-09 and recorded a highly favorable
impression of her.

Well might the master call her his “Dorothea-Cäcilia!” In that
delightful letter, in which the young Felix Mendelssohn describes his
visit at Milan (1831) to the Ertmanns, “the most agreeable, cultured
people conceivable, both in love as if they were a bridal couple, and
yet married 34 years,” where he and the lady delighted each other by
turns in the performance of Beethoven’s compositions and “the old
General, who now appeared in his stately gray commander’s uniform,
wearing many orders, was very happy and wept with joy”; and in the
intervals he told “the loveliest anecdotes about Beethoven, how, in
the evening when she played for him, he used the candle snuffers as a
toothpick, etc.” In this letter there is one touching and beautiful
reminiscence of the Baroness. “She related,” says Mendelssohn, “that
when she lost her last child, Beethoven at first did not want to come
into the house; at length he invited her to visit him, and when she
came he sat himself down at the pianoforte and said simply: ‘We will
now talk to each other in tones,’ and for over an hour played without
stopping, and as she remarked: ‘he told me everything, and at last
brought me comfort.’”

It was noted in a former chapter, that the leading female pianists
also of Vienna were divided into ~pro~ and ~anti~ Beethovenists. The
former party just at this time gained a valuable accession in a young
lady who, during her five years’ residence there, became one of the
most devoted as well as most highly accomplished players of Beethoven’s
compositions--Marie Bigot. From 1809 to her death in 1820 she lived in
Paris, where her superiority, first as dilettante, then as professional
player and teacher, made her the subject of one of the most pleasing
sketches in Fétis’s “Biographie Universelle des Musiciens.” From this
we learn that she was born of a family named Kiene on March 3, 1786, at
Colmar in Alsatia and married M. Bigot, who took her to Vienna in 1804.
In the Austrian capital she became acquainted with Haydn, and formed a
friendship also with Beethoven and Salieri. Such associations naturally
fired her ardently musical nature, and at 20 years of age she had
already developed great skill and originality. The first time that she
played in the presence of Haydn, the old gentleman was so moved that he
clasped her in his arms and cried: “O, my dear child, I did not write
this music--it is you who have composed it!” And upon the printed sheet
from which she had played he wrote: “On February 20, 1805, Joseph Haydn
was happy.” The melancholy genius of Beethoven found an interpreter in
Madame Bigot, whose enthusiasm and depth of feeling added new beauties
to those which he had conceived. One day she played a sonata which he
had just composed, in such a manner as to draw from him the remark:
“That is not exactly the character which I wanted to give this piece;
but go right on. If it is not wholly mine it is something better.” (~Si
ce n’est pas tout à fait moi, c’est mieux que moi.~)

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND MADAME BIGOT]

Bigot, according to Reichardt, was “an honest, cultivated Berliner,
Librarian of Count Rasoumowsky.” As this was precisely in those years
when Beethoven was most patronized by that nobleman, the composer and
the lady were thus brought often together and very warm, friendly
relations resulted. Jahn possessed for many years the copy of a very
characteristic letter of Beethoven to the Bigots, which leads one to
suspect that his attentions to the young wife had at one time the
appearance of being a little too pointed. The letter is undated; but
as the precise date happens to be of no importance, and was of course
before 1809, it may be inserted here in order to explode at the outset
the nonsense which has been published concerning a fancied inordinate
passion of the master for the young lady. Perhaps for this very reason
Jahn finally sent it to the “Grenzboten” (II, 1867):

Dear Marie, dear Bigot!

It is only with the deepest regret that I am compelled to
recognize that the purest and most harmless feelings can often be
misunderstood--as affectionately as you have met me I have never
thought of interpreting it otherwise than that you were giving
me your friendship. You must deem me very vain and contemptible
if you assume that the advances of such excellent persons as
yourselves could make me believe that I had at once won your
love--moreover, it is one of my first principles never to stand in
other than friendly relations with the wife of another man, I do
not wish by such relations to fill my soul with distrust against
her who may some day share my fate with me--and thus ruin for
myself the loveliest and purest life. It is possible that I have
jested with Bigot a few times in a way that was not too refined, I
told you myself that I am occasionally ill behaved. I am natural
in my intercourse with all my friends and hate all restraint. I
count Bigot amongst them, if something that I do displeases him,
friendship demands that he tell me so--and I will certainly have
a care never to offend again--but how can good Marie put so bad a
construction on my actions....

With regard to my invitation to go driving with you and Caroline
it was but natural that I should believe, Bigot having opposed
your going with me alone, that both of you deemed it unbecoming
or objectionable--and when I wrote I had no other purpose than to
make you understand that I saw no ~harm~ in it, and when I declared
that it was a matter of great importance to me that you should
not refuse it was only to persuade you to enjoy the gloriously
beautiful day, I had your and Caroline’s pleasure in mind more than
my own and I thought to compel you to accede to my wishes when I
said that ~mistrust on your part or a refusal would really offend
me~--you ought really to ponder how you will make amends for having
spoilt for me a day that was so bright because of my cheerful
mood and the cheerful weather--if I said that you misunderstood
me, your present judgment of me shows that I may have been right,
not to think about that which you thought about in connection
with the matter--when I said that ~something evil~ might come of
it if I came to you, that was more than anything else a ~joke~
which had only the one purpose of showing how everything about you
attracts me, that I have no greater wish than always to live with
you, is also the truth--even in case there was a hidden meaning
in it even the most sacred friendship can yet have secrets, but
to ~misinterpret~ the secret of a friend--because one cannot at
once guess it, that you ought not to do--dear Bigot, dear Marie,
~never, never~ will you find me ignoble, from childhood I learned
to love virtue--and all that is beautiful and good--you have hurt
me to the heart. It shall only serve to make our friendship the
firmer. I am really not at all well to-day and I shall scarcely
be able to see you, yesterday after the quartets my feelings and
imagination continually called up before me the fact that I had
made you suffer, I went to the Ridotto (ball) last night to seek
distraction, but in vain, everywhere I was haunted by the vision of
all of you, ceaselessly it said to me they are so good and probably
are suffering because of you. Dejected in spirits I hurried
away.[41] Write me a few lines.

Your true

Friend Beethoven

embraces you all.

[Sidenote: MALFATTI, BERTOLINI AND MME. STREICHER]

Gleichenstein introduced Beethoven to a family named Malfatti. The
culture, refinement, musical taste and high character of the parents,
and the uncommon grace and beauty of their two charming children,
young girls now of twelve to fourteen years, rendered the house very
attractive to the composer. There was less than a year’s difference
in the ages of the children; Therese was born January 1st and Anna
December 7th of the same year; whether 1792 or 1793, our friendly
authority was not certain. Anna became, in due time (1811), the wife
of Gleichenstein; and Therese was at one time the object of one of
Beethoven’s short-lived, unrequited passions. Her niece writes: “That
Beethoven loved my aunt, and wished to marry her, and also that her
parents would never have given their consent, is true.”[42] There is
nothing to determine conclusively when the master’s fondness assumed
this intenser form; but there are good reasons (which may perhaps
appear hereafter) for believing, that it was at least five years later
than our present date. His attentions to the young lady, at all events,
attracted no notice outside the family circle, nor did her rejection
of them prevent the continuance of warm, friendly relations between
the parties, up to and after her marriage in 1817. Dr. Sonnleithner
establishes both these facts:

Frau Therese Baroness von Drosdick, ~née~ Malfatti (died in Vienna,
60 years old, on April 27, 1851), was the wife of Court Councillor
Wilhelm Baron von Drosdick. She was a beautiful, lively and
intellectual woman, a very good pianoforte player and, besides,
the cousin of the famous physician and friend of Beethoven’s,
Dr. von Malfatti. Herein lies the explanation of an unusually
kind relationship with Beethoven which resulted in a less severe
regard for conventional forms. Nothing is known of a particular
intimacy between her and Beethoven. A relative of the Baroness,
who knew her intimately, knows also that she and Beethoven formed
a lasting friendship, but as to any warmer feeling on either side
he knew nothing, nor anything to the contrary; but he says: “When
conversation turned on Beethoven, she spoke of him reverentially,
but with a certain reserve.”

Through these Malfattis, Beethoven became also known personally to
the physician of the same name and “they were great friends for a
long time. Towards each other they were like two hard millstones, and
they separated. Malfatti used to say of Beethoven: ‘He is a disorderly
(~konfuser~) fellow--but all the same he may be the greatest genius.’”
The assistant of Malfatti, Dr. Bertolini, was long the confidential
physician of Beethoven; and through him he became personally known
to the present head of the great firm of “Miller & Co.,” wholesale
merchants in Vienna, who for many years was fond of describing his
interviews, in youth, with the “great Beethoven.” Though nothing
specially worthy of record took place, Mr. Miller’s recollections are
interesting as additional testimony to the activity of the master’s
mind and his enjoyment of jocose, witty and improving conversation.
Through a caprice of Beethoven, his cordial relations to Dr. Bertolini
came to an abrupt end about 1815; but the doctor, though pained and
mortified, retained his respect and veneration for his former friend to
the last. In 1831, he gave a singular proof of his delicate regard for
Beethoven’s reputation; supposing himself to be at the point of death
from cholera, and being too feeble to examine his large collection of
the composer’s letters and notes to him, he ordered them all to be
burned, because a few were not of a nature to be risked in careless
hands.

The reader will not have forgotten Marie Anna Stein of
Augsburg--pianoforte-maker Stein’s “Mädl,” as Mozart called her. After
the death of her father (February 29, 1792), she, being then just 23
years of age, assisted by her brother, Matthäus Andreas, a youth of
sixteen years, took charge of and continued his business. The great
reputation of the Stein instruments led to the removal of the Steins to
Vienna. An imperial patent, issued January 17, 1794, empowered Nanette
and Andreas Stein to establish their business “in the Landstrasse 301,
zur Rothen Rose,” and in the following July they arrived, accompanied
by Johann Andreas Streicher, an “admirable pianist and teacher” of
Munich, to whom Nanette was engaged. The business flourished nobly
under the firm-name “Geschwister Stein” until 1802, “when they
separated and each carried on an independent business.” It is known
that Beethoven, immediately upon the arrival of the Steins, renewed his
intercourse with them, of which, however, there is but a single record
worth quoting, until a period several years later than that before us.
Reichardt writes in his letter of February 7, 1809:

Streicher has abandoned the soft, yielding, repercussive tone of
the other Vienna instruments, and at Beethoven’s wish and advice
given his instruments greater resonance and elasticity, so that
the virtuoso who plays with strength and significance may have
the instrument in better command for sustained and expressive
tones. He has thereby given his instruments a larger and more
varied character, so that they must give greater satisfaction than
the others to all virtuosi who seek something more than mere easy
brilliancy in their style of playing.

This shows us Beethoven in a new character--that of an improver of the
pianoforte. The “young Stein” mentioned by Ries, was Nanette’s brother
Carl Friedrich, who followed his sister to Vienna in 1804.

One of Beethoven’s characteristic notes to Zmeskall, not dated, but
belonging in these years, adds another name to the long list which
proves that, however unpopular the composer may have been with his
brother musicians, he possessed qualities and tastes that endeared him
to the best class of rising young men in the learned professions:

The Jahn brothers are as little attractive to me as to you. But
they have so pestered me, and finally referred me to you as one of
their visitors, that at the last I consented. Come then in God’s
name, it may be I will call for you at Zizius’s, if not, come there
direct, so that I may not be left there without the company of
human beings. We will let our commissions wait until you are better
able to look after them. If you cannot, come to the Swan to-day
where I shall surely go.

Dr. Johann Zizius, of Bohemia (born January 7, 1772), appears at the
early age of 28, in the Staats-Schematismus for 1800, as professor
of political science to the R. I. Staff of Guards; three years
later he has the same professorship in the Theresianum, which he
retained to his death in 1824, filling also in his later years the
chair of constitutional law in the University. Dr. Sonnleithner made
his acquaintance about 1820. In his very valuable and interesting
“Musikalische Skizzen aus Alt-Wien” (“Recensionen,” 1863), he describes
Zizius in a way which shows him to have been a man after Beethoven’s
own heart until his increasing infirmity excluded him in great measure
from mixed society.

The attraction of Beethoven’s personal character for young persons of
more than ordinary genius and culture has been already noted. Another
illustration of this was Julius Franz Borgias Schneller, born (1777) at
Strasburg, educated at Freiberg in the Breisgau, and just now (1805)
professor of history in the Lyceum at Linz on the Danube. Driven into
exile because of his active resistance to the French, he had made his
way to Vienna, where his fine qualities of head and heart made him a
welcome guest in literary circles and gained him the affection of the
young writers of the capital. In 1803, he received his appointment at
Linz, whence, three years later, he was advanced to the same position
in the new university at Gratz. Perhaps the most beloved of his friends
was Gleichenstein.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND HIS PREDECESSORS]

We pass to the notices of Ries, Czerny and others, which record
divers characteristic anecdotes and personal traits of the master,
not susceptible of exact chronological arrangement but which belong
to this period. “Of all composers,” says Ries (“Notizen,” p. 84),
“Beethoven valued most highly Mozart and Handel, then S. Bach.
Whenever I found him with music in his hand or lying on his desk it
was surely compositions of these heroes. Haydn seldom escaped without
a few sly thrusts.” Compare this with what Jahn heard from Czerny:
“Once Beethoven saw at my house the scores of six quartets by Mozart.
He opened the fifth, in A, and said: ‘That’s a work! that’s where
Mozart said to the world: Behold what I might have done for you if
the time were here!‘” And, touching Handel: “Graun’s ‘Tod Jesu’ was
unknown to Beethoven. My father brought the score to him, which he
played through ~a vista~ in a masterly manner. When he came to a place
where Graun had written a twofold ending to be left to the choice of
the performer, he said: ‘The man must have had the gripes not to be
able to say which ending is the better!’ At the end he said that the
fugues were passable, the rest ordinary. Then he picked up Handel’s
‘Messiah’ with the words: ‘Here is a different fellow!’ and played
the most interesting numbers and called our attention to several
resemblances to Haydn’s ‘Creation,’ etc.” “Once,” says Ries (p. 100),
“when after a lesson we were talking about fugue themes, I sitting
at the pianoforte and he beside me, I played the first fugue theme
from Graun’s ‘Tod Jesu’; he began to play it after me with his left
hand, then brought in the right and developed it for perhaps half an
hour. I am still unable to understand how he could have endured the
uncomfortable position so long. His enthusiasm made him insensible to
external impressions.” In another place (p. 87) he relates: “During a
walk I mentioned to Beethoven two pure fifth progressions which sound
striking and beautiful in his C minor Quartet (Op. 18). He did not know
them and denied that they were fifths. It being his habit always to
carry ruled paper with him, I asked him for a sheet and wrote down the
passage in all four voices; seeing that I was right he said: ‘~Well,
and who has forbidden them?~’ Not knowing how to take the question, I
had him repeat it several times until I finally answered in amazement:
‘But they are first principles!’ The question was repeated again,
whereupon I answered: ‘Marpurg, Kirnberger, Fux, etc., etc., all
theoreticians!‘--‘And I allow them ~thus~!’ was his answer.”[43]

We quote again from Ries (p. 106):

I recall only two instances in which Beethoven told me to add a few
notes to his composition: once in the theme of the rondo of the
‘Sonate Pathétique’ (Op. 13), and again in the theme of the rondo
of his first Concerto in C major, where he gave me some passages
in double notes to make it more brilliant. He played this last
rondo, in fact, with an expression peculiar to himself. In general
he played his own compositions very freakishly, holding firmly to
the measure, however, as a rule and occasionally, but not often,
hurrying the tempo. At times he would hold the tempo back in his
~crescendo~ with ~ritardando~, which made a very beautiful and
highly striking effect. In playing he would give a passage now in
the right hand, now in the left, a lovely and absolutely inimitable
expression; but he very seldom added notes or ornaments.... (p.
100). He played his own compositions very unwillingly. Once he
was making serious preparations for a long trip which we were to
make together, on which I was to arrange the concerts and play his
concertos as well as other compositions. He was to conduct and
improvise.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN’S IMPROVISATIONS]

And now something more on the subject of Beethoven’s improvisations.
Says Ries: “This last was certainly the most extraordinary
(performance) any one was ever privileged to listen to, especially when
he was in good humor or excited. Not a single artist of all that I have
heard ever reached the plane in this respect which Beethoven occupied.
The wealth of ideas which crowded in upon him, the moods to which he
surrendered himself, the variety of treatment, the difficulties which
offered themselves or were introduced by him, were inexhaustible.” And
Czerny:

Beethoven’s improvisation (with which he created the greatest
sensation in the first years of his sojourn in Vienna and even
caused Mozart to wonder) was of the most varied kind, whether he
was treating themes chosen by himself or set for him by others.

1. In the first-movement form or the final rondo of a sonata,
when he regularly closed the first section and introduced a
second melody in a related key, etc., but in the second section
gave himself freely to all manner of treatment of the motivi. In
Allegros the work was enlivened by bravura passages which were
mostly more difficult than those to be found in his compositions.

2. In the free-variation form, about like his Choral Fantasia, Op.
80, or the choral finale of his Ninth Symphony, both of which give
a faithful illustration of his improvisations in this form.

3. In the mixed genre, where, in the potpourri style, one thought
follows upon another, as in his solo Fantasia, Op. 77. Often a few
tones would suffice to enable him to improvise an entire piece (as,
for instance, the Finale of the third Sonata, D major, of Op. 10).

Nobody equalled him in the rapidity of his scales, double trills,
skips, etc.--not even Hummel. His bearing while playing was
masterfully quiet, noble and beautiful, without the slightest
grimace (only bent forward low, as his deafness grew upon him); his
fingers were very powerful, not long, and broadened at the tips by
much playing, for he told me very often indeed that he generally
had to practise until after midnight in his youth.

In teaching he laid great stress on a correct position of the
fingers (after the school of Emanuel Bach, which he used in
teaching me); he could scarcely span a tenth. He made frequent
use of the pedals, much more frequent than is indicated in his
works. His playing of the scores of Handel and Gluck and the fugues
of Seb. Bach was unique, in that in the former he introduced a
full-voicedness and a spirit which gave these works a new shape.

He was also the greatest ~a vista~ player of his time (even in
score-reading); he scanned every new and unfamiliar composition
like a divination and his judgment was always correct, but,
especially in his younger years, very keen, biting, unsparing. Much
that the world admired then and still admires he saw in an entirely
different light from the lofty point of view of his genius.

Extraordinary as his playing was when he improvised, it was
frequently less successful when he played his printed compositions,
for, as he never had patience or time to practise, the result would
generally depend on accident or his mood; and as his playing,
like his compositions, was far ahead of his time, the pianofortes
of the period (until 1810), still extremely weak and imperfect,
could not endure his gigantic style of performance. Hence it was
that Hummel’s purling, brilliant style, well calculated to suit
the manner of the time, was much more comprehensible and pleasing
to the public. But Beethoven’s performance of slow and sustained
passages produced an almost magical effect upon every listener and,
so far as I know, was never surpassed.

[Sidenote: CHARACTERISTICS OF THE COMPOSER]

Pass we to certain minor characteristic traits which Ries has recorded
of his master:

Beethoven recalled his youth, and his Bonn friends, with great
pleasure, although his memory told of hard times, on the whole. Of
his mother, in particular, he spoke with love and feeling, calling
her often an honest, good-hearted woman. He spoke but little and
unwillingly of his father, who was most to blame for the family
misery, but a single hard word against him uttered by another would
anger him. On the whole he was a thoroughly good and kind man, on
whom his moods and impetuousness played shabby tricks. He would
have forgiven anybody, no matter how grievously he had injured
him or whatever wrong he had done him, if he had found him in an
unfortunate position. (“Notizen,” p. 122.)

Beethoven was often extremely violent. One day we were eating our
noonday meal at the Swan inn; the waiter brought him the wrong
dish. Scarcely had Beethoven spoken a few words about the matter,
which the waiter answered in a manner not altogether modest, when
Beethoven seized the dish (it was a mess of lungs with plenty of
gravy) and threw it at the waiter’s head. The poor fellow had an
armful of other dishes (an adeptness which Viennese waiters possess
in a high degree) and could not help himself; the gravy ran down
his face. He and Beethoven screamed and vituperated while all the
other guests roared with laughter. Finally, Beethoven himself was
overcome with the comicalness of the situation, as the waiter
who wanted to scold could not, because he was kept busy licking
from his chops the gravy that ran down his face, making the most
ridiculous grimaces the while. It was a picture worthy of Hogarth.
(“Notizen,” p. 121.)

Beethoven knew scarcely anything about money, because of which
he had frequent quarrels; since he was always mistrustful, and
frequently thought himself cheated when it was not the case. Easily
excited, he called people cheats, for which in the case of waiters
he had to make good with tips. At length his peculiarities and
absentmindedness became known in the inns which he frequented most
often and he was permitted to go his way, even when he went without
paying his bill. (“Notizen,” p. 122.)

Beethoven had taken lessons on the violin even after he reached
Vienna from Krumpholz and frequently when I was there we played his
Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violin together. But it was really a
horrible music; for in his enthusiastic zeal he never heard when he
began a passage with bad fingering.

In his behavior Beethoven was awkward and helpless; his uncouth
movements were often destitute of all grace. He seldom took
anything into his hands without dropping and breaking it. Thus he
frequently knocked his ink-well into the pianoforte which stood
near by the side of his writing-table. No piece of furniture
was safe from him, least of all a costly piece. Everything was
overturned, soiled and destroyed. It is hard to comprehend how he
accomplished so much as to be able to shave himself, even leaving
out of consideration the number of cuts on his cheeks. He could
never learn to dance in time. (“Notizen,” p. 119.)

Beethoven attached no value to his manuscripts; after they were
printed they lay for the greater part in an anteroom or on the
floor among other pieces of music. I often put his music to
rights; but whenever he hunted something, everything was thrown
into confusion again. I might at that time have carried away the
original manuscripts of all his printed pieces; and if I had asked
him for them he would unquestionably have given them to me without
a thought. (“Notizen,” p. 113.)

Beethoven felt the loss of Ries very sensibly; but it was in part
supplied by young Röckel, to whom he took a great liking. Inviting
him to call, he told him he would give special orders to his servant
to admit him at all times, even in the morning when busy. It was
agreed that, when Röckel was admitted, if he found Beethoven very
much occupied he should pass through the room into the bed-chamber
beyond--both rooms overlooked the Glacis from the fourth story of the
Pasqualati house on the Mölker Bastei--and there await him a reasonable
time; if the composer came not, Röckel should quietly pass out again.
It happened one morning upon his first visit, that Röckel found at the
street door a carriage with a lady in it; and, on reaching the fourth
storey, there, at Beethoven’s door, was Prince Lichnowsky in a dispute
with the servant about being admitted. The man declared he dared not
admit anybody, as his master was busy and had given express orders
not to admit any person whatever. Röckel, however, having the entrée,
informed Beethoven that Lichnowsky was outside. Though in ill humor, he
could no longer refuse to see him. The Prince and his wife had come to
take Beethoven out for an airing; and he finally consented, but, as he
entered the carriage, Röckel noticed that his face was still cloudy.

That Beethoven and Ignatz von Seyfried were brought much together
in these years, the reader already knows. Their acquaintance during
thirty years--which, for at least half of the time, was really the
“friendly relationship” which Seyfried names it--was, he says, “never
weakened, never disturbed by even the smallest quarrel--not that we
were both always of a mind, or could be, but we always spoke freely and
frankly to each other, without reserve, according to our convictions,
without conceitedly trying to force upon one another our opinions as
infallible.”

Besides, Beethoven was much too straightforward, open and tolerant
to give offence to another by disapprobation, or contradiction;
he was wont to laugh heartily at what did not please him and I
confidently believe that I may safely say that in all his life he
never, at least not consciously, made an enemy; only those to whom
his peculiarities were unknown were unable quite to understand
how to get along with him; I am speaking here of an earlier time,
before the misfortune of deafness had come upon him; if, on the
contrary, Beethoven sometimes carried things to an extreme in his
rude honesty in the case of many, mostly those who had imposed
themselves upon him as protectors, the fault lay only in this,
that the honest German always carried his heart on his tongue and
understood everything better than how to flatter; also because,
conscious of his own merit, he would never permit himself to be
made the plaything of the vain whims of the Mæcenases who were
eager to boast of their association with the name and fame of the
celebrated master. And so he was misunderstood only by those who
had not the patience to get acquainted with the apparent eccentric.
When he composed “Fidelio,” the oratorio “Christus am Ölberg,” the
symphonies in E-flat, C minor and F, the Pianoforte Concertos in C
minor and G major, and the Violin Concerto in D, we were living in
the same house[44] and (since we were each carrying on a bachelor’s
apartment) we dined at the same restaurant and chatted away many an
unforgettable hour in the confidential intimacy of colleagues, for
Beethoven was then merry, ready for any jest, happy, full of life,
witty and not seldom satirical. No physical ill had then afflicted
him [?]; no loss of the sense which is peculiarly indispensable to
the musician had darkened his life; only weak eyes had remained
with him as the results of the smallpox with which he had been
afflicted in his childhood, and these compelled him even in his
early youth to resort to concave, very strong (highly magnifying)
spectacles.[45]

He had me play the pieces mentioned, recognized throughout the
musical world as masterpieces, and, without giving me time to
think, demanded to know my opinion of them; I was permitted to give
it without restraint, without fearing that I should offend any
artistic conceit--a fault which was utterly foreign to his nature.

The above is from “Cäcilia,” Vol. IX, 218, 219. In the so-called
“Studien” (appendix) are other reminiscences, which form an admirable
supplement to it. Those which belong to the years 1800-1805 follow:

Our master could not be presented as a model in respect of
conducting, and the orchestra always had to have a care in
order not to be led astray by its mentor; for he had ears only
for his composition and was ceaselessly occupied by manifold
gesticulations to indicate the desired expression. He used to
suggest a ~diminuendo~ by crouching down more and more, and at a
~pianissimo~ he would almost creep under the desk. When the volume
of sound grew he rose up also as if out of a stage-trap, and with
the entrance of the power of the band he would stand upon the
tips of his toes almost as big as a giant, and waving his arms,
seemed about to soar upwards to the skies. Everything about him was
active, not a bit of his organism idle, and the man was comparable
to a ~perpetuum mobile~. He did not belong to those capricious
composers whom no orchestra in the world can satisfy. At times,
indeed, he was altogether too considerate and did not even repeat
passages which went badly at the rehearsal: “It will go better
next time,” he would say. He was very particular about expression,
the delicate nuances, the equable distribution of light and shade
as well as an effective ~tempo rubato~, and without betraying
vexation, would discuss them with the individual players. When he
then observed that the players would enter into his intentions and
play together with increasing ardor, inspired by the magical power
of his creations, his face would be transfigured with joy, all his
features beamed pleasure and satisfaction, a pleased smile would
play around his lips and a thundering “Bravi tutti!” reward the
successful achievement. It was the first and loftiest triumphal
moment for the genius, compared with which, as he confessed, the
tempestuous applause of a receptive audience was as nothing. When
playing at first sight, there were frequent pauses for the purpose
of correcting the parts and then the thread would be broken; but he
was patient even then; but when things went to pieces, particularly
in the scherzos of his symphonies at a sudden and unexpected change
of rhythm, he would shout with laughter and say he had expected
nothing else, but was reckoning on it from the beginning; he was
almost childishly glad that he had been successful in “unhorsing
such excellent riders.”

[Sidenote: DEAFNESS AND DISORDERLINESS]

Before Beethoven was afflicted with his organic ailment, he
attended the opera frequently and with enjoyment, especially the
admirable and flourishing Theater-an-der-Wien, perhaps, also, for
convenience’ sake, since he had scarcely to do more than to step
from his room into the parterre. There he was fascinated more
especially by the creations of Cherubini and Méhul, which at that
time were just beginning to stir up the enthusiasm of all Vienna.
There he would plant himself hard against the orchestra rail and,
dumb as a dunce, remain till the last stroke of the bows. This was
the only sign, however, that the art work had interested him; if,
on the contrary, the piece did not please him he would turn on his
heel at the first fall of the curtain and take himself away. It
was, in fact, difficult, yes, utterly impossible to tell from his
features whether or not he was pleased or displeased; he was always
the same, apparently cold, and just as reserved in his judgments
concerning his companions in art; his mind was at work ceaselessly,
but the physical shell was like soulless marble. Strangely enough,
on the other hand, hearing wretched music was a treat to him
which he proclaimed by a peal of laughter. Everybody who knew him
intimately knew that in this art he was a virtuoso, but it was a
pity that those who were near him were seldom able to fathom the
cause of such explosions, since he often laughed at his most secret
thoughts and conceits without giving an accounting of them.

He was never found on the street without a small note-book in which
he was wont to record his passing ideas. Whenever conversation
turned on the subject he would parody Joan of Arc’s words: “I dare
not come without my banner!”--and he adhered to his self-given rule
with unparalleled tenacity; although otherwise a truly admirable
disorder prevailed in his household. Books and music were scattered
in every corner; here the remnants of a cold luncheon; here sealed
or half-emptied bottles; here upon a stand the hurried sketches of
a quartet; here the remains of a déjeuner; there on the pianoforte,
on scribbled paper the material for a glorious symphony still
slumbering in embryo; here a proof-sheet awaiting salvation;
friendly and business letters covering the floor; between the
windows a respectable loaf of strachino, ~ad latus~ a considerable
ruin of a genuine Veronese salami--yet despite this varied mess our
master had a habit, quite contrary to the reality, of proclaiming
his accuracy and love of order on all occasions with Ciceronian
eloquence. Only when it became necessary to spend days, hours,
sometimes weeks, in finding something necessary and all efforts
remained fruitless, did he adopt a different tone, and the innocent
were made to bear the blame. “Yes, yes,” was the complaint, “that’s
a misfortune! Nothing is permitted to remain where I put it;
everything is moved about; everything is done to vex me; O men,
men!” But his servants knew the good-natured grumbler; let him
growl to his heart’s content, and--in a few minutes all would be
forgotten, until another occasion brought with it a renewal of the
scene.

He often made merry over his illegible handwriting and excused
himself by saying: “Life is too short to paint letters or notes;
and prettier notes would scarcely help me out of needs.”[46]

The whole forenoon, from the first ray of light till the meal hour,
was devoted to mechanical labor, i. e., to transcribing; the rest
of the day was given to thought and the ordering of ideas. Hardly
had he put the last bit in his mouth before he began his customary
promenade, unless he had some other excursion ~in petto~; that is
to say, he hurried in double-quick time several times around the
city, as if urged on by a goad; and this, let the weather be what
it might.

And his hearing--how was it with that?

A question not to be answered to full satisfaction. It is clear that
the “Notizen” of Wegeler and Ries, the Biography (first editions) of
Schindler, and especially the papers from Beethoven’s own hand printed
in those volumes, have given currency to a very exaggerated idea of the
progress of his infirmity. On the other hand, Seyfried as evidently
errs in the other direction; and yet Carl Czerny, both in his published
and manuscripts notices, goes even farther. For instance, he writes to
Jahn: “Although he had suffered from pains in his ears and the like
ever since 1800, he still heard speech and music perfectly well until
nearly 1812,” and adds in confirmation: “As late as the years 1811-1812
I studied things with him and he corrected with great care, as well
as ten years before.” This, however, proves nothing, as Beethoven
performed feats of this kind still more remarkable down to the last
year of his life. Beethoven’s Lamentation, the testament of 1802, is
one extreme, the statements of Seyfried and Czerny the other; the truth
lies somewhere between.

[Sidenote: NEGLECT OF MEDICAL TREATMENT]

In June, 1801, Beethoven is “obliged to lean down to the orchestral
rail to hear a drama.” The next summer he cannot hear a flute or
pipe to which Ries calls his attention. In 1804, as Doležalek tells
Jahn, “in the rehearsals to the ‘Eroica’ he did not always hear the
wind-instruments distinctly and missed them when they were playing.”
The evil was then making, if slow, still sure progress. “In those
years,” says Schindler, “there was a priest named Pater Weiss in the
Metropolitan Church of St. Stephen who occupied himself with healing
the deaf and had accomplished many fortunate cures. He was not a
mere empiricist, but was familiar with the physiology of the ear; he
effected his cures with simple remedies, and enjoyed a wide fame among
the people, and also the respect of medical practitioners. With the
consent of his physician our terrified tone-poet had also entrusted
his case to the priest.” Precisely when this was, is unknown; it could
not, however, have been until after Dr. Schmidt’s treatment had proved
hopeless. The so-called Fischoff Manuscript, evidently on the authority
of Zmeskall himself, gives a more particular account than Schindler
of Pater Weiss’s experience with his new patient. “Herr v. Zmeskall
with great difficulty persuaded Beethoven to go there with him. At
first he followed the advice of the physician; but as he had to go
to him every day in order to have a fluid dropped into his ear, this
grew unpleasant, the more since, in his impatience, he felt little or
no improvement; and he remained away. The physician, questioned by
Zmeskall, told him the facts, and Zmeskall begged him to accommodate
himself to the self-willed invalid, and consult his convenience. The
priest, honestly desirous to help Beethoven, went to his lodgings,
but his efforts were in vain, inasmuch as Beethoven in a few days
refused him entrance, and thus neglected possible help or at least an
amelioration of his condition.”

Probably the evil was of such a nature that, with all the resources
of our present medical science, it could hardly have been impeded,
much less arrested. This is poor consolation, but the best we have.
The sufferer now resigned himself to his fate. On a page of twenty-one
leaves of sketches to the Rasoumowsky Quartets, Op. 59, stands written
in pencil--if correctly deciphered--these words from his hand:

Even as you have plunged into the whirlpool of society, you will
find it possible to compose ~operas~ in spite of social obstacles.

Let your deafness no longer remain a secret--not even in art!

FOOTNOTES:

[39] See the “Grenzboten,” April 3, 1857.

[40] ~Young Wilding~: “Oh how they [the women] melt at the Gothic names
of General Swapinbach, Count Rousoumoffsky, Prince Montecuculi and
Marshal Fustinburgh.” (“The Liar.”)

[41] In June, 1906, Dr. Kalischer published two short notes written
by Beethoven to Bigot. They are without date. The first explains
Beethoven’s departure from Bigot’s house on the occasion of a visit as
due to a sudden attack of fever; the second, accompanying some music,
reads as follows: “I intended to visit you last night, but recalled in
time that you are not at home on Saturdays--and I discover that I must
~visit you very often~ or ~not at all~--I do not yet know which shall
be my choice, but I almost believe the latter--because by so doing I
shall evade all compulsion of having to come to you.”

[42] Here Dr. Riemann has introduced into the text: “The serious
interest which Beethoven felt for Therese could be questioned or
ignored by the biographers so long as certain letters of Gleichenstein
were accepted as belonging to the year 1807, which we must certainly
now assign to the spring of 1810, a time when Therese had passed her
18th year and may have been 20 since (if the record of her age at her
death is correct) she may have been born in 1791, so that, in view
moreover of the Italian origin of her family, it was scarcely apposite
to speak of her as ‘half a child’ in 1810.”

[43] ~Quid licet Jovi non licet bovi~; the maxim ought to be repeated
every time this familiar story is told. Moreover, those who repeat
Beethoven’s remark oftenest always omit a very significant word in it:
“Und so erlaube ich sie!” i. e., “When used in the manner illustrated
in the measure in question, I allow them.” Beethoven gave no general
license.

[44] Seyfried’s memory has here in part played him false.

[45] Another slight mistake. Schindler was in possession of Beethoven’s
glasses and they were by no means “very strong.”

[46] One of Beethoven’s puns, the point of which is lost in the
translation: “Schönere ~Noten~ brächten mich schwerlich aus den
~Nöthen~.”

Chapter VI

Princes as Theatrical Directors--Disappointed
Expectations--Subscription Concerts at Prince Lobkowitz’s--The
Symphony in B-flat--The “Coriolan” Overture--Contract with
Clementi--The Mass in C--The Year 1807.

A controversy for the possession of the two Court Theatres and that
An-der-Wien involved certain legal questions which, in September,
1806, were decided by the proper tribunal against the old directors,
who were thus at the end of the year compelled to retire. Peter,
Baron von Braun, closed his twelve years’ administration with a
circular letter addressed to his recent subordinates, dated December
28, in which, after bidding them an affectionate adieu, he said:
“With imperial consent I have turned over the vice-direction of the
Royal Imperial Court Theatre to a company composed of the following
cavaliers: the Princes Lobkowitz, Schwarzenberg and Esterhazy and the
Counts Esterhazy, Lodron, Ferdinand Palffy, Stephen Zichy and Niklas
Esterhazy.”

[Sidenote: PLANS TO KEEP BEETHOVEN IN VIENNA]

Beethoven naturally saw in this change a most hopeful prospect of an
improvement in his own theatrical fortunes, and immediately, acting on
a hint from Lobkowitz, addressed to the new directors a petition and
proposals for a permanent engagement, with a fixed salary, in their
service. The document was as follows:

To the Worshipful R. I. Theatre Direction:

The undersigned flatters himself that during his past sojourn in
Vienna he has won some favor with not only the high nobility but
also the general public, and has secured an honorable acceptance of
his works at home and abroad.

Nevertheless, he has been obliged to struggle with difficulties
of all kinds and has not yet been able to establish himself here
in a position which would enable him to fulfil his desire to live
wholly for art, to develop his talents to a still higher degree
of perfection, which must be the goal of every true artist, and
to make certain for the future the fortuitous advantages of the
present.

Inasmuch as the undersigned has always striven less for a
livelihood than for the interests of art, the ennoblement of
taste and the uplifting of his genius toward higher ideals and
perfection, it necessarily happens that he often was compelled to
sacrifice profit and advantage to the Muse. Yet works of this kind
won for him a reputation in foreign lands which assures him of a
favorable reception in a number of considerable cities and a lot
commensurate with his talents and opportunities.

But in spite of this the undersigned cannot deny that the many
years during which he has lived here and the favor and approval
which he has enjoyed from high and low have aroused in him a wish
wholly to fulfil the expectations which he has been fortunate
enough to awaken; and let him say also, the patriotism of a German
has made this place more estimable and desirable than any other.

He can, therefore, not forbear before deciding to leave the city
so dear to him, to follow the suggestion kindly made to him by His
Serene Highness the ruling Prince Lobkowitz, who intimated that a
Worshipful Direction was not disinclined under proper conditions to
engage the undersigned for the service of the theatre under their
management and to ensure his further sojourn here by offering him
the means of a permanent livelihood favorable to the exercise of
his talent.

Inasmuch as this intimation is in perfect accord with the desires
of the undersigned, he takes the liberty to submit an expression
of his willingness as well as the following stipulations for the
favorable consideration of the Worshipful Direction:

1. He promises and contracts to compose every year at least one
grand opera, to be selected jointly by the Worshipful Direction and
the undersigned; in return he asks a fixed remuneration of 2400
florins per annum and the gross receipts of the third performance
of each of such operas.

2. He agrees to deliver gratis each year a small operetta,
divertissement, choruses or occasional pieces according to the
wishes or needs of the Worshipful Direction, but hopes that the
Worshipful Direction will not hesitate in return for such works to
give him one day in each year for a benefit concert in the theatre
building.

If one reflects what an expenditure of capacity and time is
required for the making of an opera to the absolute exclusion of
every other intellectual occupation, and further, that in cities
where the author and his family have a share in the receipts at
every performance, a single successful work may make the fortune of
an author; and still further how small a compensation, owing to the
monetary condition and high prices for necessaries which prevail
here, is at the command of a local artist to whom foreign lands
are open, the above conditions can certainly not be thought to be
excessive or unreasonable.

But whether or not the Worshipful Direction confirms and accepts
this offer, the undersigned appends the request that he be given
a day for a musical concert in one of the theatre buildings;
for, in case the proposition is accepted, the undersigned will
at once require his time and powers for the composition of the
opera and therefore be unable to use them for his profit in
another direction. In the event of a declination of the present
offer, moreover, since the permission for a concert granted last
year could not be utilized because of various obstacles which
intervened, the undersigned would look upon the fulfilment of last
year’s promise as a highest sign of the great favor heretofore
enjoyed by him, and he requests that in the first case the day be
set on the Feast of the Annunciation, in the second on one of the
approaching Christmas holidays.

Ludwig van Beethoven, m. p.

Vienna, 1807.

Neither of these requests was granted directly; one of them only
indirectly. Nor is it known that any formal written reply was conveyed
to the petitioner. The cause of this has been strangely suggested
to lie in an old grudge--the very existence of which is a mere
conjecture--cherished against Beethoven by Count Palffy, director of
the German Drama. But it is quite needless to go so far for a reason.
The composer’s well-known increasing infirmity of hearing, his habits
of procrastination, and above all his inability, so often proved, to
keep the peace with orchestra and singers--all this was too well known
to the new directors, whatever may have been their own personal wishes,
to justify the risk of attaching him permanently to an institution for
the success of which they were responsible to the Emperor. It is very
evident, that they temporized with him. His petition must have been
presented at the very beginning of the year; otherwise the grant of a
theatre for a concert at the Feast of the Annunciation (March 25) would
have been useless, for want of time to make the necessary preparations;
and an allusion to the “princely rabble” in a letter written in May,
proves that no answer had then been given him; and a reference to the
matter by the correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” near the end
of the year shows that at least none had then been made public. So
far as is known, the Directors chose to let the matter drop quietly
and gave him none; nor did they revive “Fidelio”--for which abundant
reasons suggest themselves. But they gave Beethoven ample proof that no
motives of personal animosity, no lack of admiration for his talents or
appreciation of his genius, governed their decision. Prince Esterhazy
ordered the composition of a mass, and immediate preparations were
made for the performance of his orchestral works “in a very select
circle that contributed a very considerable sum for the benefit of
the composer,” as a writer in the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” remarks. These
performances took place in March “at the house of Prince L.” according
to the “Journal des Luxus.”

[Sidenote: THE SYMPHONY IN B-FLAT]

Was “Prince L.” Lobkowitz or Lichnowsky? The details above given point
decisively to the former. It is true that the paroxysm of wrath, in
which Beethoven had so unceremoniously parted from Lichnowsky in
the Autumn, had so far subsided that he now granted the Prince the
use of his new manuscript overture; but the contemporary notice,
from which this fact is derived, is in such terms as of itself to
preclude the idea that this performance of it was in one of the two
subscription concerts. In these subscription concerts three new works
were performed: the Fourth Symphony,[47] in B-flat major, the Fourth
Pf. Concerto, in G major, and the “Coriolan” Overture. About the
latter something is to be said. The manuscript bears the composer’s
own date, 1807. Collin’s tragedy was originally performed November
24, 1802, with “between-acts music” arranged by Abbé Stadler from
Mozart’s “Idomeneus.” The next year Lange assumed the leading part with
a success of which he justly boasts in his autobiography, and played
it so often down to March 5, 1805, as to make the work thoroughly
familiar to the theatre-going public. From that date to the end of
October, 1809 (how much longer we have no means at hand of knowing),
it was played but once--namely, on April 24, 1807. The overture was
assuredly not written for that one exceptional performance; for, if
so, it would not have been played in March in two different concerts.
Nor was it played, April 24th, in the theatre; if it had been, the
correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung,” writing after its public
performance in the Liebhaber Concerts near the end of the year, could
not have spoken of it as “a ~new~ overture.” It is, therefore, obvious
that this work was composed for these subscription concerts. Beethoven
had at this time written but three overtures--two to “Fidelio” (one of
which was laid aside), and that to “Prometheus,” which had long ceased
to be a novelty. He needed a new one. Collin’s tragedy was thoroughly
well known and offered a subject splendidly suited to his genius. An
overture to it was a compliment to his influential friend, the author,
and, if successful, would be a new proof of his talent for dramatic
composition--certainly, an important consideration just then, pending
his application for a permanent engagement at the theatre. How nobly
the character of ~Coriolanus~ is mirrored in Beethoven’s music is well
enough known; but the admirable adaptation of the overture to the
play is duly appreciated by those only, who have read Collin’s almost
forgotten work.

The year 1807 was one of the years of Beethoven’s life distinguished
by the grandeur and extent of his compositions; and it was probably
more to avoid interruption in his labor than on account of ill health,
that early in April he removed to Baden. A letter (to Herr von Troxler)
in which occur these words: “I am coming to Vienna. I wish very much
that you would go with me on Tuesday to Clementi, as I can make myself
better understood to foreigners with my notes than by my speech,” seems
to introduce a matter of business which called him to the city for a
few days.

[Sidenote: CLEMENTI SECURES A CONTRACT]

Clementi, called to Rome by the death of his brother, had arrived in
Vienna on his way thither, and embraced the opportunity to acquire
the exclusive right of publication in England of various works of
Beethoven, whose great reputation, the rapidly growing taste for his
music, and the great difficulty of obtaining continental publications
in those days of “Napoleonic ideas,” combined to render such a right in
that country one of considerable value. Clementi reported the results
of the negotiations with Beethoven in a letter to his partner, F. W.
Collard, with whom he had been associated in business for five years,
which J. S. Shedlock made public in the “Athenæum” of London on August
1, 1902. It runs as follows:

Messrs. Clementi and Co., No. 26 Cheapside, London.

Vienna, April 22d, 1807.

Dear Collard:

By a little management and without committing myself, I have at
last made a complete conquest of the ~haughty beauty~, Beethoven,
who first began at public places to grin and coquet with me, which
of course I took care not to discourage; then slid into familiar
chat, till meeting him by chance one day in the street--“Where do
you lodge?” says he; “I have not seen you this ~long~ while!”--upon
which I gave him my address. Two days after I found on my table
his card brought by himself, from the maid’s description of his
lovely form. This will do, thought I. Three days after that he
calls again, and finds me at home. Conceive then the mutual ecstasy
of such a meeting! I took pretty good care to improve it to our
~house’s~ advantage, therefore, as soon as decency would allow,
after praising very handsomely some of his compositions: “Are you
engaged with any publisher in London?”--“No” says he. “Suppose,
then, that you prefer ~me~?”--“With all my heart.” “Done. What have
you ready?”--“I’ll bring you a list.” In short I agree with him to
take in MSS. three quartets, a symphony, an overture and a concerto
for the violin, which is beautiful, and which, at my request he
will adapt for the pianoforte with and without additional keys; and
a concerto for the pianoforte, for ~all~ which we are to pay him
two hundred pounds sterling. The property, however, is only for the
British Dominions. To-day sets off a courier for London through
Russia, and he will bring over to you two or three of the mentioned
articles.

Remember that the violin concerto he will adapt himself and send it
as soon as he can.

The quartets, etc., you may get Cramer or some other very clever
fellow to adapt for the Piano-forte. The symphony and the overture
are wonderfully fine so that I think I have made a very good
bargain. What do you think? I have likewise engaged him to compose
two sonatas and a fantasia for the Piano-forte which he is to
deliver to our house for sixty pounds sterling (mind I have treated
for Pounds, not Guineas). In short he has promised to treat with no
one but me for the British Dominions.

In proportion as you receive his compositions you are to remit him
the money; that is, he considers the whole as consisting of six
articles, viz: three ~quartets~, symphony, overture, Piano-forte
concerto, violin concerto, and the adaptation of the said concerto,
for which he is to receive £200.

For three articles you’ll remit £100 and so on in proportion. The
agreement says also that as soon as you receive the compositions,
you are to pay into the hands of Messrs. E. W. and E. Lee, the
stated sum, who are to authorize Messrs. J. G. Schuller and Comp.
in Vienna to pay to Mr. van Beethoven, the value of the said sum,
according to the course of exchange, and the said Messrs. Schuller
and Co. are to reimburse themselves on Messrs. R. W. and E. Lee.
On account of the impediments by war, etc., I begged Beethoven to
allow us 4 months (after the setting of his MSS.) to publish in.
He said he would write to your house in French ~stating the time~,
for of course he sends them likewise to Paris, etc., etc., and they
must appear on the same day. You are also by agreement to send
Beethoven by a ~convenient~ opportunity, two sets of each of the
new compositions you print of his.... Mr. van Beethoven says, you
may publish the 3 articles he sends by ~this courier~ on the 1st of
September, next.[48]

The closing of the contract with Clementi had been preceded by
negotiations with Breitkopf and Härtel for the same compositions. On
the same day that Clementi wrote to Collard he also wrote a letter
to the Leipsic publishers in which he said that he had purchased
the right of publication for the British Dominions in consequence of
their letter of January 20th, in which they had said that because of
the war they had declined Beethoven’s proposition. He also promised
to ask Beethoven to treat with them for the German rights. (This fact
is already known to the readers from the letters written by Beethoven
to Breitkopf and Härtel dated September 3 and November 18, 1806.)
Count Gleichenstein witnessed the signing of the contract (which is in
French), the substance of which is as follows:

Beethoven grants Clementi the manuscripts of the works afterwards
enumerated, with the right to publish them in Great Britain, but
reserving the rights for other countries. The works are: three
Quartets, one Symphony (“the fourth that he has composed”), the
Overture to “Coriolan,” a Concerto for Violin and the arrangement
of the same for Pianoforte “with additional notes.”

Clementi is to pay for these works the equivalent of £200 in
Viennese funds at Schuller and Co.’s as soon as the arrival of the
manuscripts is reported from London. If Beethoven cannot deliver
all the compositions at once he is to be paid only in proportion.
Beethoven engages to sell these works in Germany, France or
elsewhere only on condition that they shall not be published until
four months after they have been despatched to England. In the case
of the Violin Concerto, the Symphony and the Overture, which have
just been sent off, not until September 1, 1807. Beethoven also
agrees to compose on the same terms, within a time not fixed, and
at his own convenience, three Sonatas or two Sonatas and a Fantasia
for Pianoforte with or without accompaniment, as he chooses, for
which he is to be paid £60. Clementi engages to send Beethoven two
copies of each work. The contract is executed in duplicate and
signed at Vienna, April 20, 1807, by Clementi and Beethoven.[49]

The quartets, in parts, had been lent to Count Franz Brunswick and were
still in Hungary, which gave occasion to one of Beethoven’s peculiarly
whimsical and humorous epistles:

[Sidenote: THE FAMOUS LOVE-LETTER AGAIN]

To Count Franz von Brunswick:
Dear, dear B! I have only to say to you that I came to a right
satisfactory arrangement with Clementi. I shall receive 200 pounds
Sterling--and besides I am privileged to sell the same works in
Germany and France. He has also offered me other commissions--so
that I am enabled to hope through them to achieve the dignity of a
true artist while still young. ~I need, dear B,~ the QUARTETS. I
have already asked your sister to write to you about them, it takes
too long to copy them from my score--therefore make haste and send
them direct to me by LETTER POST. You shall have them back in 4 or
5 days at the latest. I beg you urgently for them, since otherwise
I might lose a great deal.

If you can arrange it that the Hungarians want me to come for a few
concerts, do it--you may have me for 200 florins in gold--then I
will bring my opera along. I will not get along with the princely
rabble.

Whenever WE (several) (~amici~) drink your wine, we drink you, i.
e., we drink your health. Farewell--hurry--hurry--hurry and send me
the quartets--otherwise you may embarrass me greatly.

Schuppanzigh has married--it is said with ONE ~very like him~. What
a family????

Kiss your sister Therese, tell her I fear I shall become great
without the help of a monument reared by her. Send me to-morrow the
quartets--quar-tets--t-e-t-s.

Your friend Beethoven.[50]

If an English publisher could afford to pay so high a price for the
manuscripts of a German composer, why not a French one? So Beethoven
reasoned, and, Bonn being then French, he wrote to Simrock proposing a
contract like that made with Clementi. The letter, which was dictated
and signed by Beethoven but written by another, expresses a desire to
sell six new works to a publishing house in France, one in England and
one in Vienna simultaneously, with the understanding that they are to
appear only after a certain date. They are a symphony, an overture for
Collin’s “Coriolan,” a violin concerto, 3 quartets, 1 concerto for
the pianoforte, the violin concerto arranged for pianoforte “avec des
notes additionelles.” The price, “very cheap,” is to be 1200 florins,
Augsburg current. As regards the day of publication, he thinks he can
fix the first of September of that year for the first three, and the
first of October for the second three.

Simrock answered that owing to unfavorable circumstances due to the
war, all he could offer, in his “lean condition,” was 1600 livres. He
also proposed that in case Beethoven found his offer fair, he should
send the works without delay to Breuning. Simrock would at once pay
Breuning 300 livres in cash and give him a bill of exchange for 1300
livres, payable in two years, provided nobody reprinted any of his
works in France, he taking all measures to protect his property under
the laws.

A series of letters written from Baden and bearing dates in June
and July, addressed to Gleichenstein, are of no special interest or
importance except as they, when read together, establish beyond cavil
that Beethoven made no journey to any distant watering-place during
the time which they cover. By proving this they have a powerful
bearing on the vexed question touching the true date of Beethoven’s
famous love-letter supposed by Schindler to have been addressed to
the young Countess Guicciardi. That it was written in 1806 or 1807
was long since made certain; and it was only in a mistaken deference
to Beethoven’s “Evening, Monday, July 6”--which, if correct, would be
decisive in favor of the latter year--that the letter was not inserted
in its proper place as belonging to the year 1806. That this deference
~was~ a mistake, and that Beethoven should have written “July 7,” is
made certain by Simrock’s letter, which, by determining the dates
of the notes to Gleichenstein, affords positive evidence that the
composer passed the months of June and July, 1807, in Baden. A cursory
examination of the composer’s correspondence brings to light other
similar mistakes. There is a letter to Breitkopf and Härtel with this
date, “Wednesday, November 2, 1809”--Wednesday was the 1st; a letter
to Countess Erdödy has “29 February, 1815”--in that year February
had but 28 days; and a letter to Zmeskall is dated “Wednesday, July
3rd, 1817”--July 3rd that year falling on a Thursday. Referring the
reader to what has appeared in a previous chapter, for the letter and
a complete discussion of the question of its date, it need only be
added here, that it was, beyond a doubt, written from some Hungarian
watering-place (as Schindler says), where Beethoven tarried for a time
after his visit to Brunswick and before that to Prince Lichnowsky. This
fact being established, it follows, as a necessary consequence, that
it was not written to Julia Guicciardi--already nearly three years the
wife of Gallenberg--nor to Therese Malfatti--then a girl but thirteen
or at most fourteen years--nor, in short, to any person whose name
has ever been given by biographer or novelist as among the objects
of Beethoven’s fleeting passions. Thus we are led to the obvious and
rational conclusion, that a mutual appreciation had grown up between
the composer and some lady not yet known; that there were obstacles to
marriage just now insuperable, but not of such a nature as to forbid
the expectation of conquering them in the future; and that--in 1807
as in 1806--they were happy in their love and looking forward with
hope.[51]

The following letter to Prince Esterhazy, dated July 26, belongs to
the same period and refers to the composition of the Mass in C:

Most Serene, most Gracious Prince!

Having been told that you, my Prince, have asked concerning the
mass which you commissioned me to write for you, I take the
liberty, my Serene Prince, to inform you that you shall receive the
same at the latest by the 20th of the month of August--which will
leave plenty of time to have it performed on the name-day of her
Serene Highness, the Princess--an extraordinarily favorable offer
which I received from London when I had the misfortune to make a
failure of my benefit at the theatre, which made me grasp the need
with joy, retarded the completion of the mass, much as I wished,
Serene Prince, to appear with it before you, and to this was added
an illness of the head, which at first permitted me to work not at
all and now but little; since everything is so eagerly interpreted
against me, I inclose a letter from my physician--may I add that
I shall give the mass into your hands with great fear since you,
Serene Highness, are accustomed to have the inimitable masterpieces
of the great Haydn performed for you.

[Sidenote: COMPOSITION OF THE MASS IN C]

At the end of July, Beethoven removed from Baden to Heiligenstadt,
devoting his time there to the C minor Symphony and the Mass in C. One
of Czerny’s notes relates to the mass:

Once when he (Beethoven) was walking in the country with the
Countess Erdödy and other ladies, they heard some village musicians
and laughed at some false notes which they played, especially
the violoncellist, who, fumbling for the C major chord, produced
something like the following:

[Illustration]

Beethoven used this figure for the “Credo” of his first mass, which
he chanced to be composing at the time.

The name-day of Princess Esterhazy, ~née~ Princess Marie von
Liechtenstein, for which Beethoven promises in the letter above given
to have the Mass ready, was the 8th of September. In the years when
this date did not fall upon a Sunday it was the custom at Eisenstadt to
celebrate it on the first Sunday following. In 1807 the 8th fell on a
Tuesday and the first performance of Beethoven’s Mass, therefore, took
place on the 13th. Haydn, as Pohl informs us, had written his masses
for this day and had gone to Eisenstadt from Vienna to conduct their
performance. So Beethoven now; who seems to have had his troubles with
the singers here as in Vienna, if one may found such an opinion upon
an energetic note of Prince Esterhazy copied and printed by Pohl. In
this note, which is dated September 12, 1807, the Prince calls upon
his vice-chapelmaster, Johann Fuchs, to explain why the singers in his
employ were not always on hand at his musical affairs. He had heard
on that day with displeasure that at the rehearsal of Beethoven’s
Mass only one of the five contraltos was present, and he stringently
commanded all the singers and instrumentalists in his service to be on
hand at the performance of the mass on the following day.

[Sidenote: ILL FEELING BETWEEN BEETHOVEN AND HUMMEL]

The Mass was produced on the next day--the 13th. “It was the custom at
this court,” says Schindler,

that after the religious service the local as well as foreign
musical notabilities met in the chambers of the Prince for the
purpose of conversing with him about the works which had been
performed. When Beethoven entered the room, the Prince turned
to him with the question: “But, my dear Beethoven, what is this
that you have done again?” The impression made by this singular
question, which was probably followed by other critical remarks,
was the more painful on our artist because he saw the chapelmaster
standing near the Prince laugh. Thinking that he was being
ridiculed, nothing could keep him at the place where his work had
been so misunderstood and besides, as he thought, where a brother
in art had rejoiced over his discomfiture. He left Eisenstadt the
same day.

The laughing chapelmaster was J. N. Hummel, who had been called to
the post in 1804 in place of Haydn, recently pensioned because of his
infirmities, due to old age. Schindler continues:

Thence dates the falling-out with Hummel, between whom and
Beethoven there never existed a real intimate friendship.
Unfortunately they never came to an explanation which might have
disclosed that the unlucky laugh was not directed at Beethoven,
but at the singular manner in which the Prince had criticized the
mass (in which there is still much that might be complained of).
But there were other things which fed the hate of Beethoven. One of
these was that the two had an inclination for the same girl; the
other, the tendency which Hummel had first introduced not only in
pianoforte playing but also composition.... Not until the last days
of Beethoven, ~post tot discrimina rerum~, was the cloud which had
settled between the two artists dispelled.

In the earlier editions of his book, Schindler gives a still gloomier
tinge to the story:

His hatred of Hummel because of this (the laugh after the mass) was
so deeply rooted that I know of no second one like it in his entire
history. After the lapse of 14 years he told me the story with a
bitterness as if it had happened the day before. But this dark
cloud was dissipated by the strength of his spirit, and this would
have happened much earlier had Hummel approached him in a friendly
manner instead of always holding himself aloof.

That Schindler heard Beethoven speak of the occurrence in Eisenstadt,
fourteen years thereafter, with “great bitterness” is not to be
doubted; but this does not prove the existence of so lasting and deep
a hatred towards Hummel as is asserted. That he was dissatisfied
with Hummel’s later course as pianist and composer is most probable,
and hardly needs Schindler’s testimony; but it is not so with other
statements of his; and facts have come to light since his book appeared
(1840) which he could not well have known, but which leave little doubt
that he was greatly mistaken in his view of the relations between
the two men. That something very like an “intimate friendship” ~had~
characterized their intercourse, the reader already knows; and that,
three or four years later, they were again friendly, if not intimate,
will in due time appear. As to the girl whom both loved, but who
favored Hummel, if Schindler refers to the sister of Röckel--afterwards
the wife of Hummel--it is known from Röckel himself that there is
nothing in the story. If, on the other hand, he had in mind a ludicrous
anecdote--not quite fit to be printed--the “wife of a citizen,” who
plays the third rôle in the comedy, was not of such a character as to
cause any lasting ill blood between the rivals for her passing favor.

In short, while we accept the Eisenstadt anecdote, as being originally
derived from Beethoven himself, we must view all that Schindler adds in
connection with it with a certain amount of distrust and doubt--if not
reject it altogether--as a new illustration of his proneness to accept
without examination old impressions for established facts.

This year is remarkable not only in Beethoven’s life, but in the
history of music, as that in which was completed the C minor Symphony.
This wondrous work was no sudden inspiration. Themes for the Allegro,
Andante and Scherzo are found in sketchbooks belonging, at the very
latest, to the years 1800 and 1801. There are studies also preserved,
which show that Beethoven wrought upon it while engaged on “Fidelio”
and the Pianoforte Concerto in G--that is, in 1804-6, when, as
before noted, he laid it aside for the composition of the fourth, in
B-flat major. That is all that is known of the rise and progress of
this famous symphony, except that it was completed this year in the
composer’s favorite haunts about Heiligenstadt.[52]

In the “Journal des Luxus” of January, 1808, there appeared a letter
in which it was stated that “Beethoven’s opera ‘Fidelio,’ which
despite all contradictory reports has extraordinary beauties, is to
be performed in Prague in the near future with a new overture.” The
composer was also said to have “already begun a second mass.” Of this
mass we hear nothing more, but there was a foundation of fact in the
other item of news. Guardasoni had for some time kept alive the Italian
opera in Prague, only because his contract required it. It had sunk
so low in the esteem of the public, that performances were actually
given to audiences of less than twenty persons in the parterre--the
boxes and galleries being empty in proportion. That manager died early
in 1806, and the Bohemian States immediately raised Carl Liebich from
his position of stage-manager of the German drama to that of General
Director, with instructions to dismiss the Italian and engage a German
operatic company. Such a change required time; and not until April
24th, 1807, did the Italians make their last appearance, selecting for
the occasion Mozart’s “Clemenza di Tito”--originally composed for that
stage. On the 2d of May the new German opera opened with Cherubini’s
“Faniska.”

Beethoven, in view of his relations to the Bohemian nobles, naturally
expected, and seems to have had the promise, that his “Fidelio”
should be brought out there as well as its rival, and, as Seyfried
expresses it, “planned a new and less difficult overture for the Prague
theatre.” This was the composition published in 1832 with the title:
“Overture in C, composed in the year 1805, for the opera ‘Leonore’ by
Ludwig van Beethoven”--an erroneous date, which continued current
and unchallenged for nearly forty years. Schindler’s story--that it
was tried at Prince Lichnowsky’s and laid aside as inadequate to the
subject--was therefore based on misinformation; but that it was played
either at Lichnowsky’s or Lobkowitz’s is very probable, and, if so,
it may well have made but a tame and feeble impression on auditors
who had heard the glorious “Leonore” Overture the year before. A
tragical and lamentable consequence of establishing the true date of
Op. 138--of the discovery that the supposed No. I is really No. III
of the “Leonore-Fidelio” overtures--is this; that so much eloquent
dissertation on the astonishing development of Beethoven’s powers as
exhibited in his progress from No. I to No. III, has lost its basis,
and all the fine writing on this topic is, at a blow, made ridiculous
and absurd! As to the performance of “Fidelio” at Prague, Beethoven was
disappointed. It was not given. Another paragraph from the “Journal
des Luxus, etc.” (November, 1806) gives the only satisfactory notice,
known to us, of the origin of one of Beethoven’s minor but well-known
compositions.

[Sidenote: “IN QUESTA TOMBA OSCURA”]

A bit of musical pleasantry (says the journal last mentioned)
recently gave rise to a competition amongst a number of famous
composers. Countess Rzewuska[53] improvised an aria at the
pianoforte; the poet Carpani at once improvised a text for it. He
imagined a lover who had died of grief because of the indifference
of his ladylove; she, repenting of her hard-heartedness, bedews the
grave; and now the shade calls to her:

In questa tomba oscura
Lasciami riposar;
Quando viveva, ingrata,
Dovevi a me pensar.

Lascia che l’ombra ignude
Godansi pace almen,
E non bagnar mie ceneri
D’inutile velen.

These words have been set by Paër, Salieri, Weigl, Zingarelli,
Cherubini, Asioli and other great masters and amateurs. Zingarelli
alone provided ten compositions of them; in all about fifty have
been collected and the poet purposes to give them to the public in
a volume.

The number of the compositions was increased to sixty-three, and they
were published in 1808, the last (No. 63) being by Beethoven. This was
by no means considered the best at the time, although it alone now
survives.

[Sidenote: THE PUBLICATIONS OF THE YEAR 1807]

Though disappointed in December, as he had been in March, in the hope
of obtaining the use of a theatre for a concert, Beethoven was not
thereby prevented from coming prominently before the public as composer
and director. It was on this wise: The want of better opportunities
to hear good symphony music well performed, than Schuppanzigh’s
Concerts--which were also confined to the summer months--and the
occasional hastily arranged “Academies” of composers and virtuosos,
afforded, induced a number of music-lovers early in the winter to
form an institute under the modest title: “Concert of Music-Lovers”
(~Liebhaber-Concert~). Says the “Wiener Vaterländische Blätter” of May
27, 1808: “An orchestra was organized, whose members were chosen from
the best of the local music-lovers (dilettanti). A few wind-instruments
only--French horns, trumpets, etc., were drafted from the Vienna
theatres.... The audiences were composed exclusively of the nobility of
the town and foreigners of note, and among these classes the preference
was given to the cognoscenti and amateurs.” The hall “zur Mehlgrube,”
which was first engaged, proved to be too small, and the concerts were
transferred to the hall of the University, where “in twenty meetings
symphonies, overtures, concertos and vocal pieces were performed
zealously and affectionately and received with general approval.”
“Banker Häring was a director in the earlier concerts but gave way to
Clement ‘because of disagreements.’” The works of Beethoven reported as
having been performed in these concerts, are the Symphony in D (in the
first concert), the overture to “Prometheus” in November, the “Eroica”
Symphony and “Coriolan” Overture in December, and about New Year the
Fourth Symphony in B-flat, which also on the 15th of November had been
played in the Burgtheater at a concert for the public charities. Most,
if not all of these works were directed by their composer. The works
ascertained as belonging to this year are: (1) The transcription of the
Violin Concerto for Pianoforte, made (as Clementi’s letter to Collard
says) at Clementi’s request; (2) the overture to “Coriolan”; (3) the
Mass in C;[54] (4) the so-called “Leonore” Overture, No. 1, published
as Op. 138; (5) the Symphony in C minor; (6) the Arietta, “In questa
tomba.” The original publications of the year were few, viz., (1)
“LIV^{e} Sonata” for Pianoforte, Op. 57, dedicated to Count Brunswick,
advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of February 18, by the Kunst- und
Industrie-Comptoir; (2) Thirty-two Variations in C minor, advertised
by the same firm on April 29; (3) Concerto concertant for Pianoforte,
Violin and Violoncello, Op. 56, dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz,
advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” on July 1.

The following advertisements are evidence of the great and increasing
popularity of Beethoven’s name: On March 21, Traeg announces 12
Écossaises and 12 Waltzes for two violins and bass (2 flutes, 2 horns
~ad lib.~); also for pianoforte; other works are being arranged; on
April 20, the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir announces an arrangement of
the “Eroica” Symphony for pianoforte, violin, viola and violoncello;
on May 27 (Artaria), a Sonata for Pianoforte and Violoncello, Op. 64,
transcribed from Op. 3; on June 13 (Traeg), the Symphony in D major
arranged by Ries as a Quintet with double-bass, flute, 2 horns ~ad
lib.~; on September 12 (the Chemical Printing Works), a Polonaise, Op.
8, for two violins and for violin and guitar.

FOOTNOTES:

[47] The genesis of the fourth symphony, in B-flat, Op. 60, is but
imperfectly known. Nottebohm’s studies of the sketchbooks, which are so
frequently helpful, fail us utterly here. The autograph score bears the
inscription, “Sinfonia 4^{ta}, 1806, L. v. Bthvn.” Having been played
in March, 1807, at one of the two subscription concerts at Lobkowitz’s,
it was, of course, finished at that time. Beethoven referred to it in
his letter to Breitkopf and Härtel from Grätz on September 3, 1806.
This is not convincing proof that it was all ready at the time, but
certainly that it was well under way. On November 18 he wrote to the
same firm that he could not then give them the promised symphony,
because a gentleman of quality had purchased its use for six months.
It is within the bounds of possibility that this reference was to the
symphony in C minor, the sketches for which date back at least to 1805,
though it was not completed till March, 1808, at the earliest. It would
seem that work on the C minor symphony was laid aside in favor of the
fourth, which was either written or sketched in the late summer and
fall of 1806, and completed in Vienna in time for the performance in
March, 1807.

The symphony is dedicated to Count Oppersdorff, a Silesian nobleman.
The castle of the Counts Oppersdorff lies near the town of Ober-Glogau,
which in early times was under their rule. Count Franz von Oppersdorff,
who died in Berlin in 1818, was a zealous lover of music who maintained
in his castle an orchestra which he strove to keep complete in point
of numbers by requiring all the officials in his employ to be able to
play upon an orchestral instrument. Partly through bonds of blood and
marriage, partly through those of friendship, the family of Oppersdorff
was related to many of the noble families of Austria--Lobkowitz,
Lichnowsky, etc. The castle of Lichnowsky at Grätz, near Troppau,
was scarcely a day’s journey from Ober-Glogau. Thus it happened that
Prince Lichnowsky, in company with Beethoven, paid a visit to Count
Oppersdorff at his castle, on which occasion the orchestra played the
Second Symphony. This, as the evidence indicates, was in the fall of
1806.

[48] Dr. Riemann, who introduced this letter in the body of the text
of this biography, preceded it with the following observations on the
significance of the transaction between Beethoven and Clementi: “This
business plays an extraordinarily important rôle in the next three
years of Beethoven’s life (until the spring of 1810). The publication
of its details has made portions of the account in the first edition
of this work wholly untenable, since those portions were based on
the assumption that the conclusion of the contract with Clementi had
been followed also by the prompt payment of the honorarium (in 1807),
whereas, as a matter of fact, the payment was delayed for three years,
as has been plainly shown by the correspondence between Clementi and
Collard. Clementi, it would seem, spent the eight years following 1802,
when he went to St. Petersburg with Field, till 1810, entirely on the
Continent (in St. Petersburg, Berlin, Leipsic, Rome) and sojourned
several times in Vienna. We know from Ries’s account that he did not
come into contact with Beethoven during his extended stay in 1804, but
we also know that as early as the fall of 1804, he tried to secure the
right of publishing Beethoven’s works in England.”

[49] This is given from Jahn’s copy, to which is appended the following
note: “Titles of the 6 works with changed dedications: 3 quartets,
the name Rasoumowsky changed in Beethoven’s handwriting to ~à son
Altesse le Prince Charles de Lichnowsky~. The name of Frau von Breuning
stricken out of the dedication of the arrangement of the Concerto.
The Pianoforte Concerto originally dedicated with a German title to
Archduke Rudolph, then with a French title ~à son ami Gleichenstein~.”
None of these changes was made; the “six works” came out with the
dedications originally intended.

[50] This letter (to which allusion has been made in the chapter
devoted to Beethoven’s love-affairs) was first printed from the
original owned by Count Géza von Brunswick in the “Blätter für
Theater und Musik” (No. 34). If the date, “May 11, 1806,” was written
by Beethoven and is not an error by a copyist, it provides another
instance of the composer’s irresponsibility in dating his letters; for
the reference to the contract with Clementi is irrefutable evidence
that it was written in 1807. Beethoven’s remark about getting great
without the help of a monument reared by Therese von Brunswick is
evidently an allusion to the fact that the Countess erected a monument
to her father in the grounds of the family-seat in Hungary, and might
properly enough be cited, together with the commissioned kiss, as proof
of the intimacy between the Brunswicks and Beethoven. Had there been
talk of another family monument at Martonvásár? Beethoven’s remark
might easily be thus interpreted. The sister whom he had asked to
write about the quartets was doubtless Josephine, Countess von Deym.
The sportive remark about Schuppanzigh’s marriage with one like him is
explained by the fact that the violinist was of Falstaffian proportions.

[51] The Editor of the English edition feels it to be his duty to
permit Thayer to reiterate his argument in favor of the year 1807,
as that in which the love-letter was written, notwithstanding Dr.
Riemann’s curt rejection of it in the German edition. The question is
still an open one.

[52] Nottebohm concludes from a study of the sketches that the Symphony
in C minor was completed in March, 1808, and the “Pastoral” Symphony
later, though the two were sketched during the same period, in part,
and there is a remote possibility that the latter, which was written
down with unusual speed, was finished as soon as the former. In support
of this theory is the circumstance that at the concert on December 22,
1808, at which both were produced, the “Pastoral” was numbered 5 and
the C minor 6. Both symphonies were offered to Breitkopf and Härtel in
June, 1808, and bought by the firm in September. In the letter offering
them Beethoven observed the present numbering. A stipulation in the
letter that the symphonies should not be published until six months
after June 1, suggests the probability that the right to perform them
in private had been sold to Prince Lobkowitz and Count Rasoumowsky, to
whom in common the works are dedicated.

[53] Query: The same whom in 1812 Count Ferd. Waldstein married?

[54] On June 8, 1808, Beethoven offered the Mass in C to Breitkopf
and Härtel, along with the fifth and sixth symphonies and the sonata
for pianoforte and violoncello, Op. 69, for 900 florins. He wrote: “I
do not like to say anything about my mass or myself, but I believe
I have treated the text as it has seldom been treated.” The answer
of Breitkopf and Härtel is not of record, but to the offer which it
contained, Beethoven replied on July 16 with a letter in which he
offered the mass, two symphonies, the sonata for ’cello and two other
pianoforte sonatas (or in place of these, “probably” another symphony)
for 700 florins. Then he says: “You see that I give more and take
less--but that is the limit; ~you must take the mass, or I cannot give
you the other works~--for I am considering honor and not profit merely.
‘There is no demand for church music,’ you say, and you are right, if
the music comes from mere thorough-bassists, but if you will only have
the mass performed once you will see if there will not be music-lovers
who will want it.... I will guarantee its success in any event.” In
a third letter, without date, which throws light on the well-nigh
insuperable difficulties experienced by a famous composer a century
or so ago in securing the publication of a large ecclesiastical work,
Beethoven says: “To the repeated proposal made by you through Wagener,
I reply that I am ready ~to relieve you of everything concerning the
mass--I make you a present of it, you need not pay even the cost of
copying~, firmly convinced that if you once have it performed in your
winter concerts at Leipsic you will surely provide it with a German
text and publish it.... The reason for my having wished to bind you to
publish this mass is ~in the first place and chiefly because it is dear
to my heart~ and in spite of the coldness of our age to such works.” A
later letter (of date April 5, 1809) to Breitkopf and Härtel shows that
the gift of the mass was not accepted. Beethoven changed its dedication
several times. On October 5, 1810, he wrote to Breitkopf and Härtel
that it was dedicated to Zmeskall; on October 9, 1811, he gives notice
that a change in the dedication would have to be made because “the
woman is now married and the name must be changed; let the matter rest,
therefore, write to me when you will publish it and then the work’s
saint will doubtless be found.” Eventually the “saint” proved to be
Prince Kinsky.

Chapter VII

The Year 1808--Beethoven’s Brother Johann--Plans for New
Operas--The “Pastoral Symphony” and “Choral Fantasia”--A Call to
Cassel--Appreciation in Vienna.

[Sidenote: SLANDERS AGAINST JOHANN VAN BEETHOVEN]

The history of the year 1808 must be preceded by the following letter
to Gleichenstein:

Dear good Gleichenstein:

Please be so kind as to give this to the copyist to-morrow--it
concerns the symphony as you see--in case he is not through
with the quartet to-morrow, take it away and deliver it at the
Industriecomptoir.... You may say to my brother that I shall
certainly not write to him again. I know the cause, it is this,
because he has lent me money and spent some on my account he is
already concerned, I know my brothers, since I cannot yet pay
it back to him, and the other probably who is filled with the
spirit of revenge against me and him too--it were best if I were
to collect the whole 1500 florins (from the Industriecomptoir)
and pay him with it, then the matter will be at an end--heaven
forefend that I should be obliged to receive benefactions from my
brothers.[55]

Beethoven.

Of all the known letters of Beethoven, perhaps no one is so much to
be regretted as this, written near the end of 1807, just when the
contracts with the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir, and Simrock--he had
received nothing as yet on the Clementi contract--made his pecuniary
resources abundant, doubtless increased by a handsome honorarium out of
the receipts of the Liebhaber Concerts. True, the letter was intended
for Gleichenstein’s eye alone; still it is sad to know that even in a
moment of spleen or anger and in the privacy of intimate friendship,
the great master could so far forget his own dignity, and write thus
abusively of his brother Johann, whose claim was just and whose future
career was dependent upon its payment at this time.

The case, in few words, was this:--Eleonore Ordley, sole heir of
her sister, Theresia Tiller, was, in the autumn of 1807, seeking a
purchaser for the house and “registered apothecary shop” which, until
1872, still existed directly between the market-place and the bridge at
Linz on the Danube, and was willing to dispose of them on such terms of
payment, as to render it possible even for Johann van Beethoven with
his slender means to become their owner. “I know my brothers,” writes
Beethoven. His brothers also knew him; and Johann had every reason to
fear that if he did not secure his debt now when his brother’s means
were abundant, he might at the crisis of his negotiation find himself
penniless. His demand was too just to be resisted and Gleichenstein
evidently drew the money from the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir and
paid it; for on the 13th of March, 1808, the contract of sale was
signed at Vienna. By the terms of the contract which fixed the price
at 25,000 florins, the vendee agreed to assume incumbrances on the
property amounting to 12,600 florins, pay 10,400 florins in cash and 5%
interest on 2,000 florins to the vendor during her life, and to be in
Linz and take possession of the property on or before March 20, i. e.,
within a week after the signing of the contract.

The expenses incurred in the negotiations, in his journey to Linz,
and in taking possession, left the indigent purchaser barely funds
sufficient to make his first payment and ratify the contract; in fact,
he had only 300 florins left. The profits of his shop and the rents
of his house were so small, that Johann was almost at his wit’s end
how to meet his next engagements. He sold the iron gratings of the
windows--but they produced too little to carry him through. It was a
comical piece of good luck for him that the jars and pots upon his
shelves were of pure, solid English tin--a metal which Napoleon’s
non-intercourse decrees fulminated against England had just then raised
enormously in price. The cunning apothecary sold his tin, furnished
his shop with earthenware, and met his payments with the profits of
the transaction. But it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good; the
reverses of the Austrian arms in April, 1809, opened the road for the
French armies to Linz, and gave Apothecary Beethoven an opportunity
to make large contracts for the supply of medicines to the enemy’s
commissariat, which not only relieved him in his present necessities
but laid the foundation for his subsequent moderate fortune.

This concise record of facts effectually disposes of the current
errors, which are, first: that about 1802-3 Beethoven established
his brother in Linz as apothecary, advancing to him the necessary
capital; second: that, through his personal influence, he obtained
for Johann profitable contracts with the Austrian Commissariat for
medicines--which contracts were the basis of his subsequent prosperity;
third: that consequently, in obtaining monies from his brother,
Beethoven was only sharing in the profits on capital furnished by
himself; and, fourth: that hence, Johann’s urgent request for payment
in 1807 was an exhibition of vile selfishness and base ingratitude! All
this is the exact reverse of the truth.

No other performances of Beethoven’s works at the Liebhaber Concerts,
than those before enumerated, are reported; perhaps none were given,
for reasons indicated in a letter from Stephan von Breuning to Wegeler,
written in March, 1808: “Beethoven came near losing a finger by a
~Panaritium~ [felon], but he is again in good health. He escaped a
great misfortune, which, added to his deafness, would have completely
ruined his good humor, which, as it is, is of rare occurrence.”

The series of concerts closed with the famous one of March 27th, at
which in honor of Haydn, whose 76th birthday fell on the 31st, his
“Creation” with Carpani’s Italian text was given. It is pleasant to
know that Beethoven was one of those who, “with members of the high
nobility,” stood at the door of the hall of the university to receive
the venerable guest on his arrival there in Prince Esterhazy’s coach,
and who accompanied him as “sitting in an armchair he was carried,
lifted high, and on his entrance into the hall was received with the
sound of trumpets and drums by the numerous gathering and greeted with
joyous shouts of ‘Long live Haydn!’”

Some pains have been taken in other chapters to show that the want of
taste and appreciation so often alleged for the works of Beethoven
at Vienna is a mistake. On the contrary, generally in the concerts
of those years, whenever an orchestra equal to the task was engaged,
few as his published orchestral compositions then were, they are as
often to be found on the programmes as those of Mozart or even Haydn;
none were more likely to fill the house. Thus, immediately after the
close of the Liebhaber Concerts, Sebastian Meier’s annual benefit
in the Theater-an-der-Wien opened with the “Sinfonia Eroica.” This
was on Monday evening, April 11. Two days after (13th) the Charity
Institute’s Concert in the Burg Theatre offered a programme of six
numbers; No. 1 was Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony in B-flat; No. 5, one
of his Pianoforte Concertos, played by Friedrich Stein; and No. 6, the
“Coriolan” Overture--all directed by the composer; and, at a benefit
concert in May, in the Augartensaal, occurred the first known public
performance of the Triple Concerto, Op. 56.

[Sidenote: RUST’S MEETINGS WITH THE COMPOSER]

The once famous musical wonder-child, Wilhelm Rust, of Dessau, at
the time a young man of some twenty-two years, had come to Vienna in
1807, and was now supporting himself by giving “children instructions
in reading and elementary natural science.” In a letter to his “best
sister, Jette,” dated Haking (a village near Vienna), July 9, 1808, he
wrote of Beethoven.

You want much to hear something about Beethoven; unfortunately
I must say first of all that it has not been possible for me
to get intimately acquainted with him. What else I know I will
tell you now: He is as original and singular as a man as are his
compositions. On the other hand he is also very childlike and
certainly very sincere. He is a great lover of truth and in this
goes too far very often; for he never flatters and therefore
makes many enemies. A good fellow played for him, and when he was
finished Beethoven said to him: “You will have to play a long
time before you will realize that you can do nothing.” I do not
know whether you heard that I also played for him. He praised my
playing, particularly in the Bach fugue, and said: “You play that
well,” which is much for him. Still he could not omit calling my
attention to two mistakes. In a Scherzo I had not played the notes
crisply enough and at another time I had struck one note twice
instead of binding it. He must be unable to endure the French;
for once when Prince Lichnowsky had some French guests, he asked
Beethoven, who was also with him, to play for them as they had
requested; but he refused and said he would not play for Frenchmen.
In consequence he and Lichnowsky had a falling out.[56]

Once I met him at a restaurant where he sat with a few
acquaintances. He berated Vienna soundly and the decay of its
music. In this he is certainly right, and I was glad to hear his
judgment, which confirmed mine. Last winter I frequently attended
the Liebhaber Concerts, the first of which under Beethoven’s
direction were very beautiful; but after he retired they became so
poor that there was not one in which something was not bungled....

It is very possible that Beethoven will leave Vienna; at any rate
he has frequently spoken of doing so and said: “They are forcing
me to it.” He also asked me once how the orchestras were in the
North. You wanted to know if any new sonatas by him have been
published. His last works were symphonies and he is now writing an
opera, which is the reason why I cannot go to him any more. Last
year he composed a piece which I have not heard and an overture
“Coriolan” which is extraordinarily beautiful. Perhaps you have had
an opportunity to hear it in Berlin. The theme and variations in C
minor which you refer to I also have; it is very beautiful, etc.

In December Rust, writing to his brother Carl, was obliged to correct
what he had said about Beethoven’s new opera; “All new products which
have appeared here are more or less mediocre except those of Beethoven.
I think I have written you that he has not yet begun his new opera. I
have not yet heard his first opera; it has not been performed since I
have been here.” These last sentences of Rust remind us of the once
current notion that disgust and disappointment at the (assumed) failure
of “Fidelio” prevented Beethoven from ever undertaking the composition
of another opera. The error was long since exploded, and, indeed,
amply refuted by his proposition to the “princely theatre rabble” for
a permanent engagement. It is now universally known how earnestly
Beethoven all his life long sought a satisfactory text for an opera
or an oratorio; his friends always knew it; and his essays in vocal
composition had, in spite of the critics, so favorably impressed them
and the dramatic writers of the day, that all were eager to serve him.

Thus Schindler writes to Gleichenstein from Gratz, on March 19, 1807:
“Speak at once to our friend Beethoven and particularly with the worthy
Breuning, and learn if Beethoven has a mind to set a comic opera to
music. I have read it, and found it varied in situation, beautiful in
diction.” Nothing came of this.

A somewhat more promising offer came from another quarter, but also
without result. The celebrated Orientalist, Hammer-Purgstall, had just
returned from the East to Vienna. Although but thirty-three years of
age, he was already famous, and his translations and other writings
were the talk of the day. An autograph note by Beethoven without
address or date, preserved in the Petter Collection, was evidently
written to him:

Almost put to shame by your courtesy and kindness in communicating
your still unknown literary treasures in manuscript, I thank
you heartily while returning the opera texts; overwhelmed in my
artistic calling it is impossible for me just now to go into
details about the Indian opera particularly, as soon as time
permits I shall visit you in order to discuss this subject as well
as the oratorio, “The Deluge,” with you.

No oratorio on the subject of the deluge appears in the catalogue of
Hammer-Purgstall’s works.[57]

[Sidenote: AN OPERATIC “MACBETH” IN CONTEMPLATION]

The new directors of the theatres began their operatic performances at
the Kärnthnerthor January 1 and 2, and at the Burg January 4, 1807,
with Gluck’s “Iphigenia in Tauris.” It was new to Collin and awakened
in his mind new ideas of the ancient tragedy, which he determined to
embody in a text for a musical drama in oratorio form. According to his
biographer, Laban, he projected one on the Liberation of Jerusalem,
to offer to Beethoven for setting; but it was never finished. Another
essay in the field of musical drama was a “Macbeth,” after Shakespeare,
also left unfinished in the middle of the second act, “because it
threatened to become too gloomy.” He carried to completion a grand
opera libretto, “Bradamante,” for which he had an unusual predilection.
It also was offered to Beethoven, but “seemed too venturesome” to him
in respect of its use of the supernatural; there were probably other
reasons why it did not appeal to him. “And so it happened that although
at a later period Beethoven wanted to undertake its composition, Collin
gave the book to Reichardt, who set it to music during his sojourn in
Vienna in 1808.”

A writer in Cotta’s “Morgenblatt” remarks: “The clever Beethoven
has a notion to compose Goethe’s ‘Faust’ as soon as he has found
somebody who will adapt it for the stage for him.” Nottebohm (“Zweite
Beethoveniana,” p. 225 ~et seq.~) says that the first act of Collin’s
“Macbeth” was printed in 1809 and must have been written in 1808 at the
latest. He also prints a sketch showing that Beethoven had begun its
composition. The “Macbeth” project therefore preceded the negotiations
about “Bradamante.” Collin’s opera begins, like Shakespeare’s, with
the witches’ scene, and the sketch referred to is preceded by the
directions: “Overture Macbeth falls immediately into the chorus of
witches.”[58]

The consequence of Beethoven’s fastidiousness and indecision was that
on removing again to Heiligenstadt for the summer, he had no text for a
vocal composition and devoted his time and energies to an instrumental
composition--the “Sinfonia Pastorale.”

Those who think programme music for the orchestra is a recent
invention, and they who suppose the “Pastoral” Symphony to be an
original attempt to portray nature in music, are alike mistaken. It was
never so much the ambition of Beethoven to invent new forms of musical
works, as to surpass his contemporaries in the use of those already
existing. There were few great battles in those stormy years, that
were not fought over again by orchestras, military bands, organs and
pianofortes; and pages might be filled with a catalogue of programme
music, long since dead, buried and forgotten.

A remark of Ries, confirmed by other testimony, as well as by the form
and substance of many of his master’s works, if already quoted, will
bear repetition: “Beethoven in composing his pieces often thought
of a particular thing, although he frequently laughed at musical
paintings and scolded particularly about trivialities of this sort.
Haydn’s ‘Creation’ and ‘The Seasons’ were frequently ridiculed, though
Beethoven never failed to recognize Haydn’s high deserts,” etc. But
Beethoven himself did not disdain occasionally to introduce imitations
into his works. The difference between him and others in this regard
was this: they undertook to give musical imitations of things
essentially unmusical--he never.

On a bright, sunny day in April, 1823, Beethoven took Schindler for a
long ramble through the scenes in which he had composed his Fifth and
Sixth symphonies. Schindler writes:

After we had looked at the bath-house and its adjacent garden
at Heiligenstadt and he had given expression to many agreeable
recollections touching his creations, we continued our walk towards
the Kahlenberg in the direction past Grinzing [?]. Passing through
the pleasant meadow-valley between Heiligenstadt and the latter
village,[59] which is traversed by a gently murmuring brook which
hurries down from a near-by mountain and is bordered with high
elms, Beethoven repeatedly stopped and let his glances roam, full
of happiness, over the glorious landscape. Then seating himself on
the turf and leaning against an elm, Beethoven asked me if there
were any yellowhammers to be heard in the trees around us. But
all was still. He then said: “Here I composed the ‘Scene by the
Brook’ and the yellowhammers up there, the quails, nightingales
and cuckoos round about, composed with me.” To my question why he
had not also put the yellowhammers into the scene, he drew out his
sketchbook and wrote:

[Illustration]

“That’s the composer up there,” he remarked, “hasn’t she a more
important rôle to play than the others? ~They~ are meant only for
a joke.” And really the entrance of this figure in G major gives
the tone-picture a new charm. Speaking now of the whole work and
its parts, Beethoven said that the melody of this variation from
the species of the yellowhammers was pretty plainly imitated in the
scale written down in Andante rhythm and the same pitch.[60] As a
reason for not having mentioned this fellow-composer he said that
had he printed the name it would only have served to increase the
number of ill-natured interpretations of the movement which has
made the introduction of the work difficult not only in Vienna but
also in other places. Not infrequently the symphony, because of
its second movement, had been declared to be child’s play. In some
places it shared the fate of the “Eroica.”

[Sidenote: JOKES IN THE “PASTORAL SYMPHONY”]

Equally interesting, valuable and grateful is Schindler’s account of
the origin of Beethoven’s “Merrymaking of the Countryfolk” in this
symphony. Somewhat curtailed it is this:

There are facts to tell us of how particular was the interest
which Beethoven took in Austrian dance-music. Until his arrival
in Vienna (1792), according to his own statement, he had not
become acquainted with any folkmusic except that of the mountains,
with its strange and peculiar rhythms. How much attention he
afterwards bestowed on dance-music is proved by the catalogue of
his works. He even made essays in Austrian dance-music, but the
players refused to grant Austrian citizenship to these efforts.
The last effort dates from 1819 and, strangely enough, falls in
the middle of his work on the “Missa Solemnis.” In the tavern “To
the Three Ravens” in the ~vordern Brühl~ near Mödling there had
played a band of seven men. This band was one of the first that
gave the young musician from the Rhine an opportunity to hear the
national tunes of his new home in an unadulterated form. Beethoven
made the acquaintance of the musicians and composed several sets
of ~Ländler~ and other dances for them. In the year mentioned
(1819), he had again complied with the wishes of the band. I was
present when the new opus was handed to the leader of the company.
The master in high good humor remarked that he had so arranged
the dances that one musician after the other might put down his
instrument at intervals and take a rest, or even a nap. After the
leader had gone away full of joy because of the present of the
famous composer, Beethoven asked me if I had not observed how
village musicians often played in their sleep, occasionally letting
their instruments fall and remaining entirely quiet, then awaking
with a start, throwing in a few vigorous blows or strokes at a
venture, but generally in the right key, and then falling asleep
again; he had tried to copy these poor people in his “Pastoral”
symphony. Now, reader, take up the score and see the arrangement
on pages 106, 107, 108 and 109. Note the stereotyped accompaniment
figure of the two violins on page 105 and the following; note
the sleep-drunken second bassoon[61] with his repetition of a
few tones, while contra-bass, violoncello and viola keep quiet;
on page 108 we see the viola wake up and apparently awaken the
violoncello--and the second horn also sounds three notes, but
at once sinks into silence again. At length contra-bass and the
two bassoons gather themselves together for a new effort and the
clarinet has time to take a rest. Moreover, the Allegro in 2-4 time
on page 110 is based in form and character on the old-time Austrian
dances. There were dances in which 3-4 time gave way suddenly
to 2-4. As late as the third decade of the nineteenth century I
myself saw such dances executed in forest villages only a few hours
distant from the metropolis--Laab, Kaltenleutgeben and Gaden.

The subject of Beethoven’s imitations, even in play, are therefore
musical, not incongruous; and in ~his~ “Portrait musical de la Nature”
are so suggestive as to aid and intensify the “expression of feelings,”
which was his professed aim.

[Sidenote: COUNT OPPERSDORFF AND THE FOURTH SYMPHONY]

Beethoven wrote to Count Oppersdorff on November 1:

You will view me in a false light, but necessity compelled me to
sell the symphony which was written for you and also another to
someone else--but be assured that you shall soon receive the one
intended for you soon.... I live right under Prince Lichnowsky, in
case you ever make me a visit in Vienna, at Countess Erdödy’s. My
circumstances are improving--~without the help of persons who wish
to treat their friends with a threshing~. I have also been called
to be Chapelmaster to the King of Westphalia, and it is easily
possible that I shall accept the call.

Such an apology for not having dedicated the promised Symphony to
Oppersdorff, and the promise soon to supply its place with another,
are ample testimony that the relations between the composer and that
nobleman were of a character well worth the trouble of investigation by
any one who has the opportunity to make it. Whatever information can be
obtained upon this matter will be new.[62]

The allusion in the above letter to Lichnowsky’s lodging renders it
certain that the Prince had made no recent change. Now Carl Czerny
writes to Ferdinand Luib (May 28, 1852): “About 1804, he (Beethoven)
already lived on the Mölkerbastei in the vicinity of Prince Lichnowsky,
who lived in the house (now demolished) over the Schottenthor.
In the years 1806-7-8-9, he certainly lived on the Mölkerbastei
with Pasqualati, and, as I believe, for a time hard by. It is thus
ascertained, that, on returning from Heiligenstadt at the close of
the summer, 1808, Beethoven left the rooms which he had now occupied
for four years, for others in the house (now demolished) over the
Schottenthor.” In his words: “persons who wish to treat their friends
with a threshing,” he doubtless refers to Lichnowsky. Now, it is
hardly conceivable that he should have taken up his abode in the very
house in part occupied by the Prince, unless at the time they had
been, ostensibly at least, on amicable terms. It has been seen that
the old quarrel of 1806 was so far made up, as to admit of the loan by
the composer to Lichnowsky of the “Coriolan” overture in manuscript.
There must have been, therefore, some new and very recent outbreak
between them. But here again, doubtless through the good offices of the
motherly Princess Christine, all difficulties between them were soon
adjusted.

The circumstance that the composer’s new apartments were in the lodging
of Count Peter Erdödy strongly suggests the probability that his great
intimacy with the Countess dates from the time when he became her near
neighbor upon his moving into the Pasqualati house four years before.

The close of the letter to Oppersdorff contains the earliest discovered
allusion to one of the most singular events in Beethoven’s life. In
the autumn of 1807, Jerome Bonaparte, the Corsican lawyer’s youngest
son, who had spent his boyhood and youth mostly at sea, and had not
yet completed his 23d year, found himself at Cassel, bearing the
pompous title of “King of Westphalia.” What could have induced this
half-educated, frivolous, prodigal and effeminate young satrap and
sybarite to sanction an invitation to his court of the composer
most distinguished since Handel for his masculine vigor and manly
independence in his art, is one of those small mysteries which seem
impenetrable. The precise time when, and by what agency this call was
communicated to Beethoven are alike unknown; we only know that before
the first of November, 1808, “Beethoven received the same through the
High Chamberlain of the King of Westphalia, Count Truchsess-Waldburg,
that it was to the office of first Chapelmaster”; and that it led
to events, which will be noticed hereafter. The lists of “Arrivals
in Vienna” during this season contain the names of several old and
new friends of Beethoven, the dates of whose arrival avail in some
instances to correct certain current errors. The following seem worth
copying:

June 1, Joseph Linke, musician, from Breslau; June 23, Count von
Brunswick, comes from Pressburg; July 2, Dominik Dragonetti,
musician, from Venice [London], comes from Trieste; July 10,
Alexander Macco, painter of Anspach, comes from Munich; July 11,
Count Rasoumowsky, comes from Carlsbad; August 27, Herr Ferdinand
Ries, musical composer of Bonn; Nov. 24, Joh. Fried. Reichardt,
Chapelmaster of Hesse-Cassel.

[Sidenote: FOUNDING OF THE RASOUMOWSKY QUARTET]

In the carefully considered “Übersicht des gegenwärtigen Zustandes
der Tonkunst in Wien” of the “Vaterländische Blätter” for May 27 and
31, 1808, it is noted that the violinists Anton Wranitzky and Herr
Volta are “in the service of Prince Lobkowitz; Herr Schlesinger in
that of the Graf Erdödy; Herr Schmidgen of Count Armadé; Breimann of
Esterhazy”; and the like of various performers on other instruments.
But no such note follows the name of Schuppanzigh, “who is particularly
distinguished among quartet players and probably stands alone as a
performer of Beethoven’s compositions.” Nor do the names of Weiss and
Linke appear in the article. This of itself is perhaps enough to expose
the mistake as to the time when the famous Rasoumowsky Quartet was
founded, and to correct the erroneous conclusions drawn from it. But
the date of Linke’s arrival in Vienna is proof positive.

Rasoumowsky lived in his new palace on the Donau Canal, into which he
had very recently removed from the Wallzeil and in which he had put
his domestic establishment on a footing of great splendor. It suited
his taste to have the first string quartet of Europe in his service.
His own skill rendered him amply competent to play the second violin,
which he usually did; but the young Mayseder, or some other of the
first violinists of the city, was ever ready to take his part when
required. Three permanent engagements only were, therefore, necessary,
and these now, in late summer or early autumn, 1808, were made. To
Schuppanzigh--then the first of quartet players, but still without any
permanent engagement--was given the appointment for life of ~violino
primo~, and to him was entrusted the selection of the others. He
recommended Weiss for the viola, whom Rasoumowsky accepted and to whom,
for himself and family, he granted a suitable lodging in one of the
houses connected with the palace.

Schuppanzigh had been so favorably impressed with the talents and
skill of Linke as to secure him the place of violoncellist. He was a
young man of 25 years--slightly deformed in person--an orphan from his
childhood.

As before stated, Förster was the Count’s instructor in musical
theory, the accomplished Bigot was librarian and his talented wife
pianist. These were the years (1808-1815) when, says Seyfried, “as
is known Beethoven was, as it were, cock of the walk in the princely
establishment; everything that he composed was rehearsed hot from the
griddle and performed to the nicety of a hair, according to his ideas,
just as he wanted it and not otherwise, with affectionate interest,
obedience and devotion such as could spring only from such ardent
admirers of his lofty genius, and with a penetration into the most
secret intentions of the composer and the most perfect comprehension
of his intellectual tendencies; so that these quartet players achieved
that universal celebrity concerning which there was but one voice in
the art-world.”

The date of Dragonetti’s arrival in Vienna, on this, his second visit,
disposes of an English tradition, that Beethoven wrote the famous
contrabass passage in the Scherzo of the C minor Symphony expressly for
him. The story contains doubtless so much of truth as this: that it
was the display of the possibilities of that instrument, made by its
greatest master, which induced Beethoven to venture the introduction
into that symphony of what has so often proved a stumbling-block and
rock of offence to contrabassists of no common and ordinary skill.

But a new topic demands our attention. Beethoven in his later years, in
moments of spleen and ill humor, gave utterance both in conversation
and in writing to expressions, which have since served as the basis
of bitter diatribes against the Vienna public. Czerny--than whom no
man could be better informed on the subject of the master’s actual
position--takes occasion in his notes for Jahn to remark:

It has repeatedly been said in foreign lands that Beethoven was
not respected in Vienna and was suppressed. The truth is that
already as a youth he received all manner of support from our high
aristocracy and enjoyed as much care and respect as ever fell to
the lot of a young artist.... Later, too, when he estranged many
by his hypochondria, nothing was charged against his often very
striking peculiarities; hence his predilection for Vienna, and it
is doubtful if he would have been left so undisturbed in any other
country. It is true that as an artist he had to fight cabals, but
the public was innocent in this. He was always marvelled at and
respected as an extraordinary being and his greatness was suspected
even by those who did not understand him. Whether or not to be rich
rested with him, but he was not made for domestic order.

[Sidenote: THE COURT THEATRES CHANGE MANAGERS]

Upon the correctness of these statements, in so far as they relate to
Beethoven’s last years, the reader will have ample means of judging
hereafter; he knows, that Czerny is right, up to the present date.
Indeed, this month of November, to which the letter to Oppersdorff has
brought us, affords him excellent confirmation. For, as in the spring
so now in autumn, it is Beethoven’s popularity that must insure success
to the Grand Concert for the public charities; it is his name that is
known to be more attractive to the Vienna public than any other, save
that of the venerable Haydn; and as Haydn’s oratorios are the staple
productions at the great charity concerts of vocal music in the Burg
theatre, so the younger master’s symphonies, concertos and overtures
form the most alluring programmes for the instrumental “Academies”
in the other theatres--at all events, in 1808, this was the opinion
of Joseph Hartl. Beethoven’s “princely rabble” had, after a year’s
experience and pecuniary losses, turned over the direction of the
theatre to Government Councillor, now Court Councillor, Joseph Hartl.
It was not so much for his love of art, as for the great reputation
which his administrative talents had gained him, that Hartl was called
to assume the labors of directing the three theatres, then sunk “into
the most embarrassing conditions”--a call which he accepted. For three
years he administered them wisely, and with all the success possible in
the troubled state of the public business and finances.

A supervisor of the public charities, who at the same time controlled
the theatres, he was of course able to secure the highest talent for
benevolent concerts on terms advantageous to all parties concerned; and
thus it came about, that at the concert for public charities in the
Theater-an-der-Wien on the evening of Leopold’s day, Tuesday, November
15th, Beethoven conducted one of his symphonies, the “Coriolan”
Overture, and a pianoforte concerto--perhaps he played the solo of the
last; but the want of any detailed report of the concert leaves the
point in doubt. Which of the symphonies and concertos were performed on
this occasion is not recorded; it is only known that they were not new.
In return for Beethoven’s noble contribution of his works and personal
services to the charity concerts of April 17 and November 15, Hartl
gave him the free use of the Theater-an-der-Wien for an ~Akademie~,
thus advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of December 17.

MUSICAL ACADEMY.

On Thursday, December 22, Ludwig van Beethoven will have the honor
to give a musical academy in the R. I. Priv. Theater-an-der-Wien.
All the pieces are of his composition, entirely new, and not
yet heard in public.... First Part: 1, A Symphony, entitled: “A
Recollection of Country Life,” in F major (No. 5). 2, Aria. 3, 3
Hymns with Latin text, composed in the church style with chorus and
solos. 4, Pianoforte Concerto played by himself.

Second Part. 1, Grand Symphony in C minor (No. 6). 2, Holy, with
Latin text composed in the church style with chorus and solos. 3,
Fantasia for Pianoforte alone. 4, Fantasia for the Pianoforte which
ends with the gradual entrance of the entire orchestra and the
introduction of choruses as a finale.

Boxes and reserved seats are to be had in the Krugerstrasse No.
1074, first storey. Beginning at half past six o’clock.

The importance of the works produced on this occasion, the whimsical
occurrences that are related as having taken place, and the somewhat
conflicting statements of persons present, justify an effort to sift
the evidence and get at the truth, even at the risk of being tedious.
It is unfortunate that the concert of November 15 was so completely
forgotten by all whose contemporary notices or later reminiscences are
now the only sources of information; for it is certain that, either in
the rehearsals or at the public performance, something happened which
caused a very serious misunderstanding and breach between Beethoven and
the orchestra; but even this is sufficient to remove some difficulties
otherwise insuperable. Ries records in the “Notizen” (p. 84) that a
scene is said once to have happened in which the orchestra compelled
the composer to realize his injustice “and in all seriousness insisted
that he should not conduct. In consequence, at the rehearsal, Beethoven
had to remain in an anteroom, and it was a long time before the quarrel
was settled.” Such a quarrel did arise at the time of the November
concert. In Spohr’s Autobiography is a story of Beethoven’s first
sweeping off the candles at the piano and then knocking down a choir
boy deputed to hold one of them, by his too energetic motions at this
concert, the two incidents setting the audience into a “bacchanalian
jubilation” of laughter. It is absolutely certain, however, that
nothing of the kind occurred at the concert itself, and that the story
has its only foundation in Spohr’s fancy.

Compare now these statements by Ries and Spohr with citations from
notes of a conversation with Röckel: “Beethoven had made the orchestra
of the Theater-an-der-Wien so angry with him that only the leaders,
Seyfried, Clement, etc., would have anything to do with him, and it was
only after much persuasion and upon condition that Beethoven should not
be in the room during the rehearsals, that the rank and file consented
to play. During the rehearsals, in the large room back of the theatre,
Beethoven walked up and down in an anteroom, and often Röckel with him.
After a movement Seyfried would come to him for criticisms.” Röckel
believed the story (i. e., if told of a rehearsal) of Beethoven in his
zeal having knocked the candles off the pianoforte, and he himself saw
the boys, one on each side, holding candles for him.

But the concert-giver’s troubles were not ended even by his yielding to
the demands of the orchestra. A solo singer was to be found and vocal
pieces to be selected. In a note to Röckel Beethoven wrote: “... in the
matter of the vocal pieces I think that we ought to have one of the
women singers who will sing for us, sing an aria first--then we will
make two numbers out of the Mass, but with German text, find out who
can do this for us. It need not be a masterpiece, provided it suits the
Mass well.” And again: “Be clever in regard to Milder--say to her only
that to-day you are begging her in my name not to sing anywhere else,
to-morrow I will come in person to kiss the hem of her garment--but do
not forget Marconi....”

Milder was to sing the aria “Ah, perfido! spergiuro,” said Röckel,
and accepted the invitation at once. But an unlucky quarrel provoked
by Beethoven resulted in her refusal. After other attempts, Röckel
engaged Fräulein Kilitzky, Schuppanzigh’s sister-in-law. Being a young
and inexperienced singer, her friends wrought her up to such a point
that when Beethoven led her upon the stage and left her, stage fright
overcame her and she made wretched work of the aria. Reichardt in a
letter describes the ~Akademie~:

I accepted the kind offer of Prince Lobkowitz to let me sit in his
box with hearty thanks. There we endured, in the bitterest cold,
too, from half past six, to half past ten, and made the experience
that it is easy to get too much of a good thing and still more of
a loud. Nevertheless, I could no more leave the box before the
end than could the exceedingly good-natured and delicate Prince,
for the box was in the first balcony near the stage, so that the
orchestra and Beethoven conducting it in the middle below us,
were near at hand; thus many a failure in the performance vexed
our patience in the highest degree.... Singers and orchestra
were composed of heterogeneous elements, and it had been found
impossible to get a single full rehearsal for all the pieces to be
performed, all filled with the greatest difficulties.

[Sidenote: PRODUCTION OF THE CHORAL FANTASIA]

Such a programme, exclusive of the Choral Fantasia, was certainly an
ample provision for an evening’s entertainment of the most insatiably
musical enthusiast; nor could a grander termination of the concert be
desired than the Finale of the C minor Symphony; but to defer that work
until the close was to incur the risk of endangering its effect by
presenting it to an audience too weary for the close attention needful
on first hearing to its fair comprehension and appreciation. This
Beethoven felt, and so, says Czerny,

there came to him shortly before the idea of writing a brilliant
piece for this concert. He chose a song which he had composed
many years before,[63] planned the variations, the chorus, etc.,
and the poet Kuffner was called upon to write the words in a
hurry according to Beethoven’s hints. Thus originated the Choral
Fantasia, Op. 80. It was finished so late that it could scarcely be
sufficiently rehearsed. Beethoven related this in my presence in
order to explain why, at the concert, he had had it repeated. “Some
of the instruments had counted wrong in the rests,” he said; “if I
had let them play a few measures more the most horrible dissonances
would have resulted. I had to make an interruption.”

The particulars of this scene, in which Reichardt suffered so, are more
or less circumstantially related by Ries, Seyfried, Czerny, Moscheles
and Doležalek. Their statements when compared are not inconsistent
and supplement each other, except as to Ries, whose memory evidently
exaggerated what really occurred. Substantially they are as follows:

Seyfried (Appendix to “Beethoven’s Studien,” p. 15): When the
master brought out his orchestral Fantasia with choruses, he
arranged with me at the somewhat hurried rehearsal, with wet
voice-parts as usual, that the second variation should be played
without the repeat. In the evening, however, absorbed in his
creation, he forgot all about the instructions which he had given,
repeated the first part while the orchestra accompanied the second,
which sounded not altogether edifying. A trifle too late, the
Concertmaster, Unrath, noticed the mistake, looked in surprise at
his lost companions, stopped playing and called out drily: “Again!”
A little displeased, the violinist Anton Wranitsky asked “With
repeats?” “Yes,” came the answer, and now the thing went straight
as a string.

The “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” reported: The wind-instruments varied the
theme which Beethoven had previously played on the pianoforte. The
turn came to the oboes. The clarinets, if I am not mistaken, make a
mistake in the count and enter at once. A curious mixture of tones
results. Beethoven jumps up, tries to silence the clarinets, but
does not succeed until he has called out quite loudly and rather
ill-temperedly: “Stop, stop! That will not do! Again--again!”

Czerny: In the Pianoforte with chorus he called out at the mistake:
“Wrong, badly played, wrong, again!” Several musicians wanted to go
away.

Doležalek: He jumped up, ran to the desks and pointed out the place.

Moscheles: I remember having been present at the performance
in question, seated in a corner of the gallery, in the
Theater-an-der-Wien. During the last movement of the Fantasia
I perceived that, like a run-away carriage going down-hill, an
overturn was inevitable. Almost immediately after it was, that
I saw Beethoven give the signal for stopping. His voice was
not heard; but he had probably given directions where to begin
again, and after a moment’s respectful silence on the part of the
audience, the orchestra recommenced and the performance proceeded
without further mistakes or stoppage. To those who are acquainted
with the work, it may be interesting to know the precise point at
which the mistake occurred. It was in the passage where for several
pages every three bars make up a triple rhythm.

Seyfried says further: At first he could not understand that he
had in a manner humiliated the musicians. He thought it was a duty
to correct an error that had been made and that the audience was
entitled to hear everything properly played, for its money. But he
readily and heartily begged the pardon of the orchestra for the
humiliation to which he had subjected it, and was honest enough to
spread the story himself and assume all responsibility for his own
absence of mind.

The pecuniary results of this concert to Beethoven are not known.

[Sidenote: THE FOURTH PIANOFORTE CONCERTO]

One of the two December concerts for the Widows and Orphans Fund was
on the 22d, the same evening as Beethoven’s; the other on the next.
The vocal work selected was, in compliment to the venerable Haydn, his
“Ritorno di Tobia,” first performed in these concerts thirty-three
years before. Being too short to fill out the evening, it was preceded,
on the 22d, by an orchestral fantasia of Neukomm--on the 23d by a
pianoforte concerto of Beethoven. Ries says

that Beethoven asked him to play his fourth Concerto in G, giving
him only five days in which to learn it. Thinking the time too
short, Ries asked permission to play the C minor Concerto instead.
Beethoven in a rage went to young Stein, who was wise enough to
accept the offer; but as he could not prepare the Concerto in time,
he begged Beethoven, on the day before the concert, as Ries had
done, for permission to play the C minor Concerto. Beethoven had to
acquiesce. Whether the fault was the theatre’s, the orchestra’s, or
the player’s, says Ries, the Concerto made no effect. Beethoven was
very angry.

For this concert Beethoven received 100 florins from Esterhazy, who
apparently ranked the composer with the leading actors of the theatre.
Towards the close of 1808, Clementi again arrived in Vienna and was
not a little surprised to learn from Beethoven that he had not yet
received from London payment for the compositions which he had sold to
Clementi in April, 1807. He wrote on December 28, 1808, to his partner
asking that the money, £200, due Beethoven, as he had delivered the
six compositions contracted for, be sent at once. But in September,
1809, the account had not yet been liquidated, as we shall see. There
is reason to believe that a large number of compositions of greater
or less extent was projected and in part sketched during this year;
but the number known to have been completed, and therefore properly
bearing the date 1808, is small. These compositions are: The “Pastoral”
Symphony, Op. 69; the Sonata for Pianoforte and Violoncello, Op. 69;
the Trios for Pianoforte, Violin and Violoncello, in D and E-flat, Op.
70; the Fantasia for Pianoforte, Orchestra and Chorus, Op. 80; the
Song (with four melodies) “Die Sehnsucht.”

* * * * *

The Sonata for Pianoforte and ’cello was sketched in 1807, and
practically completed in that year, the only sketches appearing among
those of 1808 being a couple evidently made while the work was being
written out. The earlier sketches appear among those of the C minor
Symphony. It is dedicated to Gleichenstein. On June 8 Beethoven offered
it, as has been seen, to Breitkopf and Härtel, and it was included in
the works for which Härtel signed a contract in person on September
14. On January 7, 1809, Beethoven wrote to Breitkopf and Härtel asking
that Gleichenstein’s title “K. K. Hofconcipist” be elided from the
dedication, because it was distasteful to him. It was published in
1809, but with a large number of errors which gave occasion to three
letters from the composer to the publishers. (La Mara, “Musikerbriefe
aus fünf Jahrhunderten,” 1886; Frimmel, “II. Beethoven Jahrbuch”;
Kalischer, “Beethoven’s Sämtliche Briefe,” II, 262--where the date is
incorrectly given as 1815.)

The two Trios are dedicated to Countess Erdödy, in whose house
Beethoven lived when they were written. The first sketches for them
found by Nottebohm belong to the second in E-flat and occur amongst the
sketches for the Finale of the “Pastoral” symphony. The Trios are not
mentioned in the first letter, in which Beethoven offers the Fifth and
Sixth Symphonies besides other works to Breitkopf and Härtel. In the
second letter, of July, Beethoven speaks of two pianoforte sonatas,
and in a later letter of two trios. This has led to the conclusion
that Beethoven first conceived them as solo sonatas and later
developed them as trios. Beethoven played them at Countess Erdödy’s
in the Christmastide of 1808, when Reichardt was present; he wrote
an enthusiastic account of them under date December 31. On May 26,
Beethoven wrote to Breitkopf and Härtel suggesting changes in the text
and also asking that the name of Archduke Rudolph be substituted for
that of Countess Erdödy in the dedication. The reason given was that
the Archduke had become fond of the works and Beethoven had observed
that in such cases his patron felt a gentle regret when the music was
dedicated to somebody else. Beethoven, of course, says nothing of his
quarrel with the Countess (of which something will be said in the next
chapter). There was a reconciliation, and Beethoven’s solicitude for
the feelings of the Archduke seems to have evaporated; at any rate,
the original dedication remained.

The Choral Fantasia was obviously finished only a short time before
its performance and is plainly one of the few compositions on which
Beethoven worked continuously after once beginning it, though the plan
of the work had occurred to him long before. The early sketch, to which
allusion has been made, shows that the use of the melody of the song
“Gegenliebe” was part of the original scheme. A sketchbook of 1808,
whose contents were analyzed by Nottebohm (“Zweite Beethoveniana,”
p. 495), is devoted entirely to the Fantasia and the Pianoforte
Concerto in E-flat, which was not worked out till later. The most
interesting disclosures of Nottebohm’s study are that there is no
hint of a pianoforte introduction such as Beethoven improvised at the
performance; that Beethoven first thought of beginning with the string
quartet of the orchestra; that work was begun before a text had been
found; and that, as in the case of the Choral Symphony, of which the
Fantasia is so interesting a prototype in miniature, Beethoven thought
of paving the way for the introduction of the voices by words calling
attention to the newcomers among the harmonious company (~Hört ihr
wohl?~). Czerny’s statement that the text was written by Kuffner is
questioned by Nottebohm, who points out that the poem is not included
in the collected writings of that author, though all manner of
fragments and trifles are. Because of the ingenuity and effectiveness
with which the words were adapted to the music, Nottebohm suspects
Treitschke of having written them in accordance with Beethoven’s
suggestions as to form and contents. The introductory pianoforte
fantasia which was published to take the place of Beethoven’s
improvisation at the first performance, was composed in 1809.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: SUMMARY OF A YEAR’S WORK]

The publications of the year 1808 were:

1. ~Trois Quatuors pour deux Violons, Alto et Violoncello,
composés par Louis van Beethoven. Œuvre 59^{me}.~ Dedicated to His
Excellency Count von Rasoumowsky. Advertised by the Kunst- und
Industrie-Comptoir in the “Wiener Zeitung” of January 9.

2. ~Ouverture de Coriolan, Tragédie de M. de Collin, etc., composée
et dediée à Monsieur de Collin, etc.. Op. 62.~ Advertised in the
same place on the same date.

3. “Sehnsucht,” by Goethe, No. 1 of the four melodies published as
a supplement to the periodical “Prometheus” in April.

4. Fourth Concerto for Pianoforte and Orchestra. Dedicated to His
Highness, Archduke Rudolph of Austria, Op. 58. Advertised by the
Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir in the “Wiener Zeitung” on August 10.

5. ~Concerto pour le Pianoforte avec accompagnement de grand
Orchestre, arrangé d’après son 1^{er} Concerto de Violon et dédié
à Madame de Breuning. Œuvre 61.~ Advertised in the same journal on
August 10.

6. “~In questa tomba oscura~,” the last of 63 settings of the same
text by various composers, published by T. Mollo, and advertised in
the “Wiener Zeitung” of September 3.

FOOTNOTES:

[55] This letter was doubtless followed by a billet to Gleichenstein
reading as follows: “I think--you would better have them pay you 60
florins more than the 1500 or, if you think that it would be consistent
with my honesty--the sum of 1600--I leave this wholly to you, however,
only honesty and justice must be the polestar which is to guide you.”
The transaction to which the letter and note refer must have been the
sale of the compositions, the British rights for which had been sold to
Clementi. The quartet was probably one of the Rasoumowsky set and the
symphony that in B-flat, since the fifth and sixth were not published
by the Viennese Bureau but by Breitkopf and Härtel.

[56] Alois Fuchs related that when Beethoven heard from Krumpholz of
Napoleon’s victory at Jena he exclaimed: “Pity that I do not understand
the art of war as well as I do the art of music; I would conquer him
yet!”

[57] Nevertheless a letter, of which a copy was placed in the hands of
Thayer at a later date, indicates that an oratorio “Die Sündfluth” was
written by Hammer-Purgstall, and also that the correspondence between
Beethoven and the Orientalist took place in 1809. It is dated “Ash
Wednesday,” the year not being mentioned, but refers to the departure
of the Persian Ambassador and the fact that H. Schick had acquainted
the writer with Beethoven’s desire to have an Indian chorus of a
religious character for composition.

[58] Röckel in his letter to Thayer says: “That Beethoven did not
abandon the idea of composing another opera was shown by the impatience
with which he could scarcely wait for his friend Collin to make an
opera book for him of Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth.’ At Beethoven’s request,
I read the first act and found that it followed the great original
closely; unfortunately Collin’s death prevented the completion of the
work.”

[59] Schindler here is mistaken. The “walk toward the Kahlenberg” took
them northerly into the valley between Heiligenstadt and Nussdorf,
where an excessively idealized bust of the composer now marks the
“Scene by the Brook.” After thirty years of absence from Vienna,
Schindler’s memory had lost the exact topography of these scenes; and
a friend to whom he wrote for information upon it mistook the Grinzing
brook and valley for the true ones. This explanation of his error was
made by Schindler to the present writer very soon after the third
edition of his (Schindler’s) book appeared.

[60] “But the note of the yellowhammer, both in England and in Austria,
is not an ~arpeggio~--cannot in any way be twisted into one, or
represented by one. It is a quick succession of the same note, ending
with a longer one, sometimes rising above the preceding note, but more
frequently falling. In fact, Schindler himself tells us that it was the
origin of the mighty theme which opened the C minor Symphony!”--Grove,
“Beethoven and His Nine Symphonies,” p. 211.

[61] Carl Holz related a story to Jahn, which he may very well have
heard from Beethoven himself. Jahn’s memorandum of it is in the
following words: “Scherzo of the Pastorale. In Heiligenstadt a drunken
bassoonist thrown out of the tavern, who then blows the bass notes.”

[62] Some of the information for which Thayer hoped was supplied by his
translator, Dr. Deiters, and has been printed as a foot-note in the
preceding chapter. Something more appears from several documents which
have come to light since Mr. Thayer wrote, but, it must be confessed,
it seems more bewildering than illuminative. One of these is a letter
which was published in the “Signale” of Leipsic in September, 1880.
It is without date, but an allusion to the felon with which Beethoven
was afflicted fixes the time of its writing about March, 1808. The
significant part of the letter is as follows: “To-day I have little
time to write more to you, I only want to inform you that ~your
symphony~ has long been ready and I will send it to you by the next
post--you may retain 50 florins, for the copying, which I will have
done for you, will cost that sum at least--in case you do not want the
symphony, however, let me know the fact before the next post--in case
you accept it, rejoice me as soon as possible with the 300 florins
still due me--The last piece in the symphony is with 3 trombones and
~flautino~--not with 3 kettledrums, but will make more noise than 6
kettledrums and, indeed, better noise--I am still under treatment for
my poor innocent finger and because of it have not been able to go
out for a fortnight--farewell--let me hear something from you soon,
dear Count--it goes ill with me.” The document which Dr. Riemann says
“obviously” accompanied this letter (though we cannot see why) runs
as follows: “Receipt for 500 florins from Count Oppersdorff for a
~Sinfonie~ which I have written for him.” This is dated “1807 on the
3rd of February.” There is another receipt for 150 florins dated March
29, 1808, but nothing to show what the money was paid for except a
memorandum accompanying it which seems to be partly in the handwriting
of Beethoven, partly in that of Oppersdorff, and states that 200
florins had been paid in June, 1807, for the “5 Sinfoni” (the numeral
is vague), but that the symphony had not been received. The reference
to the trombones in the finale of the symphony proves that it was the
fifth that was in question.

On November 1, 1808, Beethoven writes the letter printed above in the
body of the text. Why Dr. Riemann should have thought it necessary
to consider the first letter of contemporaneous date with the first
receipt is not plain, nor why he should surmise that Beethoven had
enclosed the receipt in the letter before he received the money which
was not paid at the time. To this Editor it seems as if the confused
tangle might be explained in part, at least, as follows, though
the explanation leaves Beethoven under a suspicion which cannot be
dispelled until more is learned of the dealings between him and Count
Oppersdorff: On the occasion of Beethoven’s visit to Count Oppersdorff
in company with Lichnowsky in the summer or fall of 1806, the Count
commissioned the composer to write a symphony for him; Beethoven had
begun work on the Fifth Symphony, but laid it aside and during the
remainder of his stay at Grätz and in the winter of 1807 wrote the
Symphony in B-flat which is dedicated to Count Oppersdorff; for this
he received 500 florins on February 3, 1807; he did not send the Count
the score, as was the custom, for exclusive use during a fixed period,
but turned it over to Lobkowitz for performance, being in urgent need
of money; a year later he substituted the Fifth for the Fourth and
accepted from Count Oppersdorff 150 florins in March and 200 in June
for it without delivering it, this sum being, it may be presumed,
a bonus for the larger work, the Count apparently having asked for
something employing an unusual apparatus (hence the “3 kettledrums”);
this symphony was also withheld in the end, for reasons which are not
known, and Oppersdorff had to content himself with the mere dedication
of the Symphony in B-flat originally designed for him.

Dr. Riemann’s comment on the transactions is this: “The letter of
November 1, 1808, proves conclusively that Count Oppersdorff could not
have received either the C minor or the B-flat Symphony for his use
for the customary half year; for the B-flat Symphony was performed
by Lobkowitz in March, 1807; it was sold to Clementi and also to the
Industriecomptoir in the summer, delivered for publication at the
latest in the fall of 1807 when Beethoven had to return the 1500
florins to his brother Johann. The C minor Symphony was performed at
the concert in the Theater-an-der-Wien on December 22, 1808, offered
to Breitkopf and Härtel as early as June, 1808, sold on September
14, 1808, and published in April, 1809. To all appearances, Count
Oppersdorff was compelled to look upon the 350 florins as remuneration
for the mere dedication of the Symphony in B-flat which was published
by the Industriecomptoir in March, 1808 (score not until 1821 by
Simrock). The name of Count Oppersdorff does not appear again in the
life-history of Beethoven.”

[63] Czerny did not know that Beethoven had formed the idea of this
work full eight years before. See notice on the Petter sketchbook
~ante~, Chapter II.

Chapter VIII

Jerome Bonaparte’s Invitation--The Annuity Contract--Operatic
Projects--Seyfried’s “Studies”--The Siege of Vienna--Increased Cost
of Living--Dilatory Debtors--The Year 1809.

The offer of an honorable position in Cassel--permanent, so long as
Napoleon’s star might remain in the ascendant and his satellite retain
his nominal kingship of Westphalia--was one no less gratifying to
Beethoven, than surprising and perplexing to his friends. Knowing both
the strong and the weak points of his character, they saw the extreme
improbability that, with his increasing deafness, his removal thither
could in the end redound to his profit, honor, or happiness. On the
other hand, they saw him--at the very moment when he was giving new
proofs of those stupendous powers which elevate him far above all other
instrumental composers--forced to consider the question of seeking in
a small provincial capital that permanent provision for his future
necessities which, in the home of his choice at the end of sixteen
years’ residence, he saw no hope of obtaining. What an inexcusable,
unpardonable disgrace to Vienna would be the departure of Beethoven
under such circumstances! It was the first time the question had been
presented; but being presented it was promptly met by a request from
persons of “high and the highest rank that he state the conditions
under which” he would decline the call to Cassel and remain in Vienna.

Here was one of those happy opportunities for conferences, notes,
letters and despatches innumerable, which Beethoven all his life
seems to have so eagerly embraced and enjoyed. Several of his notes
to Gleichenstein on the topic have been preserved, but are not worth
transcribing, except those containing instructions for the drafting
of the conditions of his remaining in Vienna. A letter dated January
7, 1809, by Beethoven to Breitkopf and Härtel, indicates that at the
opening of the year 1809, Beethoven was still firmly resolved to go to
Cassel. In it occurs this passage:

At last I am forced by the intrigues and cabals and contemptible
actions of all kinds to leave the only surviving German fatherland
on the invitation of his Royal Majesty of Westphalia, I am going
thither as chapelmaster with an annual salary of 600 ducats in
gold--I have only to-day sent my assurance that I will come by
post and am only waiting my decree before making preparations
for my journey which will be by way of Leipsic--therefore in
order that my journey shall be the more brilliant for me I beg
of you if not too prejudicial to your interests not to make
anything known of my works till Easter--in the case of the sonata
which is dedicated to Baron Gleichenstein, please omit the “K.
K. Concipist,” as it is distasteful to him. In all probability
abusive letters will again be written from here about my last
musical academy to the “Musikalische Zeitung”; I do not ask
that what is against me be suppressed; yet somebody ought to be
convinced that nobody has more personal enemies here than I; this
is the more easily to be understood, since the state of music
here is steadily growing worse--we have chapelmasters who know
so little about conducting that they can scarcely read a score
themselves--it is worst of all, of course, ~auf der Wieden~--there
I had to give my academy and all kinds of obstacles were put
in my way. The Widows’ Concert, and Herr Salieri is among the
first, was guilty of the hideous act of threatening to expel
every musician who played for me--notwithstanding that several
mistakes which I could not help were made, the public accepted
everything enthusiastically--nevertheless, scribblers from here
will certainly not fail again to send miserable stuff against me
to the “Musikalische Zeitung”--the musicians were particularly
angry because when a blunder was made through carelessness in the
simplest, plainest place in the world, I suddenly commanded silence
and loudly called ~Again~--such a thing had never happened to them
before; the public at this showed its enjoyment--but it is daily
growing worse. The day before my concert, in the easy little opera
Milton, at the theatre in the city, the orchestra fell into such
disorder that chapelmaster and director and orchestra veritably
suffered shipwreck--for the chapelmaster instead of being ahead was
behind in his beat and then came the director.

(On the back of the cover):

I beg of you to say nothing with certainty about my appointment
in Westphalia until I write to you that I have received my
decree.--Farewell, etc.

[Sidenote: PLAN TO KEEP BEETHOVEN IN VIENNA]

It seems likely that the suggestion that formal stipulations for a
contract under which Beethoven would decline the offer from Cassel and
remain in Vienna be drawn up came from Countess Erdödy. At any rate
Beethoven writes to Gleichenstein: “Countess Erdödy is of the opinion
that you ought to outline a plan with her according to which you might
negotiate in case they approach you as she is convinced they will. If
you have time this afternoon, the Countess will be glad to see you.”

The outline of the proposition which was to be submitted to certain
noble gentlemen was drawn up by Beethoven for Gleichenstein as follows:

(On the outside: “Outline for a Musical Constitution.”)

First the offer of the King of Westphalia is to be set forth. B.
cannot be held down to any obligation on account of this salary
since the chief object, viz., the invention of new works would
suffer thereby--this remuneration must be assured to Beethoven
until he voluntarily renounces it--the Imperial title also if
possible--to alternate with Salieri and Eibeler--the promise of
active court service as soon as possible--or ~adjunction~ if it be
worth while. Contract with the theatres likewise with the title
of Member of one of the Committees of Theatrical Direction--a
fixed day forever for a concert, even if there be a change in the
directorate in the theatre, in return for which Beethoven binds
himself to compose a new work every year for one of the charity
concerts as may be thought most useful--or to conduct two--a place
at a money changer’s or such kind where Beethoven would receive the
stipulated salary--the salary must be paid also by the heirs.

On some of these points Beethoven changed his mind and wrote again thus:

It is probably too late to-day--I could not get your writing back
from E.--until now, inasmuch as A. wanted to add a few ~items~,
buts, and inasmuches--I beg of you to have everything turn on
the true and proper practice of my art, thus you will write what
is in my heart and head--the introduction is what I am to get in
Westphalia, 600 ducats in gold, 150 ducats travelling expenses,
for which I have to do nothing except conduct the King’s concerts
which are short and not numerous--I am not even bound to conduct
any opera that I may write--from all which it is clear that I can
devote myself wholly to the most important purpose of my art to
compose works of magnitude--also an orchestra at my disposal.

N. B. The title of Member of one of the Theatrical Committees is
dropped--It could bring nothing but vexation--in respect of the
Imperial duties I think the point must be handled delicately--not
less than the demand for the title of Imperial Chapelmaster, than a
regard to my being placed in a position through a court salary to
give up the sum which the gentlemen are now paying me. I think that
this might best be expressed as a hope or a highest wish sometime
to enter the Imperial service, when I could at once accept as much
less as the sum received from his Imperial Majesty amounts to.

(On the top of the last page):

N. B. We shall need it to-morrow at 12 o’clock, because we must
then go to Kinsky. I hope to see you to-day.

Under these instructions the “Conditions” were drawn up by some person
unknown, in manner and form following:

It must be the striving and aim of every true artist to achieve a
position in which he can devote himself wholly to the elaboration
of larger works and not be hindered by other matters or economical
considerations. A musical composer can, therefore, have no livelier
desire than to be left undisturbedly to the invention of works of
magnitude and then to produce them in public. In doing this he must
also keep his old age in view and seek to make ample provision for
himself against that time.

The King of Westphalia has offered Beethoven a salary of 600 ducats
in gold for life and 150 ducats travelling expenses, on the single
condition that he occasionally play for him and conduct his chamber
concerts, which are to be not numerous and short.

This offer is certainly entirely in the interest of art and the
artist.

Beethoven, however, has so great a predilection for life in this
city, so much gratitude for the many proofs of good will which
he has received here, and so much patriotism for his second
fatherland, that he will never cease to count himself among
Austrian artists and will never make his domicile elsewhere if the
opportunities mentioned above are measurably offered him here.

Persons of high and the highest ranks, having asked him to state
under what conditions he would be willing to remain here, he has
complied with the request as follows:

1. Beethoven should receive from a great personage assurance of a
salary for life even if a number of persons of rank contribute to
the sum. This salary under the existing conditions of high cost
of living, could not be less than 4000 florins a year. Beethoven
desires that the donors of this salary consider themselves
co-authors of his new works in the large forms, because they place
him in a position to devote himself to their production and relieve
him of the need of attending to other affairs.

2. Beethoven should always have freedom to make artistic tours,
because only by such can he make himself very well known and
acquire some property.

3. It would be his greatest desire and most ardent wish sometime to
enter into the actual Imperial service and by reason of the salary
expected from such a source to be able to waive in whole or in part
the compensation set forth above; meanwhile the title merely of an
Imperial Chapelmaster would make him very happy; if it could be
obtained for him his stay here would be still dearer to him.

Should this desire some day be fulfilled and he receive a salary
from His Majesty, Beethoven will forgo his claim on as much of the
4000 florins as the Imperial salary amounts to, and if this is
4000 florins, then he would forgo the entire 4000 florins above
specified.

4. As Beethoven desires to perform his new works in public, he
desires an assurance from the Court Theatrical Directors, for
themselves and their successors, that on Palm Sunday of each year
he shall have the use of the Theater-an-der-Wien for a concert for
his own benefit.

In return for this assurance, Beethoven would bind himself to
arrange and conduct a charity concert every year or, in case
of inability to do this, to contribute a new work for such a
concert.[64]

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN GUARANTEED AN ANNUITY]

The conditions proving acceptable, the business was concluded and
Beethoven retained in Vienna by this

AGREEMENT:

The daily proofs which Herr Ludwig van Beethoven is giving of
his extraordinary talents and genius as musician and composer,
awaken the desire that he surpass the great expectations which are
justified by his past achievements.

But as it has been demonstrated that only one who is as free from
care as possible can devote himself to a single department of
activity and create works of magnitude which are exalted and which
ennoble art, the undersigned have decided to place Herr Ludwig van
Beethoven in a position where the necessaries of life shall not
cause him embarrassment or clog his powerful genius.

To this end they bind themselves to pay him the fixed sum of 4000
(four thousand) florins a year, as follows:

His Imperial Highness, Archduke Rudolph Fl. 1500
The Highborn Prince Lobkowitz „ 700
The Highborn Prince Ferdinand Kinsky „ 1800
________
Total Fl. 4000

which Herr van Beethoven is to collect in semi-annual installments,
~pro rata~, against voucher, from each of these contributors.

The undersigned are pledged to pay this annual salary until Herr
van Beethoven receives an appointment which shall yield him the
equivalent of the above sum.

Should such an appointment not be received and Herr Ludwig van
Beethoven be prevented from practising his art by an unfortunate
accident or old age, the participants herein grant him the salary
for life.

In consideration of this Herr Ludwig van Beethoven pledges himself
to make his domicile in Vienna, where the makers of this document
live, or in a city in one of the other hereditary countries of His
Austrian Imperial Majesty, and to depart from this domicile only
for such set times as may be called for by his business or the
interests of art, touching which, however, the high contributors
must be consulted and to which they must give their consent.

Given in Vienna, March 1, 1809.

(L. S.) Rudolph,
Archduke.

(L. S.) Prince von Lobkowitz,
Duke of Raudnitz.

(L. S.) Ferdinand Prince Kinsky.

This document bears in Beethoven’s hand these words:

Received
On February 26, 1809
from the hands
of Archduke
Rudolph, R. H.

The remarks in a former chapter upon the singular attraction for the
young of Beethoven and his works are supported by this contract.
Lobkowitz, it is true, was near the master’s age, being then 35; but
Rudolph and Kinsky were respectively but 21 and 27. Ries, who was
then much with Beethoven, asserts that the contract with the King of
Westphalia “was all ready; it lacked only the signature” before his
Vienna friends moved in the matter and “settled a salary on him for
life.” He continues:

The first fact I knew; of the second I was in ignorance until
suddenly Chapelmaster Reichardt came to me and said: “Beethoven
positively would not accept the post in Cassel; would I as
Beethoven’s only pupil go there on a smaller salary?” I did not
believe the first, went at once to Beethoven to learn the truth
about it and to ask his advice. I was turned away for three
weeks--even my letters on the subject were unanswered. Finally I
found Beethoven at the Ridotto. I went to him and told him the
reason of my inquiries, whereupon he said in a cutting tone:
“~So--do you think that you can fill a position which was offered
to me?~” He remained cold and repellant. The next morning I went to
him to get an understanding. His servant said to me gruffly: “My
master is not at home,” although I heard him singing and playing
in the next room. Since the servant positively refused to announce
me I resolved to go right in; but he sprang to the door and pushed
me back. Enraged by this I grabbed him by the throat and hurled
him down. Beethoven, hearing the racket, dashed out and found his
servant still lying on the floor and me pale as death. Angrily
excited, I so deluged him with reproaches that he stood motionless
and speechless with surprise. When the matter was finally explained
to him he said, “I did not understand it so; I was told that you
were trying to get the appointment behind my back.” On my assuring
him that I had not yet even given an answer, he at once went out
with me to make the mistake good. But it was too late; I did not
get the appointment, though it would have been a piece of great
good fortune for me at that time.

It requires no great sagacity to perceive from the text of the
“Agreement,” that neither of its signers had any expectation that
Beethoven could ever perform the duties of an Imperial Conductor
acceptably; and his hope of obtaining the title must have rested upon
the influence, which he supposed Archduke Rudolph might exert upon
Emperor Franz. Be this as it may, the composer was justly elated by
the favorable change in his pecuniary condition; and his very natural
exultation peeps out in the correspondence of the time. While the
business was still undecided, Gleichenstein had departed on a visit
to his native Freiburg, via Munich, taking with him a letter of
introduction, the contents of which Beethoven himself thus epitomises:

Here, my dear fellow, is the letter to Winter. First it says
that you are my friend--secondly, what you are, namely ~K. K.
Hofconcipist~--thirdly, that you are not a connoisseur of music but
nevertheless a friend of all that is ~beautiful~ and ~good~--in
view of which I have asked the chapelmaster in case anything of his
is performed to let you participate in it....

On March 18, Gleichenstein received a copy or abstract of the contract
enclosed in this:

You see my dear, good Gleichenstein how honorable my remaining here
has turned out for me--the title of Imperial Chapelmaster will
also come later, etc. Write to me as soon as possible if you think
that I ought to make the journey in the present warlike state of
affairs--and if you are still firmly resolved to travel with me;
several have advised me against it, but in this matter I shall
follow you implicitly; since you already have a carriage it would
have to be arranged that for a stretch you travel towards me and
I towards you. Write quickly. Now you can help me hunt a wife, if
you find a beautiful one in F. who yields a sigh to my harmonies,
but it must be no Elise Bürger, tackle her at once. But she must be
beautiful, for I cannot love what is not beautiful--else I should
love myself.

The jesting on matrimony in this letter and the allusion to Bürger’s
unlucky marriage with Christine Elizabeth Hahn, attest the writer’s
lightness of spirit, but are not to be taken seriously; for we
shall soon find reason to believe that at this moment he had a very
different project in view than to make a wife of the greatest beauty in
Freiburg.[65]

[Sidenote: THE INVITATION TO CASSEL DECLINED]

Under date “Vienna, March 4, 1809,” Beethoven wrote a letter to
Breitkopf and Härtel in which he informed them, by means of an
inclosure to which he called their attention, of his change of
plans touching the appointment at Cassel and told them that he
was contemplating a “little journey,” provided the “threatening
storm-clouds did not become more dense.” The letter accompanied the
Violoncello Sonata dedicated to Baron Gleichenstein and the Fifth and
Sixth Symphonies, together with a memorandum of slight improvements
which had suggested themselves to him at the performance; also a
formula for the dedication of the Trios (then numbered 62) to Countess
Erdödy. About this time came out new compositions and new editions or
arrangements of old ones which occupied the opus numbers from 59 to
66 and compelled Beethoven to change these proposed numbers, 59-62 to
67-70. The “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” had printed a notice about the offer
from Cassel in which Reichardt was represented as having been the
intermediary in the negotiations. This brought out from Beethoven a
correction dated April 5, addressed to Breitkopf and Härtel:

Your letter was received by me with pleasure. I thank you for the
article in the A. M. Z., only I wish that when occasion offers,
you would make a correction in respect of Reichardt, I was not at
all engaged by R., on the contrary, the Chief Chamberlain of his
Majesty, the King of Westphalia, Count Truchsess-Waldburg, conveyed
to me the offer of ~First Chapelmaster~ of H. R. H., the King of
Westphalia. This offer was made ~before Reichardt came to Vienna~
and he was surprised, as he himself said, that nothing of it had
reached his ears. ~R. took all manner of pains to dissuade me from
going there.~ As I have besides very many reasons for questioning
the character of Mr. R.--and he may, for political reasons, perhaps
have communicated this to you--I think that I am entitled to the
greater credence and that on an occasion which might easily be
created, you will print the truth about the affair--~since it is
important as touching my honor~. Also by next post I shall send you
all three works, the ~oratorio~, ~opera~, ~mass~--and ask no more
for them than 250 florins in convention money--I do not believe
that you will complain at this--I cannot find the letter just now
in which Simrock offered 100 florins, convention money, for the
mass, here too I could get this sum and even something more from
the Chemical Printing Co., for them; I am not hoaxing you, that you
know--I nevertheless send you all three works because I know that
you will not take advantage of the fact. Make the inscriptions in
French as you please. Next time you shall receive a few lines about
the other matter--it is impossible to-day.

Your most obedient
Friend and Servant
Beethoven.

It need not be a pompous retraction, but the truth ought to be made
plain.

Do not forget the ~First Chapelmaster~, I laugh at such things, but
there are ~Miserables~ who know how to dish up such things in the
manner, of the cook.

The allusions to a tour in the letters to Gleichenstein and Breitkopf
and Härtel, and the provision made in the Agreement for the composer’s
temporary absence from Austria, acquire a particular significance
from one of the notes of Röckel’s conversation, namely: “Beethoven in
those days was full of the project of traveling, and a plan was marked
out of visiting the German cities, then England and finally ~Spain~;
upon which last Röckel laid great stress. He was to have accompanied
Beethoven; but he could not leave Vienna, on account of having so many
of his brothers and sisters[66] sent to him to care for.”

[Sidenote: RELATIONS WITH FRANZ OLIVA]

In March, 1809, Beethoven, forwarding a letter to his brother, “to
be delivered at the apothecary shop ‘To the Golden Crown’” in Linz,
enclosed in it an envelope, inside of which he wrote the words quoted
in a previous chapter, in which he prayed God to put feeling in place
of insensibility into his brothers, and bemoaned the fact that, needing
some one to help him, he knew not whither to turn. The breach between
Beethoven and his brother Karl was now, in business matters, complete;
and he needed some one to perform for him many little offices which he
could not with propriety demand of Zmeskall, Gleichenstein or Röckel,
even had they had the leisure and the will. Hence, about this time, was
formed his connection with a certain Franz Oliva, clerk in the employ
of Offenheimer and Herz. A singular obscurity rests upon this man’s
personal history and the exact nature of his relations to Beethoven--an
obscurity which even the indefatigable investigator Ferdinand Luib did
not succeed in removing. What is certain is this: the relations between
them were exceedingly close up to the spring of 1812; afterwards less
so; but never broken off entirely until the departure of Oliva in 1820
to St. Petersburg, where he found it for his interest to establish
himself as a teacher of languages. In due time the “Wiener Zeitung”
published an official notice from the Austrian Government calling
upon him immediately to return and justify himself for overstaying
his leave of absence under pain otherwise of being proceeded against
under the emigration laws of the country. Oliva’s reply to this was
a very practical one; he took a wife, fixed his Lares and Penates in
St. Petersburg and begat a daughter, who, under date of August 26,
answered a letter of Otto Jahn’s inquiring about her father’s relations
and correspondence with Beethoven by saying that a fire and the death
of Oliva from cholera in 1848, had caused the loss and dissipation of
Beethoven’s letters and that she was unable to write the details of the
intercourse between her father and Beethoven. Inasmuch as she fixed
the beginning of this intercourse in 1814, it is not likely that her
contribution to this history would have been valuable.

But the threatening war-clouds became more dense. The same French
armies which laid the foundations for Johann van Beethoven’s prosperity
not only prevented Ludwig’s contemplated journey but affected him
disastrously both pecuniarily and professionally. On May 4th, the
Empress left Vienna with the Imperial family. Archduke Rudolph
accompanied her, and Beethoven mourned his departure in the well-known
first movement of the Sonata, Op. 81a. This work has been described by
Marx as a “Soul picture, which brings before the mind the Parting--let
us assume of two lovers; the deserted--let us assume again sweet-heart
or wife--and Reunion of the Parted Ones.” But unfortunately for that
writer Beethoven’s manuscript bears these inscriptions in his own hand:
“The Farewell, Vienna, May 4, 1809, on the departure of His Imperial
Highness the revered Archduke Rudolph”; on the Finale: “The Arrival of
His Imperial Highness the revered Archduke Rudolph, January 30, 1810.”

With a garrison of 16,000 troops, 1000 students and artists, the civil
militia and a small number of summoned men, Archduke Maximilian was
ordered to defend Vienna. Thus it came about that Beethoven, on the
10th of May, found himself shut up in a beleaguered city.

Beethoven’s experiment of lodging with Countess Erdödy, as might
have been predicted, was not a successful one; he was too irritable,
whimsical, obstinate; too ready to take offense, too lax in asking
or giving explanations. We have seen in divers cases, how, when he
discovered himself to be in the wrong, he gladly made every due
acknowledgment; but, as in the case of Ries, this was often too late to
remedy the mischief already caused. Before the close of the winter, he
was evidently becoming discontented; so much so as to take ill even the
singular proof of the Countess’ good will spoken of in the following
note:

I think, my dear Zmeskall, that even after the war is over, if ever
it begins, you will be ready to carry on negotiations for peace.
What a glorious office!! I leave it wholly in your hands to settle
the affair about my servant, but the Countess must not have the
slightest influence over him. She has, as she says, given him 25
fl. and 5 fl. a month ~only to make him remain with me~. Now I
~must necessarily~ believe in this magnanimity--but do not wish it
to be continued....

Another note bears Zmeskall’s date: “March 7, 1809”:

I might easily have thought it. About the blows, this is dragged
in by the hair of the head; this story is at least 3 months
old--and is by no means--what he now makes out of it--the whole
miserable affair was brought about by a huckster woman and other
wretches--but I shall not lose much, because he was really spoiled
in the house where I am.

What cause of dissension, beyond the ill-advised gratifications to the
servant, had arisen between Beethoven and the Countess is not known;
but something had occurred, the blame of which he soon saw was all
his own, and for which he thus humbly expresses his contrition and
beseeches forgiveness:

My dear Countess, I have erred, that is true--forgive me, it was
assuredly not intentional malice on my part, if I have pained
you--only since last night do I know the truth about the matter,
and I am very sorry that I acted as I did--read your billet coolly
and judge for yourself if I deserve all and if you did not pay
me back six-fold since I offended you unintentionally; send my
note back to me to-day, and write me only one word that you are
no longer angry, I shall suffer infinitely if you do not do this,
I can do nothing if things are to continue thus--I await your
forgiveness.

There are sufficient grounds for belief that an immediate
reconciliation took place; nevertheless, Beethoven decided to go into
another lodging, and one was found for him in the “Klepperstall in
der Teinfaltstrasse im 3ten Stock beym Advokaten Gotischa,” as he
describes it in a letter to Breitkopf and Härtel dated August 3, 1809.
He does not seem to have occupied the lodging, however, for as a letter
written to Zmeskall in the same month[67] shows he was still in Baden,
much interested in the exhibitions of an aeronaut named Degen. If he
took possession at all he soon gave it up and removed to one in the
Walfischgasse looking out over the city wall and glacis directly upon
the place where the Polytechnic Institute now stands.

The French commanders demanded the capitulation of Vienna, but Archduke
Maximilian rejected the demands, and the French erected a battery on
the Spittelberg to shell the city. Every shot directed by this battery
against the Kärnthnerthor and the Wasserkunst Bastei was liable to
plunge into Beethoven’s windows.

At 9 o’clock at night (on the 11th) the battery of 20 howitzers
opened fire. Rich and poor, high and low, young and old at once found
themselves crowded indiscriminately in cellars and fireproof vaults.

Beethoven took refuge in the Rauhensteingasse and “spent the greater
part of the time in a cellar in the house of his brother Kaspar (Karl),
where he covered his head with pillows so as not to hear the cannons,”
so says Ries. More probably Beethoven took this wise precaution to save
his feeble organs of hearing from the effect of the sharp reports of
bursting shells, for it does not appear that either the cannons on the
bastions or those mounted in the streets were fired. “At half-past 2
(the afternoon of the 12th) the white flag was sent up as notice of
capitulation to the outposts of the enemy.”

[Sidenote: FRENCH OCCUPATION OF VIENNA]

The occupation of the capital by the French and the gathering together
of opposing armies for the terrible battles of Aspern, Esslingen,
Wagram and Znaim produced the inevitable effects of increased
consumption and deficient supply of the necessaries of life. Even
before the capitulation “the rate of interest went up fearfully,
especially in the sale of food, particularly bread, and because of
the disappearance of copper coins.” From the capitulation to the
armistice of July 12th, two months, “the enemy had drawn from the
city nearly 10,000,000 florins and demanded enormous requisitions of
supplies.” There was one requisition, perhaps more than one, which
touched Beethoven directly: “A forced loan on the houses of the city
and the suburbs amounting to one-quarter of the rentals from owners
or the parties to a contract for rent on from 101 to 1000 florins and
one-third on from 1001 to 2000 florins, etc.” Perhaps at no other time
was Beethoven so well able to meet the extraordinary demands upon his
purse as now. He had received from Archduke Rudolph 750 florins and
from Prince Lobkowitz 350 florins, his first payment of the annuity;
and doubtless Breitkopf and Härtel and his other publishers had
remitted money or bills. Still he must have felt the pressure of the
time severely before Vienna again became free. To whom could he go for
aid? Kinsky departed to Prague on February 26; his wife and Prince
Lobkowitz on March 14. The Lichnowskys, Palfys, Waldstein, etc., were
all away; some in the war; some in the civil service; some on their
estates--the Erdödys, for instance, took refuge in Hungary or Croatia.
Of personal friends, Breuning seems to have remained--no other is known
to have done so. Bigot and his wife went off to Paris, never to return;
Zmeskall and the public officials in general had followed the Court
and the Ministers to places of safety. The posts were interrupted and
for many weeks communication with the country prohibited. It was not
until near the end of July that the Prater, the Augarten, Schwarzenberg
Garten, and the Schönbrunner Garten were opened to the public. For
Beethoven, this confinement during this season of the year when he
was accustomed to breathe inspiration in vale and forest, was almost
intolerable, and increased if possible his old hatred of Napoleon and
the French. Young Rust met him one day in a coffee-house and saw him
shake his fist at a passing French officer, with the exclamation: “If
I, as general, knew as much about strategy as I the composer know of
counterpoint, I’d give you something to do!”

Under such circumstances, and with no immediately pressing necessity
for composition, even the genius of a Beethoven must sleep. We may
suppose, that under the impulse of the departure of the Archduke,
Beethoven completed the “Farewell” and “Absence” of the Sonata, Op.
81a; and that he gave the final touches to the Pianoforte Concerto
in E-flat, Op. 73, and made some studies for new symphonies, and
sonatas; but the fountain soon ran dry, and the tedious weeks of this
miserable summer were mainly devoted to the laborious task of selecting
and copying in order extracts from the theoretical works of C. P. E.
Bach, Türk, Kirnberger, Fux and Albrechtsberger, for subsequent use
in the instruction of Archduke Rudolph--a task which, in our opinion,
he had for some time had in mind, and had begun, at the very latest,
early in the year. The “Materials for Thoroughbass” and “Materials for
Counterpoint”--as two of his books are respectively headed by him--are
largely the basis of that extraordinary imposition upon the musical
public, prepared by Seyfried and published by Haslinger as Beethoven’s
Studies under Haydn and Albrechtsberger--an imposition which was
successful for 30 years! Schindler early warned the public against the
fraud. His charges were never answered; nor was his challenge to prove
the genuineness of the work taken up.

[Sidenote: A MEMBER OF THE DUTCH INSTITUTE]

Some time in August a letter from Amsterdam, which was preserved by
the widow of Beethoven’s nephew Karl, was received by the composer,
notifying to him his appointment as a Correspondent of the Fourth
Class of the Royal Institute of Science, Literature and the Fine
Arts. It gave occasion shortly after its receipt for a letter to
Breitkopf and Härtel in which Beethoven says: “Do you know that I have
become a member of the Society of Fine Arts and Sciences?--after all
a title--ha-ha, it makes me laugh!” In another letter to Breitkopf
and Härtel, dated August 8, he says he has sent them the Sextet for
Wind-instruments, Op. 71, and two German songs as a “return gift for
all the things ~which I have asked as gifts from you~.” “The Sextet is
one of my early things and, besides, was written in one night; nothing
more can be said of it except that it was written by an author who at
least has done better things--~but to many people such things are the
best~.” He also asks for the complete works of Goethe and Schiller, his
“favorite poets, with Ossian and Homer.” One of the two songs referred
to was undoubtedly “Ich denke dein.” The second song was probably the
“Lied aus der Ferne,” the first of five settings which Beethoven made
of poems by C. L. Reissig and which gave rise to much annoyance. In a
letter to Breitkopf and Härtel, dated February 4, 1810, he wrote:

The “Gesang in der Ferne” which my brother sent you recently[68]
was written by a dilettante, as you no doubt observed for
yourselves, who pressed me urgently to set it to music, but has
also taken the liberty to have the a(ria) printed, I therefore
have thought it well to give you a proof of my friendly feeling
by informing you of the fact, I hope you will print it at once on
receipt, you can send it here and elsewhere as you please, if you
make haste you may have it here before it can be printed here, I
know for a certainty that it will be published by Artaria--I wrote
the A. only as a favor, and as a favor I give it to you--but I beg
you to send me the following book, namely “Bechstein’s Natural
History of Birds in two large volumes with copper-plates,” with
which I wish to give great pleasure to a good friend of mine.... I
am not yet sound in health--we are given poor food and have to pay
incredibly--things are not quite in order with my appointment, I
have not yet received a heller from Kinsky--I fear or rather almost
hope that I shall be compelled to go away perhaps even for the sake
of my health, it may be a long time before conditions grow better
than they are now--there can be no thought of what they were.

In this letter Beethoven offers Breitkopf and Härtel the Fantasia
(Op. 77), the Choral Fantasia (Op. 80), three Pianoforte Sonatas (Op.
78, 79 and 81a), the Variations (Op. 76, in D major), the Quartet
(Op. 74), the Pf. Concerto in E-flat, and “12 songs with pianoforte
accompaniment, texts partly in German, partly in Italian, nearly all
composed throughout.” That among these songs were four others to
Reissig’s words (“An den fernen Geliebten,” “Der Zufriedene,” “Der
Jüngling in der Fremde” and “Der Liebende”), which were not published
till some years later, is a natural conclusion from a passage in a
letter to Breitkopf and Härtel, dated September 11, 1810:

That Cavalry Captain Reissig ever paid me anything for my
compositions is an abominable lie, I composed them for him as a
friendly favor because he was a cripple at the time and excited my
compassion. In writing this I declare that Breitkopf and Härtel are
the sole owners of the songs which I have sent you, of which the
words are by Cavalry Captain Reissig.

In a still angrier mood he recurs to the songs again in a letter of
October 15:

You ought to add “ich denke dein” to this collection, I have seen
it printed separately and somewhere in it I do not remember where,
not having it, a wrong mordent. Another thing: you ought to publish
the “Gesang aus der Ferne” at once if you have not already done
so, the poetry is by that rascal Reissig, it was not published at
the time and it took nearly half a year before this rascal told
me that, as he said, he had had it “printed by Artaria only for
his friends.” I sent it to you by letter-post and received for it
instead of thanks, stench (~statt Dank Stank~).

[Sidenote: A CONCERT FOR THE FRENCH INVADERS]

Beethoven’s longing desire for the country was not to be gratified
immediately. Manager Hartl had projected a new charity, a theatrical
poor fund, and as usual called upon him to give attraction to the
first public concert for its benefit, by directing one or more of his
works. During the French occupation the ordinary performances of both
Court Theatres were given in the Kärnthnerthor. At the Burg--the real
Court Theatre, forming, indeed, a part of the Imperial residence--after
being closed some weeks, a French company opened on the 18th of July,
played for a time alternately with a German one, and then held--as if
in bitter irony--exclusive possession of the stage. Was not Vienna a
French city? the Burg a French palace? Did not Napoleon’s eagle head
the “Wiener Zeitung”? At Schönbrunn the theatre was devoted almost
exclusively to Italian opera and ballet, for the amusement of the
French Court. Under these circumstances Hartl might reasonably expect
munificent support from the conquerors for at least one charity concert
for the benefit of the actors and their families. Hence, as on the 8th
of September (the Nativity of the Virgin Mary) the Court Theatres would
be closed, he selected that day. The programme has eluded search; but
one number was the “Sinfonia Eroica,” conducted by its author. Was this
selected, in the expectation that Napoleon would be present, to do him
homage? If so, it failed of its aim. The day before, Napoleon journeyed
from Schönbrunn to Krems and Mölk. Or was it in bitter sarcasm that
Beethoven chose it?

An undated letter to von Collin refers to this concert. In it he
asked the Court Secretary to rewrite a note which he had addressed to
Beethoven when Hartl gave him the commission for the concert, and which
he had lost. He goes on:

I beg of you, dear Friend, to recall to mind the contents as near
as I can recollect: “that you wrote to me that you had spoken to
H. v. Hartl concerning ~a day for a concert~ and that then he gave
you instructions to write to me that if at this year’s concert for
the theatrical poor, I gave ~important works~ for performance, and
would myself conduct, I might at once pick out a day for a concert
at the Theater-an-der-Wien, and that under these conditions I might
have a day ~every year~. ~Vive vale.~”

Give to this note the earliest date possible, still there remain to
Beethoven less than four months to the Christmas holidays, in which
to complete, copy and rehearse whatever new works he intended to
produce in the concert. The Pianoforte Concerto in E-flat major is
the only work known to have been ready; what others may he have had
in contemplation? The question is, in itself, rather interesting than
important; its bearing, however, upon other matters hereafter warrants
its discussion at some length.

[Sidenote: STUDY-MATERIAL FOR A ROYAL PUPIL]

Let us turn again for a moment to the so-called “Studien.” On the
margin of the “Materialien zum Generalbass,” Beethoven wrote: “from 101
to 1000 florins a quarter--all residents or parties to rent-contracts
without distinction.” This was, of course, written at the time of the
forced contribution of June 28th, but is no proof that the book was
then just begun. It shows merely that it was lying before him, offered
him a convenient vacant space for the memorandum.[69] Again on page
17, on the upper margin, stands: “Printer’s errors in the sonata for
pianoforte with ~obbligato~ violoncello.” This sonata, beyond all
question, was the one dedicated to Gleichenstein, published early
in April by Breitkopf and Härtel, and sent to the composer before
the breaking of post communications by the advance of Napoleon’s
armies. Now, whether Beethoven’s words were merely a memorandum,
or--as Nottebohm is of opinion--were the heading of a sheet intended
to receive a list of the printer’s errors--in either case we must
suppose them to have been written immediately upon the composer’s first
examination of the printed work--at the latest in April.[70]

Now, it cannot be reasonably supposed that the idea of selecting and
arranging such a series of “Studien” for the Archduke’s instruction as
these bound sheets contain was suddenly conceived and executed with
no previous study nor protracted examination of the then existing
authorities, and all during the few weeks when Beethoven was confined
to the city. It is equally improbable that the Archduke’s studies in
the theory of music did not begin until after his return to Vienna
(January, 1810), when he was 22 years of age. We can discover no
objection to the following hypothesis as to the origin of the bound
sheets in question; namely, that Beethoven began by making his
extracts from Bach, Türk, etc., as they were needed in the progress
of his lessons; and that the execution of the task complete was an
afterthought, arising from want of occupation at a time when he felt
himself unfitted for original composition. The inference is, that,
for several months, his thoughts had been more than ordinarily turned
toward theoretical studies.

Now, to the question just proposed.

[Sidenote: Study-Material for a Royal Pupil]

In the late Gustav Petter’s Collection of Autography (in Vienna) is
a sketchbook of Beethoven’s--148 pages in extent--largely devoted to
studies for two works, but containing themes and hints for many others,
with an occasional characteristic note or name: random, not always
strictly musical. Those who have had occasion to study this book--the
present writer included--have heretofore assumed, that it belongs to
the year 1812. The correctness of this assumption must be tested.[71]

On the first page are two measures of music--merely a succession of
chords--with this remark: “Such (passages) should produce another
effect than the miserable enharmonic evasions which every school
~Miserabili~ can write, they ought to disclose the change to every
hearer.” This, though not fixing the date, does at least suggest the
time when its writer’s mind was unusually occupied with theoretical
studies. On the same page is this: “Cotton in my ears at the pianoforte
frees my hearing from the unpleasant buzzing (~das unangenehme
rauschende~)”--which suggests a time when his organs of hearing were
still very sensitive, and he had not yet abandoned his pianoforte
playing. Suggestions so vague cannot be offered as argument; but if
any weight be granted to them, it is in favor of the winter 1808-9.
Something more than a mere suggestion is offered on page 18. Here
Beethoven has written: “Overture Macbeth, the chorus of witches comes
in at once.” Whether the succeeding sketches belong to this overture
is a question for a musician. Now that first act of “Macbeth,” read
by Röckel in 1808, together with the first act of the Oratorio, “Die
Befreiung Jerusalems”--both written for Beethoven--lay before the
composer in print early in the year 1809. Collin had inserted them
in the “Hoftheater-Taschenbuch” of that year. The poet died in 1811,
leaving both unfinished. To suppose that Beethoven, in 1812, gave
thought to an incomplete text by a deceased poet, is absurd. His
memorandum is evidently the record of an idea which occurred to his
mind on perusing the fragment, and determines the date of the first
part of the sketchbook to be the beginning of 1809. Passing to the
middle of page 22, one comes upon this:

[Illustration]

With few interruptions, such as a theme for a “symphony without drums,”
“good triplets of another sort,” the Allegretto and Finale of the
Seventh Symphony are the subjects of the studies for more than forty
pages. That modest gem--the theme of the Allegretto--is still the same
throughout; but how astonishing the number and variety of forms for its
setting, that were tested, before the majestic, the sublime simplicity
was attained, which satisfied the exquisite taste of its creator!

On page 71 begin the sketches for the first, on page 83, for the last
movement of the Eighth Symphony. These two Symphonies, then, were
the grand orchestral works in preparation for the proposed concert.
Scattered along this part of the sketchbook are divers subjects for
pianoforte works; as if Beethoven had in mind a companion piece to the
E-flat Concerto for the farther display of his powers. In our notes
we find, “Overture-Concerto,” p. 73; p. 83 “Concerto in G”--“Concerto
in G or E minor”--“Adagio in E-flat”--“Finale Tutti”; and near the
bottom of the same page--“Polonaise for Pianoforte alone.” But the
master had no new vocal work for the occasion. Do not the following
memoranda--accompanied in the sketchbook by numerous studies--show
how the deficiency was to be supplied? Immediately following the
“Polonaise” we read:

Freude schöner Götter Funken Tochter. Work out the overture.

Again on leaf 43:

Freude schöner Götter Funken Tochter aus Elysium. Detached
fragments, like princes are beggars, etc., not the whole.

On the same page again:

Detached fragments from Schiller’s Freude brought together in a
whole.

One of the sketches (according to our copy) begins thus:

[Illustration:

Freude, schöner Götter funken, Tochter
]

At or near this point the book was for the present laid aside; for the
intended concert was abandoned, and Beethoven’s studies were abruptly
turned in other directions.

The explanation of this is easy.

In the lists of “newly performed plays” in the two Vienna Court
Theatres from August 1, 1803 to July 31, 1805, and from August 1, 1806
to December 31, 1807, Schiller’s name does not once occur; not so in
the lists after Hartl’s undertaking the direction, January 1, 1808.
Here we find:

1808: February 13, “Macbeth,” after Shakespeare; July 23, “Kabale
und Liebe”; December 17, “Phædra,” after Racine; 1809: August 23,
“Don Carlos”--all by Schiller.

Thus had Schiller suddenly become a leading topic in the conversation
of theatrical circles. One sees now how Collin and Beethoven hit upon
the “Macbeth” as a subject for opera; and how the composer’s youthful
idea [see Vol. I, p. 132] of making the “Ode to Joy” the subject of a
composition was recalled to mind.

[Sidenote: MUSIC TO “EGMONT” PROJECTED]

It does not appear from any records at hand, that either of the
above-named dramas was produced with music composed for it; but Hartl
now determined, with his next Schiller drama, to put one by Goethe
in rehearsal and to provide both with original music. “When it was
decided,” writes Czerny,

to perform Schiller’s “Tell” and Goethe’s “Egmont” in the city
theatres the question arose who should compose the music. Beethoven
and Gyrowetz were chosen. Beethoven wanted very much to have
“Tell.” But a lot of intrigues were at once set on foot to have
“Egmont,” supposed to be less adaptable for music, assigned to him.
It turned out, however, that he could make masterly music for this
drama also and he applied the full power of his genius to it.[72]

Perhaps Beethoven’s experience with the “Ode to Joy” and the “Egmont”
just at this time was the origin of a fine remark to Czerny. “Once,
when the talk was about Schiller, he said to me: ‘Schiller’s poems
are very difficult to set to music. The composer must be able to lift
himself far above ~the poet~; who can do that in the case of Schiller?
In this respect Goethe is much easier.’”

The order for the immortal “Egmont” music, by presenting the completion
of new compositions, necessarily caused the concert to be abandoned,
and Beethoven was at last able to seek the much needed rest and
recreation, both physical and mental, away from the city, its cares
and duties. It needs scarcely to be said that the condition of affairs
prevented Beethoven from going into the country until late in the
summer of 1809.

To what “happy corner in the country,” if indeed to any, he now
retired, is not positively known. “He was often in Hungary,” says
Czerny, and there is no good reason to doubt that he went thither
now to pass several weeks with the Brunswicks. It was already his
practice to grant manuscript copies of his new works for the collection
of Archduke Rudolph, whose catalogue, therefore, is of the highest
authority in determining their dates. From this source it is known
that the Pianoforte Fantasia, Op. 77, previously sketched, and the
great F-sharp Pianoforte Sonata, Op. 78, were completed in October. The
dedication of these two works to Count Franz and his sister Therese
leads to the inference, that they are memorials of happy hours spent in
their domestic circle.[73]

Beethoven himself speaks in very strong terms of his extraordinary
industry during these weeks, the only probable explanation of
which, we think, is, that he now composed or completed and prepared
for publication several songs and minor pianoforte works--in part
previously sketched, in part quite new. There are several such
compositions, known to belong to this period of his life, although
their exact date has not been ascertained.

It is conjectured, also, that, at this time and through the influence
of Count Brunswick, Beethoven received the order for his other
principal contributions to dramatic music. In 1808 Emperor Franz had
sanctioned the building at Pesth of “an entirely new grand theatre
with Ridotto room, casino, restaurant and coffee-house,” an enterprise
which, notwithstanding the catastrophe of 1809, it was now thought
would be completed in 1810.[74] It was time therefore to consider the
programme for its opening performances, and as no living musician
could give the occasion so much splendor as Beethoven, it was of high
importance that his consent to compose the music should be secured
as early as possible. This, through Brunswick and other Hungarian
friends, was no difficult task; more especially as the master had a
work of the character required in hand--the “Egmont” music. Another
reason for hastening the business with the composer may have been,
that his consent or refusal must have some influence upon the form and
character of the drama or dramas, which were still to be written. After
Beethoven’s return to the Walfischgasse, his time appears still to
have been exceedingly occupied in composition; so much so as to yield
nothing eventful for a biographer to record. There is, however, one
deeply touching and interesting letter to Gleichenstein which must
be copied complete. Its date is determined by these circumstances,
namely: Poor Breuning had, in April, 1808, married Julie, the beautiful
and highly accomplished daughter of Staff Physician von Vering. Less
than one year thereafter the young wife, by an imprudent use of cold
foot-baths, brought upon herself a hemorrhage of the lungs and died
suddenly, only 19 years of age, March 21, 1809. The letter dates from
this period:

[Sidenote: CONCERNED ABOUT VON BREUNING]

Dear good Gleichenstein! It is impossible for me to refrain from
letting you know of my anxiety for Breuning’s convulsive and
feverish condition, and to beg of you that you strive to form a
closer attachment to him or rather to bind him closer to you; the
condition of my affairs allows me much too little opportunity to
perform the high duties of friendship, I beg of you, I adjure you
in the name of the good and noble sentiments which you surely
feel to take from me upon yourself this truly tormenting care, it
will be particularly beneficial if you can ask him to go here and
there with you, and (no matter how much he may seek to goad you to
diligence) restrain him from his immoderate, and what seems to me
unnecessary, labors. You would not believe in what an overwrought
state I have occasionally found him--you probably know of his worry
of yesterday. All results of the fearful irritability, which, if he
does not overcome it, will certainly be his ruin.

I therefore place upon you, my dear Gleichenstein, the care of one
of my best and most proved friends, the more since your occupation
already creates a sort of bond between you, and this you will
strengthen by frequently showing concern for his welfare, which you
can easily do inasmuch as he is well disposed towards you--but your
noble heart, which I know right well, surely needs no injunctions
in respect of this; act for me and for your good Breuning. I
embrace you with all my heart.

It was upon finding himself in the Walfischgasse without a servant
that Beethoven seems first to have thought of trying the experiment
of living independently of hotels and eating-houses, and dining at
home. It was therefore of importance to him, if possible, to obtain
the joint service of some man and wife, and such a couple now offered
themselves as servant and housekeeper. This, with the remark that the
rehearsal mentioned was of the Lobkowitz Quartet, Op. 74, is sufficient
introduction to the following excerpts from the Zmeskall correspondence:

To-day comes Herzog, who wishes to become my servant for 30 fl.,
you may negotiate with him with his wife ~obligato~--wood, candles,
no livery--I must have somebody to cook, as long as the present
wretched food continues I shall remain ill--to-day I eat at home,
because of the better wine, if you will order what you want, I
should be glad to have you come to me also, you will get the wine
gratis and better than that at the beastly Swan.

Here comes Herzog with his wife--listen to their condescension--she
will cook when I want her to--also mend, etc., for this is a
highly important matter--I will come to you afterward in order to
hear the result--perhaps it would be best to ask what service they
are going to perform for me?

Shakespeare’s clowns in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” have enriched
theatrical speech with “lamentable comedy” and “very tragical mirth”;
phrases not inappropriate to the domestic dramas in which Beethoven
and his servants were the actors, and which he made the subjects
of numberless Jeremiads both in conversation and in letters to his
friends--especially to Zmeskall and Mme. Streicher. As one example--and
surely one is enough--take the case of the Herzogs. They were engaged
and were still in Beethoven’s employ when the departure of Napoleon
and his armies enabled those belonging to the public service to return
and resume their duties in the Capital--Zmeskall among them. As in the
spring he had to accommodate himself to “peace negotiations” between
Beethoven and his servant, so now he must again officiate in this
“glorious office” between him and the Herzogs. The imagination can
readily form a lively and correct picture of Beethoven’s troubles,
partly serious, partly tragi-comic, with these people, during that
wretched summer, shut up in the city, all the necessaries of life at
famine prices, and they on his hands to be provided for. The situation
certainly was not one fitted to sweeten the temper of either party;
no doubt both had good cause of complaint. We have, however, only
the master’s side of the question and not the whole of that. One who
invariably has trouble with his servants must sometimes himself be in
fault; so, perhaps, the Herzogs were not such “very bad people” after
all.

* * * * *

His friend Clement of the Theater-an-der-Wien gave Beethoven a
pleasing compliment by reproducing in his annual concert (December 24)
the “Christus am Ölberg.” On the same evening, by the way, Dobenz’s
oratorio, “Die Sündfluth,” with music by Kauer, was sung at the
Leopoldstadt Theatre, as it would seem, from the sarcastic notice in
the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.,” with appropriate scenery! If Beethoven heard
it, which is doubtful unless at rehearsal, he found he had little
reason to mourn his non-acceptance of that text.

[Sidenote: ARRANGEMENTS OF WELSH AND IRISH SONGS]

Negotiations had been resumed about this time between George Thomson of
Edinburgh and Beethoven, touching the arrangement of national melodies.
In a letter dated September 25, 1809, Thomson sent Beethoven 43 Welsh
and Irish melodies with the request to provide them as soon as possible
with ritornellos and accompaniments for pianoforte or pedal harp, and
violin or violoncello, and held out the promise of 100 ducats, Vienna
standard, or even more as payment. Besides this, Thomson had requested
him to write three quintets, two for two violins, viola, flute and
violoncello, one without flute but two violas instead (with bassoon
or double-bass ~ad lib.~), and also three sonatas for pianoforte and
violin. For these works he offered him 120 ducats Vienna standard.
“I make you this offer,” said Thomson, “more to show you my taste
and predilection for your music than in the hope to profit by the
publication.”[75] To this proposition Beethoven replied as follows--in
French and his own wretched hand, under date of November 23, 1809:

I will compose the ritornellos to the 43 little songs, but I ask
10 pounds or 20 ducats ~de Vienne~ more than you offer, that is
instead of 50 pounds Sterling, or 100 ducats V. S. I ask 60 pounds
Sterling or 120 ducats V. S. This work, moreover, is of a kind that
gives a composer but little pleasure, but I shall nevertheless
always be ready to oblige you since I know that you can do a good
business with it. As regards the quintets and the three sonatas,
I find the honorarium too little for me--I ask of you for them
the sum of 120, i. e., one hundred and twenty pounds Sterling
or two hundred and forty ducats V. S., you offered me 60 pounds
Sterling and it is impossible for me to gratify you for such an
honorarium--we are living here in a time when a frightful price is
asked for everything, we are paying almost three times as much as
formerly--but if you are agreed with the sums that I ask I will
serve you with pleasure. So far as the publication of the works
here in Germany is concerned, I think that I would bind myself
not to publish them sooner than after seven or eight months if
you think this time long enough for your purposes. As regards the
double-bass or bassoon I wish that you would give me a free hand,
I may, perhaps find something that will be even more agreeable to
you--also we might use a bassoon or other wind-instrument with the
flute and write only the third quintet for two violins, two violas
and violoncello, since in this way the style would be purer. In
short, rest assured that you are dealing with a true artist who,
indeed, likes to be decently paid, but who loves fame and also the
fame of art more--and who is never satisfied with himself and is
always striving to make greater progress in his art.

As regards the songs I have already begun them and will deliver
them in about a week to Fries--therefore please send me an answer
soon, my dear sir.

Next time please send me the words of the songs along with them
as it is very necessary for me to have them in order to get the
correct expression--they will be translated for me.

September came and still no payment from Clementi and Co. for the works
bought by them in April, 1807. Clementi was in Rome and thither, it
would seem, Beethoven sent several letters asking for payment. Clementi
now came to Vienna and sent a letter to his London partner, Collard,
which, though dateless as to year and day, was, no doubt, the result of
Beethoven’s importunities. In it he complains of having written five or
six letters to them for money with which to meet Beethoven’s demands,
the composer having “plagued” him with several letters--but in vain. At
last a firm of Viennese bankers informs him that a credit for £400 has
been sent him, but no letter. He concludes that of this sum £100 are
meant for Beethoven and £300 for himself, and that they had received
but half of Beethoven’s manuscripts. “A most shabby figure you have
made me cut in this affair!--and that with one of the first composers
of the day! You certainly might have found means in the course of two
years and a half to have satisfied his demands. Don’t lose a moment and
send me word ~what~ you have received from him, that I may settle with
him.”

Towards the end of the year Beethoven took ill, as he informs Breitkopf
and Härtel in a letter which was dated December 4 (but from which the
figure was stricken; the letter may have been delayed or Beethoven
become doubtful, as usual, about the day of the month). In this he
writes: “A fever which shook me up thoroughly, prevented me from
sending these tardily found ~errata~ [in the two Trios] at once.” On
January 2, 1810, he writes another letter which begins: “Scarcely
recovered--my illness threw me back again for two weeks--is it a
wonder--we have not even eatable bread,” concluding with: “I am too
weak to-day to answer your kind letter more fully, but in a few days
touching everything else in your letter.”

Beethoven had now entered his fortieth year, a year which forms a
marked and striking era in his life, but of which the most important
event is veiled in all the obscurity with which the care and efforts of
the parties concerned could envelop it. In the hope of a solution, at
least ~probable~, of the mystery which it presents, many minutiæ of the
years 1807-09 have been reserved to be presented consecutively, since
only thus can their relations to and their bearings upon the problem
before us be well understood. The next chapter must, therefore, be but
an introduction to the history of the year 1810.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN IN FINANCIAL STRAITS]

The compositions and publications of this year remain to be
enumerated--a task of some difficulty, requiring a preliminary remark
or two. The great cost of living and the various extraordinary demands
upon his purse this year, deranged Beethoven’s pecuniary affairs
seriously; from the same cause the Vienna publishers were not in a
condition to pay him adequately and in advance for his manuscripts. The
dilatoriness of the London publishers has just been mentioned. Happily
his relations with Breitkopf and Härtel were such, that they were ready
to remunerate him handsomely for whatever new compositions he might
send them; and there seems to have been an arrangement made, under
which divers new works of this period were published simultaneously
by them in Leipsic and by Artaria in Vienna. Nevertheless, Beethoven
was pressed for money, not only from the causes above stated, but from
the need of an extra supply, in case the project of marriage, now in
his mind, should be effected. Of course he counted with certainty upon
the regular payment of his annuity, now that the war was over, and a
lasting peace apparently secured by the rumored union between Napoleon
and Archduchess Marie Louise. But a semi-annual payment of this annuity
was far from sufficient to meet the expenses of establishing himself as
a married man. Now that his concert was abandoned, no immediate profit
could arise from the completion of the new symphonies; nor was there
any immediate need of his beginning the “Egmont” music. It is obvious,
therefore, that his labors, during the “several weeks in succession”
when he worked “so that it seemed rather for death than immortality,”
were, as before said, the completion and correction for the press of
various more or less important works existing in the sketchbooks, and
the composition of divers smaller pieces, such as would meet with a
ready sale, and hence be promptly and liberally paid for by publishers.
It is not at all surprising to find among them a number of songs the
texts of which were apt expressions of his feelings at this juncture.
Such considerations render it extremely probable, perhaps certain, that
a larger number of minor productions belong by date of completion to
this year, than they, who have endeavored to ascertain the chronology
of Beethoven’s works, have heretofore suspected. But the following list
contains only works of which the date is certain--or probable almost to
certainty.

[Sidenote: THE COMPOSER’S WORK IN 1809]

Compositions of 1809:

1. Concerto for Pianoforte, E-flat major, Op. 73.

2. “Quartetto per due Violini, Viola e Violoncello, da Luigi van
Beethoven, 1809,” Op. 74, E-flat major.

3. Sonata for Pianoforte: “Das Lebewohl, Wien am 4ten Mai 1809,”
etc.; “Die Abwesenheit. Die Ankunft des ... Erzh. Rudolph, den 30.
Jänner 1810,” Op. 81a, E-flat. We suppose the sonata to have been
completed in 1809, and ready for presentation to the Archduke
upon his return; but as this was delayed until January 30th, “Die
Ankunft,” of course, took this date.

4. March in F major for Military Band. “For the Bohemian Landwehr,
1809”; also inscribed by Beethoven: “For His Royal Highness, the
Archduke Anton, 1809.”

5. Variations for the Pianoforte, D major, Op. 76.

6. Fantasia for Pianoforte, G major, Op. 77.

7. Sonata for Pianoforte, F-sharp major. Op. 78.

8. Sonatina for Pianoforte, G major, Op. 79.

9. Songs from “Blümchen der Einsamkeit” by C. L. Reissig:

(a) “An den fernen Geliebten.” A copy bears the words in
Beethoven’s hand: “Fifth song,” “1809,” and corrections in the song
itself, Op. 75, No. 5.

(b) “Der Zufriedene,” Op. 75, No. 6.

(d) “Der Liebende.”

(e) “Der Jüngling in der Fremde.”

10. Other Songs:

(a) “Gretel’s Warnung.” A copy bears the words in Beethoven’s hand:
“Fourth song,” “1809,” and corrections in the song itself.

(b) “Andenken,” by Matthison.

(d) “L’amante impaziente,” “1809”; and probably all the numbers of

(e) “Four Ariettas and a Duet,” Op. 82.

* * * * *

The first sketches for the Fifth Pianoforte Concerto, E-flat, Op. 73,
dedicated to Archduke Rudolph, are found in the so-called Grasnick
sketchbook after the sketches for the Choral Fantasia as it was
performed for the first time on December 22, 1808, and the pianoforte
introduction to the same which, as we have seen, is of a later date
(“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 495 ~et seq.~). It is mentioned by
Beethoven in the correspondence with his publishers for the first time
on February 4, 1810. It was in their hands on August 21 of that year,
when Beethoven prescribed the dedication to his distinguished pupil,
and was published in February, 1811. The Concerto had then already been
played in public by Johann Schneider with brilliant success toward the
close of 1810, and, as the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” reported, put a numerous
audience into such “a state of enthusiasm that it could hardly content
itself with the ordinary expressions of recognition and enjoyment.”

The E-flat Quartet, Op. 74 (the so-called “Harp Quartet”), dedicated
to Prince Lobkowitz, was written simultaneously with the Concerto
and Pianoforte Sonata in the same key. Beethoven was evidently hard
at work on them when he wrote to Breitkopf and Härtel on “Weinmonath
[October] 1908”: “Next time about the quartet which I am writing--I
do not like to occupy myself with solo sonatas for the pianoforte,
but I promise you a few.” Nottebohm says (“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p.
91), that the four movements of the Quartet were begun and finished
in the order in which they appeared in print. According to a note by
Archduke Rudolph, the Fantasia, Op. 77, was composed in October. The
three Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. 78, 79 and 81a, are closely connected
in time, notwithstanding their diversity of sentiment. Sketches for
Op. 78 have not been found, but those for the other two are in the
sketchbook of Carl Meinert (“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 255), which ends
with the sketches for the Fantasia, Op. 77, composed for Count Franz
von Brunswick; and it is likely that the Sonata, Op. 78, dedicated to
Countess Therese von Brunswick, was conceived and written immediately
after the Fantasia (in October). The three sonatas were doubtless in
the mind of Beethoven when he promised Breitkopf and Härtel “a few” on
October 19. On February 4, 1810, he offers to the publishers “three
pianoforte solo sonatas--N.B., of which the third is composed of three
movements, Parting, Absence and Return, and would have to be published
alone.” On August 21, 1810, Beethoven wrote about the dedication: “The
sonata in F-sharp major--~À Madame la Comtesse Therese de Brunswick~;
the fantasia for pianoforte solo--~À mon ami Monsieur le comte François
de Brunswick~--as regards the two sonatas publish them separately,
or, if you want to publish them together, inscribe the one in G major
~Sonata facile~ or sonatina, which you might also do in case you [do
not] publish them together.” Breitkopf and Härtel published the sonatas
separately and Op. 79 therefore received no dedication. The notion,
once current, that Op. 79 (sometimes called the “Cuckoo Sonata”)
was an older work, is disproved by the sketches of 1809 (Nottebohm,
“Zweit. Beeth.,” p. 269). The E-flat Sonata, Op. 81a, seems to have
been completely sketched before October and held in readiness against
the return of the Archduke, as has been said. Breitkopf and Härtel
published it in the fall of 1811, without either dates or dedication
and with the French title: “Les Adieux, l’Absence et le Retour,” much
to Beethoven’s dissatisfaction. The Variations in D, dedicated “to
his friend” Oliva, anticipate by two years the use of the same theme
as a Turkish march in the incidental music which Beethoven wrote for
Kotzebue’s “Ruins of Athens.” Nottebohm (“Zweit. Beeth.” p. 272,
foot-note) says of it: “Tradition has it that the theme is a Russian
melody. This is improbable and incapable of proof. The theme is not
to be found in any collection of Russian melodies known to us. Had
Beethoven borrowed the theme he would, as he always did, have mentioned
the fact in connection with the Variations and the ‘Ruins of Athens’
(a singular idea to use a Russian melody for a Turkish march!). It may
be that a Russian folktune which was popular in Vienna between 1810
and 1820, which bears some resemblance to this melody and on which,
besides Gelinek and others, Beethoven too made Variations (Op. 107,
No. 3), gave rise to the confounding of the two.” The Military March
in F was designed for Archduke Anton and was chosen for a “carrousel”
at the court at Laxenburg. It is the “horse music” of Beethoven’s
correspondence with Archduke Rudolph. The year also saw the beginning
of the arrangements of the Irish melodies for Thomson.

The publications of the year 1809 were:

1. The Fourth Symphony, in B-flat, Op. 60. “~Dediée à Monsieur
le Comte Oppersdorff~”; published in March by the Kunst- und
Industrie-Comptoir.

2. Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, D major, Op. 61. ~Dediée à
son ami Monsieur de Breuning, Sécrétaire aulique, etc.~ Vienna,
Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir, in March.

3. Sonata for Pianoforte and Violoncello. A major, Op. 69. ~Dediée
à Monsieur de Gleichenstein.~ Leipsic, Breitkopf and Härtel, in
April.

4. Two Trios for Pianoforte, Violin and Violoncello, D major,
E-flat, Op. 70. ~Dediés à Madame la Comtesse Marie d’Erdödy née
Comtesse Niszky.~ Breitkopf and Härtel, No. 1 in April, No. 2 in
August.

5. Fifth Symphony, in C minor, Op. 67. ~Dediée à son Altesse
Sérénissime Monseigneur le Prince régnant de Lobkowitz, Duc de
Raudnitz, et à son Excellence Monsieur le Comte de Rasoumoffsky.~
Breitkopf and Härtel, in April.

6. Sixth Symphony (~Sinfonia pastorale~), F major, Op. 68. The same
dedication as the Fifth Symphony. Breitkopf and Härtel, in May.

7. Song: “Als die Geliebte sich trennen wollte.” Supplement No. II,
to the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.,” November 22. Breitkopf and Härtel.

FOOTNOTES:

[64] The agreement between this memorial and the letters written on the
subject (apparently to Gleichenstein--though Thayer was not willing
to commit himself on this point) make it most probable that he was
the author of the document. Even the sentimental suggestion that the
contributors might look upon themselves as co-authors of the great
works to come, went out from Beethoven in one of the notes probably
sent to Gleichenstein.

[65] On this letter Dr. Riemann comments as follows: “This letter
proves conclusively that in the spring of 1809, Beethoven was not yet
thinking of a union with Therese Malfatti and that all letters to
Gleichenstein containing hints of that nature are of later date. But
it may safely be assumed that the settlement of a fixed income upon
him together with the receipts from his compositions set Beethoven
seriously to thinking of marriage. Although Dr. Malfatti, uncle of
the sisters Therese and Anna, had been Beethoven’s house physician
since the death of Dr. Schmidt (February 13, 1808), it was not until
some time in the course of the year 1809, that Beethoven’s inclination
towards Therese gradually developed until it led to a formal proposal
of marriage in the spring of 1810.”

[66] “One of these sisters,” writes Thayer, “was sent to him (in
1807-8?), she then being but some twelve years of age. He gave her a
good education, and brought her out as a singer, when Hummel fell in
love with her, married her and withdrew her from the stage. I asked
Röckel if she could by any possibility have been the person with whom
Beethoven in 1809-10 had a marriage project? He proved to me that she
was not. So that story is put at rest.”

[67] The letter is incorrectly dated “1811” in the Kalischer Collection.

[68] If the estrangement between Beethoven and his brother was of
earlier date than this, it would appear as if the siege of Vienna had
brought them together again.

[69] In view of the many indications, especially in the letters to
Breitkopf and Härtel, that Beethoven did not work with any continuity
from the beginning of May to the end of July, this memorandum assumes a
different aspect and might serve to prove that the resumption of work
on the first movement of the E-flat Concerto was not made till June or
July, and that the entire Meinert sketchbook belongs to the period from
July to October.

[70] Nor is this longer to be maintained, since Beethoven reports these
errors to Breitkopf and Härtel on July 26, 1809, “having had attention
drawn to them by a good friend.”

[71] Nottebohm, “Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 188 ~et seq.~, contends that
the pages in the so-called “Pettersches Skizzenbuch” containing the
sketches for “Macbeth” and the D major Trio were not originally part
of the book and that it dates from 1812. Neverthless, Thayer, who was
familiar with the views divergent from his, is entitled to have his
argument set forth as he wrote it.

[72] Czerny’s statements must be corrected in a few respects in view of
Beethoven’s own statements in a letter to Breitkopf and Härtel, dated
August 21, 1810, as will appear later.

[73] “The statement in the first edition, that Beethoven perhaps spent
some time with the Brunswicks in Hungary in the summer of 1809, lacks
all evidence” (says Dr. Riemann).

[74] In their efforts in later years to sustain this theatre in
brilliant style, “the Counts Raday and Brunswick were ruined.”

[75] See the entire correspondence between Beethoven and Thomson in the
appendix to the original edition of this biography.

Chapter IX

The Years 1807-09--A Retrospect--Beethoven’s Intellectual
Attainments--Interest in Exotic Literatures--His Religion.

A popular conception of Beethoven’s character, namely, that a
predisposition to gloom and melancholy formed its basis, appears to
the present writer to be a grave mistake. The question is not what he
became in later years--~tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis~--but
what was the normal constitution of his mind in this regard.
Exaggerated reports of his sadness and infelicity during the last third
of his life became current even before its close, and prepared the
public to give undue importance to the melancholy letters and papers
of earlier years, which from time to time were exhumed and published.
The reader upon examination will be surprised to find how few in number
they are, at what wide intervals they were written, and how easy it is
to account for their tone.

Beethoven’s childhood was excessively laborious, though not so
cheerless as has been represented; and, however flattering to occupy at
the age of twelve years the place of a man in theatre and chapel, his
boyhood could not have been a happy one. His brightest days up to the
middle of his seventeenth year were undoubtedly those spent in Vienna
in 1787--the date of the earliest of those papers from his own pen,
on which the popular conception of his character is founded. But the
letter to Dr. Schaden, written to explain and excuse the non-payment
of a debt, takes its tone, not from any predisposition to gloom and
melancholy, but from the manifold troubles which just then beset
him--the bitter disappointment of his sudden recall from Vienna; the
death of his mother; the hopeless poverty of his family; hence, the
pangs of wounded pride and self-respect; the depression of spirits
caused by asthmatic maladies, and his utter hopelessness of any timely
change for the better, such as, in fact, one short year was to bring.

It is clear that Beethoven’s character could not develop itself
normally, until he had become to a considerable degree independent
of his father; and, consequently, that certain peculiarities related
of him in his boyhood were probably less the results of his natural
tendencies than the consequence of these being checked and obstructed
by adverse circumstances. Soon after the letter to Dr. Schaden came the
turning-point in the boy’s fortunes. Beethoven was now substantially
emancipated from his father; his talents opened to him a higher
and finer-toned circle of society; a love for the best literature
was cherished, if not created; and no long time elapsed before his
father’s increasing moral infirmities made him virtually the head of
the family. The nobler qualities of his head and heart now received
a culture impossible before. At last his character could and did
develop itself normally. In all the following fourteen years--during
which the boy organist of Bonn rises step by step to the position
of first of pianists and most promising of the young composers in
Vienna--one seeks in vain for any trace of the assumed constitutional
tendency to melancholy. Now come the pathetic letters to Wegeler and
the “Testament” of 1802--dark, gloomy, despondent. But these were
all written under the first pressure of a malady which, he justly
foreboded, would in time unfit him for general society and debar
him from every field of the musician’s activity and ambition save
that of composition. It is perhaps worthy of remark, that among the
well-known phenomena of mental action are the intellectual prostration
and the consequent depression of spirits which follow the completion
of any great work in literature or art that has been for some time
engrossing the attention, absorbing the thoughts and straining the
faculties; and that the “Testament” of 1802 belongs in the precise
period of reaction after completing that first of his great works, the
Second Symphony. The “Testament” is indeed a cry of agony; but, in
the paroxysms of intense physical suffering, cries of agony are not
proofs of a naturally weak or defective constitution of the body; that
sort of patient suffers less--but dies. Had Beethoven’s temperament
really been of the gloomy and melancholy cast supposed, suicide,
insanity or--through seeking temporary alleviation of mental suffering
in sensual indulgences--moral shipwreck would soon have ended his
career. “Strength is the morality of men who distinguish themselves
above others, and it is also mine,” he wrote to his “Dearest Baron Muck
Carter”:--“Beethoven was, in fact, the personification of strength,”
said the aged poet Castelli to the present writer. The thought of
suicide is alluded to in both the “Testament” and the letter to
Wegeler; but with him the “To be or not to be?” was only a momentary,
a passing, question; not because “conscience does make cowards of
us all,” but by reason of innate manliness to bear “the slings and
arrows of outrageous fortune” with courage and fortitude, until time
and patience should bring resignation. How bravely he sustained his
heavy burden to the end of 1806, has been amply recorded in this
work. The famous love-letter affords its own sufficient explanation
of whatever degree of melancholy it exhibits in the bitterness of
parting and separation--the wretched life in Vienna, the uncertainty
of his pecuniary resources, the impossibility of marriage without some
decided change for the better in his condition and prospects. When, a
few months later, the question of the possession of the theatres was
decided against Braun, Beethoven had reason to hope that this change
was assured; since the position of Lobkowitz, both socially and in
connection with the theatres, gave to his hint, that the composer
should apply for a permanent engagement, almost the force of a promise
that he should receive it. In view of Beethoven’s abhorrence of all
restrictions on his personal freedom, it is by no means certain that
the final non-acceptance of his proposals caused him any very severe
and lasting disappointment.

[Sidenote: A HAPPY PERIOD IN THE COMPOSER’S LIFE]

Whether so or not, and notwithstanding the prolonged uncertainty of
his future prospects and the occasional characteristic complaints in
his letters, still these three years--1807-8-9--were unquestionably
the happiest in the last half of his life. That it was a period
of extraordinary activity and productiveness, of a corresponding
augmentation and extension of his fame, of animated and joyous social
intercourse, and was brightly tinted with so much of the romance of
love as a man of middle-age is apt to indulge in--all this the reader
knows.

The coming of Reichardt to Vienna and the recording of his observations
on the musical life of the Austrian capital in his book entitled
“Confidential Letters, etc.,” were fortunate incidents for the lovers
of Beethoven. Reichardt’s was one of the great names in music. He stood
in the front rank both as composer and writer on the art. His personal
character was unspotted; his intellectual powers great and highly
cultivated in other fields than music; nor had his dismissal from his
position of Royal Chapelmaster by Frederick William II been founded
upon reasons which injured his reputation abroad. He therefore found
all, even the highest, musical salons of Vienna open to him, and he
received attention which under the circumstances was doubly grateful.
A colossal self-esteem, a vanity almost boundless alone could have
sent such pages as his “Letters” to the press without a more thorough
expurgation. But this is nothing to the present generation, which owes
him a large debt of gratitude for the most lively and complete picture
existing of the musical life at Vienna at that period, and especially
for his notices of Beethoven, the date of which (winter of 1808-09)
adds doubly to their value. They should be read in connection with this
biography.[76]

And here a word upon the compositions of these years. The notion, that
the beauties of the opera “Leonore” were in great measure the offspring
of an old, unfortunate affection for Fräulein von Breuning and of a
still more unlucky recent passion for Julia Guicciardi, was treated
in its place as unworthy of serious refutation; but nowhere in this
work has anything been said affirming or implying that the moral and
mental condition of the ~man~ Beethoven would not produce its natural
and legitimate effect upon Beethoven the composer. Now, examine the
lists of compositions which terminate the preceding chapters, and say
whether any but a strong, healthy, sound, elastic mind could have
produced them? To specify only the very greatest; there are in the
last months of 1806, after the visit to the Brunswicks, the placid and
serene Fourth Symphony--the most perfect in form of them all--and the
noble Violin Concerto; in 1807, the Mass in C and the C minor Symphony;
in 1808, the “Pastoral” Symphony and the Choral Fantasia; and in 1809,
the conception and partial execution of the Seventh, perhaps also the
Eighth, Symphony and the glorious “Egmont” music.

Are such the works of a melancholy, gloomy temperament or of a forlorn,
sentimental lover, sighing like a furnace and making “a woeful ballad
to his mistress’ eyebrow?”

[Sidenote: APPRECIATION OF SERIOUS LITERATURE]

Beethoven, during the fifteen years since Wegeler’s vain effort to
induce him to attend lectures on Kant, had become to some considerable
degree a self-taught man; he had read and studied much, and had
acquired a knowledge of the ordinary literary topics of the time, which
justified that fine passage in the letter to Breitkopf and Härtel,
touching his ability to acquire knowledge from even the most learned
treatises. Strikingly in point is the interest which he exhibits
during these and following years in the Oriental researches of Hammer
and his associates. His notes and excerpts prove a very extensive
knowledge of their translations, both published and in manuscript; and,
moreover, that this strange literature was perhaps even more attractive
to him in its religious, than in its lyric and dramatic aspects. In
these excerpts--indeed, generally in extracts from books and in his
underscoring of favorite passages in them--Beethoven exhibits a keen
perception and taste for the lofty and sublime, far beyond the grasp
of any common or uncultivated mind. “The moral law in us and the
starry heavens above us. Kant!!!” is one of the brief notes from his
hand, which now and then enliven the tedious and thankless task of
deciphering the Conversation Books. The following, given here from his
own manuscript, is perhaps the finest of his transcriptions from Hindu
literature:

God is immaterial; since he is invisible he can have no form,
but from what we observe in his works we may conclude that he is
eternal, omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent--The mighty one is
he who is free from all desire; he alone; there is no greater than
he.

Brahma; his spirit is enwrapped in himself. He, the mighty one, is
present in every part of space--his omniscience is in spirit by
himself and the conception of him comprehends every other one; of
all comprehensive attributes that of omniscience is the greatest.
For it there is no threefold existence. It is independent of
everything. O God, thou art the true, eternal, blessed, immutable
light of all times and all spaces. Thy wisdom embraces thousands
upon thousands of laws, and yet thou dost always act freely and for
thy honor. Thou wert before all that we revere. To thee be praise
and adoration. Thou alone art the truly blessed one (Bhagavan);
thou, the essence of all laws, the image of all wisdom, present
throughout the universe, thou upholdest all things.

Sun, ether, Brahma [these words are crossed out].

Beethoven’s enjoyment of Persian literature as revealed to him in the
translations and essays of Herder and von Hammer will now readily be
conceived by the reader; as also the delight with which he read that
collection of exquisite imitations of Persian poetry with its long
series of (then) fresh notices of the manners, customs, books and
authors of Persia, which some years later Goethe published with the
title “West-Östlicher Divan.” Even that long essay, apparently so out
of place in the work--“Israel in der Wüste”--in which the character of
Moses is handled so unmercifully, was upon a topic already of curious
interest to Beethoven. This appears from one of his copied papers--one
which, as Schindler avers, “he considered to be the sum of the loftiest
and purest religion.” The history of this paper is this: The Hebrew
chronicler describes the great lawgiver of his nation as being “learned
in all the wisdom of the Egyptians.” This leads Schiller, in his fine
essay on “Die Sendung Moses,” into a discussion of the nature and
character of this wisdom. The following sentences are from his account:

The epoptæ (Egyptian priests) recognized a single, highest cause
of all things, a primeval force, natural force, the essence of
all essences, which was the same as the demiurgos of the Greek
philosophers. There is nothing more elevated than the simple
grandeur with which they spoke of the creator of the universe. In
order to distinguish him the more emphatically they gave him no
name. A name, said they, is only a need for pointing a difference;
he who is only, has no need of a name, for there is no one with
whom he could be confounded. Under an ancient monument of Isis were
to be read the words: “I AM THAT WHICH IS,” and upon a pyramid at
Sais the strange primeval inscription: “I AM ALL, WHAT IS, WHAT
WAS, WHAT WILL BE; NO MORTAL MAN HAS EVER LIFTED MY VEIL.” No one
was permitted to enter the temple of Serapis who did not bear upon
his breast or forehead the name Iao, or I-ha-ho--a name similar
in sound to the Hebrew Jehovah and in all likelihood of the same
meaning; and no name was uttered with greater reverence in Egypt
than this name Iao. In the hymn which the hierophant, or guardian
of the sanctuary, sang to the candidate for initiation, this was
the first division in the instruction concerning the nature of the
divinity: “HE IS ONLY AND SOLELY OF HIMSELF, AND TO THIS ONLY ONE
ALL THINGS OWE THEIR EXISTENCE.”

The sentences here printed in capital letters “Beethoven copied with
his own hand and kept (them), framed and under glass, always before him
on his writing-table.”

[Sidenote: THE COMPOSER’S ATTITUDE TOWARDS THE CHURCH]

Beethoven was now at an age when men of thoughtful and independent
minds have settled opinions on such important subjects as have received
their attention, among which, to all men, religion stands preëminent.
Few change their faith after forty; there is no reason to suppose that
Beethoven did; no place, therefore, more fit than this will be found
to remark upon a topic to which the preceding pages directly lead--his
religious views. Schindler writes in the appendix to his biography of
Beethoven:

Beethoven was brought up in the Catholic religion. That he was
truly religious is proved by his whole life, and many evidences
were brought forward in the biographical part (of this work). It
was one of his peculiarities that he never spoke on religious
topics or concerning the dogmas of the various Christian churches
in order to give his opinion about them. It may be said with
considerable certainty, however, that his religious views rested
less upon the creed of the church, than that they had their origin
in deism. Without having a manufactured theory before him he
plainly recognized the existence of God in the world as well as
the world in God. This theory he found in the whole of Nature, and
his guides seem to have been the oft-mentioned book, Christian
Sturm’s “Betrachtungen der Werke Gottes in der Natur,” and the
philosophical systems of the Greek wise men. It would be difficult
for anybody to assert the contrary, who had seen how he applied
the contents of those writings in his own internal life.

As an argument against Schindler and to prove Beethoven’s orthodoxy
in respect to the Roman Catholic tenets, the fervid sentiment and
sublime devotion expressed in the music of the “Missa Solemnis” have
been urged; but the words of the Mass were simply a text on which he
could lavish all the resources of his art in the expression of his
religious feelings. It should not be forgotten that the only Mass which
can be ranked with Beethoven’s in D, was the composition of the sturdy
Lutheran, J. S. Bach, and that the great epic poem of trinitarian
Christianity was by the Arian, John Milton. Perhaps Schindler would
have his readers understand more than is clearly expressed. If he
means, that Beethoven rejected the trinitarian dogma; that the Deity
of his faith is a personal God, a universal Father, to whom his human
children may hopefully appeal for mercy in time of temptation, for
aid in time of need, for consolation in time of sorrow--if this be
Schindler’s “deism,” it may be affirmed unhesitatingly, that everything
known to the present writer, which bears at all on the subject,
confirms his view. Beethoven had the habit in moments of temptation
and distress, of writing down short prayers for divine support and
assistance, many of which are preserved; but neither in them, nor in
any of his memoranda or conversations, is there the remotest indication
that he believed in the necessity of any mediator between the soul
of man and the Divine Father, under whatsoever name known--priest,
prophet, saint, virgin or Messiah; but an even stronger religious
sentiment, a more ardent spirit of devotion, a firmer reliance on the
goodness and mercy of God are revealed in them, than Schindler seems to
have apprehended.

FOOTNOTES:

[76] See Reichardt’s “Vertraute Briefe, geschrieben auf einer Reise
nach Wien und den Österreichischen Staaten zu Ende das Jahres 1808
und zu Anfang 1809,” under date November 30, December 5, December 10,
December 16, December 25, December 31, 1808, and January 15, March 6,
March 27 and No. 37 (without date), 1809.

Chapter X

The Year 1810--Decrease in Productivity--Beethoven’s Project
of Marriage--Therese Malfatti--Bettina von Arnim and Her
Correspondence with Goethe--The Music to “Egmont”--Productions of
the Year.

The topics last under notice have carried us far onward, even to the
last years of Beethoven. We now return to the end of 1809--to the
master in the full vigor and maturity of his powers. The last months
of this year had been marked by an untiring and efficient industry;
his sketchbooks abounded in the noblest themes, hints and protracted
studies for orchestral, chamber and vocal compositions; and several
important works--among them the Seventh Symphony--were well advanced.
The princes, whose generosity had just placed him, for the present
at least, beyond the reach of pecuniary anxieties, may well have
expected the immediate fulfillment of “the desire that he surpass the
great expectations which are justified by his past achievements.”
They were bitterly disappointed. Kinsky did not live to hear any new
orchestral work from that recently so prolific pen; Lobkowitz, whose
dissatisfaction is upon record, heard but three; while the Archduke
saw the years pass away comparatively fruitless, hardly more being
accomplished in ten, than formerly in two--the marvellous year 1814
excepted. The close of 1809 terminated a decade (1800-1809) during
which--if quality be considered, as well as number, variety, extent
and originality--Beethoven’s works offer a more splendid exhibition of
intellectual power than those of any other composer produced within
a like term of years; and New Year, 1810, began another (1810-19),
which, compared with the preceding, exhibits an astonishing decrease in
the composer’s productiveness. The contrast is rendered more striking
by the fact that many of the principal works completed in the second
decade belong in plan and partly in execution to the first.

Schindler’s division of Beethoven’s life into three distinctly marked
periods appears forced--rather fanciful than real; but whoever makes
himself even moderately conversant with the subject, soon perceives
that a change in the man did take place too great and sudden to be
attributed to the ordinary effect of advancing years; but when? The
abrupt pause in his triumphant career as composer just mentioned, would
seem to determine the time; and, if so, the natural inference is, that
both were effects of the same cause. There was a point in the life of
Handel when his indefatigable pen dropped from his hand and many weary
months passed before he could resume it. The failure of his operas,
his disastrous theatrical speculation, consequent bankruptcy, and the
culmination of his distresses in a partial paralysis of his physical
powers, were the causes. The cessation of Beethoven’s labors, though
less absolute than in Handel’s case, is even more remarkable, as it
continued longer and was not produced by any such natural and obvious
causes. The fact is certain, and will probably find a sufficient
explanation when we come to the details of the master’s private history
during this period; if not, it is another question the solution of
which must await the accident of time or the keener penetration and
wider knowledge of some other investigator.

[Sidenote: FIRST PERFORMANCE OF THE “EGMONT” MUSIC]

Beethoven’s studies were now, for the third time, diverted from
important works in hand to an order from the directors of the
theatres--the “Egmont” music. The persevering diligence of the last
months, of which he speaks in his letters, was evidently for the
purpose of clearing his desk of a mass of manuscript compositions sold
to Breitkopf and Härtel, before attacking Goethe’s tragedy--as decks
are cleared for action before a naval battle. If so, he could hardly
have seriously engaged upon the “Egmont” before the new year; but
nothing is known, which fixes the exact date of either the beginning
or completion of the work. Its overture bears the composer’s own date
“1810”; its first performance was on the evening of Thursday, May
24. The ~Clärchen~ was played by Antonie Adamberger--a young actress
alike distinguished for her beauty, her genius and her virtues--whose
marriage in 1817 to the distinguished archæologist von Arneth was a
distinct loss to the Vienna stage. The two songs which ~Clärchen~ has
to sing, necessarily brought Fräulein Adamberger for the moment into
personal relations with Beethoven, of which she wrote to the present
author the following simple and pleasing account under date January 5,
1867:

... I approached him (Beethoven) without embarrassment when my aunt
of blessed memory, my teacher and benefactress, called me to her
room and presented me to him. To his question: “Can you sing?”
I replied without embarrassment with a decided “No!” Beethoven
regarded me with amazement and said laughingly: “No? But I am to
compose the songs in ‘Egmont’ for you.” I answered very simply
that I had sung only four months and had then ceased because of
hoarseness and the fear that continued exertion in the practice of
declamation might injure my voice. Then he said jovially with an
adoption of the Viennese dialect: “That will be a pretty how do you
do!”--but on his part it turned out to be something glorious.

We went to the pianoforte and rummaging around in my music ... he
found on top of the pile the well-known rondo with recitative from
Zingarelli’s “Romeo and Juliet.” “Do you sing ~that~?” he asked
with a laugh which shook him as he sat down hesitatingly to play
the accompaniment. Just as innocently and unsuspiciously as I had
chatted with him and laughed, I now reeled off the air. Then a
kind look came into his eye, he stroked my forehead with his hand
and said: “Very well, now I know”--came back in three days and
sang the songs for me a few times. After I had memorized them in a
few days he left me with the words: “There, that’s right. So, so
that’s the way, now sing thus, don’t let anybody persuade you to
do differently and see that you do not put a ~mortant~ in it.” He
went; I never saw him again in my room. Only at the rehearsal when
conducting he frequently nodded to me pleasantly and benevolently.
One of the old gentlemen expressed the opinion that the songs which
the master, counting on certain effects, had set for orchestra,
ought to be accompanied on a guitar. Then he turned his head most
comically and, with his eyes flaming, said, “He knows!”...

Long afterwards, in a Conversation Book, an unknown hand writes:
“I remember still the torment you had with the kettledrums at the
rehearsal of ‘Egmont’.” Nothing more is known of the history of this
work. Beethoven’s name appears on both this year’s concerts for the
Theatrical Poor Fund--March 25, with the first movements of the Fourth
Symphony; April 17, with the “Coriolan” Overture; but it does not
appear that he conducted on either occasion; it is, however, probable
that he did conduct the rehearsals and performance of a symphony in
Schuppanzigh’s first Augarten concert in May.

Add to the above the subsequent notices of a few songs and the Quartet,
Op. 95, and the meagre history of Beethoven as ~composer~ for 1810
is exhausted; what remains is of purely private and personal nature.
Kinsky’s active service in the campaign of 1809 and his subsequent
duties in Bohemia had prevented him hitherto from discharging his
obligations under the annuity contract; but the Archduke, perhaps
Lobkowitz also, was promptly meeting his; and these payments, together
with the honorable remuneration granted by Breitkopf and Härtel for
manuscripts, supplied Beethoven with ample means for comfort, even for
luxury. He had at this time no grounds for complaint upon that score.

It was in 1810 that Beethoven received from Clementi and Co. the
long-deferred honorarium for the British copyrights bought in April,
1807. Exactly when this money was received by Beethoven cannot be
determined from the existing evidence, but it seems to have been before
February 4, 1810, on which date Beethoven wrote to Breitkopf and Härtel
offering them the compositions from Op. 73 to 83 (exclusive of 75),
and remarking that he was about to send the same works to London. He
would scarcely have had such a purpose in mind unless he had had a
settlement with his London publishers. Additional evidence, though of
little weight, is provided by the circumstance that at the same time he
was contemplating a change of lodgings, as a letter to Professor Loeb,
written on February 8, shows; it was to his old home in the house of
Baron Pasqualati, which he had occupied two years before and which he
now took again at an annual rental of 500 florins.

[Sidenote: THOUGHTS HYMENEAL AND SARTORIAL]

A number of letters to Gleichenstein and Zmeskall to which attention
must now be called seem to show us Beethoven in the character of
a man so deeply smitten with the charms of a newly-acquired lady
friend that he turns his attention seriously to his wardrobe and
personal appearance and thinks unusually long and frequently of the
social pleasures enjoyed at the home of his charmer. A desire to save
space alone prevents the publication of the letters in full, but the
reader may find them in the published Collections of the composer’s
letters.[77] In the first of these he sends Gleichenstein 300 florins
which the Count was to expend for him in the purchase of linen and
nankeen for shirts and “at least half a dozen neckties.” On the same
day, he informs his correspondent that acting on his advice he had paid
Lind 300 florins. Henickstein had paid him twenty-seven and a half
florins for a pound sterling and invited him and Gleichenstein to dine
the next day with Clementi. Very significantly the letter ends with:
“Greet everything that is dear to you and me. How gladly would I like
to add ~to whom we are dear????~” Lind was a tailor and Henickstein
the son of a banker. The next day he writes that on the previous
evening the Archduke had requested his presence on the day set for
the dinner and he had been obliged to send Henickstein a declination.
The day after that he concludes a note telling about the meeting at
the Archduke’s with “Farewell. This evening I will come to the dear
Malfattis.” Here is the next letter in full:

As I shall have enough time this morning, I shall come to the
Savage (~zum wilden Mann~--a restaurant) in the Prater. I fancy
that I shall find no savages there but beautiful Graces, and for
them I must don my armor. I know you will not think me a sponge
because I come only for dinner, and so I will come straight. If I
find you at home, well and good; if not, I’ll hurry to the Prater
to embrace you.

On the day after that he sends Gleichenstein an S. (a sonata,
doubtless) which he had “promised Therese” and adds: “Give my
compliments to all of them. It seems as if the wounds with which wicked
men have pierced my soul might be healed by them”; he sends 50 florins
more for cravats and makes a boast of it that Gigons, Malfatti’s little
dog, had supped with him and accompanied him home. This is the first of
the only two allusions which Beethoven makes in all the papers, printed
or written, relating to him, of a domestic pet animal. Another letter
reads: “I beg of you to let me know when the M. remain at home of an
evening. You surely had a pleasant sleep--I slept little, but I prefer
such an awaking to all sleep.” Again he writes to say that he wished
“Madame M.” would give him permission to pick out a pianoforte for her
which she wished to buy “at Schanz’s.” Though it was his rule never to
accept commissions on such sales, he wanted to save money for the lady
on this purchase.

Now we reach the notes to Zmeskall, the first of which is endorsed
by the recipient as having been received on April 18, 1810. From
Beethoven’s lodgings in the Walfischgasse it was but a few steps
around the corner in the Kärnthnerthorstrasse to an entrance of the
Bürgerspital where Zmeskall lived, of whose readiness to oblige him
he could and did avail himself to an extent which at length excited
misgivings in his own mind that he was really going too far and abusing
his friend’s kindness. This time Beethoven’s want was of a very
peculiar nature, namely a looking-glass; that it was not for shaving
purposes but for a more general control of his toilet is indicated by
the second note:

(April 18, 1810.)

Dear Zmeskall do send me your looking-glass which hangs beside your
window for a few hours, mine is broken, if you would be so kind as
to buy me one like it to-day it would be a great favor, I’ll recoup
you for your expenditure at once--forgive my importunity dear Z.

Dear Z. do not get angry at my little note--think of the situation
which I am in, like Hercules once at Queen Omphale’s??? I asked
you to buy me a looking-glass like yours, and beg you as soon as
you are not using yours which I am returning to send it back to
me for mine is broken--farewell and don’t again write to me about
the great man--for I never felt the strength or weakness of human
nature as I feel it just now.

Remain fond of me.

(Without date--the original in Boston.)

Do not get vexed, dear Z. because of my continued demands upon
you--let me know how much you paid for the looking-glass?

Farewell we shall see each other soon in the Swan as the food is
daily growing worse in the (illegible)--I have had another violent
attack of colic since day before yesterday, but it is better to-day.

Your friend

Beethoven.

[Sidenote: INTERCOURSE WITH THE MALFATTI FAMILY]

The date of the first note (April 18) is important as showing that at
the time Beethoven was not in the country but still in Vienna and that,
consequently, the 8th mentioned in the letter to Therese Malfatti which
follows, was not the 8th of April, but of May. From this letter we
deduce that Beethoven’s intercourse with the Malfatti family in Vienna
had become more animated and intimate, that Beethoven improvised at
the pianoforte and that at the punchbowl his spirits rose rather high
(“forget the nonsense”). The conclusion points pretty plainly towards
a desire to be united with the family in closer bonds. The Malfattis
had probably gone to their country home towards the end of April or
beginning of May. The following letter to Gleichenstein was probably
written on the day after the merry evening of which the letter to
Therese speaks:

Your report plunged me from the regions of happiness into the
depths. Why the adjunction, You would let me know when there would
be another musicale, am I nothing more than your musician or
that of the others?--that at least is the interpretation, I can
therefore seek support only in my own breast, there is none for me
outside of it; no, nothing but wounds has friendship and kindred
feelings for me. So be it then, for you, poor B. there is no
happiness in the outer world, you must create it in yourself, only
in the world of ideality will you find friends.

I beg of you to set my mind at rest as to whether I was guilty of
any impropriety yesterday, or if you cannot do that then tell me
the truth, I hear it as willingly as I speak it--there is still
time, the truth may yet help me. Farewell--don’t let your only
friend Dorner know anything of this.

The letter to Therese reads:

With this you are receiving, honored Therese, what I promised,
and if there were not the best of reasons against it, you would
receive more in order to show that I always do more for my friends
than I promise--I hope and have no doubt that you keep yourself
as well occupied as pleasantly entertained--but not so much that
you cannot also think of me. It would perhaps be presuming upon
your kindness or placing too high a value upon myself if I were to
write you: “people are only together when they are in each other’s
company, even the distant one, the absent one lives for us,” who
would dare to write such a sentiment to the volatile T. who handles
everything in this world so lightly? Do not forget, in laying out
your occupation, the pianoforte, or music generally; you have so
beautiful a talent for it, why not cultivate it exclusively, you
who have so much feeling for everything that is beautiful and good,
why will you not make use of it in order to learn the more perfect
things in so beautiful an art, which always reflects its light
upon us--I live very solitarily and quietly, although now and then
lights try to arouse me there is still for me a void which cannot
be filled since you are all gone and which defies even my art which
has always been so faithful to me--your pianoforte is ordered and
you will have it soon--explain for yourself the difference between
the treatment of a theme which I invented one evening and the
manner in which I finally wrote it down, but don’t get the punch
to help you--how lucky you were to be able to go to the country so
soon, I shall not have this pleasure until the 8th, I rejoice in
the prospect like a child, how joyous I am when I can walk amongst
bushes and trees, herbs, rocks, nobody can love the country as I
do--since woods, trees, rocks, return the answer which man wants to
hear.

(Four lines stricken out).

You will soon receive four of my compositions whereat you should
not have to complain too much about the difficulties--have you read
Goethe’s “Wilhelm Meister,” Shakespeare translated by Schlegel, one
has so much leisure in the country it might be agreeable if I were
to send you these works. Chance has brought it about that I have
an acquaintance in your neighborhood, perhaps you will see me at
your home early some morning for half an hour and then away, you
see I wish to be as little tedious as possible. Commend me to the
good will of your father, your mother, although I have no right as
yet to ask it of them, also to your aunt M. Farewell, honored T. I
wish you all that is good and beautiful in life, think of me and
willingly--forget the nonsense--be convinced no one can wish that
your life may be more joyous and more happy than I, even if you
have no sympathy for

Your devoted servant and friend

Beethoven.

N. B. It would really be very nice of you if you were to write a
few lines to say what I can do for you here?

[Sidenote: PREPARATIONS FOR MARRIAGE]

Under such circumstances Beethoven wrote the famous letter of May
2, 1810 to Wegeler in Coblenz, asking him to procure a copy of his
baptismal certificate for him. In this letter he says:

A few years ago my quiet, retired mode of life ceased, and I was
forcibly drawn into activities of the world; I have not yet formed
a favorable opinion of it but rather one against it--but who is
there could escape the influence of the external storms? Yet I
should be happy, perhaps one of the happiest of men, if the demon
had not taken possession of my ears. If I had not read somewhere
that a man may not voluntarily part with his life so long as a good
deed remains for him to perform, I should long ago have been no
more--and indeed by my own hands. O, life is so beautiful, but to
me it is poisoned.

You will not decline to accede to my friendly request if I beg of
you to secure my baptismal certificate for me. Whatever expense
may attach to the matter, since you have an account with Steffen
Breuning, you can recoup yourself at once from that source and I
will make it good at once to Steffen here. If you should yourself
think it worth while to investigate the matter and make the trip
from Coblenz to Bonn, charge everything to me. But one thing must
be borne in mind, namely, that ~there was a brother born before~
I was, who was also named Ludwig with the addition Maria, but
who died. To fix my age beyond doubt, this brother must first be
found, inasmuch as I already know that in this respect a mistake
has been made by others, and I have been said to be older than I
am. Unfortunately I myself lived for a time without knowing my age.
I had a family register but it has been lost heaven knows how.
Therefore do not be bored if I urge you to attend to this matter,
to find Maria and the present Ludwig who was born after him. The
sooner you send me the baptismal certificate the greater will be my
obligation.

To the “Notizen” (1838) Wegeler published a few pages of appendix on
the occasion of the Beethoven festival at Bonn (1845), giving therein a
most valuable paragraph explanatory of this important letter:

It seems that Beethoven, once in his life, entertained the idea
of marrying, after having been in love many times, as is related
in the “Notizen” (pp. 40, 42 ~et seq.~ and 117 ~et seq.~). Many
persons as well as myself were impressed by the urgency with
which in his letter of May 10 [~sic~] he besought me to secure
his baptismal certificate for him. He wants to pay all the
expenditures, even a journey from Coblenz to Bonn. And then he adds
explicit instructions which I was to observe in looking up the
certificate in order to get the right one. I found the solution
of the riddle in a letter written to me three months later by
my brother-in-law St. v. Breuning. In this he says: “Beethoven
tells me at least once a week that he intends to write to you;
but I believe his marriage project has fallen through, and for
this reason he no longer feels the lively desire to thank you for
your trouble in getting him the baptismal certificate.” In the
thirty-ninth year of his life Beethoven had not given up thoughts
of marriage.

We know now that the marriage project fell through early in May, soon
after he had written the letter to Wegeler. Two short letters to
Gleichenstein instruct us slightly touching the conclusion of this
psychological drama which, no doubt, tore the heart of Beethoven. It
would seem as if at first Beethoven wanted to visit the Malfattis at
their country home, but at the last preferred to send a formal proposal
of marriage by the hands of Gleichenstein. We have no testimony
concerning the refusal beyond the utterance of the niece and the
cessation of all correspondence on the subject. Here are the letters:

You are living on a calm and peaceful sea or, possibly, are
already in a safe harbor--you do not feel the distress of the
friend who is still in the storm--or you dare not feel it--what
will they think of me in the star Venus Urania, how will they
judge me without seeing me--my pride is so humbled, I would go
there with you uninvited--let me see you at my lodging to-morrow
morning, I shall expect you at about 9 o’clock at breakfast--Dorner
can come with you at another time--if you were but franker with
me, you are certainly concealing something from me, you want
to spare me and this uncertainty is more painful than the most
fatal certainty--Farewell if you cannot come let me know in
advance--think and act for me--I cannot entrust to paper more of
what is going on within me.

Dear friend, so cursedly late--press them all warmly to your
heart--why can I not be with you? Farewell, I will be with you on
Wednesday morning--the letter is written so that the whole world
may read it--if you find that the paper covering is not clean
enough, put another one on, I cannot tell at night whether it is
clean--farewell, dear friend, think and act also for your faithful
friend.

Beethoven’s relations with another fair friend now demand attention.
In the Vienna suburban road Erdbeergasse stands the lofty house then
numbered 98, its rear windows overlooking Rasoumowsky’s gardens, the
Donau canal and the Prater, whence on May 15, 1810, Elizabeth Brentano
(Bettina) wrote to Goethe:

Here I live in the house of the deceased Birkenstock, surrounded
by two thousand copperplate engravings, as many hand-drawings,
as many hundred old ash urns and Etruscan lamps, marble vases,
antique fragments of hands and feet, paintings, Chinese garments,
coins, geological collections, sea insects, telescopes and
numberless maps, plans of ancient empires and cities sunk in ruin,
artistically carved walking-sticks, precious documents, and finally
the sword of Emperor Carolus.

Joseph Melchior von Birkenstock (born in 1738), the honored, trusted
and valued servant of Maria Theresia and Kaiser Joseph, the friend and
brother-in-law of the celebrated Sonnenfels--the esteemed correspondent
of so many of the noblest men of his time, including the American
philosopher Franklin and the Scotch historian Robertson, the reformer
of the Austrian school system, the promoter of all liberal ideas so
long as in those days progress was allowed--was pensioned in 1803,
and thenceforth lived for science, art and literature until his
death, October 30, 1809. His house, filled almost to repletion with
the artistic, archæological, scientific collections of which Bettina
speaks, was one of those truly noble seats of learning, high culture
and refinement, where Beethoven, to his manifest intellectual gain, was
a welcome guest.

[Sidenote: INTIMATE RELATIONS WITH THE BRENTANOS]

Sophie Brentano, older than Bettina, very beautiful notwithstanding
the loss of an eye, and, like all the members of that remarkable
family, very highly talented and accomplished, had made a long visit
to Vienna as Count Heberstein’s bride--their marriage being prevented
by her untimely death. “She brought about the marriage of her brother
Franz with Antonie von Birkenstock,” says Jahn. “The young wife, who
did not feel at home in Frankfort”--and also because of the precarious
health of her father, we may add--“persuaded Brentano to remove to
Vienna, where for several years she occupied a home in the Birkenstock
house which Bettina describes so beautifully. In this house, where
music was cultivated, Beethoven came and went in friendly fashion.
His ‘little friend,’ for whose encouragement in pianoforte playing he
wrote the little trio in a single movement in 1812, was her daughter
Maximiliane Brentano, later Madame Plittersdorf, to whom ten years
later he dedicated the Sonata in E major (Op. 109). After Birkenstock’s
death he tried to give a practical turn to his friendship by seeking
to persuade Archduke Rudolph to buy a part of his collection. More
effective, evidently was the help which Brentano extended to him, who,
when he came into financial straits and needed a loan, always found
an open purse. Madame Antonie Brentano was frequently ill for weeks
at a time during her sojourn in Vienna, so that she had to remain in
her room inaccessible to all visitors. At such times Beethoven used to
come regularly, seat himself at a pianoforte in her anteroom without a
word and improvise; after he had finished ‘telling her everything and
bringing comfort,’ in his language, he would go as he had come without
taking notice of another person.”

The credibility of Madame von Arnim’s contribution to Beethoven
literature has been questioned in all degrees of severity, from simple
doubts as to particular passages to broad denunciation of the whole
as gross distortions of fact, or even as figments of the imagination.
Dogmatism is rarely in proportion to knowledge, unless, perhaps, in
inverse ratio. The bitterest attacks upon the veracity of Mme. von
Arnim have been made by those whose ignorance of the subject is most
conspicuous; but among the doubters are people of candor, good judgment
and wide knowledge of Beethoven’s history; and a decent respect for
the opinions of such renders it just and proper to explain why so
much of these contributions has been admitted into the text as being
substantially true.

At the very outset we are met by a statement in Schindler’s book
(Ed. 1840) which if correct destroys at once the credibility of
Mme. von Arnim’s account of her first interview with Beethoven.
It is this: “Beethoven became acquainted with the Brentano family
in Frankfort through her [Bettina].” A later writer, Ludwig Nohl,
supports the assertion on the authority of “Frau Brentano, now 87
years old”--Birkenstock’s daughter. But Schindler, after his long
residence in and near Frankfort, writes (1860): “There still lives one
of the oldest friends of our master during life, with whom he became
acquainted already on his arrival in Vienna (1792) in the house of her
father.” This was the above-mentioned lady “now 87 years old.” The
other writer also withdraws his statement in a later publication where
he speaks of this aged lady’s daughter, “Maxe, who as a child in 1808
[?] in Vienna, often sat at Birkenstock’s on his (Beethoven’s) knees.”

Any possible doubt on the subject is dispelled by a communication made
to this author in 1872, by the then head of the Brentano family living
in Frankfort, who wrote:

The friendly relations between Beethoven and the family Brentano in
Frankfort already existed when Frau von Brentano (Antonie) visited
her father in Vienna, whither she went with her older children
for an extended period because her father, Court Councillor
Birkenstock, had been ailing for a considerable time. This friendly
intercourse was continued after the death of Councillor Birkenstock
on October 30, 1809, and during the three years’ sojourn of the
Brentano family in Vienna. Beethoven often came to the house of
Birkenstock, later of Brentano, attended the quartet concerts
which were given there by the best musicians of Vienna, and often
rejoiced his friends with his glorious pianoforte playing. The
Brentano children occasionally carried fruit and flowers to him in
his lodging; he in return gave them bonbons and always exhibited
great friendship for them.

[Sidenote: MME. VON ARNIM’S LETTER TO GOETHE]

Beethoven, through his familiar intercourse with the Brentanos, must,
of course, have known of the expected visit of Bettina and of her
relations to Goethe. Her account of their first meeting, therefore,
is in all respects credible; nor has it been, so far as is known,
questioned. It is twice given by her own pen in the “Briefwechsel”
with Goethe under date 1810, and in the Pückler-Muskau correspondence
as belonging to 1832. At this last-named date she had not yet received
from Chancellor von Müller her letter to Goethe, and wrote from
memory, confining her narrative to the minor incidents of the meeting.
The two accounts differ, but they do not contradict, they only
supplement each other.

[Sidenote: AUTHENTICITY OF THE BETTINA LETTERS]

The present writer had the honor of an interview or two with Mme. von
Arnim in 1849-50, and heard the story from her lips; in 1854-5, it was
his good fortune to meet her often in two charming family circles--her
own and that of the brothers Grimm. Thus at an interval of five years
he had the opportunity of comparing her statements, of questioning
her freely and of convincing himself, up to this point, of her simple
honesty and truth.

But the rock of offense does not lie here; it is in the long discourse
of Beethoven which will presently be given in these pages. Schindler
objects to this, both in its matter and form, on the ground that he had
never heard “the master” talk in this manner. But the Beethoven whom
Schindler knew in his last years was not the Beethoven of 1810, and
Anton Schindler certainly was not an Elizabeth Brentano. There happens
to be proof that just in the former period the composer could talk
freely and eloquently. Jahn says: “Beethoven’s personality and nature,
moreover, were calculated to make a significant but winning impression
upon women,” and cites Mme. Hummel (Elizabeth Röckel) in proof. “As
a matron advanced in years,” says he, “and still winning because of
her charming graciousness, she spoke with ingratiating warmth of
the good fortune of having been observed by Beethoven and to have
been on friendly relations with him. ‘Whoever saw him in good humor,
intellectually animated, when he gave utterance to his thoughts in such
a mood,’ said she with glowing eyes, ‘can never forget the impression
which he made.’”

There are two hypotheses as to the genesis of this letter to Goethe.
The one: that Mme. von Arnim in preparing the “Briefwechsel” for
publication wrote out her own crude and nebulous thoughts and gave them
to the public in the form of a fictitious report of a conversation
of Beethoven. The other: that she found Beethoven fresh from the
composition of the “Egmont” music, full of enthusiasm for Goethe and
vehemently desirous that his, the great composer’s, views upon music
should be known and comprehended by the great poet; that he, happening
to get upon this topic at their first interview, imparted those views
to her with that express purpose; and that she, so far as she was able
to follow and understand the speaker, and so far as her memory could
recall his words a few hours after, correctly records and reports them.

The first hypothesis rests now on precisely the same foundation as when
Schindler wrote, namely, on the presumption that Beethoven could not
have spoken thus; but a discourse uttered under such circumstances and
with such a purpose, poured into the willing ear of a beautiful, highly
cultivated and remarkably fascinating young woman, one who possessed
the higher artistic and intellectual qualities of character in an
extraordinary degree--such a discourse might well abound in thoughts
and expressions which the prosaic Schindler in the most prosaic period
of his master’s life never drew from him.

Two significant minor points may be noted: there was a Latin word in
use by the Breuning family in the old Bonn days with a meaning not
given in the dictionaries. This we learn from Wegeler’s “Notizen,” and
~only~ there. Yet Mme. v. Arnim puts this word, ~raptus~, in precisely
this local sense into Beethoven’s mouth several years before the
publication of the “Notizen”! Again: when the discoveries of Galvani
and Volta were still a novel topic of general interest, when, through
them, physiologists, as Dubois-Raymond expressed it, “believed that
at length they should realize their visions of a vital power”; and
when the semi-scientific world was full of the theories of Mesmer
and his disciples--at that time, the first years of the nineteenth
century, custom gave the word ~elektrisch~ (electrical) a significance
long since lost, which well conveyed the thought Beethoven is made
to express. But in 1834-5, to introduce this word in that sense,
retrospectively, into a fictitious conversation purporting to be of the
year 1810, shows, no less than the ~raptus~, an exquisite tact so rare,
that it might well be termed a most felicitous stroke of genius, one of
which any writer of romance might be vain.

Julius Merz, in his “Athenæum für Wissenschaft, Kunst und Leben”
(Nuremberg, January, 1839), printed for the opening article “Drei
Briefe von Beethoven an Bettina.” The third of these letters was
copied the next July into Schilling’s ephemeral musical periodical
the “Jahrbücher” (Carlsruhe), with remarks by the editor expressing
doubts of its authenticity. But Schindler, whose book was just then
going to press, copied a large portion of it as genuine; and in his
second edition (1845) reprinted all three entire, without adding a word
of doubt or misgiving. They had appeared in English in 1841, from a
copy given to Mr. Henry F. Chorley by Mme. von Arnim; and since then
have been reprinted in various languages probably more frequently, and
become more universally known, than any other chapter in Beethoven
literature. Here and there a reader shared in Schilling’s doubts;
but twenty years elapsed before these doubts were put into such form,
and by an author of such position, that a reasonable self-respect
could allow Mme. von Arnim to take notice of them; and then it was too
late--she lay upon her death-bed. Her silence under the attacks made
upon her veracity is therefore no evidence against her.

A. B. Marx, the author here referred to, produces but one argument
which demands notice here, and this is the occurrence of certain
“repetitions”: “liebe, liebste,” “liebe, gute,” “bald, bald” which
he declared to be “very womanish and very un-Beethovenian.” Now, on
the contrary, in the text of this volume there is abundant proof that
just these expressions are very Beethovenian and characteristic of his
letters to favorite women at the precise period in question.

It is true, as he says, that when Marx wrote, nothing of the kind
had ever been published; ~a fortiori~, nothing twenty years before;
but this fact, on which he laid such stress, instead of supporting
really demolishes his argument. It was in the autumn of 1838 that
Mr. Merz received the letters. At that time specimens of Beethoven’s
correspondence had been published by Seyfried in the pseudo-“Studien,”
by Schumann in the “Neue Zeitschrift,” by Gottfried Weber in the
“Cäcilia,” by Wegeler in the “Notizen”; and a few others were scattered
in books and periodicals. Imitators, counterfeiters, fabricators of
false documents, must have samples, patterns, models; but all the
Beethoven letters then in print were so far from being the patterns
or models of the Bettina letters that the contrast between them was
the main argument against the authenticity of the latter. If, then,
Mme. von Arnim introduced so many expressions which we know (but she
could not) are ~not~ “very womanish and very un-Beethovenian” into a
fictitious correspondence, she did so not only without a pattern or
model, but against ~all~ patterns and models. ~Credat Judæeus Apella,
non ego.~

There are points of doubt and difficulty in the third letter which
the warmest advocates of its authenticity have not been able fully to
overcome; but as Marx had not sufficient knowledge of his subject to
perceive them, and the question of the acceptance or rejection of this
letter will rest upon grounds to be given in the text, these points
need not be noticed here. Another one must be, namely: suppose that
letter should be proved counterfeit, does it follow that the others are
so? Not at all; but that they are the authentic letters whose manner
and style are imitated.

In 1848, Mme. von Arnim published two volumes of characteristic
correspondence with Herr Nathusius under the title: “Ilius Pamphilius
und die Ambrosia.” In one of his letters ~Pamphilius~ requests
autographs of Goethe’s mother and Beethoven, for a collection which
he is making. This gives her occasion in various letters to express
her admiration and reverence for the composer in terms which come warm
from the heart. At length (Vol. II, p. 205) she writes: “Herewith
I am sending you the letters of Goethe and Beethoven for your
autograph collection.” She prints all three in the pages following;
but a comparison of the several passages relating to them leads
to the inference, that only one autograph was sent. Is all this a
mystification? Was there no ~Pamphilius~? No autograph collection? No
contribution of a letter in Beethoven’s hand to it? Herr Nathusius
knows.

Mme. von Arnim, then, gave the letters to the public three times; in
the “Athenæum,” January, 1839; in English translation, through Chorley,
1841; in the “Pamphilius und Ambrosia,” in 1848. It is patent to the
feeblest common sense, that, if not genuine, either the same copy, or
copies carefully collated so as to avoid all suspicious variations,
would have been sent to the printer; and that the two German
publications would differ only by such small errors as compositors
make and proof-readers overlook--such as are found in Schindler’s
reprint from the “Athenæum,” and in Marx’s from Schindler. But the
variations of the “Pamphilius” copy from that in the “Athenæum” are
such as cannot be printer’s errors, but precisely such as two persons,
inexperienced in the task, would make in deciphering Beethoven’s very
illegible writing; one (Mr. Merz) correcting the punctuation and faults
in the use of capital letters (as Wegeler has evidently done), and
the other (Mme. von Arnim) retaining these striking characteristics
of the composer’s letters. The change of the familiar “Bettine,”
which Beethoven learned in her brother’s family, to the more formal
“Freundin,” can hardly be made a point of objection. Marx’s argument
had been so completely upset, that, in renewing (1863) his attack upon
the then deceased Mme. von Arnim, he was compelled to base it upon
other considerations. It was then that the present writer compared the
letters printed in the “Athenæum” with the copies in the “Pamphilius,”
which convinced him, on the grounds above noted, of their authenticity,
at least in part, and led to a correspondence, of which an abstract
here follows: On July 9, 1863, the present author requested Mr.
Wheeler, American Consul at Nuremberg, to see Mr. Merz, learn from him
the circumstances under which he obtained the letters, and whether
he printed from Beethoven’s autograph. Mr. Wheeler replied on August
9th: “He [Mr. Merz] states, that he enjoyed the personal acquaintance
of that lady (Mme. von Arnim), and was at the time in Berlin on a
visit; and being at her residence on a certain occasion, she gave him
these letters, remarking: ‘There is something for the Athenæum.’ After
publishing the letters, Mr. Merz feels confident, he returned the
letters to Mme. v. Arnim.” The author now, on August 25th, requested
Mr. Wheeler if possible to obtain from Mr. Merz his written statement
that he had printed the letters from the original autographs. Mr.
Wheeler, on September 24th, replied.... “Yesterday he [Merz] was good
enough to write me the note you requested; I trust it may be found of
the tenor wished.” The note which was enclosed in this letter is this:
“I can certify that at the time in question I had in my possession
the letters referred to in the January number of the ‘Athenæum,’ but
gave them back again. Nuremberg, September 23, 1863. Julius Merz,
book publisher.” It may be said that this note does not explicitly
cover the whole ground. True, it is the testimony of a conscientious
man who, after the lapse of twenty-five years, remembers deciphering
certain letters of Beethoven which he printed, but does not venture to
declare that ~all~ that he printed lay before him in the handwriting
of the master. There is another witness who is reported to have been
less distrustful of his memory. Herr Ludwig Nohl, in a note to these
letters (“Briefe Beethoven’s,” p. 71), says: “Their authenticity
(barring, perhaps, a few words in the middle of the third letter) was
never doubtful in my mind and will not be now after Beethoven’s letters
have been made public. Though superfluous, it may yet be said for the
benefit of such as are not wholly willing to accept internal evidence,
that Prof. Moriz Carriere, in a conversation on the subject of
Beethoven’s letters in December, 1864, expressly stated that the three
letters to Bettina were genuine; he saw them himself in her house in
Berlin in 1839, read them through with the greatest interest and care,
and because of their significant contents had urged their immediate
publication. When they were printed a short time afterward, no changes
in the reprint struck his attention; on the contrary, he could still
remember that the much controverted terms, particularly the anecdote
about Goethe in the third letter, were precisely so in the original.”

[Sidenote: FIRST MEETING WITH BETTINA]

And now to the matter, the discussion of which has detained us so long.
One day in May, Beethoven, sitting at the pianoforte with a song just
composed before him, was surprised by a pair of hands being placed
upon his shoulders. He looked up “gloomily” but his face brightened
as he saw a beautiful young woman who, putting her mouth to his ear
said: “My name is Brentano.” She needed no further introduction.
He smiled, gave her his hand without rising and said: “I have just
made a beautiful song for you; do you want to hear it?” Thereupon he
sang--raspingly, incisively, not gently or sweetly (the voice was
hard), but transcending training and agreeableness by reason of the
cry of passion which reacted on the hearer--“Kennst du das Land?” He
asked: “Well, how do you like it?” She nodded. “It is beautiful, isn’t
it?” he said enthusiastically, “marvellously beautiful; I’ll sing it
again.” He sang it again, looked at her with a triumphant expression,
and seeing her cheeks and eyes glow, rejoiced over her happy approval.
“Aha!” said he, “most people are touched by a good thing; but they are
not artist-natures. Artists are fiery; they do not weep.” He then sang
another song of Goethe’s, “Trocknet nicht Thränen der ewigen Liebe.”

There was a large dinner party that day at Franz Brentano’s in the
Birkenstock house and Bettina--for it was she--told Beethoven he must
change his old coat for a better, and accompany her thither. “Oh,” said
he jokingly, “I have several good coats,” and took her to the wardrobe
to see them. Changing his coat he went down with her to the street, but
stopped there and said he must return for a moment. He came down again
laughing with the old coat on. She remonstrated; he went up again,
dressed himself properly and went with her.[78] But, notwithstanding
his rather clumsy drollery, she soon discovered a greatness in the man
for which she was wholly unprepared. His genius burst upon her with a
splendor of which she had formed no previous conception, and the sudden
revelation astonished, dazzled, enraptured her. It is just this, which
gives the tone to her letter upon Beethoven addressed to Goethe. In
fact, the Beethoven of ~our~ conceptions was not then known; the first
attempt to describe or convey in words, what the finer appreciative
spirits had begun to feel in his music, was E. T. A. Hoffmann’s article
on the C minor Symphony, in the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” of July 21st--five
weeks later.

[Sidenote: BETTINA’S LETTER TO GOETHE]

The essential parts of Bettina’s long communication are these:

(To Goethe) Vienna, May 28.

When I saw him of whom I shall now speak to you, I forgot the
whole world--as the world still vanishes when memory recalls the
scene--yes, it vanishes.... It is Beethoven of whom I now wish to
tell you, and who made me forget the world and you; I am still in
my nonage, it is true, but I am not mistaken when I say--what no
one, perhaps, now understands and believes--he stalks far ahead
of the culture of mankind. Shall we ever overtake him?--I doubt
it, but grant that he may live until the mighty and exalted enigma
lying in his soul is fully developed, may reach its loftiest goal,
then surely he will place the key to his heavenly knowledge in
our hands so that we may be advanced another step towards true
happiness.

To you, I am sure, I may confess I believe in a divine magic
which is the essence of intellectual life. This magic Beethoven
practises in his art. Everything that he can tell you about is pure
magic, every posture is the organization of a higher existence,
and therefore Beethoven feels himself to be the founder of a new
sensuous basis in the intellectual life; you will understand
what I am trying to say and how much of it is true. Who could
replace this mind for us? From whom could we expect so much? All
human activities toss around him like mechanism, he alone begets
independently in himself the unsuspected, uncreated. What to him is
intercourse with the world--to him who is at his sacred daily task
before sunrise and who after sunset scarcely looks about him, who
forgets sustenance for his body and who is carried in a trice, by
the stream of his enthusiasm, past the shores of work-a-day things?

He himself said: “When I open my eyes I must sigh, for what I see
is contrary to my religion, and I must despise the world which
does not know that music is a higher revelation than all wisdom
and philosophy, the wine which inspires one to new generative
processes, and I am the Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine
for mankind and makes them spiritually drunken. When they are again
become sober they have drawn from the sea all that they brought
with them, all that they can bring with them to dry land. I have
not a single friend; I must live alone. But well I know that God is
nearer to me than to other artists; I associate with him without
fear; I have always recognized and understood him and have no fear
for my music--it can meet no evil fate. Those who understand it
must be freed by it from all the miseries which the others drag
about with themselves.”

All this Beethoven said to me the first time I saw him; a feeling
of reverential awe came over me when he expressed himself to me
with such friendly frankness, seeing that I must have appeared
so utterly insignificant to him. I was surprised, too, for I had
been told that he was unsociable and would converse with nobody.
They were afraid to take me to him; I had to hunt him up alone. He
has three lodgings in which he conceals himself alternately--one
in the country, one in the city and the third on the bastion. It
was in the last that I found him in the third storey, walked in
unannounced. He was seated at the pianoforte.

He accompanied me home and on the way he said the many beautiful
things about art, speaking so loud and stopping in the street that
it took courage to listen to him. He spoke with great earnestness
and much too surprisingly not to make me forget the street.
They were greatly surprised to see him enter a large dinner
party at home with me. After dinner, without being asked, he sat
down to the instrument and played long and marvellously; there
was a simultaneous fermentation of his pride and his genius.
When he is in such a state of exaltation his spirit begets the
incomprehensible and his fingers accomplish the impossible.

In the letter to Pückler-Muskau in which Mme. von Arnim dwells more
upon the incidents of this meeting, she writes thus:

There was surprise when I entered a gathering of more than 40
people who sat at table, hand in hand with Beethoven. Without ado
he seated himself, said little (doubtless because he was deaf).
Twice he took his writing-tablet out of his pocket and made a few
marks in it. After dinner the entire company went up to the tower
of the house to look at the view; when they were gone down again
and he and I alone, he drew forth his tablet, looked at it, wrote
and elided, then said: “My song is finished.” He leaned against
the window-frame and sang it out upon the air. Then he said: “That
sounds, doesn’t it? It belongs to you if you like it, I made it
for you, you inspired it, I read it in your eyes just as it was
written.”

In the Goethe letter she continues:

Since then he comes to me every day, or I go to him. For this I
neglect social meetings, galleries, the theatre, and even the tower
of St. Stephen’s. Beethoven says “Ah! What do you want to see
there? I will call for you towards evening; we will walk through
the alleys of Schönbrunn.” Yesterday I went with him to a glorious
garden in full bloom, all the hot-beds open--the perfume was
bewildering; Beethoven stopped in the oppressive sunshine and said:
“Not only because of their contents, but also because of their
rhythm, Goethe’s poems have great power over me, I am tuned up and
stimulated to composition by this language which builds itself into
higher orders as if through the work of spirits and already bears
in itself the mystery of the harmonies.

“Then from the focus of enthusiasm I must discharge melody in all
directions; I pursue it, capture it again passionately; I see it
flying away and disappearing in the mass of varied agitations;
now I seize upon it again with renewed passion; I cannot tear
myself from it; I am impelled with hurried modulations to multiply
it, and, at length I conquer it:--behold, a symphony! Music,
verily, is the mediator between intellectual and sensuous life. I
should like to talk with Goethe about this--would he understand
me?”.... “Speak to Goethe about me,” he said; “tell him to hear my
symphonies and he will say that I am right in saying that music is
the one incorporeal entrance into the higher world of knowledge
which comprehends mankind but which mankind cannot comprehend....
We do not know what knowledge brings us. The encased seed needs
the moist, electrically warm soil to sprout, to think, to express
itself. Music is the electrical soil in which the mind thinks,
lives, feels. Philosophy is a precipitate of the mind’s electrical
essence; its needs which seek a basis in a primeval principle are
elevated by it, and although the mind is not supreme over what it
generates through it, it is yet happy in the process. Thus every
real creation of art is independent, more powerful than the artist
himself and returns to the divine through its manifestation. It is
one with man only in this, that it bears testimony of the mediation
of the divine in him.... Everything electrical stimulates the mind
to musical, fluent, out-streaming generation.

“I am electrical in my nature. I must interrupt the flow of my
undemonstrable wisdom or I might neglect my rehearsal. Write
to Goethe if you understand what I have said, but I cannot
be answerable for anything and will gladly be instructed by
him.” I promised to write you everything to the best of my
understanding.... Last night I wrote down all that he had said;
this morning I read it over to him. He remarked: “~Did I say that?
Well, then I had a raptus!~” He read it again attentively and
struck out the above and wrote between the lines, for he is greatly
desirous that you shall understand him. Rejoice me now with a
speedy answer, which shall show Beethoven that you appreciate him.
It has always been our purpose to discuss music; it was also my
desire, but through Beethoven I feel for the first time that I am
not fit for the task.

[Sidenote: GOETHE’S REPLY TO BETTINA]

To this letter Goethe answered:

Your letter, heartily beloved child, reached me at a happy time.
You have been at great pains to picture for me a great and
beautiful nature in its achievements and its strivings, its needs
and the superabundance of its gifts. It has given me great pleasure
to accept this picture of a truly great spirit. Without desiring at
all to classify it, it yet requires a psychological feat to extract
the sum of agreement; but I feel no desire to contradict what I can
grasp of your hurried explosion; on the contrary, I should prefer
for the present to admit an agreement between my nature and that
which is recognizable in these manifold utterances. The ordinary
human mind might, perhaps, find contradictions in it; but before
that which is uttered by one possessed of such a dæmon, an ordinary
layman must stand in reverence, and it is immaterial whether he
speaks from feeling or knowledge, for here the gods are at work
strewing seeds for future discernment and we can only wish that
they may proceed undisturbedly to development. But before they
can become general, the clouds which veil the human mind must be
dispersed. Give Beethoven my heartiest greetings and tell him that
I would willingly make sacrifices to have his acquaintance, when
an exchange of thoughts and feelings would surely be beautifully
profitable; mayhap you may be able to persuade him to make a
journey to Karlsbad whither I go nearly every year and would have
the greatest leisure to listen to him and learn from him. To think
of teaching him would be an insolence even in one with greater
insight than mine, since he has the guiding light of his genius
which frequently illumines his mind like a stroke of lightning
while we sit in darkness and scarcely suspect the direction from
which daylight will break upon us.

It would give me great joy if Beethoven were to make me a present
of the two songs of mine which he has composed, but neatly and
plainly written. I am very eager to hear them. It is one of my
greatest enjoyments, for which I am very grateful, to have the
old moods of such a poem (as Beethoven very correctly says) newly
aroused in me....

June 6, 1810.

(Bettina to Goethe)

Dearest friend! I communicated your beautiful letter to Beethoven
so far as it concerned him. He was full of joy and cried: “If there
is any one who can make him understand music, I am the man!” The
idea of hunting you up at Karlsbad filled him with enthusiasm. He
struck his forehead a blow and said: “Might I not have done that
earlier?--but, in truth, I did think of it but omitted to do it
because of timidity which often torments me as if I were not a
real man: but I am no longer afraid of Goethe.” You may count,
therefore, on seeing him next year....

I am enclosing both songs by Beethoven; the other two are by me.
Beethoven has seen them and said many pretty things about them,
such as that if I had devoted myself to this lovely art I might
cherish great hopes; but I merely graze it in flight, for my art is
only to laugh and sigh in a little pocket--more than that there is
none for me.

Bettina.

By the middle of June she was in Bohemia.

There are a few letters from this period to which attention may be
paid. On July 9, 1810, Beethoven wrote to Zmeskall telling him of his
distracted state of mind: he ought to go away from Vienna for the sake
of his health, but Archduke Rudolph wanted him to remain near him; so
he was one day in Schönbrunn, the next in Vienna. “Every day there
come new inquiries from strangers, new acquaintances, new conditions
even as regards art--sometimes I feel as if I should go mad because
of my undeserved fame; fortune is seeking me and on that account I
almost apprehend a new misfortune.” On July 17th, he sent to Thomson
the Scotch songs which he had arranged, accompanied by a letter (in
French) in which he discusses business matters, gives some instructions
touching the repetitions in the songs, repeats his offer to compose
three quintets and three sonatas and to send him such arrangements
for quartet and quintet as have been made of his symphonies. Soon
thereafter he wrote to Bettina Brentano:[79]

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN’S LETTER TO BETTINA]

Vienna, August 11, 1810.

Dearest Bettine:

No lovelier spring than this, that say I and feel it, too, because
I have made your acquaintance. You must have seen for yourself that
in society I am like a frog on the sand which flounders about and
cannot get away until some benevolent Galatea puts him into the
mighty sea again. I was right high and dry, dearest Bettine, I was
surprised by you at a moment when ill-humor had complete control
of me; but of a truth it vanished at sight of you, I knew at once
that you belonged to another world than this absurd one to which
with the best of wills one cannot open his ears. I am a miserable
man and am complaining about the others!!--Surely you will pardon
this with your good heart which looks out of your eyes and your
sense which lies in your ears--at least your ears know how to
flatter when they give heed. My ears, unfortunately, are a barrier
through which I cannot easily have friendly intercourse with
mankind--otherwise!--Perhaps!--I should have had more confidence in
you. As it is I could only understand the big, wise look of your
eyes, which did for me what I shall never forget. Dear Bettine,
dearest girl! Art!--who understands it, with whom can one converse
about this great goddess!--How dear to me are the few days in
which we chatted, or rather corresponded with each other, I have
preserved all the little bits of paper on which your bright,
dear, dearest answers are written. And so I owe it to my bad ears
that the best portion of these fleeting conversations is written
down. Since you have been gone I have had vexatious hours, hours
of shadow, in which nothing can be done; I walked about in the
Schönbrunn Alley for fully three hours after you were gone, and on
the bastion; but no angel who might fascinate me as you do, Angel.
Pardon, dearest Bettine, this departure from the key. I must have
such intervals in which to unburden my heart. You have written to
Goethe, haven’t you?--would that I might put my head in a bag so
that I could see and hear nothing of what is going on in the world.
Since you, dearest angel, cannot meet me. But I shall get a letter
from you, shall I not?--Hope sustains me, it sustains half of the
world, and I have had her as neighbor all my life, if I had not
what would have become of me?--I am sending you herewith, written
with my own hand, “Kennst du das Land,” as a souvenir of the hour
in which I learned to know you, I am sending also the other which I
have composed since I parted with you dear, dearest heart!

Herz, mein Herz, was soll das geben,
Was bedränget dich so sehr?
Welch ein fremdes, neues Leben!
Ich erkenne dich nicht mehr.

Yes, dearest Bettine, answer this, write me what it is shall happen
to me since my heart has become such a rebel. Write to your most
faithful friend--

Beethoven.

The cessation in Beethoven’s productiveness in this period is partly
explained by the vast amount of labor entailed by the preparation of
manuscripts for publication, the correction of proofs, etc. Of this
there is evidence in a number of letters to Breitkopf and Härtel. On
July 2 he wrote demanding an honorarium of 250 florins for works that
he had specified, and sending the first installment, two sonatas for
pianoforte, five variations for pianoforte and six ariettas (probably
Op. 75). The second installment, he said, should be a Concerto in
E-flat, the Choral Fantasia and three Ariettas. The third, the
Characteristic Sonata “Farewell, Absence and Return,” five Italian
ariettas and the score of “Egmont.” On August 21, 1810, he wrote to
the firm at great length. He sends a draft of a plan for a complete
edition of his works, in which Breitkopf and Härtel were to figure as
the principal publishers. He asks what they are willing to pay for “a
concerto, quartet, etc., and then you will be able to see that 250
ducats is a small honorarium.”... “I do not aim at being a musical
usurer, as you think, who composes only in order to get rich, by no
means, but I love a life of independence and cannot achieve this
without a little fortune, and then the honorarium must, like everything
else that he undertakes, bring some honor to the artist.” He gives
directions as to the dedications. Of the “Egmont” he says: “As soon as
you have received the score you will best know what use to make of it
and how to direct the attention of the public to it--I wrote it purely
out of love for the poet, and to show this I accepted nothing from
the theatre directors who accepted it, and as a reward, as ever and
always, have treated my work with great indifference. There is nothing
smaller than our great folk, but I make an exception in favor of the
archdukes--give me your opinion as to a complete edition of my works,
one of the chief obstacles seems to be in the case of new works which
I shall continue to bring into the world I shall have to suffer in the
matter of publication.”...

Without date, but endorsed by the firm as of August 21st, is the
following little note containing an important correction in the Scherzo
of the Fifth Symphony:

... I have found another error in the Symphony in C minor, namely,
in the third movement in 3/4 time where, after the ♮ ♮ ♮ the minor
returns again, it reads (I just take the bass part) thus:

[Illustration]

The two measures marked by a X are redundant and must be stricken
out, of course also in all the parts that are pausing.

[Sidenote: SORROWS BORNE IN SILENCE]

If the correspondence in this chapter seems in tone and character at
variance with the assumption that, for some reason or other, this
was a disastrous year to Beethoven, it must not be forgotten that
there are troubles and sorrows which must be borne in silence--when
to complain and lament is apter to excite ridicule than compassion.
Though the burden be almost insupportable, the sufferer must perform
his duties and pursue the business of life with a serene countenance,
and permit no outward sign to reveal the secret pain. “The setting of
a great hope is like the setting of the sun,” says Longfellow. “The
brightness of our life is gone. Shadows of evening fall around us and
the world seems but a dim reflection--itself a broader shadow. We look
forward into the coming lonely night. The soul withdraws into itself.”
When “surprised” by Bettina, Beethoven’s great hope had set and “ill
humor had complete control” of him. His “marriage project had fallen
through.” Whoever the lady was, the blow had now fallen and must be
borne in silence. Its disastrous effect upon Beethoven’s professional
energies is therefore for us the only measure of its severity. True,
he writes to Zmeskall and talks of his art as if great things were in
prospect; but he had no heart for such labor, and not until October did
he take up and finish the ~Quartetto Serioso~ for his friend. The long
bright summer days, that in other years had awakened his powers to new
and joyous activity and added annually one at least to the list of his
grandest works, came and departed, leaving no memorial but a few songs
and minor instrumental works--the latter apparently composed to order.
He took no country lodging this summer--alternating between Baden and
Vienna, and indulging in lonely rambles among the hills and forests. We
think it must have been in this period of song composition and oriental
studies that, on such an excursion, he had with him the undated paper
containing a selection from the songs in Herder’s “Morgenländische
Blumenlese” and wrote upon it in pencil:

My decree [meaning the annuity contract] says only “to remain in
the country”--perhaps this would be complied with by any spot.
My unhappy ears do not torment me here. It seems as if in the
country every tree said to me “Holy! Holy!” Who can give complete
expression to the ecstasy of the woods? If everything else fails
the country remains even in winter--such as Gaden, Unterer Brühl,
etc.--easy to hire a lodging from a peasant, certainly cheap at
this time.

Another half-sheet in the Library of the Musikfreunde in Vienna, mostly
covered with rude musical sketches, is a suitable pendant to the
above, as it contains these words: “Without the society of some loved
person it would not be possible to live even in the country.”

It is well known that Beethoven’s duties to Archduke Rudolph soon
became irksome and at last almost insupportable. It was, however, for
his good that he was compelled to perform them and be master of himself
to that extent; it was also fortunate that Elizabeth Brentano came
just at the crisis with beauty, grace and genius to turn his thoughts
into other channels. Nor was it without benefit to him that Thomson’s
melodies, which required no severe study, gave some desultory but
profitable employment to his mind. Just at the close of the year it
was rumored that he contemplated a journey into Italy “next spring, in
order to seek restoration of his health, which had suffered greatly
for several years, under southern skies.” There was some foundation
for this, for some years later Beethoven himself states in one of his
letters: “I declined a call to Naples.”

[Sidenote: WORKS PUBLISHED IN 1810]

The compositions of the year 1810 are:

1. The incidental music to Goethe’s “Egmont.” It was composed
between October, 1809 and May, 1810, and the first performance took
place on the 24th day of the latter month. There are sketches for
the song “Freudvoll und Leidvoll” in a sketchbook used in 1809;
but Nottebohm does not recognize them as having been conceived
for use in the tragedy, since there are indications that the song
was to have pianoforte accompaniment and be sung in part by two
voices. In a sketchbook begun early in January, 1810 (Nottebohm,
“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 276), on the first twenty-nine pages
there are sketches for seven numbers in the following order, viz:
7, 1, 8, 9, 2, 3, 6. Sketches for the overture are not to be found
in the book, but in other places in connection with sketches for
the Pianoforte Trio in B-flat, Op. 97, which was also in hand in
1809. Beethoven’s admiration for Goethe (stimulated, it is fair to
assume, by his intercourse with Elizabeth Brentano) is shown by the
fact that, besides the “Egmont” lyrics, others of Goethe’s poems
were sketched or completed in the year which saw the production
of the tragedy. “Egmont” was first performed on May 24, 1810.
Though Beethoven contemplated dedicating it to Archduke Rudolph,
it eventually appeared without a dedication. Beethoven offered the
music to Breitkopf and Härtel in a letter dated May 6 (1810) for
1400 florins in silver.

2. Two songs: “Kennst du das Land” and “Herz, mein Herz.”

3. Three songs: “Wonne der Wehmuth,” “Sehnsucht,” and “Mit einem
gemalten Bande.” The manuscript bears the following inscription
in Beethoven’s hand: “3 Gesänge--1810--Poesie von Goethe in Musik
gesetzt von Ludwig van Beethoven.”

4. Forty-three Irish melodies, with ritornellos and accompaniments
for pianoforte, violin and violoncello (completed).

5. Écossaise for military band.

6. Polonaise for military band.

7. March in F major for military band. “Composed in 1810, in Baden,
for Archduke Anton--3rd Summer-month.”

8. String Quartet, F minor. Op. 95. The autograph manuscript
preserved in the Royal Imperial Court Library at Vienna bears the
inscription: “~Quartetto serioso~--1810--in the month of October.
Dedicated to Herr von Zmeskall and written in the month of October
by his friend L. v. Beethoven.”

The publications of the year were:

1. “Das Lied aus der Ferne.” Published by Breitkopf and Härtel, in
February.

2. “Andenken,” song by Matthison. Breitkopf and Härtel, in March.

3. The opera “Leonore,” in two acts, etc., without overture and
finales. Breitkopf and Härtel, in March.

4. ~Sestetto pour 2 Clarinettes, 2 Cors et 2 Bassons, par L. v.
Beethoven.~ In parts, by Breitkopf and Härtel, in April.

5. ~Ouverture à grand Orchestre de l’Opéra Leonore, etc.~
(“Leonore, No. 3”), by Breitkopf and Härtel, in July.

6. Five Songs: Lied aus der Ferne (“Als mir noch die
Thräne”--thirteen pages composed stanza by stanza, newly
published); Der Liebende (“Welch’ ein wunderbares Leben”); Der
Jüngling in der Fremde (“Der Frühling entblühet”); An den fernen
Geliebten (“Einst wohnten süsse Ruh”); Der Zufriedene (“Zwar schuf
das Glück hienieden”), published in “Achtzehn deutsche Gedichte mit
Begleitung des Pianoforte von verschiedenen Meistern ... Erzherzog
Rudolph ... gewidmet von C. L. Reissig,” by Artaria and Co.,
Vienna, in July.

7. “Die Sehnsucht von Goethe, mit vier Melodien nebst
Clavierbegleitung....” No. 38, Vienna and Pesth, Kunst-und
Industrie-Comptoir, in September. A later edition bears the imprint
of S. A. Steiner and Co.

8. ~Variations pour le Pianoforte composées et dediées à son Ami
Oliva par L. v. Beethoven. Œuv. 76.~ Breitkopf and Härtel, in
October.

9. ~Quatuor pour deux Violons, etc., composé et dedié à son Altesse
le Prince régnant de Lobkowitz, Duc de Raudnitz, par, etc.~ Op. 74.
Breitkopf and Härtel, in November.

10. Six Songs with accompaniment for the Pianoforte. Op. 75.
Dedicated to Princess Kinsky. Breitkopf and Härtel, in November.
Mignon (“Kennst du das Land”); Neue Liebe, neues Leben (“Herz, mein
Herz”); Aus Goethe’s Faust (“Es war einmal ein König”); Gretel’s
Warnung (“Mit Liebesblick und Spiel und Sang”); An den fernen
Geliebten (“Einst wohnten süsse Ruh”); Der Zufriedene (“Zwar schuf
das Glück hienieden”). The last two had been published in July in
Reissig’s Collection (see No. 6).

11. ~Fantaisie pour le Pianoforte composée et dediée à son Ami
Monsieur le Conte François de Brunswick par L. v. Beethoven.~ Op.
77. Breitkopf and Härtel, in November.

12. ~Sonate pour le Pianoforte composée et dediée à Madame la
Comtesse Thérèse de Brunswick, etc.~ Op. 78. Breitkopf and Härtel,
in November.

13. ~Sonatine pour le Pianoforte, etc.~ Op. 79. Breitkopf and
Härtel, in November.

14. ~Sextuor pour 2 Violons, Alto, Violoncello et 2 Cors obligés.~
Op. 81 (81b), by Simrock, Bonn, in the spring.

FOOTNOTES:

[77] The letters to Gleichenstein were placed by Nohl and after him
by Thayer in the year 1807. Their references to money matters and
incidents which seem to point to the acquisition of a larger sum
than usual, especially the first, which indicates that Beethoven
had recently had an English bill of exchange cashed by his banker,
connect them pretty obviously with the payment received from Clementi
and Co. Bringing these letters into connection with others which
were indubitably written in 1810, Dr. Riemann makes the argument
which follows in the body of the text as to the person whom Beethoven
expected to marry when he sent to Wegeler on May 2d of that year for
a copy of his baptismal certificate. Thayer pursued the theory that
the lady was Countess Therese von Brunswick. The English editor has
thought it wise to follow Dr. Riemann in assigning the letters to the
year 1810, and permitting his German associate to make his argument in
favor of Therese Malfatti, as he has already permitted Thayer to urge
that the “Immortal Beloved” of the love-letter and the hoped-for bride
of 1810 were one and the same person. The personality of the “Immortal
Beloved” is not implicated in Dr. Riemann’s contention, but only the
date when the tender relations between Beethoven and Countess Brunswick
came to an end. On that point there is no evidence. Thayer, as we have
seen and shall see again, believed that Beethoven had proposed marriage
to Therese Malfatti; but he thought it was in 1811. Of the evidence
introduced by the Clementi incident, Thayer knew nothing, as it was not
unearthed until five years after his death.

[78] This account of the first meeting of Bettina and Beethoven is
compiled from her letters to Goethe and Pückler-Muskau, and notes of
her conversation with the writer. How deep and clear the impressions
of their first interviews with Beethoven, even to minute incidents,
remained upon the memories of both Mme. von Arnim and Mme. von Arneth,
when seventy years of age, the writer had opportunity to know by
hearing them from their own lips. In the printed letters of the former
to Pückler-Muskau, the part relating to this first meeting is lucid and
satisfactory, but the confusion of memory visible in the rest of the
letter renders it nearly worthless.

[79] From the “Athenæum.” There are a few variations in the letter as
printed in the Nuremburg journal and in “Ilius Pamphilius”--“Bettine”
is changed to “friend,” “frog” to “fish,” “and on the bastion” is
omitted, “fascinated” (gebannt) is altered to “seized” (gepackt). A few
other differences are grammatical errors.

It seems proper at this place for the English Editor to remark that Mr.
Thayer’s argument in favor of the authenticity of the Bettina letters
was printed in the Appendix to Vol. III of the original edition with a
concluding foot-note by Dr. Deiters in which he said that he had not
been convinced by his author’s painstaking exposition that the letters
are genuine. Dr. Riemann in the second German edition prints the
letters and the argument in the text, distributing the latter in two
chapters and appending a foot-note in which he gives it as his opinion
that only the second (that dated February 10, 1811, the autograph of
which is in existence) is authentic ~as a letter~, while the other two,
though probably based on observations made by Beethoven to Bettina,
were put into epistolary shape by her. One of Bettina’s letters to
Pückler-Muskau, which tells of Beethoven’s rudeness to Goethe as
illustrated in the anecdote which plays so important a rôle in the
third letter, would seem to bear out this theory. But it is also likely
that Beethoven’s original letters were tricked out by her for literary
effect, which would help to explain the disappearance of the autographs
of the letters of 1810 and 1812. The second letter, which was printed
in ~facsimile~ in the Marx-Behncke critical biography of Beethoven (4th
ed., 1884), was in possession of Pastor Nathusius in Quedlinburg in
1902.

Chapter XI

Bettina Brentano Again--Letters Between Beethoven and Goethe--The
B-flat Trio--The Theatre in Pesth--Opera Projects--Therese
Malfatti--Sojourn in Teplitz.

Beethoven’s intercourse with the Brentanos kept his interest in Bettina
alive and to this we owe a characteristic and welcome letter which,
like the first, is here taken from the Nuremberg “Athenæum”:

Vienna, February 10, 1811.

Beloved, dear Bettine!

I have already received two letters from you and observe from your
letters to your brother [“to Tonie” in the “Ilius Pamphilius,”
Tonie being her sister-in-law], that you still think of me and
much too favorably. I carried your first letter around with me
all summer and it often made me happy; even if I do not write to
you often and you never see me I yet write you a thousand times
a thousand letters in my thoughts. I could have imagined how you
feel amidst the cosmopolitan rabble in Berlin even if you had not
written about it to me; much chatter without deeds about art!!!!!
The best description of it is in Schiller’s poem “Die Flüsse,”
where the Spree speaks.

You are to be married, dear Bettine, or have already been, and I
could not see you once more before then; may all happiness with
which marriage blesses the married, flow upon you. What shall I
tell you about myself? “Pity my fate,” I cry with Johanna; if I can
save a few years for myself for that and all other weal and woe I
shall thank Him the all-comprehending and Exalted. If you write to
Goethe, hunt out all the words to express my deepest reverence and
admiration for him. I am about to write to him myself concerning
Egmont for which I have composed music and, indeed, purely out of
love for his poems which make me happy, but who can sufficiently
thank a great poet, the most precious jewel of a nation? And now no
more, dear good Bettine. It was 4 o’clock before I got home this
morning from a bacchanalian feast at which I had to laugh so much
that I shall have to weep correspondingly to-day; boisterous joy
often forces me in upon myself powerfully. As to Clemens,[80] many
thanks for his kind offer. As to the cantata, the subject is not
sufficiently important for us here, it is a different matter in
Berlin, and as concerns affection, the sister has monopolized it
so much that little will be left for the brother, does that suffice
him?

Now, farewell dear, dear Bettine, I kiss you upon your forehead and
thus impress upon you as with a seal all my thoughts of you. Write
soon, soon, often to your friend

Beethoven.

Beethoven lives on the Mölker
Bastei in the Pascolati House.

This letter invites attention to several erroneous comments which
have been made on the Bettina letters and the history of the “Egmont”
music. Czerny’s statement that Beethoven did not compose the music to
the tragedy out of love for Goethe’s poems but would have preferred a
commission for Schiller’s “Tell” is contradicted by Beethoven himself
in a letter to Breitkopf and Härtel which was written six weeks before
the letter to Bettina. In his book “Die Briefe Beethovens an Bettina
von Arnim” (1882), Dr. Deiters expressed a doubt that Beethoven would
have written in February, 1811, that he was “about to write to Goethe”
about his work which was finished early in 1810; but this objection to
the authenticity of the letter is removed by the fact that it was two
months more before the purpose thus expressed was carried out. In the
Goethe archives in Weimar there is a letter from Beethoven which was
first given to the world in 1890, by Dr. Theodor Frimmel in his “Neue
Beethoveniana” (p. 345). It runs as follows:

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN WRITES TO GOETHE]

Vienna, April 12, 1811.

Only a moment’s time offers me the urgent opportunity inasmuch as
a friend of mine who is a great admirer of yours (like myself) is
hastily departing from here, to thank you for the long time that
I have known you (for I know you since my childhood)--that is
so little for so much--Bettine Brentano has assured me that you
will graciously, even kindly receive me, but how can I think of
such a reception when I can only approach you with the greatest
reverence and with an unutterably deep feeling for your glorious
creations--you will soon receive the music to Egmont from Leipsic
through Breitkopf and Härtel, this glorious Egmont which I read
so ardently, thought over and experienced again and gave out in
music--I would greatly like to have your judgment on it and your
blame, too ... will be beneficial to me and my art, and be accepted
as gladly as the highest praise.

Your Excellency’s

Great admirer

Ludwig van Beethoven.[81]

The music to “Egmont” was not published till January, 1812, and
Goethe had to wait a long time before he was able to form an opinion
concerning it. This was not Beethoven’s fault, however; on October 9,
1811, we find him writing to Breitkopf and Härtel:

Do send the whole whole [~sic~] score copied at my expense for
aught I care (the score, that is) to Goethe, how can a German
publisher be so discourteous, so rude to the first of German poets?
Therefore, quick with the score to Weimar.

This injunction was not obeyed, and on January 28, 1812, Beethoven
makes another urgent request:

I therefore again beg of you humbly to take care of these
letters--and with the letter to Goethe[82] to send the Egmont
(score), but not in the customary way with here and there a piece
wanting, etc., but properly, this cannot be postponed longer, I
have pledged my word and am the more particular to have the pledge
redeemed when I can compel somebody else, like you, to do it--ha,
ha, ha! You deserve that I employ such language towards you,
towards such a sinner who if I had my way would walk in a hairy
shirt of penance for all the flagitiousness practised on my works.

Beethoven had had the intention of sending the score of the “Egmont”
music to Goethe from the moment he began on it, as appears from a
memorandum on the autograph manuscript of the Quartet in E-flat, Op.
74, written in 1809: “Score of Egmont to Goethe at once.”

On the 28th of February, Beethoven sent his friend Mähler an invitation
to a concert. Mähler accepted the invitation and received a ticket
“extra-ordinaire,” signed “B^r. de Neuwirth,” admitting him free
to three midday concerts on Thursdays, February 28, March 14 and
28. Beethoven’s elasticity of temperament therefore was doing him
good service in enabling him to recover from the crushing blow of
the preceding year; he was now able not only to find diversion and
amusement in society, the theatre and the concertroom, but the spirit
of composition was again awakened. In three weeks--March 3rd to the
26th--he produced the glorious B-flat Trio, Op. 97, which had been
sketched in 1810.

There were now, or soon to be, in the hands of Breitkopf and Härtel’s
engravers the Pianoforte Concerto, Op. 73, the Fantasia, Op. 80, the
Sonate “Les Adieux,” Op. 81a, the Ariettes and Songs, Op. 82 and
83, and the “Christus am Ölberg.” The revision of these works for
the press, with the correction of the proofs and his duties to the
Archduke, are all the professional labors of Beethoven in these months
of which we find any trace. Hence, that high appreciation of his
greatness, which induced his admirers and friends even then to attach
such value to the most trivial written communications from him as to
secure their preservation, now does us excellent service; for--the
dates of the Trio excepted--his correspondence furnishes the only
materials for the history of the first half of this year. To this we
turn.

[Sidenote: THE PIANOFORTE TRIO IN B-FLAT]

There is a note, which may be dated about the end of March, apologizing
to the Archduke for his absence, on the ground of having been for two
weeks again with his “tormenting headache.” “During the festivities for
the Princess of Baden (March 5-12), and because of the sore finger of
Your Imp. Highness,” he adds, “I began to work somewhat industriously,
of which, among other things, a new Trio for the piano is a fruit.”
Soon after he sends the new Trio to the Archduke to have it copied,
“but only in your palace, as otherwise one is never safe from theft.”
He proceeds thus:

I am improving and in a few days I shall again have the honor to
wait upon you for the purpose of making up for lost time. I am
always anxiously concerned when I cannot be as zealously and as
often as I should wish with Your Imperial Highness. It is surely
true when I say that it causes me much suffering, but I am not
likely to have so bad an attack again soon. Keep me graciously
in your memory. Times will come when I shall show you two and
threefold that I am worthy of it.

These professions may well excite a smile; for “it is surely true” when
~we~ say, that his duties to the Archduke had already become extremely
irksome; and that the necessity of sacrificing in some small degree to
them his previous independence grew daily more annoying and vexatious;
so much so that, in fact, he availed himself of any and every
excuse to avoid them. The Archduke made a point of adding a complete
collection of Beethoven’s music to his library; and the master lent his
aid in this both by presenting all his new productions in manuscript
and in giving titles of older printed works--gaining thereby a secure
depository for his compositions, where they were ever at his service.
Thus (May 18) he sends for the Sonata “Das Lebewohl, etc.,” “as I
haven’t it myself and must send the corrections”; some time after for
the Scottish songs, “as two numbers, one in my handwriting, have been
lost and they must be copied again so that they may be sent away.”[83]

Here is the place for a letter to Breitkopf and Härtel:

Vienna, May 6th.

Errors--errors--you yourselves are one large error--here I must
send my copyist, there I must go myself if I wish that my works
shall not appear--as a mere error--it appears as if the musical
tribunal at L. was unable to produce a single decent proof-reader,
besides which you send out the works before you receive the
corrections--at least in the case of larger works with various
parts you might count the measures--but the Fantasia shows how this
is done--look in the overture to Egmont, where a whole measure is
missing.

--Here the list of errors ( ).... Make as many errors as you
please, permit as many errors as you please--you are still highly
esteemed by me, it is the custom of men that we esteem them because
they have not made still greater errors.

About this time Gottfried Chr. Härtel’s wife died, and on May 20th
Beethoven wrote to him a letter of condolence in which he said: “It
appears to me that in view of such a separation which confronts nearly
every husband one ought to be dissuaded from entering this state.” To
a suggestion made by his publishers he replies: “What you say about an
opera would surely be desirable, the directors, too, would pay ~well~
for one, the conditions are just now unfavorable, it is true, but if
you will write me what the poet demands I will make inquiry concerning
the matter; I have written to Paris for books, successful melodramas,
comedies, etc. (for I do not dare to write an original opera with any
of our local poets), which I shall then have adapted--O, poverty of
intellect--and pocket!”

[Sidenote: MUSIC FOR “THE RUINS OF ATHENS”]

The new theatre at Pesth was so far advanced in 1810, that the
authorities began their preliminary arrangements for its formal opening
on the Emperor’s name-day, October 4th, 1811, by applying to Heinrich
von Collin to write an appropriate drama, on some subject drawn from
Hungarian history, for the occasion. “The piece was to be associated
with a lyrical prologue and a musical epilogue.” “The fear that he
could not complete the work within the prescribed time and that his
labors would be disturbed, compelled Collin to decline the commission
with thanks.” The order was then given to Kotzebue, who accepted
it and, with characteristic rapidity, responded with the prologue
“Ungarn’s erster Wohltäter” (Hungary’s first Benefactor), the drama
“Bela’s Flucht” (Bela’s Flight), and the epilogue “Die Ruinen von
Athen” (The Ruins of Athens). As Emperor Franz had twice fled from his
capital within five years, it is not surprising that “‘Bela’s Flight’
for various reasons cannot be given” and gave place to a local piece
(“The Elevation of Pesth into a Royal Free City”). Kotzebue’s other two
pieces were accepted and sent to Beethoven in May of this year. The
composition of the music to them was the engagement above mentioned,
and, of course, formed his principal employment during the summer.

Hartl had now retired from the direction of the Court Theatres, and
Lobkowitz and Palffy were again at the helms respectively of the
theatre next to the Kärnthnerthor and that An-der-Wien. Beethoven was
busy with dramatic compositions and so, very naturally, the project of
another operatic work was revived. He had also obtained a subject that
pleased him--a French melodrama. “Les Ruines de Babylon”--probably
from the Prussian Baron Friedr. Joh. Drieberg. This composer, much more
favorably known for his researches into ancient Greek music than for
his operas, had been five years in Paris, “where he studied composition
under Spontini and probably for a short time also under Cherubini,” and
now for two years in Vienna.

A series of notes from Beethoven to Drieberg, Treitschke and Count
Palffy, written in June and July, 1811, show how the operatic project
was shaping itself in his mind. On June 6, he is anxious to know if
Treitschke has read the book, and wishes to re-read it himself before
beginning work on it; to the same on July 13, he writes that he has now
received the translation of the melodrama with directions from Palffy
to discuss it with him. He expresses dismay to Palffy on July 11,
because he has heard that a benefit performance of the melodrama “Les
ruines de Babilone” is projected, sets forth how hard he had worked
to find a suitable libretto, as he had in this, and how much more
desirable it would be to have it given as an opera; and finally hopes
that Palffy will forbid the intended performance.

“It is said,” writes the correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” under
date January 8, “that Beethoven may next Spring undertake a journey
to Italy for the purpose of restoring his health, which has suffered
severely during the last few years.” One effect of his maladies was to
produce long-continued pains in the head, and it was finally thought
best by his physician, Malfatti, to abandon the journey and try the
waters of Teplitz. This Beethoven decided to do and to take with him
as friend and companion young Oliva. In a letter to Count Brunswick he
thanks him for agreeing to make the journey with him, and tells him
that on the advice of his physician he must spend two whole months at
Teplitz until the middle of August, wherefore he could not accompany
the Count. He adds: “I pray you so to arrange your affairs as to be
here [i. e., Vienna] at the latest by July 2 or 3, as otherwise it
will be too late for me, and the doctor is already grumbling that I
am waiting so long, although he himself says that the companionship
of such a dear good friend would benefit me.” In another letter he
says: “I cannot accept your refusal; I have permitted Oliva to go away
alone, and on your account; I must have some trusted one at my side if
everyday life is not to become burdensome.... As I do not know how you
came to have the portrait[84] it would be best if you were to bring it
with you, no doubt a sympathetic artist will be found who will copy it
for friendship’s sake.”

[Sidenote: WORK ON THOMSON’S COMMISSION]

Brunswick did not come to Vienna, where Beethoven remained till the
end of July, as we see from a note to Zmeskall after the return from
Teplitz and a letter to Breitkopf and Härtel after he had been at the
watering-place three weeks. Meanwhile Beethoven worked on the Scottish
Songs for Thomson and announced their completion on July 20, in a
letter in which he complains that, because the three copies of the 53
songs which he had previously sent to Thomson had not been received, he
had been obliged practically to rewrite them from his sketches--which
may have been a somewhat exaggerated statement of the facts. In it,
furthermore, he says: “Your offer of 100 ducats in gold for the three
sonatas is accepted for your sake and I am also willing to compose
three quintets for 100 gold ducats; but for the dozen English songs my
price is 60 ducats in gold (for four songs the price is 25 ducats). For
the cantata on the naval battle in the Baltic sea, I ask 50 ducats; but
on condition that the text contains no invectives against the Danes,
otherwise I cannot undertake it....[85] I will not fail to send you
the arrangements of my symphonies in a very short time, and will gladly
undertake the composition of an oratorio if the words be noble and
distinguished and the honorarium of 600 ducats in gold be agreeable to
you.”

Beethoven arrived in Teplitz about August 1, possibly a day or two
earlier, and for three weeks was chiefly concerned with his cure and
the correction of proofs, as appears from a letter, dated on August
23, to Breitkopf and Härtel. In this, speaking about the “Christus am
Ölberg,” he says:

Here and there the text must remain as in the original. I know
that the text is extremely bad, but after one has conceived a unit
out of even a bad text, it is difficult to avoid spoiling it by
individual changes, and if great stress be laid upon a single word
it must be left, and he is a bad composer who does not know how or
try to make the best possible thing out of a bad text, and if this
is the case a few changes will certainly not improve the whole.

He has words of approval for Mozart’s “Don Giovanni” and of dispraise
for Italian musicians in general, as see:

The favorable reception of Mozart’s “Don Juan” rejoices me as much
as if it were my own work. Although I know plenty of unprejudiced
Italians who render justice to the German, the backwardness and
easy-going disposition of the Italian musicians are no doubt
responsible for the same deficiencies in the nation; but I have
become acquainted with many Italian amateurs who prefer our music
to their Paisiello, etc. (I have been more just to him than his own
countrymen.)

Varnhagen von Ense, then a young man of 25 years and lieutenant in the
Austrian service, came from Prague to Teplitz this summer to pass a few
weeks with “The goddess of his heart’s most dear delight,” Rahel Levin.
In his “Denkwürdigkeiten” we first meet Beethoven since his letter to
Thomson--a solitary rambler in the Schlossgarten at Teplitz, whither,
as Brunswick could not or would not accompany him, he had journeyed
alone. Varnhagen was with Beethoven every day and came into more
intimate relations with him through his eager desire to write texts
for him for dramatic compositions or to revise such texts. With Tiedge
and the Countess von der Recke, Beethoven formed a warm friendship.
Varnhagen wrote to Rahel: “Only Oliva could I endure about me for any
length of time; he was sympathetic, but deeply depressed because of
violent altercations which he had with Beethoven.” From the source of
these communications we also learn that Varnhagen was expected to adapt
an opera text for Beethoven and to revise and improve another. In a
letter of September 18, Varnhagen himself wrote to Rahel as follows
on the subject: “I may translate a French piece as an opera for
Beethoven; the other text might be written later, but this contains
the entire scenic arrangement. It is entitled ‘Giafar’ and might bring
me from 8 to 10 ducats.” But later, “Of Beethoven and Oliva I hear and
see nothing; the latter must have been unable to make anything out
of the opera which I was to make from a French melodrama and which,
unfortunately, another had begun.”

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AS CUPID’S MESSENGER]

Soon after Beethoven’s arrival in Teplitz there must have occurred the
incident of Beethoven’s visit to the grave of Seume, which was referred
to in a previous chapter in connection with the C-sharp minor Sonata.
Seume had died on June 13, 1810, at Teplitz. There were other visitors,
not mentioned by Varnhagen, with whom Beethoven formed relations more
or less cordial and intimate. One was the Royal Imperial Gubernialrath
and Steyermärkischer Kammerprokurator Ritter von Varena of Gratz;
another was Ludwig Loewe, the actor, just then engaged for the theatre
at Prague. “Thereby hangs a tale.”

Loewe had an honorable love-affair with Therese, the daughter
of the landlord of the inn “Zum Stern” in Teplitz. For “~this
reason~,” as Loewe told this author’s informant, “he always came
to the inn after the guests had departed; Beethoven, being hard
of hearing and melancholy, for ~this reason~ always came later,
so that he would meet nobody. The landlord, father of the girl,
discovered their relations, took Loewe to task, and the latter
voluntarily agreed to remain away in order to spare the girl, whom
he dearly loved. After a time he met Beethoven in the Augarten,
and the latter, who was warmly attached to him, asked him why he
no longer came to the Stern. Loewe told him of his misfortune and
asked the composer if he would carry a letter to Therese. Beethoven
not only agreed in the friendliest manner to do so, but also
offered to see that he got an answer, and thereafter cared for the
correspondence.” Loewe did not know when Beethoven departed from
Teplitz; he himself went to fill his engagement at Prague. “The
lovers pledged each other to fidelity, but a few weeks later Loewe
received intelligence of the death of his Therese.”

Another visitor at Teplitz was Prince Kinsky; and this gave the
composer an opportunity to obtain the arrears of his annuity. On the
still existing envelope of the contract of 1809 is written: “Kinsky am
letzten August behoben.” Another was Amalie Sebald, who had come with
Countess von der Recke from Berlin, a member of a family who for years
had furnished members to Fasch’s Singakademie, where she had appeared
as a solo singer. She was said to have “a fascinatingly lovely singing
voice.” Among the friends of Carl Maria von Weber when he was in Berlin
in 1812, were Amalie Sebald and her sister Auguste, also “highly
musical” and a singer. For Amalie, Weber conceived a warm and deep
affection; and now Beethoven was taken an unresisting captive by her
charms. She is mentioned--the reader will note how familiarly--in this
letter to Tiedge, dated Teplitz, September 6, 1811:

Every day the following letter to you, you, you, has floated in my
mind; I wanted only two words at parting, but not a single word
did I receive; the Countess sends (through another) a feminine
handgrasp; that at least is something to talk about and for it I
kiss her hands in my thoughts, but the poet is dumb. Concerning
Amalie, I know at least that she is alive. Every day I give myself
a drubbing for not having made your acquaintance earlier in
Teplitz. It is abominable to know the good for a short time and
at once to lose it again. Nothing is more insufferable than to be
obliged to reproach one’s self with one’s own mistakes. I tell you
that I shall probably be obliged to stay here till the end of this
month; write me only how long you will still stay in Dresden; I
may feel disposed to take a jump to the Saxon capital; on the day
that you went away from here I received a letter from my gracious
Wiesbadenian Archduke, that he will not remain long in Moravia
and has left it for me to say whether or not I will come; this I
interpreted to the best of my wishes and desires and so you see me
still within these walls where I sinned so deeply against you and
myself; but I comfort myself with the thought that if you call it
a sin I am at least a downright sinner and not a poor one.... Now
fare as well as poor humanity may; to the Countess a right tender
yet reverential handgrasp, to Amalie an ardent kiss when no one
sees us, and we two embrace each other like men who are permitted
to love and honor each other; I expect at least a word without
reserve, and for this I am a man.

[Sidenote: BREITKOPF AND HÄRTEL ARRAIGNED]

The desire here expressed to visit his new friends in Dresden, could
not be gratified, owing to the necessity of completing and forwarding
the music composed for the opening of the Pesth theatre. How long
Beethoven remained in Teplitz cannot be said with exactness, though
there is evidence in a couple of letters to Breitkopf and Härtel and
Countess von der Recke which, taken in connection with an established
incident of his journey, fixes the date approximately. The letter to
Breitkopf and Härtel of October 9, 1811, has so large an interest on
other accounts as to merit translation and publication:

From here a thousand excuses and a thousand thanks for your
pleasant invitation to Leipsic; it pained me greatly not to be able
to follow my inclination to go there and to surrounding places, but
this time there was work in every direction, the Hungarian Diet is
(in session), there is already talk that the Archduke is to become
~primas~ of Hungary and abandon the Bishopric of Olmütz; I have
offered to the Archduke, who as ~primas~ of Hungary will have an
income of not less than 3 millions, to go through a clean million
on my own account (it is understood that I would therewith set all
the good musical spirits into action in my behalf); in Teplitz
I received no further news, as nothing was known of my purpose
to leave the place, I think concerning the journey which I am
contemplating that in view of my attachment for him I must yield
(though not without some unwillingness), the more since I may be
needed at festivities; therefore, having chosen the ~pro~, quick to
Vienna, where the first thunderous proclamation that I heard was
that my gracious lord had given up all thoughts of priesthood and
priestly activities and nothing is to come of the whole business.

It is said that he is to become a general (an easy thing to
understand, you know) and I am to be Quartermaster-General in the
Battle which I do not intend to lose--what do you say to that? The
Hungarians provided me with another incident; in stepping into my
carriage to go to Teplitz, I received a parcel from Ofen (Buda)
with the request to compose something for the opening of the new
theatre at Pesth; after spending three weeks in Teplitz, feeling
fairly well I sat down, in defiance of my doctor’s orders, to
help the Mustachios, who are heartily well disposed towards me,
sent my packet thither on September 13, under the impression that
the performance was to come off on the 1st of 8ber, whereas the
matter is put off for a whole month.[86] I received the letter in
which this was intimated, through a misunderstanding, only after
my arrival here, and yet this theatrical incident determined me to
go to Vienna. Meanwhile, postponed is not abandoned, I have tasted
of travel, it has done me great good, now I should like at once
to go away again--I have just received the Lebewohl, etc., I see
after all you have given French titles to other copies, why, lebe
wohl[87] is surely something very different from ~les adieux~, the
former we say heartily to a single person, the latter to whole
congregations, whole cities--since you permit me to be criticized
so shamefully you must submit to the same treatment, you would also
have needed fewer plates and the turning of the pages which has
now been made very difficult would have been easier, and with this
~Basta--But how in the name of heaven did you come to dedicate my
Fantasia with Orchestra to the King of Bavaria?~ Do answer me that
at once; if you are thereby going to procure me an honorable gift,
I will thank you, such a thing is hardly agreeable to me, did you,
possibly, dedicate it yourself? what is the connection, one is not
permitted to dedicate things to kings without being requested--~and
then there was no dedication of the Lebewohl to the Archduke~, why
were not the year, day and date printed as I wrote them, in the
future you will agree in writing to retain all superscriptions
unchanged as I write them. Let whomsoever you please review the
oratorio and everything else, I am sorry that I ever said a word
about the miserable business, who can mind what such a reviewer
says when he sees how the most wretched scribblers are elevated
by them and how they treat most insultingly art works to which
they cannot at once apply their standard as the shoemaker does his
last, as indeed they must do because of their unfitness--if there
is anything to be considered in connection with the oratorio it is
that it is my first and early work in this form, was composed in
14 days amidst all possible ~tumult~ and other unpleasant alarming
circumstances (my brother was mortally ill).

Rochlitz, if I am not mistaken, spoke unfavorably concerning the
chorus of disciples “Wir haben ihn gesehen” in C major even before
it had been given to you for publication; he called it comic, an
impression which here at least was not shown by the local public
and amongst my friends there are also critics; that I should write
a very different oratorio now, than then, is certain--and now
criticize as long as you please, I wish you much pleasure, and if
it should hurt a little like the sting of a gnat it will soon be
over, and then the whole thing is a little joke ~cri- cri- cri-
cri- cri- crit- i- i- i- i- size- size. Not in all eternity, that
you cannot do~, herewith God be with you....

Two days later he wrote letters of apology for his sudden departure to
Elise von der Recke and Tiedge, promising the former a setting of one
of her poems. From the letters to Breitkopf and Härtel and Tiedge, it
would appear that Beethoven composed the music to “The Ruins of Athens”
and “King Stephen” within a month and sent it to its destination on
Monday, September 16, and then departed from Teplitz without saying
farewell to his friends. From Varnhagen’s “Denkwürdigkeiten” we
learn that “Beethoven, who returned to Vienna from Teplitz with his
friend and mine, Oliva, did not remain long in Prague”; and from the
correspondence with Rahel (II, p. 154), that Oliva went on to Vienna
on September 23, without Beethoven, who made a rather wide detour to
visit Lichnowsky. Of this visit we learn in one of Jahn’s notices,
namely: “In the year 1811, B. was at Prince Lichnowsky’s on his estate
Grätz near Troppau. The Mass in C was performed at Troppau, for which
everything possible was drummed up; the master of athletics was put at
the tympani; in the Sanctus, Beethoven himself had to show him how to
play the solo. The rehearsals lasted three days. After the performance
Beethoven improvised on the organ for half an hour to the astonishment
of every one; Fuchs was the soprano soloist.” Beethoven returned to
Vienna refreshed and invigorated both in body and mind; and something
of his old frolicsome humor again enlivens his notes to Zmeskall:
He expects him to dine with him at the Swan (which was at that time
exceptional, as Beethoven had his own cook); he begs for more quills,
and promises shortly a whole parcel of them, so that Zmeskall “will not
have to pull out his own”; he may receive “the great decoration of the
Order of the ’Cello”; and so on.

Beethoven’s notes to Zmeskall are a barometer that indicates very
correctly the rising and sinking of his spirits; they were now high--at
composition point--and, as the Archduke did not return from Pressburg
until the 7th November, he had at least one month for continuing
without hindrance the studies, whatever they were, that followed the
completion of the music for Pesth. In our judgment they are those,
which occupy the last leaves of the sketchbook (Petter’s) partly filled
in the Spring of 1809.[88]

[Sidenote: A SEASON IN FINANCIAL DOLDRUMS]

There was no call nor special inducement for the immediate completion
of any orchestral work. Since the “Egmont” Overture and the “Pastoral”
Symphony, produced by Schuppanzigh in May, and the “Coriolan” Overture
at a charity concert on July 14, there is but one notice of the
performance of any one of Beethoven’s greater compositions, and even
this (November 15) is very doubtful. In truth, this was no season for
grand musical entertainments with a view to private emolument. The
Finance Patent of February shed its baleful influence on the just
and the unjust and compelled all classes alike to study and practise
economy. Even the old favorite of the Vienna public, Franz Clement,
returning from a musical tour in Russia, and Sebastian Meier, “although
Handel’s ‘Acis and Galatea’ was performed” in their annual Akademies,
“had few hearers.” Two or three virtuosos were able to fill small
halls; but no performances on a grand scale were ventured, except for
charities; at these the wealthy appeared in force, it being a pleasant
and fashionable method of doing something to alleviate the general
distress. Beethoven was not the man to hasten his works to completion
when there was no prospect of making either in public or in private any
present use of them.

The ascertained compositions of this year were:

I. Trio in B-flat major, Op. 97.

II. Music to “Die Ruinen von Athen,” Epilogue by A. von Kotzebue.

III. Music to “König Stephan, Ungarn’s erster Wohlthäter,” a
Prologue by A. von Kotzebue.

IV. Song by Stoll, “An die Geliebte.”

The publications:

I. ~Grand Concerto four le Pianoforte avec accompagnement de
l’Orchestre composé et dédié à son Altesse Impériale Rodolphe
Archiduc, etc.~ Op. 73. E-flat. Breitkopf and Härtel, in February.

II. Four Ariettas and a Duet. Op. 82. (With Italian and German
words: “Dimmi ben mio,” “T’intendo,” “Che fa, che fa il mio bene,”
“Che fa il mio bene” and “Odi l’aura.”) Breitkopf and Härtel, March.

III. Overture to Goethe’s “Egmont.” Op. 84. Orchestral parts.
Breitkopf and Härtel, March.

IV. Fantasia for Pianoforte, Orchestra and Chorus; dedicated to
Maximilian Joseph, King of Bavaria. Op. 80. Breitkopf and Härtel,
July.

V. ~Les Adieux, l’Absence et le Retour. Sonate pour le Pianoforte
composée et dédiée à son Altesse Impériale l’Archiduc Rodolphe,
etc.~ Op. 81. E-flat. Breitkopf and Härtel, July.

VI. Three Songs by Goethe with Pianoforte accompaniment. Dedicated
to Princess Kinsky. (“Trocknet nicht,” “Was zieht mir das Herz,”
“Kleine Blumen, kleine Blätter.”) Op. 83. Breitkopf and Härtel,
October.

VII. “Christus am Ölberg.” Oratorio. Op. 85. Score. Breitkopf and
Härtel, October.

FOOTNOTES:

[80] Clemens Brentano, brother of Bettina and Franz, who had written
the text of a cantata on the death of Queen Louise.

[81] Goethe’s answer to this letter is printed in the Weimar Collection
of the poet’s correspondence. Vol. XXII, No. 615. It is worth producing
here:

Carlsbad, June 25, 1811.

Your friendly letter, very highly esteemed Sir, was received
through Herr von Oliva much to my pleasure. For the kindly feelings
which it expresses towards me I am heartily grateful and I can
assure you that I honestly reciprocate them, for I have never heard
any of your works performed by expert artists or amateurs without
wishing that I might sometime have an opportunity to admire you
at the pianoforte and find delight in your extraordinary talents.
Good Bettina Brentano surely deserves the friendly sympathy
which you have extended to her. She speaks rapturously and most
affectionately of you and counts the hours spent with you among the
happiest of her life.

I shall probably find the music which you have designed for Egmont
when I return home and am thankful in advance--for I have heard
it spoken of with praise by several, and purpose to produce it in
connection with the play mentioned on our stage this winter, when
I hope thereby to give myself as well as your numerous admirers in
our neighborhood a great treat. But I hope most of all correctly
to have understood Herr von Oliva, who has made us hope that in a
journey which you are contemplating you will visit Weimar. I hope
it will be at a time when the court as well as the entire musical
public will be gathered together. I am sure that you would find
worthy acceptance of your services and aims. But in this nobody can
be more interested than I, who, with the wish that all may go well
with you, commend myself to your kind thought and thank you most
sincerely for all the goodness which you have created in us.

[82] This second letter does not seem to have been preserved.

[83] At this point in the biography, Thayer, believing that the
broken marriage engagement which had had so powerful an effect on
Beethoven’s spirits and intellectual energies in 1810 had been one
entered into with Countess Therese Brunswick, introduces the letters
to Gleichenstein and makes the following comments, which the English
Editor prefers to introduce in a foot-note rather than to put them in
the body of the text, as is done in the second German edition, and give
them a false interpretation: “The allusion to Gleichenstein’s marriage
with the younger of the sisters Malfatti, which took place near the
end of May, sufficiently indicates the date of these notes; and the
statement made in a former chapter--that Beethoven once offered his
hand in marriage to the elder, Therese--accounts satisfactorily for the
strong excitement under which they were written; for, that this offer
was not made ~before~ this time (1811) has been--nor ~after~, soon will
be--made clear.

“There is nothing inconsistent with ordinary experience and
observation--certainly not with Beethoven’s character as a lover--in
placing this occurrence here, a year after the failure of the marriage
project. His weakness was not in seeking a wife, for this was wise and
prudent, but in the selection of the person; in imagining that the
young girl’s admiration for the artist--her respect and regard for
the friend of her parents and of Gleichenstein--had with increasing
years (she was now nineteen) grown into a warmer feeling; and in
misconceiving the attentions, civilities and courtesies extended to
him by all the members of the family, as encouragement to a suit, the
possibility of which had, probably, never entered the mind of any one
of them. As Gleichenstein could not have been ignorant of his friend’s
recent love-troubles, one may well conceive the surprise, dismay and
perplexity, which this sudden whim must have caused him. It placed him
in a dilemma of singular difficulty. ~How~ he escaped from it, there
are no means of knowing; the affair was, however, so managed, that the
rejection of Beethoven’s proposal caused no interruption--or at most a
temporary one--in the friendly relations of all the parties immediately
concerned. At this distance of time and in the feeble light afforded
us, the whole matter has all the appearance of a mere whimsical
episode in the composer’s life causing him some fleeting disquiet and
mortification; but there is no reason to infer that his disappointment
was either very severe or very lasting. If, however, this be a mistaken
view, it was all the more fortunate that a previous engagement now
forced him to turn his thoughts again to composition and gave him no
leisure to play the love-lorn Corydon.”

[84] It is not a violent presumption that the portrait referred to here
was that of Count Brunswick’s sister Therese; at least there is strong
support for it in a letter published by Marie Lipsius (La Mara) in
Breitkopf and Härtel’s “Mittheilungen” for March, 1910 (p. 4102). It is
from Beethoven to Therese Brunswick, the original of which has not been
found, but which exists in the form of a transcript in a letter written
by Therese to her sister Josephine, dated February 2, 1811, now in the
possession of Therese’s grandniece, Irene de Gerando-Teleki. The letter
reads as follows:

“Through Franz I have also received a souvenir of our noble
Beethoven which gave me much joy; I do not mean his sonatas, which
are very beautiful, but a little writing which I will immediately
copy literally:

“‘Even without prompting, people of the better kind think of each
other, this is the case with you and me, dear and honored Therese;
I still owe you grateful thanks for your beautiful picture and
while accusing myself as your debtor I must at the same time appear
before you in the character of a beggar in asking you if perchance
you feel the genius of painting stirring within you to duplicate
the little hand-drawing which I was unlucky enough to lose. It was
an eagle looking into the sun, I cannot forget it; but do not think
that I think of myself in such a connection, although it has been
ascribed to me, many look upon a heroic play without being in the
least like it. Farewell, dear Therese, and think occasionally of
your truly revering friend

Beethoven.’”

Therese complied with Beethoven’s request. On February 23 she
admonished her sister: “My request to you, dear Josephine, is to
reproduce that picture which you alone are able to do; it would not
be possible for me to create anything of the kind.” And later she
repeats in French: “You have told me nothing about Beethoven’s eagle.
May I answer that he shall receive it?” If the picture referred to by
Beethoven in his letter to the Countess was in his possession before
February 11, 1811, as appears from the Countess’ letter to her sister,
how came it to be in the hands of Count Brunswick in July? Here is
another unsolved riddle.

[85] This letter, in French with Beethoven’s autograph signature, is
preserved in the British Museum. The cantata referred to was to have
been a setting of Campbell’s “Battle of the Baltic.” Returning to
England from the Continent in 1801, the poet saw the preparations for
the Battle of Copenhagen. Campbell was highly esteemed in Germany,
especially by Goethe and Freiligrath, the latter of whom imitated his
“The Last Man.”

[86] It was four months before the performance took place.

[87] Fare well.

[88] Nottebohm contends that the book extends from the end of 1811 to
the beginning of 1813. See “Zweit. Beeth.,” pp. 289, 290.

Chapter XII

The Year 1812--Beethoven’s Finances--The Austrian
“Finanzpatent”--Beethoven and Graz--Second Sojourn in
Teplitz--Beethoven and Goethe--Amalie Sebald--Beethoven in
Linz--Meddles with his Brother’s Domestic Affairs--Rode and the
Sonata, Op. 96--Spohr--Mälzel and his Metronome--The Canon to
Mälzel.

Beethoven must again, for the present, be made his own biographer. The
selections from his correspondence taken for this purpose will all
gain in interest and perspicuity by first giving the notes to Zmeskall
and the Archduke so as to afford a sort of background for the more
important ones, and by introducing here the explanations which numerous
allusions demand in a short series of observations. Schindler writes in
1840:

In 1811, the Austrian ~Finanzpatent~ reduced these 4000 florins
to one-fifth [the reference being to Beethoven’s annuity]; [and
in 1860]: How severely our composer was hit by it is seen in the
circumstance that also all contracts which had to do with paper
money were reduced to one-fifth of the specified sum. In accordance
with this Beethoven’s annuity of 4000 florins in bank-notes became
subject to reduction. It was reduced to 800 florins in paper money.

An error of some kind must be here involved. This seems so obvious and
palpable, as to render it hardly credible that, in all the long years
since 1840, it has not caught the attention of some one writer on
Beethoven and induced him to cast his eye for a moment upon the Patent
itself. The depreciation of a national paper currency to null and its
subsequent repudiation by the Government that emitted it is, in effect,
a domestic forced loan equal in amount to the sum issued; and the more
gradual its depreciation, so much the more likely is the public burden
to be general and in some degree equalized. Such a forced loan was the
“Continental Currency” issued by the American Congress to sustain the
war against England in 1775-83; and such were the French “Assignats”
a few years later; and such, to the amount of 80 ~per centum~ of all
the paper in circulation, was the substitution of notes of redemption
for the bank-notes at the rate of one for five, by the Austrian
~Finanz-Patent~, promulgated February 20th, and put in force March
15th, 1811. But if Schindler be correct, the Imperial Royal Government
went farther and committed the folly and injustice--with little or
no advantage to itself--of issuing and enforcing a decree which,
in its effect, simply confiscated 80 ~per centum~ of all domestic
indebtedness--where the payment in specie or its equivalent was not
stipulated--to the gain of the debtor and the loss of the creditor!
According to more modern ideas of national economy, those ordinances
of the ~Finanz-Patent~ of February 20, which relate to “continuing,
periodically recurring payments of interest, incomes, farm-rents,
pensions, maintenance moneys, annuities, etc.,” were certainly unwise
and uncalled-for; but they involved no such blunder as that. The
Government assumed that every contract of pecuniary obligation between
Austrian subjects, wherein special payment or its equivalent was not
stipulated, was payable in bank-notes; and that the real indebtedness
under any such contract was in justice and equity to be determined
and measured by the value in silver of the bank-notes at the date of
the instrument. This second proposition is fallacious and deceptive,
because such contracts rested upon the necessary presumptions that the
faith and honor of the supreme authority were pledged to the future
redemption of its paper at par and that the pledge would be redeemed.
But this was not seen or was not regarded. Consequently, there was
annexed to the ~Finanz-Patent~ a table showing decimally the average
equivalent of the silver florin in the bank-notes, month by month, from
January, 1799 to March, 1811. This table was made a “Scala über den
Cours der Bancozettel nach welchem die Zahlungen zufolge des Paragraphs
13 und 14 des Patents vom 20 Hornung, 1811, zu leisten sind.” (“Scale
of the rate of exchange according to which payments are to be made in
accordance with paragraphs 13 and 14 of the Patent of February 20,
1811.”) We copy two of the months as examples:

1799 1800 1801 1802 1803 1804 1805 1806 1807 1808 1809 1810 1811
Jan. 1.03 1.13 1.16 1.19 1.30 1.34 1.33 1.47 1.90 2.04 2.21 4.69 5.00
Mar. 1.05 1.14 1.14 1.18 1.27 1.34 1.29 1.49 2.06 2.10 2.48 3.31 5.00

[Sidenote: LEGAL ASPECT OF THE ANNUITY CONTRACT]

Beethoven’s annuity contract bore date March 1, 1809, when one florin
in silver was equal to two and forty-eight hundredths in bank-notes.
Hence his 4000 did not shrink to 800 but to 1612-9/10[89] in paper
money; but ~this~ paper money then was intended to be, and for some
time was, equal to silver. More than this he could not ~legally~
demand; but the original reasons for the contract, the intentions of
the donors and the mutual understanding of the parties gave him a
perfect claim ~in equity~ for the full amount of 4000 florins in notes
of redemption. Nor did the princes hesitate to admit its justice.
They were men of honor and this was a debt of honor. Archduke Rudolph
immediately gave the necessary order and instructions in writing; and
Beethoven’s anxiety because the others had not yet given him the same
security was justified by the event, although he might have expressed
it rather more delicately.[90]

The opening of the new theatre in Pesth not having taken place in
October as proposed, was deferred to Sunday, February 9th, that it
might bear the character of a festivity in honor of the Emperor’s
birthday (October 12th). The performances were repeated on the 10th and
11th to crowded audiences which received Beethoven’s music to “King
Stephen” and “The Ruins of Athens” (reported to be “very original,
excellent and worthy of its master”) with clamorous applause. Beethoven
had been so favorably impressed with Kotzebue’s texts that in January,
1812, he applied to him for an opera text:

Highly respected, highly honored Sir:

While writing music for the Hungarians to your prologue and
epilogue, I could not refrain from the lively wish to possess an
opera from your unique talent, romantic, serious, heroico-comic
or sentimental, as you please; in short, anything to your liking
I would accept with pleasure. True, I should prefer a big subject
from history and particularly one from the darker periods, Attila,
etc., for instance; but I should accept with thanks anything and
any subject coming from you, from your poetical spirit, which I
could translate into my musical.

Prince Lobkowitz, who sends his greetings, and who now has the sole
direction of the opera, will certainly grant you an honorarium
commensurate with your deserts. Do not refuse my request, you will
find that I shall always be deeply grateful for your compliance.
Awaiting your favorable and speedy answer, I subscribe myself

Your admirer

Ludwig van Beethoven.

Vienna, January 28, 1812.

As the date of this letter plainly shows, it was sent to Breitkopf and
Härtel together with one to Goethe, with the request that the two be
forwarded to their destinations.

Vienna, January 28, 1812.

As a punishment for your absolute silence I charge you with the
immediate delivery of these two letters; a windbag of a Livonian
promised to look after a letter to K. for me, but probably, the
Livonians like the Russians being windbags and braggarts, he did
nothing of the sort, although he gave himself out to be a great
friend of his.... If the 3 songs by Goethe are not yet printed
hurry with them; I should like soon to present them to Princess
Kynsky, one of the handsomest, stoutest women in Vienna--and the
songs from Egmont, why are they not yet out, in fact why not out,
out, out with the whole of E?--do you perhaps want a close tacked
on to an entreacte here and there, that might be, but have it done
by a Leipsic ~Corrector~ of the Music. Zeitung, that kind of thing
they understand like a slap in the face. Please charge the postage
to me--it seems to me, I hear a whisper, that you are looking out
for a new wife, to this I ascribe all the confusion mentioned
above. I wish you a Xantippe like the wife of the holy Greek
Socrates, so that I might see a German Verleger, which is saying a
great deal, ~verlegen, ja recht in Verlegenheit~.[91]

Among the sufferers by the ~Finanz-Patent~ were the Ursuline nuns at
Graz, whose institution, since 1802, had at no time less than 50 wards
and always more than 350 pupils. At this juncture they were excessively
poor and in debt. In the hope of gaining them some substantial aid
Beethoven’s new friend, Varena, now wrote to him offering to pay him
properly for the use of some of his compositions in a concert for their
benefit to be given on Easter Sunday, March 29. Beethoven at once
presented two of his new compositions to the Art Society of Graz for
gratuitous use at charity concerts. At the concert on Easter Sunday
there were eight numbers, Beethoven being represented by the overture
to “King Stephen,” the march with chorus from “The Ruins of Athens,”
the overture to “Egmont,” and the Septet. The nuns gained on the
occasion the handsome sum of 1836 fl. 24k. Vienna Standard.

[Sidenote: PASSING OF OLD FRIENDS, COMING OF NEW]

Walter Scott somewhere remarks: “It is seldom that the same circle of
personages, who have surrounded an individual at his first outset in
life, continue to have an interest in his career till his fate comes
to a crisis. On the contrary, and more especially if the events of his
life be of a varied character and worth communicating to others, or to
the world, the hero’s later connections are usually totally separated
from those with whom he began the voyage, but whom the individual has
outsailed, or who have drifted astray, or foundered on the passage.”

A few years more and this will begin to be very true of Beethoven.
The old familiar names will rapidly disappear and new ones take their
places; some half a dozen perhaps will remain to the end. But this is
not yet. The old friends, Lichnowsky, Rasoumowsky, Erdödy and that
class, Streicher, Zizius, Breuning and their class, are his friends
still. We see less of them, because Beethoven is no longer the great
pianist performing in the saloons of the nobles, or playing his new
compositions in the lodgings of his untitled admirers. His astonishing
playing in the concert of December, 1808--which completed full thirty
years since his appearance in Cologne as a prodigy--proved to be, as it
happened, the splendid close of his career as a virtuoso. He had surely
earned the right to retire and leave that field to his pupils, of whom
Baroness Ertmann and Carl Czerny were preëminent as performers of his
music. In the more private concerts he had already long given place to
the Baroness; and now Czerny began to take it before the public, even
to the extent of introducing his last new composition for pianoforte
and orchestra. Theodor Körner, lately arrived in Vienna, writes home
under date February 15:

On Wednesday, for the benefit of the Society of Noble Ladies for
Charity, a concert and tableaux, representing three pictures by
Raphael, Poussin and Troyes as described by Goethe in his “Elective
Affinities,” were given. The pictures offered a glorious treat, a
new pianoforte concerto by Beethoven failed.

Castelli’s “Thalia” gives the reason, why this noble work on this, its
first public performance in Vienna, was so coldly received:

If this composition, which formed the concert which had been
announced, failed to receive the applause which it deserved,
the reason is to be sought partly in the subjective character
of the work, partly in the objective nature of the listeners.
Beethoven, full of proud confidence in himself, never writes for
the multitude; he demands understanding and feeling, and because
of the intentional difficulties, he can receive these only at the
hands of the knowing, a majority of whom is not to be found on such
occasions, etc.

That was precisely the truth. The work was out of place. The warblings
of Fräulein Sessi and Herr Siboni, and Mayseder’s variations on the
march in “Aline,” were suited to the occasion and the audience. Instead
of Beethoven’s majestic work, Chapelmaster Himmel, who had recently
been in Vienna, should have been engaged to remain and exhibit his
brilliant finger gymnastics.

The new symphony, to which there are allusions in this correspondence,
was the Seventh, which he took up and completed this spring (May
13), with the hope of producing it in a concert about the time of
Pentecost--but the project fell through.[92]

Explanatory of the Zmeskall correspondence, it is to be noted, that
with the approach of the inclement season, Beethoven ceased to cross
the wind-swept Glacis to dine with Breuning; that the “greatest thanks”
of one of the notes is merely for keeping his pens in order; and
that Zmeskall had been making experiments to determine whether the
oscillations of a simple weight and string (without lever) might not
answer as a practicable and convenient metrometer.

The works of Beethoven publicly performed in Vienna during this half
year, so far as has been learned, were the Pianoforte Concerto as
above stated; on March 22nd, march with chorus from “The Ruins of
Athens,” in Clement’s concert; on April 16th, the “Coriolan” Overture
in Streicher’s Pianoforte Warerooms, conducted by Schuppanzigh--the
first piece in the concert, which opened the way for the great
performance of Handel’s “Timotheus” in November, which in turn led to
the foundation of the Society of the Friends of Music; on April 24th,
the “Egmont” Overture in the Concert for the Theatrical Poor Fund; and
on May 5th, the overture to “Prometheus,” and the C minor Symphony
in Schuppanzigh’s first Augarten Morning Concert of the season. His
(Schuppanzigh’s) quartet productions were on Thursdays, at noon; “As it
is nearly 12 o’clock and I am going to Schuppanzigh’s,” says Beethoven
in a note to Zmeskall, on Thursday, February 20--unfortunately only
as an auditor. No record of the programmes during the season has been
discovered.

[Sidenote: REJECTS IMPUTATIONS ON HIS CONDUCT]

And now turn we to the selection from the Zmeskall correspondence:

(To Zmeskall)

January 19 (extract): Unfortunately I am always too much at liberty
and you never.

February 2: The enclosed billet is at least 8 days old.

Not extra-ordinary but very ordinary quill-cutter, whose virtuosity
assuredly shows a falling off in this specimen, these need a few
new quill-repairs.

When will you throw off your chains, when?

You are thinking again of me--accursed be for me the life in this
Austrian Barbary--I shall now go mostly to the Swan, as I cannot
escape too much attention in the other inns.

Farewell, as well as I wish that you may without me.

Most Extraordinary one we beg that your servant find some one to
clean out the rooms, as he knows the quarters he can at once fix
the price--but soon.

Carnival Ragamuffin!!!!!!!!!!!!!

February 8: Most Extraordinary, foremost Oscillator of the world
and that without lever!!!!

We are indebted to you for the greatest thanks for having endowed
us with a portion of your oscillatory power, we wish to thank you
for the same in person, and therefore invite you to come to the
Swan to-morrow, an inn whose name bears evidence that it was made
for the occasion when the talk is about such things.

(February 19.) Dear Z: Only yesterday did I receive written notice
that the Archduke will pay his share in notes of redemption--I
beg you now to note down for me approximately what you said on
Saturday so that I may send it to the other 2. They want to give
me a certificate that the Archduke pays in N. R., but I think this
is unnecessary, the more since these courtiers in spite of their
apparent friendship for me say that my demands are not ~just~!!!!!
O heaven help me to bear this; I am no Hercules who can help Atlas
bear up the world or do it in his stead. It was only yesterday that
I heard in detail how beautifully Herr Baron Kraft had spoken about
me at Zizius’s, had judged me--never mind dear Z. it will not be
for much longer that I shall continue the shameful manner in which
I am living here. Art, the persecuted one, finds everywhere an
asylum, did not Dædalus, shut up in the labyrinth invent the wings
which carried him ~upwards~ into the air, and I, too, will find
them, these wings.

The correspondence with the Archduke, of course including the notes to
his “spiritual adviser,” Baumeister, and his “chamberlain,” Schweiger,
in the very profuseness of its expressions of devotion, awakens some
mistrust of its writer’s sincerity. There is too much of profession.
True zeal in and a hearty performance of one’s duty need few verbal
attestations.

(To Baumeister)

March 12, 1812.

P. P.

Please send me the overture to the epilogue Ungarn’s Wohlthäter, it
must be hurriedly copied in order to be sent to Gratz for use there
in a concert for the poor. I count myself altogether too happy
when my art is enlisted for such charitable purposes. You need,
therefore, only tell H. I. High, our gracious lord, about it and he
will certainly be glad to have it delivered to you, the more gladly
since you know that all the property of my small intellectual
faculties is the sole property of H. I. Highness--as soon as the
overture is copied I will immediately return it to H. Imp. Highness.

In a note to the Archduke he excuses his absence the two previous days
because he was “unexpectedly” ill, “at just the time when he was about
to go” to him. In another he has “oftener than usual” waited upon him
“in the evening hour, but no one was to be found.” In another “certain
unexpected circumstances prevent” his attendance “to-day, but,” he
says, “I shall make use of the gracious privilege of waiting upon you
to-morrow evening.” In still another:

I have suffered much during the last few days, twofold I may say
because I could not follow my sincerest desire to devote a great
deal of time to you; but I hope I shall be through with it (I mean
my illness) this spring and summer.

The last of these selections affords another illustration of the
usefulness of the Archduke’s library to the composer. Its date has also
some importance in the discussion of the famous love-letter; and it is
the final notice of Beethoven before his departure from Vienna for the
summer.

(To Baumeister)

Sunday, June 28, 1812.

I beg of you most politely that you lend me the two trios for
pianoforte, violin and violoncello of my composition for to-day.
The first is in D major, the 2nd in E-flat, if I am not mistaken,
H. Imp. Highness has ~written copies~ of them in his library. Also
the sonata in A major with pianoforte and violoncello--separately
printed--also the sonata in A minor with pianoforte and violin,
is also only printed separately. You will receive everything back
again to-morrow morning.

A very interesting series of letters to Varena, and one very creditable
to Beethoven, began at the end of January this year and ended, so far
as is known, in 1815. Could the space be spared they would all be
printed here; but they may be read in the published collections of
Beethoven’s letters.

The arrangements of the Irish and Scottish songs for Thomson were
continued in this year. A French letter to Thomson under date
February 29, 1812, chiefly devoted to business matters, yet contains
some expressions which are characteristic of Beethoven’s views and
predilections.

Haydn himself assured me, that he also got 4 ducats in gold for
each song, yet he wrote only for violin and pianoforte without
ritornellos or violoncello.[93] As regards Herr Koželuch, who
delivers each song to you for 2 ducats, I congratulate you and
the English and Scotch publishers on a taste which approves him.
In this field I esteem myself a little higher than Herr Koželuch
(~Miserabilis~), and I hope and believe that you have sufficient
discrimination to do me justice.

[Sidenote: THOUGHTS OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND]

He repeats his request that the texts be sent with the Scottish
songs, asks if violin and violoncello are to be treated ~obbligato~
or if the pianoforte might compose an ensemble in itself, and closes,
after having again demanded 9 ducats in gold, with: “we need the gold
here, for our country is at present only a paper fountain, and I in
particular, for I shall probably leave this country and go to England
and then to Edinburgh in Scotland, and rejoice in the prospect of there
making your personal acquaintance.”

The letter to Brunswick which follows, has been printed with the date
1809; but in that year Beethoven was not in the Pasqualati house; he
was then on the most cordial terms with Oliva (barring the disagreement
at Teplitz in 1811); and his satisfaction with the “honorable
decree”--the annuity contract--which retained him in Vienna, was at
the flood. The date, 1812, renders every point in the letter, except
who is meant by “R,” perfectly intelligible.[94] “T” is the manuscript
Trio, Op. 97; “S,” the printed sonata, “Les Adieux, etc.,” Op. 81a;
“the quartet” is Op. 95, also in manuscript; “nothing decisive” refers
to the non-receipt of the desired written instructions from Kinsky and
Lobkowitz to their cashiers respecting the notes of redemption, and
the “unhappy war” was that movement by Napoleon which proved to be the
fatal invasion of Russia.

The letter reads:

Dear friend! Brother!

I ought to have written you earlier; I did so 1000 times in my
heart. You ought to have received the T. and S. much earlier; I
cannot understand how R. could have detained these so long from
you. To the best of my recollection I told you that I would send
both sonata and trio, do as you feel inclined, keep the sonata or
send it to Forray[95] as you please, the quartet was designed for
you long ago, my disorderliness alone is to blame that you receive
it only now. And speaking of disorder I am unfortunately compelled
to tell you that it still persecutes me on every hand, nothing
decisive has been done in my affairs; the unhappy war may delay the
final settlement still more or make the matter worse. At one time
I resolve upon one thing, at another time upon a different one,
unfortunately I must remain in the neighborhood until the matter is
settled. O unhappy decree, seductive as a siren, against which I
should have stopped my ears with wax and had myself bound so that
I could not sign, like Ulysses. If the billows of war roll nearer
here I shall come to Hungary; perhaps in any event, if I must care
for my miserable self I shall no doubt beat my way through--away,
nobler, loftier plans! Infinite are our strivings, the vulgar puts
an end to all!

Farewell dear brother, be such to me, I have no one to whom I can
give the name, do as much good around you as the evil times will
permit.

In the future put the following directions on the coverings of
letters to me.

“To H. B. v. Pasqualati.”

The rascal Oliva (no noble r-s-l however) is going to Hungary, do
not have too much to do with him; I am glad that this connection
which was brought about by sheer necessity, will by this be
entirely broken off.--More by word of mouth--I am now in Baden, now
here--to be inquired for in Baden at the Sauerhof.

The cause of the estrangement between Beethoven and Oliva is hinted
at in two letters from Oliva to Varnhagen. On March 25, Oliva writes:
“I should like to write you a great deal about the things that sadden
me, about Stoll, and Beethoven still more, but I must postpone it--I
was ill lately and it moves me greatly to write about things which
are so painful”; and in a letter of June 3, after asking Varnhagen
in behalf of Beethoven to deliver a letter to Prince Kinsky and seek
to persuade the Prince to come to a decision in the matter of paying
the annuity contract in notes of redemption, he adds: “Concerning my
unfortunate affairs I can only say that Of.” [Offenheimer, the Vienna
banker, Oliva’s employer, is meant] “has treated me very shabbily and
I am compelled to seek another engagement, perhaps I shall accept
Beethoven’s renewed offer and go with him to England. Stoll cheated me
in a very miserable manner and even sought to bring about a rupture
with Beethoven, in which he was almost successful; I am completely
separated from him.” Beethoven’s wrath, to which he gave expression
in his letter to Brunswick, seems to have been assuaged and their
friendship continued as before until the departure of Oliva for Russia
in 1820.

There is a little Trio in one movement, which bears the superscription
in Beethoven’s hand: “Vienna, June 2, 1812. For my little friend Max.
Brentano to encourage her in pianoforte playing.” On one of his visits
to the Brentanos, soon after, “the little maiden, whom he occasionally
teased, in a fit of childish petulance unexpectedly poured a bottle of
ice-cold water over his head when he was overheated.”[96]

[Sidenote: NOTABLE GATHERING AT TEPLITZ]

This was the year in which Beethoven allowed a mask to be taken, at the
desire of Streicher, who wished to add his bust to those which already
adorned his pianoforte warerooms. The bust was executed by Professor
Klein, a pupil of the famous sculptor Fischer, and still adorns the
hall for which it was designed. The effigy is the one which has been
so often copied and is generally attributed to Dannhauser. That artist
was born in 1805, and must have been indeed remarkably precocious, if
Beethoven consented to have him, at the age of seven years, plaster his
face with gypsum! In May, the son of the Corsican advocate Bonaparte
held court at Dresden and received his father-in-law, Emperor Franz,
Frederick William of Prussia, the princes of the Rheinbund, etc.,
etc. Before the end of June, he had crossed the Niemen with his half
million of men on his fatal march to Moscow. As if from a presentiment
and in the hope of the disastrous failure of the foolhardy invasion
of Russia, Teplitz (that neutral ground, but central point of plot
and agitation against the parvenu Emperor) became the scene of a
virtual congress of imperial personages, or their representatives,
accompanied by families, ministers and retinues. Ostensibly they met
for health, recreation, social diversion; but views and opinions were
exchanged and arrangements made for such concerted action as the result
in Russia might render politic. Herr Aug. Rob. Hiekel, Magisterial
Adjunct in Teplitz, has kindly communicated copious excerpts from the
lists of arrivals that summer, from which these are selected, through
the friendly mediation of Dr. Schebek of Prague, which is gratefully
acknowledged:

May 29. Emperor Franz, with a large retinue--Wrbna, Althaer,
Kinsky, Zichy, etc., etc.

June 4. Marie Louise, Empress of France and retinue; the Grand Duke
of Würzburg and retinue.

July 2. The Empress of Austria and household; the Duke Anton of
Saxony, with wife and household.

July 7. The Duke of Saxe-Weimar.

July 14. The King of Saxony with wife and royal household.

July 25. Prince Maximilian of Saxony with wife and royal household.

August 11, 15. Prince Wittgenstein, Baron von Humboldt, and the
Prince of Curland, in Prussian service, etc., etc.

Passing from the royal and diplomatic circles, we note:

April 19. Baroness von der Recke, with Demoiselle Meissner and Herr
Tiedge.

July 7. Herr Ludwig van Beethoven, Composer, of Vienna, lives in
the Eiche, No. 62.[97]

July 8. Herr Carl, Prince von Lichnowsky.

July 15. Hr. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Grand Ducal Privy
Councillor of Weimar, etc., etc., in the Gold. Schiff, No. 116.

July 24. Herr Ludwig Baron von Arnim, landowner, with wife, then
his sister-in-law, Frau v. Savigny, of Berlin.

August 5. Hr. Joachim, Baron v. Muench-Bellinghausen.

August 7. Hr. Clemens Brentano, ~Partikulier~ of Prague.

August 9. Frau Wilhelmine Sebald, wife of the Royal Prussian
Commissioner of Justice, with sister Madame Sommer, of Berlin.

August 18. Hr. Fried. Karl von Savigny, Professor, etc., of Berlin.

August 19. Hr. Varnhagen von Ense, R. I. Lieutenant v. Vogelsang,
of Prague.

No hint anywhere appears that Beethoven renewed his intercourse with
Tiedge and Countess von der Recke--they had, no doubt, departed before
his arrival--nor that a meeting took place between him and any one of
those persons who arrived on and between the 1st of August and the
19th of the same month. With Varnhagen,[98] too, the meetings during
the sojourn at Teplitz this year seem to have been few and fleeting.
On June 9, Varnhagen had reported to Oliva in Vienna concerning the
success of his visit to Prince Kinsky. On July 5 Beethoven arrived
in Prague in company with Oliva’s friend Willisen. Varnhagen writes
to Rahel on July 2: “I am writing after the arrival of Beethoven
and Willisen.” As appears from a letter from Beethoven to Princess
Kinsky dated December 20, 1812, Beethoven called upon the Prince and
received 60 ducats on account. Unfortunately he delayed the definitive
settlement of the annuity matter; had he attended to it at once he
would have been spared the negotiations which followed the sudden death
of the Prince.

On July 14th, Beethoven wrote a letter to Varnhagen from Teplitz in
which he said: “There is not much to be said about Teplitz, few people
and among the few nothing extraordinary, wherefore I live alone! alone!
alone!” Three days later Beethoven wrote to Breitkopf and Härtel,
promising some corrections in the Mass in C with the words: “We say to
you only that we have been here since the 5th of July, how are we?--on
that point much cannot yet be said, on the whole there are not such
interesting people here as were last year and are few--the multitude
seems fewer than few.”

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN MEETS GOETHE]

On July 19, Goethe enters Beethoven’s name for the first time among his
“visits”--no doubt those made by him. On the same day he writes to his
wife, who had gone on to Karlsbad for a cure:

Say to His Serene Highness Prince Friedrich, that I can never
be with Beethoven without wishing that it were in the ~goldenen
Strauss~. A more self-contained, energetic, sincere artist I never
saw. I can understand right well how singular must be his attitude
towards the world.

Already on the next day Beethoven made a pleasure trip with Goethe
to Bilin, and on the 21st and 23rd Goethe spent the evening with
Beethoven. Hence the note on the 21st, “He played delightfully.” As
Arnim and Bettina are mentioned in the list of arrivals, it is easily
possible that this was the evening concerning which Bettina reported
to Pückler-Muskau. On the 27th of July, Beethoven went to Karlsbad on
the advice of his physician, Dr. Staudenheimer, and he did not return
to Teplitz till after September 8th, Goethe having already journeyed to
Karlsbad on August 11th. That there was no estrangement between them
is proved by the letter of Goethe to Christiane advising him to give
Beethoven a letter addressed to him; he therefore expected Beethoven to
return, which he did not do, because Staudenheimer sent him further on
to Franzensbrunn. Goethe’s letter says: “Herr van Beethoven went from
here to Karlsbad a few days ago; if you can find him, he would bring
me a letter in the shortest time.” On August 2nd, Beethoven is still
looked upon as the possible courier: “If I receive the consignment
through Beethoven I will write again, then nothing more will be
necessary” (because Goethe himself went to Karlsbad). In Karlsbad
Goethe and Beethoven may have met each other only between September 8
and 11. On September 12, Goethe departed; but on the 8th he had written
in his journal: “Beethoven’s arrival.”

In view of these things, Beethoven’s report to Archduke Rudolph from
Franzensbrunn on August 12th, which will appear presently, will be read
with greater interest, and the only known utterance of Goethe touching
Beethoven in the letter to Zelter be viewed with different eyes:

I made Beethoven’s acquaintance in Teplitz. His talent amazed me;
unfortunately he is an utterly untamed personality, not altogether
in the wrong in holding the world to be detestable, but who does
not make it any the more enjoyable either for himself or others by
his attitude. He is very excusable, on the other hand, and much to
be pitied, as his hearing is leaving him, which, perhaps, mars the
musical part of his nature less than the social. He is of a laconic
nature and will become doubly so because of this lack.

Many things which have been reported and had so much of a legendary
sound as to cause them to be received with doubt, may, under the
circumstances, serve to complete the story of the relations between
Goethe and Beethoven; such, for instance, as the familiar anecdote
according to which, when Goethe expressed his vexation at the incessant
greetings from passers-by, Beethoven is said to have replied: “Do not
let that trouble your Excellency, perhaps the greetings are intended
for me.” This is variously related to have occurred in a carriage at
Karlsbad and in the Prater, and during a walk together on the old walls
at Vienna; while the late Joseph Türk, the Vienna jeweler, who was in
Teplitz in the summer of 1812, makes that place the scene of the story.
It may, therefore, possibly have some foundation in truth.

Rochlitz, in 1822, reporting a conversation with Beethoven, has him
say: “In Karlsbad I got acquainted with him (Goethe)”; but he makes him
also say: “at that time, while I was veritably burning with enthusiasm
(~so recht im Feuer sass~), I also conceived my music for his Egmont.”
But this music was composed two years before. Beethoven’s allusion
here to the “Egmont” music certainly, and to meeting with Goethe in
Karlsbad probably, if correctly reported, prove nothing but the truth
of Schindler’s observation: “Beethoven’s memory of the past always
proved to be very weak.” Dr. Eduard Knoll, of Karlsbad, in a detailed
investigation of the dates of the visit of Goethe and Beethoven to
Teplitz and Karlsbad--which also fixes August 6th as the date of the
Beethoven-Polledro concert--comes to the same conclusion as the present
writer, namely: “In all probability Beethoven came in contact with
Goethe only in Teplitz, for during Beethoven’s presence in Karlsbad, it
can be proved Goethe was not there. But even in Teplitz the period of
their mutual presence was a rather limited one.”

[Sidenote: HELP FOR SUFFERERS AT BADEN]

On July 26th, a large portion of the town of Baden, near Vienna,
including the palace of Archduke Anton, the cloister of the Augustines,
the theatre and casino, the parochial church and the palace of Count
Esterhazy, was destroyed by a conflagration which broke out between
noon and 1 o’clock. In all, 117 houses were burned. “From Karlsbad
under date of August 7, it is reported,” writes the “Wiener Zeitung” of
August 29th, that “scarcely had the misfortune which recently befel the
inhabitants of Baden become known here before the well-known musicians
Herr van Beethoven and Herr Polledro[99] formed the benevolent purpose
to give a concert for the benefit of the sufferers. As many of the
guests of high station were already prepared to depart and it became
necessary to seize the favorable moment, and in the conviction that he
who helps quickly helps twofold, this purpose was carried out within
twelve hours.... Universal and rousing applause and receipts amounting
to 954 florins, Vienna Standard, rewarded the philanthropic efforts” of
the concert-givers. Beethoven himself gives a very different aspect to
this concert in a letter to Archduke Rudolph:

Franzensbrunn, August 12, 1812.

It has long been my duty to recall myself to your memory, but
my occupations in behalf of my health in part and partly my
insignificance made me hesitate. In Prague I missed Y. I. H. by
just a night; for when I went in the morning to attend upon you,
you had departed the night before. In Töplitz I heard Turkish[100]
music 4 times a day, the only musical report which I am able to
make. ~I was much together with Goethe.~ From Töplitz, however, my
physician, Staudenheim, commanded me to go to Karlsbad and from
there here, and presumably I shall have to go from here again to
Töplitz--what excursions! and yet but little certainty touching an
improvement in my condition! Till now I have had always the best
of reports concerning the state of Y. I. H.’s health, also your
continued favorable disposition and devotion to the musical muse.
Of an academy which I gave for the benefit of the city of Baden
destroyed by fire with the help of Herr Polledro, Y. I. H. is
likely to have heard. The receipts were nearly 1000 florins V. S.
and if I had not been embarrassed in the arrangements 2000 florins
might easily have been taken in. It was, so to speak, a ~poor
concert for the poor~. I found at the publisher’s here only some
of my earlier sonatas with violin, and as Polledro insisted I had
to play an old one. The entire concert consisted of a trio played
by Polledro, the violin sonata by me, another piece by Polledro
and then an improvisation by me. Meanwhile I am glad that the
poor Badensians benefited somewhat by the affair. Pray you accept
my wish for your high welfare and the prayer to be graciously
remembered by you.

Three days before, Beethoven had written in a letter to Breitkopf and
Härtel:

I must refrain from writing more, and instead splash around in
the water again. Scarcely have I filled my interior with an ample
quantity of it than I must have it dashed over my exterior. I will
answer the rest of your letter soon. ~Goethe is too fond of the
atmosphere of the Courts, more so than is becoming to a poet.~ Why
laugh at the absurdities of virtuosi when poets who ought to be the
first teachers of a nation, forget all else for the sake of this
glitter.

Beethoven arrived in Franzensbrunn on August 8, and on September 7
returned to Karlsbad, where he remained only a few days; after the
16th of September, he was again in Teplitz.[101] His arrival in
Franzensbrunn was simultaneous with that of the family Brentano from
Vienna.

[Sidenote: REBUKING THE COURTIER GOETHE]

Madame von Arnim in her letter to Pückler-Muskau gives some account of
the intercourse between Goethe and Beethoven:

They got acquainted with each other in Teplitz. Goethe was with
him! he played for him; seeing that Goethe appeared to be greatly
moved he said: “O, Sir, I did not expect that from you; I gave a
concert in Berlin several years ago, I did my best and thought that
I had done really well and was counting on considerable applause,
but behold! when I had given expression to my greatest enthusiasm,
there was not the slightest applause, that was too much for me. I
could not understand it; but the riddle was finally resolved by
this: the Berlin public is extremely cultured and waved its thanks
to me with handkerchiefs wet with the tears of emotion. This was
all wasted on a rude enthusiast like myself; I had thought that I
had merely a romantic, not an artistic audience before me. But I
accept it gladly from you, Goethe; when your poems went through
my brain they threw off music and I was proud to think that I
could try to swing myself up to the same heights which you had
reached, but I never knew it in my life and would least of all
have done it in your presence, here enthusiasm would have had to
have an entirely different outlet. You must know yourself how
good it feels to be applauded by intelligent hands; if you do not
recognize me and esteem me as a peer, who shall do so? By which
pack of beggars shall I permit myself to be understood?” Thus did
he push Goethe into a corner, who at first did not know how he
could set matters to rights, for he felt that Beethoven was right.
The Empress and the Austrian archdukes were in Teplitz and Goethe
was greatly distinguished by them, and it was by no means a matter
of indifference to him to disclose his devotion to the Empress;
he intimated as much with much solemn modesty to Beethoven.
“Nonsense,” said the latter, “that’s not the way; you’re doing no
good by such methods, you must plainly make them understand what
they have in having you or they will never find out; there isn’t
a princess who will appreciate Tasso any longer than the shoe of
vanity squeezes her foot--I treated them differently; when I was
asked to give lessons to Duke Rainer,[102] he let me wait in the
antechamber, and for that I gave his fingers a good twisting; when
he asked me why I was so impatient I said that he had wasted my
time in the anteroom and I could wait no longer with patience.
After that he never let me wait again; yes, I would have showed him
that that was a piece of folly which only shows their bestiality. I
said to him: “You can hang an order on one, but it would not make
him the least bit better; you can make a court councillor or a
privy councillor, but not a Goethe or a Beethoven; for that which
you cannot make and which you are far from being, therefore, you
must learn to have respect, it will do you good.”” While they were
walking there came towards them the whole court, the Empress and
the Dukes; Beethoven said: “Keep hold of my arm, they must make
room for us, not we for them.” Goethe was of a different opinion,
and the situation became awkward for him; he let go of Beethoven’s
arm and took a stand at the side with his hat off, while Beethoven
with folded arms walked right through the dukes and only tilted his
hat slightly while the dukes stepped aside to make room for him,
and all greeted him pleasantly; on the other side he stopped and
waited for Goethe, who had permitted the company to pass by him
where he stood with bowed head. “Well,” he said, “I’ve waited for
you because I honor and respect you as you deserve, but you did
those yonder too much honor.”

In these passages we have the substance of a large portion of the
famous third of the Beethoven-Bettina letters. Are they an abstract
of that letter or is the letter an expansion of them? In other words,
the question is forced upon us: Is that letter authentic? The last
paragraph of the Pückler letter affords a decisive answer: “Afterward
Beethoven came running to ~us~ and told us everything, and was as happy
as a child at having teased Goethe so greatly, etc., etc.” Who were
they to whom Beethoven came running? They are named in Herr Hiekel’s
list of visitors: Ludwig (Achim) von Arnim, his young wife Bettina
Brentano and Frau von Savigny, her sister! In the pseudo-letter we
read: “Yesterday we met the entire imperial family.” Therefore, if the
letter to Pückler be true--and it bears all the marks of being so--and
if the other be authentic, Beethoven is made to relate the story one
day and write a long letter containing it to the same person the next!
It follows: when such a letter in Beethoven’s well-known handwriting
shall be seen and accepted as authentic by competent judges, its
genuineness may be conceded but, henceforth, until then, never.[103]

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND AMALIE VON SEBALD]

Beethoven returned to Teplitz with no amelioration, but rather an
increase of his maladies, and was compelled to remain until near or
perhaps quite the end of September. To his great satisfaction, he found
there the young lady who had so powerfully attracted him the previous
summer. The character of their renewed acquaintance is sufficiently
obvious from the series of notes following, which are given in the
order which appears to correspond best with their contents.

Teplitz, September 16, 1812.

For Amalie von Sebald:

Tyrant--I? Your tyrant? Only a misapprehension can lead you to say
this even if your judgment of me indicated no agreement of thought
with me! But no blame to you on this account; it is rather a piece
of good fortune for you--yesterday I was not wholly well, since
this morning I have grown worse; something indigestible was the
cause, and the irascible part of me appears to seize upon the bad
as well as the good; but do not apply this to my moral nature;
people say nothing, they are only people; they generally see
only themselves in others, and that is nothing; away with this,
the good, the beautiful needs no people. It is here without help
and that, after all, appears to be the reason of our agreement.
Farewell, dear Amalie; if the moon shines brighter for me this
evening than the sun by day you will see with you the least of men.

Your friend

Beethoven.

Dear, good Amalie. After leaving you yesterday my condition grew
worse and from last night till now I have not left my bed, I wanted
to send you word yesterday but thought it would look as if I wanted
to appear important in your eyes, so I refrained. What dream of
yours is this that you are nothing to me, we will talk about that
by word of mouth, dear Amalie; I have always wished only that my
presence might bring you rest and peace, and that you would have
confidence in me; I hope to be better to-morrow and that we may
spend the few hours which remain of your sojourn in the enjoyment
of nature to our mutual uplift and enlivenment. Good night, dear
Amalie, many thanks for your kind thought of your friend

Beethoven.

I will look through Tiedge.

I only wish to report that the tyrant is ~slavishly~ chained to
his bed. So it is! I shall be glad if I get along with the loss of
to-day. My promenade yesterday at sun-up in the woods, where it was
very misty, has increased my indisposition and probably delayed
my improvement. Busy yourself meanwhile with Russians, Lapps,
Samoyeds, etc., and do not sing too often the song, “Es lebe hoch!”

Your friend

Beethoven.

I am already better. If you think it ~proper~ to come to me alone
you can give me a great pleasure, but if you think it ~improper~
you know how I honor the liberty of all people, and no matter how
you act in this and all other cases, according to your principles
or caprice, you will always find me kind and

Your friend

Beethoven.

I cannot yet say anything definite about myself, sometimes I feel
better and next things appear to be in the old rut, or to be
preparing a long sickness for me. If I could give expression to my
thoughts concerning my sickness as definitely as I can express my
thoughts in music, I should soon help myself. To-day too, I must
keep to my bed. Farewell, and rejoice in your good health, dear
Amalie.

Your friend

Beethoven.

The sickness does not seem to increase exactly, but still to crawl
onward, so no standstill! this is all that I can tell you about
it. I must give up the thought of seeing you at home, mayhap your
Samoyeds will relieve you of their journey to the Polar regions, if
so come to

Beethoven.

Thank you for all the things which you think good for my body,
the necessities have been cared for--also my illness seems less
obstinate. I deeply sympathize with you in the sorrow which must
come to you because of the sickness of your mother. You know that I
like to see you, but I cannot receive you otherwise than lying in
bed. I may be able to get up to-morrow.--Farewell, dear Amalie--

Your somewhat weak

Beethoven.

(In Amalie Sebald’s handwriting):

My tyrant commands an account--here it is:

A fowl 1 fl. V. S.
The soup 9 kr.

With all my heart I hope that it may agree with you.

(In Beethoven’s handwriting):

Tyrants do not pay, but the bill must be receipted, and you can
do that best if you come in person. N. B. With the bill to your
humbled tyrant.[104]

Hard upon the first letter to Amalie Sebald there followed a letter
to Breitkopf and Härtel which confirms the statement concerning his
illness and its cause and discloses his desire to leave Vienna, though
temporarily, for concert purposes.

Beethoven’s health must have rapidly improved after the 16th of
September, for Chapelmaster Glöggl’s “Linzer Musik-Zeitung” announces
his arrival in that place on October 5th:

Now we have had the long wished for pleasure of having within our
metropolis for several days the Orpheus and greatest musical poet
of our time, Herr L. van Beethoven, and if Apollo is favorable to
us we shall also have an opportunity to admire his art and report
upon it to the readers of this journal.

He had come thither, probably direct ~via~ Prague and Budweis, to
pass a few weeks with his brother Johann, who gave him a large
room affording him a delightful view of the Danube with its busy
landing-place and the lovely country beyond. Franz Glöggl--later a
music publisher in Vienna, then a youth in Linz--shortly before his
death wrote down his reminiscences of the composer, for use in this
work.

Beethoven (he wrote) was on intimate terms of friendship with my
father, chapelmaster of the cathedral in Linz, and when he was
there in 1812, he was at our house every day and several times took
meals with us. My father asked him for an Aequale for 6 trombones,
as in his collection of old instruments he had a soprano and a
~quart~ trombone,[105] whereas only alto, tenor and bass trombones
were commonly used. Beethoven wanted to hear an Aequale such as was
played at funerals in Linz, and my father appointed three trombone
players one afternoon when Beethoven was expected to dine with us
and had them play an Aequale as desired, after which Beethoven sat
down and composed one for 6[106] trombones, which my father had his
trombonists play, etc.

Among the cavaliers who were in Linz was Count von Dönhoff, a
great admirer of Beethoven, who gave several soirées in his honor
during the composer’s sojourn. I was present at one of these.
Pieces were played and some of Beethoven’s songs were sung, and
he was requested to improvise on the pianoforte, which he did not
wish to do. A table had been spread with food in an adjoining room
and finally the company gathered about it. I was a young lad and
Beethoven interested me so greatly that I remained always near him.
Search was made for him in vain and finally the company sat down
without him. He was in the next room and now began to improvise;
all grew quiet and listened to him. I remained standing beside
him at the pianoforte. He played for about an hour and one by one
all gathered around him. Then it occurred to him that he had been
called to the table long before--he hurried from his chair to the
dining-room. At the door stood a table holding porcelain dishes.
He stumbled against it and the dishes fell to the floor. Count
Dönhoff, a wealthy cavalier, laughed at the mishap and the company
again sat down to the table with Beethoven. There was no more
thought of playing music, for after Beethoven’s fantasia half of
the pianoforte strings were broken. I recall this fantasia because
I was so fortunate as to have heard it so near him.

[Sidenote: INTERFERENCE WITH A BROTHER’S AFFAIRS]

One of Beethoven’s memoranda, copied into the Fischoff Manuscript, is
this: “In 1812, I was in Linz on account of B.” Supposing this B.
to stand for Beethoven’s brother it confirms certain very unpleasant
information obtained in Linz (1860), from perfectly competent
authority, namely, that the principal object of the journey thither was
to interfere in Johann’s domestic affairs.

Soon after coming to Linz, the apothecary, being unmarried and having
a house much too large for his necessities, leased a part of it to a
physician from Vienna, whose wife’s sister some time later joined them.
She, Therese Obermeyer, was described as possessing a very graceful and
finely proportioned figure, and a pleasing, though not beautiful, face.
Johann van Beethoven soon became acquainted with her, liked her, and
made her his housekeeper and--something more.

When it is considered, that the apothecary was a man of some
thirty-five years, that he had gained his present position entirely by
his own enterprise, perseverance and good fortune, and that, beyond
advice and remonstrance, his brother had no more right to meddle in
his private concerns than any stranger, it seems hardly credible
that Beethoven, with all his eccentricities of character, could have
come to Linz with precisely this purpose in view. But, according to
the evidence, this was so. Had the motive of his visit been simply
fraternal affection, and had he then and there first discovered his
brother’s improper connection with Therese, he could justly have
employed earnest expostulation and entreaty to the end of breaking it
off--but nothing more; if unheeded, he could leave the house. But to
come thither for this express object, and employ force to accomplish
it, was an indefensible assumption of authority. Such, at all events,
was Johann’s opinion, and he refused to submit to his brother’s
dictation. Excited by opposition, Ludwig resorted to any and every
means to accomplish his purpose. He saw the Bishop about it. He applied
to the civil authorities. He pushed the affair so earnestly, as at
last to obtain an order to the police to remove the girl to Vienna if,
on a certain day, she should be still found in Linz. The disgrace to
the poor girl; the strong liking which Johann had for her; his natural
mortification at not being allowed to be master in his own house;
these and other similar causes wrought him up almost to desperation.
Beethoven, having carried his point, might certainly have borne his
brother’s anger with equanimity; might have felt pity for him and
sought to soothe him in his trouble. But no; when Johann entered his
room with reproaches and upbraidings, he, too, became angry and a scene
ensued on which--let the curtain be drawn. It was, unhappily, more
disgraceful to Ludwig than Johann. The apothecary, to use the language
of the card-table, still had the commanding trump. Should he play it?
The answer is in the parochial register at Linz. It is the record
of marriage, November 8th, 1812, of Johann van Beethoven to Therese
Obermeyer. There is some slight reason to think that the journey to
Linz was suddenly undertaken in consequence of a false report that
Johann was about to marry Therese, and with the intention to prevent
it. Whether this be true or not he lost the game and immediately
hastened away to Vienna, angry and mortified that the measures he had
taken had led to the very result which he wished to prevent; had given
to the unchaste girl the legal right to call him “brother,” and had put
it in Johann’s power--should he in the future have cause to rue his
wedding-day--to reproach him as the author of his misfortune. Indeed,
when that unhappy future came, Johann always declared that Ludwig had
driven him into this marriage; how the composer then viewed the matter,
we shall see when the time comes. One sister-in-law had already been
to Beethoven a bitter source of shame and mortification; and now the
other?--Time must show. Here we part from the apothecary, and it will
be long before we meet him again.

Beethoven’s professional occupation in Linz was the completion of the
Eighth Symphony, which, on Johann van Beethoven’s doubtful authority,
was wrought out from the sketches during walks to and upon the
Pöstlingberg.[107] Schindler’s account of the origin of the famous
Allegretto Scherzando adds a new name to our ~dramatis personæ~.

[Sidenote: ASSOCIATION WITH MÄLZEL]

Johann Nepomuk Mälzel was the son of an organ-builder of Ratisbon.
He received a thorough musical education, and began life on his own
account as a performer upon and a teacher of the pianoforte of no mean
ability; but his extraordinary taste for mechanism and talent for
invention soon led him to exchange the music-room for the workshop. It
is somewhere related, that, having been appointed “Court Mechanician”
at Vienna and having a work to execute for the Empress, rooms were
assigned him, in 1809, in Schönbrunn. Soon after this, Napoleon
took possession of that palace, and while there played a game with
Kempelen’s chess player (of which Mälzel had become proprietor),
Allgaier being (probably) the person concealed in the chest. The
truth of the anecdote we cannot warrant. From Schönbrunn, Mälzel
removed to rooms in Stein’s pianoforte manufactory, and began the
construction of a new and improved panharmonicon, having sold his first
one in Paris. This was his principal employment in the year 1812.
Carl Stein (from whom the author derived this information) remembered
distinctly the frequent visits of Beethoven to Mälzel’s workshop,
the great intimacy of the two men, and the persevering efforts of
the mechanician to construct an ear-trumpet which the deaf composer
should find of practical use and benefit. It is well known, that of
the four instruments constructed, one was so far satisfactory as to
be used occasionally for some eight or ten years. The necessity and
practicability of inventing some kind of machine by which composers
should be able to indicate exactly the duration of a piece of music--in
other words, the rapidity of its execution--had been for several years
subjects of wide discussion. An article in the “Wiener Vaterländische
Blätter” of October 13, 1813, entitled “Mälzel’s musikalischer
Chronometer,” reads:

On his journeys through Germany, France and Italy, as a consequence
of his approved knowledge of mechanics and music, Herr Mälzel had
repeatedly been solicited by the most celebrated composers and
conservatories to devote his talent to an invention which should
be useful to the many, after many efforts by others had proved
defective. He undertook the solution of the problem and succeeded
in completely satisfying the first composers of Vienna with the
model which was recently exhibited, which will be followed soon
by the recognition of all others in the countries mentioned.
The model has endured the most varied tests which the composers
Salieri, Beethoven, Weigl, Gyrowetz and Hummel applied to it. Court
Chapelmaster Salieri made the first application of this chronometer
to a work of magnitude, Haydn’s “Creation,” and noted all the
tempos according to the different degrees on the score, etc. Herr
Beethoven looks upon this invention as a welcome means with which
to secure the performance of his brilliant compositions in all
places in the tempos conceived by him, which to his regret have so
often been misunderstood.

The “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” of December 1st devotes some two pages to the
instrument, from which a few words of description are enough for our
purpose:

The external parts of this chronometer ... consist of a small lever
which is set in motion by a toothed wheel, the only one in the
whole apparatus, by means of which and the resultant blows on a
little wooden anvil, the measures are divided into equal intervals
of time.

That “chronometer” was not what is now known as Mälzel’s “metronome.”

[Sidenote: CANON AND ALLEGRETTO SCHERZANDO]

It is now to be seen whether Schindler’s account of the Allegretto
Scherzando will bear examination. It is this:

In the Spring of the year 1812, Beethoven, the mechanician
Mälzel, Count von Brunswick, Stephan von Breuning and others,
sat together at a farewell meal, the first about to undertake
the visit to his brother Johann in Linz, there to work out his
Eighth Symphony and afterward to visit the Bohemian baths--Mälzel,
however, to journey to England to exploit his famous trumpet-player
automaton. The latter project had to be abandoned, however, and
indefinitely postponed. The time-machine--metronome--invented by
this mechanician, was already in such a state of forwardness that
Salieri, Beethoven, Weigl and other musical notabilities had given
a public testimonial of its utility. Beethoven, generally merry,
witty, satirical, “unbuttoned,” as he called it, at this farewell
meal improvised the following canon, which was at once sung by the
participants.

Schindler here prints the now well-known canon and adds: “Out of this
canon was developed the Allegretto Scherzando.” That Mälzel’s “ta, ta,
ta,” suggested the Allegretto, and that at a farewell meal the canon
on that subject was sung, is doubtless true; but it is by no means
certain that the canon preceded the symphony. Schindler was then a
youth of 17 years, “in the last course of the gymnasium at Olmütz,”
and consequently relates his story on the authority of another--Count
Brunswick. There may have been a slight lapse of memory on the part
of Brunswick as to date, but it is far more probable that Schindler
unconsciously adapted what he heard to his own preconceived notions.
At all events, the preceding pages show that he was in the wrong as
to the metronome, as to the proposed journeys of both Beethoven and
Mälzel, and therefore, probably, as to the date of the farewell meal.
On this last point, the lists of “Arrivals in Vienna” offer very strong
negative evidence, namely: Forray comes from Pesth-Ofen in 1809-10-11;
Countess Brunswick, 1811; but no Count Brunswick after March, 1810,
until the end of February, 1813--four months after the Eighth Symphony
is completed. At that date, we shall find reasons in plenty for the
farewell gathering--though none in the “Spring of 1812.” The canon
could not have contained the word “Metronome” until 1817; nor could the
“ta, ta, ta,” have represented the beat of a pendulum of an instrument
not yet invented; it was an imitation of the beat of the lever on the
anvil.

The Conversation Books show, in Schindler’s own hand, how he became
possessed of the canon. Beethoven, during the first years of their
acquaintance, was in the habit of meeting frequently evenings a captain
of the ~Arcierenleibgarde des Kaisers~, a certain Herr Pinterics,
well known then in musical circles, and Oliva, “in a retired room in
the Blumenstock in the Ballgässchen.” In a Conversation Book (1820)
Schindler writes:

The motif of the canon, 2d movement of the 8th symphony--I cannot
find the original--you will, I hope, have the kindness to write
it down for me. Herr Pintericks at that time sang the bass, the
Captain 2d tenor, Oliva 2d bass. [Again in 1824]: I am just in
the second movement of the 8th symphony--ta, ta, ta--the canon
on Mälzel--it was really a very jolly evening when we sang this
canon in the “Kamehl”--Mälzel, the bass. At that time I still sang
soprano. I think it was the end of 1817.[108] The time when I was
permitted to appear before Your Majesty--1816--1815--after the
performance of the Symphony in A.--I was still young at that time,
but very courageous, wasn’t I?

On the first of these occasions, therefore, the word “Chronometer” must
have been sung; on the second, as Mälzel had returned to Vienna with
the “Metronome,” that word was substituted, and of course retained
in the copy made in 1820. The necessary conclusion is this: If the
canon was written before the Symphony, it was not improvised at the
farewell meal; if it was improvised on that occasion, it was but the
reproduction of the Allegretto theme in canon-form.

Pierre Rode, who at his culmination had occupied perhaps the first
place among living violinists, being driven from Russia, made a concert
tour in Germany and came in December to Vienna. Spohr, whose judgment
of violin playing cannot be impugned, had heard him ten years before
with delight and astonishment, and now again in a public concert on
January 6. He now thought that he had retrograded; he found his playing
“cold and full of mannerisms”; he “missed the former daring in the
overcoming of difficulties,” and felt himself “particularly unsatisfied
by his ~cantabile~ playing.” “The public, too, seemed dissatisfied,”
he says, “at least he could not warm it into enthusiasm.” Still, Rode
had a great name; paid to and received from the nobles the customary
homage; and exhibited his still great talents in their saloons.
Beethoven must have still thought well of his powers, for he now took
up and completed his Sonata, Op. 96, to be played at one of Lobkowitz’s
evening concerts by him and Archduke Rudolph. From the tone of two
notes to the Archduke (printed by Köchel), the composer seems to have
been less satisfied by Rode’s performances than he had expected to be:

To-morrow morning at the earliest hour, the copyist will be able
to begin on the last movement, as I meanwhile am writing on other
works, I did not make great haste for the sake of mere punctuality
in the last movement, the more because I had, in writing it, to
consider the playing of Rode; in our finales we like rushing
and resounding passages, but these are not in Rode’s style and
this--embarrassed me a little. For the rest all is likely to go
well on Tuesday. I take the liberty of doubting if I can appear
that evening at Your Imp. Highness’s, notwithstanding my zeal
in service; but to make it good I shall come to-morrow morning,
to-morrow afternoon, to meet the wishes of my exalted pupil in all
respects.

The date of the concert was December 29th. Therefore, if the sketches
for the second, third and fourth movements of this noble sonata do not
belong to the year 1811, as argued near the close of the preceding
chapter, the entire work, except the first movement, was produced in
twelve or fifteen days at most.

[Sidenote: SPOHR’S ACCOUNT OF BEETHOVEN]

Though it may be slightly in advance of strict chronological order, it
would seem well to quote here what Spohr in his Autobiography writes
of his personal intercourse with Beethoven. It is interesting and
doubly acceptable as the only sketch of the kind belonging to just
this period; it is, moreover, trustworthy. In general, what he relates
of the composer in that work so abounds with unaccountable errors as
to necessitate the utmost caution in accepting it; it is pervaded by
a harsh and grating tone; and leaves the impression, that his memory
retained most vividly and unconsciously exaggerated whatever tended to
place Beethoven in a ridiculous light. What is here copied is, at least
comparatively, free from these objections:

After my arrival in Vienna (about December 1), I at once hunted
up Beethoven, but did not find him and therefore left my card. I
now hoped to meet him in one of the musical soirées to which I
was frequently invited, but soon learned that since his deafness
had so increased that he could no longer hear music distinctly in
all its context he had withdrawn from all musical parties and,
indeed, become very shy of society. I made another attempt to
visit him, but again in vain. At last, most unexpectedly, I met
him in the eating-place which I was in the habit of patronizing
every Wednesday with my wife. I had, by this time, already given a
concert (December 17), and twice performed my oratorio (January 21
and 24). The Vienna newspapers had reported favorably upon them.
Hence, Beethoven knew of me when I introduced myself to him and
greeted me in an extremely friendly manner. We sat down together at
a table, and Beethoven became very chatty, which greatly surprised
the table company, as he generally looked straight ahead, morose
and curt of speech. It was a difficult task to make him understand,
as one had to shout so loudly that it could be heard three rooms
distant. Afterward, Beethoven came often to this eating-house and
visited me at my lodgings, and thus we soon learned to know each
other well. Beethoven was frequently somewhat blunt, not to say
rude; but an honest eye gleamed from under his bushy eyebrows.

After my return from Gotha (end of May, 1813), I met him
occasionally at the Theater-an-der-Wien, hard behind the orchestra,
where Count Palffy had given him a free seat. After the opera
he generally accompanied me home and spent the remainder of the
evening with me. There he was pleasant toward Dorette and the
children. He very seldom spoke about music. When he did so his
judgments were very severe and so decided that it seemed as if
there could be no contradiction. He did not take the least interest
in the works of others; for this reason I did not have the courage
to show him mine. His favorite topic of conversation at the time
was severe criticism of the two theatrical managements of Prince
Lobkowitz and Count Palffy. He was sometimes over-loud in his abuse
of the latter when we were still inside the theatre, so that not
only the public but also the Count in his office might have heard
him. This embarrassed me greatly and I continually tried to turn
the conversation into something else. The rude, repelling conduct
of Beethoven at this time was due partly to his deafness, which he
not yet learned to endure with resignation, partly to the unsettled
condition of his financial affairs. He was not a good housekeeper
and had the ill-luck to be robbed by those about him. So he often
lacked necessities. In the early part of our acquaintance I once
asked him, after he had been absent from the eating-house: “You
were not ill, were you?”--“My boots were, and as I have only one
pair I had house-arrest,” was the answer.

Beethoven had other cares, troubles and anxieties in the coming
year--to which these reminiscences in strictness belong and serve
as a sort of introduction--not known to Spohr. Theirs was not the
confidential intercourse which lays bare the heart of friend to friend.
As Varnhagen last year, so Theodor Körner this and the next informs
us that Beethoven’s desire again to try his fortune on the operatic
stage was in no wise abated. On June 6th the youthful poet writes: “If
Weinlig does not intend soon to compose my Alfred, let him send it
back to me; I would then, having bettered my knowledge of the theatre
and especially of opera texts, strike out several things, inasmuch as
it is much too long, and give it to the Kärnthner Theatre, as I am
everlastingly plagued for opera texts by Beethoven, Weigl, Gyrowetz,
etc.” On February 10, 1813, he writes: “Beethoven has asked me for ‘The
Return of Ulysses.’ If Gluck were alive, that would be a subject for
his Muse.”

The ascertained compositions of 1812 were:

I. “Sinfonie. L. v. Beethoven, 1812, 13ten Mai.” A major, Op. 92.

II. “Trio in einem Satze.” B-flat. “Wien am 2ten Juni 1812. Für
seine kleine Freundin Max. Brentano zu ihrer Aufmunterung im
Clavierspielen.”

III. “Sinfonia--Linz im Monath October 1812.” F major, Op. 93.

IV. Three Equali for four trombones. “Linz den 2ten 9ber 1812.”

V. Sonata for Pianoforte and Violin. G major, Op. 96.

VI. Irish airs nearly or quite completed for Thomson, and

VII. Welsh airs probably continued.

The publications:

I. Music to “Egmont” except the overture, Op. 84. Breitkopf and
Härtel, in January.

II. ~Messa a quattro voci coll’accompagnamento dell’Orchestra,
composta da Luigi van Beethoven.~ “Drey Hymnen für vier Singstimmen
mit Begleitung des Orchesters, in Musik gesetzt und Sr. Durchlaucht
dem Herrn Fürsten von Kinsky zugeeignet von Ludw. v. Beethoven, 86.
Werk. Partitur.” Breitkopf and Härtel, in October.

FOOTNOTES:

[89] Kinsky, 725, 80; Archduke Rudolph, 604, 84; Lobkowitz, 282, 26.

[90] After the large payment for a year and a quarter which Beethoven
received from Kinsky on July 31, 1810, the Prince continued to pay
450 florins regularly every quarter but on July 26 (from March to
May), 1811, with the memorandum: “450 bank-notes, or 90 florins notes
of redemption,” and again the same on August 30 (for June-August),
1811;--i. e., one-fifth of the stipulated sum. It was not until the
issuance of the Court Decree of September 13, 1811, that the more
favorable rate of the above table was established. It is to be assumed
that the payments thereafter were made in accordance with the scale,
185 florins in notes of redemption for 450 florins; the receipts have
not been preserved. (See “Beethoven und Prinz Kinsky,” Frimmel’s “II.
Beethoven-Jahrbuch,” 1909, by V. Kratochvil.) Lobkowitz’s payments were
suspended in September, 1811, for nearly four years, his assumption of
the management of the theatres having thrown his financial affairs into
disorder and caused the sequestration of his estates.

[91] An untranslatable pun.

[92] Under date of London, 14th February, 1875, Mr. E. Speyer writes:
“My father ... on a visit to Vienna in 1832, made the acquaintance of
the Abbé Stadler, who communicated to him the following curious fact in
relation to Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, viz: That the theme of the
Trio

[Illustration: ~etc.~]

was nothing more nor less than a Lower-Austrian Pilgrimage Hymn
(Wallfahrtgesang), which the Abbé himself had frequently heard sung.”
This correspondent’s father was the W. Speyer, or Speier, whose name so
often appears in old volumes of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.”

[93] Here Beethoven was mistaken. Haydn composed accompaniments
for a volume of Scottish songs for Napier, a London publisher,
without ritornellos or violoncello; he wrote as Beethoven wrote for
Thomson--with violoncello part as well as ritornellos. In a later
letter (of February 19) the same error is repeated.

[94] Laub and Jahn read “R”; Köchel, “M.” The former might be the
publisher Rizzi, the latter Mollo.

[95] “Andreas Baron von Forray, husband of Countess Julie Brunswick, a
cousin of Count Franz Brunswick, was a good pianoforte player and great
music lover,” says Köchel.

[96] Related by Court Councillor Wittescheck and confirmed by
Schindler, who had “this fact” from Maximiliane--then Frau von
Plittersdorf.

[97] Dr. Riemann, who believes that Beethoven’s “Immortal Beloved” was
Countess Therese Brunswick but places the love-letter, or letters, in
the year 1812, accounts for this date on the hypothesis that Beethoven
reached Teplitz (whence he assumes, of course, that the letters were
sent) on the fifth of the month but was registered on the seventh, on
which day he was reported from his lodgings.

[98] The following information about Beethoven’s association with
Varnhagen in the summer of 1812, and much that is new about Beethoven’s
meetings with Goethe, is Dr. Riemann’s contribution to Thayer’s
biography. It is based on the correspondence between Varnhagen and
Rahel Levin, a study: “Beethoven, Goethe und Varnhagen von Ense mit
ungedruckten Briefen an Beethoven, Oliva, Varnhagen, etc.,” by Dr. Emil
Jacobs, published in the second December installment of “Die Musik,”
1904, and the Weimar Collection of Goethe’s letters.

[99] Giovanni Battista Polledro (1781-1853), violinist, concertmaster
in Dresden in 1814, Court Chapelmaster in Turin in 1824.

[100] By Turkish music is meant military music with drums, cymbals, etc.

[101] Dr. Riemann adds: “perhaps because he had heard that the Sebalds
were in Teplitz”; but, as the letter to the Archduke shows, he was
already expecting to be ordered back to Teplitz on August 12.

[102] Meaning Rudolph.

[103] The credit of suggesting this crushing argument against the
authenticity of the letter belongs to Dr. Deiters.--A.W.T.

[104] An album once owned by Amalie Sebald contains this inscription:

Ludwig van Beethoven
Den Sie, wenn Sie auch wollten,
Doch nicht vergessen sollten.

Teplitz, August 8, 1812.

The couplet might be rudely translated:

Whom, even if you would
Forget, you never should.

“At that date,” says Thayer, Beethoven “was not in Teplitz; the 1812
should doubtless be 1811, and was probably added long afterwards by
some one who knew nothing of their meeting the previous year.”

[105] A bass trombone in F, a fourth lower than the tenor trombone.

[106] A slip of memory; the composition, which was used at Beethoven’s
funeral, is for 4 trombones.

[107] Beethoven had begun to work industriously on the Eighth Symphony
before he went to Teplitz; indeed, he seems to have reported to
Breitkopf and Härtel in a letter which has not been preserved, but
which was sent from Franzensbrunn, that he had finished two symphonies;
for the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” of September 2, 1812, says: “L. van
Beethoven, who took the cures first at Töplitz, then in Karlsbad and
is now in Eger, has ... again composed two new symphonies.” But the
autograph bears the inscription: “Linz in October, 1812.”

[108] Correct. Mälzel was then for a few months again in Vienna.

Chapter XIII

The Year 1813--Beethoven’s Journal--Death of Prince
Kinsky--Beethoven’s Earnings--Mälzel and “Wellington’s
Victory”--The A major Symphony--The Concerts of December 8 and 12.

Short as Bettina’s stay in Vienna was, it occurred at the very crisis
of Beethoven’s unlucky marriage project; and her society served a good
purpose in distracting his thoughts; while her known relations to her
future husband prevented the growth of any such feeling on his part as
some have conjectured did really awaken. Next came the rather absurd
affair with Fräulein Malfatti; but this was so little of an earnest
nature[109] as in turn to be quite forgotten, so soon as the rejected
lover came fairly under the influence of the remarkable mental and
personal charms of Amalie von Sebald, in whom he found all that his
warmest wishes could desire. The renewal in the last summer of his
acquaintance with her completely cured him of his recent unfortunate
passions, but, there is too much reason to believe, at the cost of
plunging him into a new one, not the less powerful because utterly
hopeless, and so firmly rooted that in 1816 “it was still as on the
first day.”

The so-called journal (~Tagebuch~) of the Fischoff MS. begins thus:

Submission, absolute submission to your fate, only this can
give you the sacrifice ... to the servitude--O, hard struggle!
Turn everything which remains to be done to planning the long
journey--you must yourself find all that your most blessed wish can
offer, you must force it to your will--keep always of the same mind.

~Thou mayest no longer be a man~, not for thyself, only for others,
~for thee there is no longer happiness except in thyself, in thy
art~--O God, give me strength to conquer myself, nothing must
chain me to life. Thus everything connected with A will go to
destruction.

The date given is simply 1812; but the month of September in Teplitz
suggests itself instantly for the first two paragraphs, and the time
when Beethoven was busy with the Eighth Symphony for the other. The
next-following in the manuscript is dated:

May 13, 1813.

To forgo a great act which might have been and remain so--O, what
a difference compared with an unstudied life which often rose in
my fancy--O fearful conditions which do not suppress my feeling
for domesticity, but whose execution O God, God look down upon the
unhappy B., do not permit it to last thus much longer--

Learn to keep silent, O friend! Speech is like silver,
But to hold one’s peace at the right moment is pure gold.

It is obvious that the hated “servitude” is the instruction of the
Archduke in music, and that the new feeling which he has to defy,
and if possible conquer, lest everything go to destruction, is the
absorbing affection for Amalie Sebald which he had unconsciously
suffered to gain tyrannical sway over his mind and heart. The “great
act” of the last citation is the “long journey” of the first--of which
hereafter.[110]

[Sidenote: MISFORTUNES OF KARL VAN BEETHOVEN]

Other causes also joined to render his case now truly pitiable. The
result of his interference with his brother Johann, vexatious and
mortifying as it was, was of little moment in comparison with the
anxiety and distress caused by the condition of his brother Karl. In
1809, Karl had been advanced to the position of Deputy Liquidator with
1000 fl. salary and 160 fl. rent money; but all salaries being then
paid in bank-notes, the minor public officials, especially after the
~Finanz-Patent~, were reduced to extreme poverty. Karl van Beethoven
was already owner of the house in the Alservorstadt near the Herrnalser
Linie, which contained lodgings for some ten or twelve small families,
enclosed a court-garden with fruit trees, etc., and was valued (1816)
at 16400 fl.: so long as he remained in the Rauhensteingasse, the whole
of this house was rented, and, after deducting interest and taxes, gave
him a very desirable addition to his miserable salary. When Beethoven
writes, that he had wholly to support “an unfortunate sick brother
together with his family,” it must be therefore understood ~cum grano~;
but that he had for some time been obliged very largely to aid them in
obtaining even the necessaries of life is beyond question. Just now,
when his own pecuniary prospects were so clouded, his anxieties were
increased by Karl’s wretched state of health, which partly disabled
him for his official duties, and seems to have forced him to pay for
occasional assistance. In March, he appeared rapidly to be sinking from
consumption, and he became so hopeless of improvement in April as to
induce him--in his wellfounded distrust of the virtue and prudence of
his unhappy wife--to execute the following

DECLARATION.

Inasmuch as I am convinced of the frank and upright disposition
of my brother Ludwig van Beethoven, I desire that after my death
he undertake the guardianship of my son, Karl Beethoven, a minor.
I therefore request the honorable court to appoint my brother
mentioned to the guardianship after my death and beg my dear
brother to accept the office and to aid my son with word and deed
in all cases.[111]

Vienna, April 12, 1813.

Happily for all parties concerned, Spring “brought healing on its
wings.” Karl’s health improved; he was advanced to the position of
Cashier of the “Universal-Staats-Schulden Kasse,” with 40 fl. increase
of rent money; and now, at last, the decree was issued for the payment
of all salaries (of public officials) in silver. Twelve hundred florins
in silver, used with reasonable economy, was amply sufficient to
relieve Ludwig of this part of his troubles.

In a letter to Rudolph written in January, Beethoven said bitterly:
“neither word, nor honor, nor written agreement, seems binding.”--The
words relate to non-payments of the Kinsky and Lobkowitz subscriptions
to his annuity.

Kinsky, on the 2nd or 3rd of the preceding November, while riding at
Weldus near Prague, was--by the breaking of his saddle-girth--thrown
from his horse with such force as to crush his skull, and survived
but ten hours. In settling his affairs, the question arose whether,
under the ~Finanz-Patent~, Beethoven was entitled to more than the
subscription as computed by the scale: or, more correctly, there being
~no~ question under the law, Beethoven raised one, by claiming the
full nominal sum (1800 fl.) in notes of redemption. The curators of
the estates--as it was their sworn duty to do--refused to admit the
claim until it should be established by competent judicial authority;
and, pending the decision, withheld all payments. As to Lobkowitz, his
profuse expenditures had brought him to a suspension of payments and
had deprived him of the control of his vast estates. What has just
been said of the Kinsky subscription for Beethoven applies, therefore,
literally to his. Hence, nothing of the annuity was paid by the Kinsky
curators from November 3rd, 1812, to March 31st, 1815; nor by those
of Lobkowitz from September 1st, 1811, until after April 19th, 1815.
From the abundant correspondence called out by these differences of
opinion, as to whether law or equity should rule in the case, three
letters to the widowed Princess Kinsky may be selected as explanatory
of Beethoven’s views. In the first of these letters, dated at Vienna,
December 30th, 1812, Beethoven rehearses the story of the origin of
the annuity contract, the disarrangement of the governmental finances,
Archduke Rudolph’s prompt compliance with the request that payments be
made in notes of redemption instead of bank-notes, and thus reaches the
visit of Varnhagen von Ense to Prince Kinsky at Prague. He quotes a
letter written by Varnhagen as follows:

Yesterday I had an exhaustive talk with Prince v. Kinsky.
Accompanied by expressions of highest praise for Beethoven, he
complied at once with his request and from now on will send him
notes of redemption and will pay the arrears and the future sums
in this currency. The cashier here will receive the necessary
instructions and Beethoven can collect everything here when he
passes through, or if he prefers in Vienna as soon as the Prince
shall have returned.

Prague, July 9, 1812.[112]

[Sidenote: APPEALS TO PRINCE KINSKY’S HEIRS]

Continuing, Beethoven tells the Princess of his visit to Kinsky,
who confirmed the statements in the letter and paid 60 ducats on
account--as the equivalent of 600 florins, Vienna Standard. It was
agreed that the arrears should be paid when the Prince should come to
Vienna and instructions be given to his agents. Beethoven’s illness
kept him at Teplitz longer than he had expected. Nevertheless, through
Oliva he reminded the Prince, then in Vienna, in December of his
promises, who again confirmed them and added that he would arrange
matters at his exchequer in a few days. After the departure of the
Prince with his family he had made inquiries and learned to his
astonishment that nothing had been done in the matter. In conclusion he
expressed the conviction that the heirs of the noble Prince would act
in the spirit of magnanimity which had inspired him and pay the arrears
and give directions for the future payments in notes of redemption.

In the second letter he repeats the request, having learned first from
the Prince’s representatives that nothing could be done in the matter
until a guardian had been appointed, which office had been assumed by
Her Highness. “You will easily see,” he continues,

how painful it is to be deprived so long of money which had been
counted on, the more since I am obliged wholly to support an
unfortunate sick brother and his family and have inconsiderately
exhausted my resources, hoping by the collection of my salary to
care for my own livelihood. The complete righteousness of my claims
you may see in the fact that I faithfully reported the receipt of
the 60 ducats which the Prince of blessed memory paid me on account
in Prague, although the princely council told me that I might have
concealed the fact, as the Prince had not told him, the councillor,
or his cashier anything about it.

The third letter, dated February 12, 1813, again urges the duty of the
heirs to carry out the intentions of the Prince and formulates his
petition as follows:

Namely, I pray Your Serene Highness graciously to command that the
salary in arrears from September 1, 1811, be computed in Vienna
currency according to the scale of the day of contract, at 1088.42
florins, and paid, and to leave the question whether and to what
extent this salary be payable to me in Vienna currency open until
the affairs of the estate be brought in order and it becomes
necessary to lay the subject before the authorities so that my just
demands be realized by their approval and determination.

The payment of the 60 ducats on account of the salary which by the
Prince’s consent was to be paid in notes of redemption is again
advanced as evidence of the Prince’s intentions, as is also the plea
on the score of his necessities. The first and third letters are
written in a strange hand and merely signed by Beethoven. The petition
contained in the third was not granted.

[Sidenote: A PERIOD OF ADVERSITY]

Schindler has enlarged upon Beethoven’s inexperience and lack of skill
in matters of business, and of his propensity to waste his resources
in needless changes of lodgings; Wegeler and others inform us of his
ignorance of the value of money; Karl van Beethoven had been a great
expense to him; and five-eighths of his annuity had for some time
remained unpaid. Still, it is impossible to account satisfactorily for
the very low state of his finances at this time. He must have been
strangely imprudent in non-husbanding his resources. From March 1,
1809, to March 1, 1813, he had received from Kinsky rather more than
five semi-annual payments (the “60 ducats” included), from Lobkowitz
five and from the Archduke seven--five of them in notes of redemption;
in all, 11500 florins. In the Spring of 1810, Collard (Clementi) had
paid him £200; from Thomson he had received 150 ducats, if not in July,
1810, at least in July, 1811, and 90 ducats more in February, 1813,
and within the last years Breitkopf and Härtel had certainly paid him
several thousand florins for the many works of magnitude purchased
by them; besides all this he had borrowed at least 1100 florins from
Brentano, for two or three years only after this he notes: “I owe F. A.
B. 2300 fl., once 1100 and 60 ducats”; and we know of no time after the
beginning of 1814, when he was under the necessity of applying to that
generous friend for any sums like these. But, whatever was the cause,
and whoever was in fault, Beethoven was now, up to the time when his
brother Karl received his new appointment, learning by harsh experience
a lesson in economy--happily to his profit.

To finish this topic at once, we pass on to the summer, which the
composer spent in Baden, meeting there his friends the Streichers. Frau
Streicher afterwards related to Schindler, that she “found Beethoven in
the summer of 1813, in the most desolate state as regards his physical
and domestic needs--not only did he not have a single good coat, but
not a whole shirt,” and, adds Schindler, “I must hesitate to describe
his condition exactly as it was.” Frau Streicher, after her return to
the city, “put his wardrobe and household affairs to rights and, with
the help of her husband, saw to the provision of the necessities,”
and, what was still better, they impressed upon him the necessity of
“putting money by against the future, and Beethoven obeyed in every
particular.” A small sum received from Gratz, and the 750 fl. due
from the Archduke, September 1st, relieved him for the moment; but
before the end of the year, he was again so reduced, probably by the
necessary expenditures made on his account by the Streichers, as to
obtain a loan of 50 ducats from Mälzel.

The tone of the correspondence during the first half of this year
is far less depressed than might be expected under the adverse
circumstances just detailed, to which is to be added constant ill
health; indeed, his notes to Zmeskall are enlivened by divers gleams of
his old humor. For the better understanding of the selections here made
it is to be premised, that

(a) Brunswick arrived in Vienna, February 21; that

(b) Beethoven contributed a “newly composed Triumphal March” to
Kuffner’s tragedy “Tarpeia” for its first performance in the
Burgtheater, March 26; that

(c) One of his symphonies was the principal attraction of the
Theatrical Poor Fund Concert in the Kärnthnerthortheater, April 16; that

(d) He could justly claim the use of that theatre from Prince Lobkowitz
for a benefit concert; that

(e) Varena had again applied to him for music for another charity
concert in Gratz; that

(f) Louis Bonaparte, Ex-King of Holland, then residing in Gratz, was
the “rich third party” referred to in one of the letters; and

(g) That the pecuniary embarrassments of Lobkowitz reached their climax
this summer and recalled Beethoven from Baden to take the needful steps
to secure himself from farther loss, if possible.

On January 24th, he writes to Zmeskall:

We inform you, best Z., of this and the other thing from which you
may choose the best, and are most horribly well-disposed toward
you. We hear that you have letters from B. addressed to us and beg
you to send them. Are you at liberty to-day? If so, you will find
me in the Swan--if not, we will find each other somewhere else.

Your friend

Author

Beethoven ~Bonnensis~.

Between this letter and the next there falls a rather long letter in
French to Thomson, dated February 19, 1813, which informs us touching
the progress of the work on the British songs. Beethoven writes:

I have received your valued letters of August 5, October 30 and
December 21, and learned with pleasure that you have received
the 62 songs which I have set for you at last and that you are
satisfied with all but 9 of them which you specify and in which you
would like to have me change the ritornelles and accompaniments.
I regret that I cannot accommodate you in this. I am not in the
habit of rewriting my compositions. I have never done it, being
convinced that any partial alteration changes the character of the
entire composition. I regret that you will suffer the loss; but you
can scarcely put the blame on me, since it ought to have been your
affair to advise me more explicitly of the taste of your country
and the small skill of your players. Having now received your
instruction on these points I have composed the songs wholly anew
and, as I hope, so that they will meet your expectations.

You may believe that it was only with great reluctance that I
determined to do violence to my ideas and that I should never
have been willing to do so had I not feared that a refusal would
cause a loss to you, as in your collection you wanted to have my
compositions exclusively and that otherwise you might have had your
care and expense to produce a complete work in vain.... The last
two songs in your letter of December 21, pleased me very much. For
this reason I composed them ~con amore~, particularly the second
one. You noted it in

[Illustration]

but as this key seems too little natural and so little in harmony
with the direction ~Amoroso~ that it might better be written
~Barbaresco~, I have set it in a more appropriate key.

Further on in the letter he asks Thomson to tell him whether
~Andantino~ was to be understood as meaning faster or slower than
~Andante~, “for this term, like so many in music, is of so indefinite
a significance that ~Andantino~ sometimes approaches an ~Allegro~ and
sometimes, on the other hand, is played like ~Adagio~.”

A rather long note to Zmeskall of February 25, being about a servant,
is not worth copying. It begins: “I have, my dear Z., been almost
continuously ill since I saw you last,” and closes after the signature
with the word “~Miserabilis~.” Omitting others of similar contents we
come to this interesting letter to Varena:

[Sidenote: HELP FOR THE URSULINES AT GRATZ]

Dear Sir!

No doubt Rode was right in all that he said about me; my health is
not of the best and without fault of my own my condition otherwise
is perhaps more unfavorable than at any time in my life; but
neither this nor anything else shall dissuade me from helping the
equally innocent sufferers, the Convent ladies, so far as my modest
talents will permit. To this end, two entirely new symphonies
are at your services, an air for bass voice with chorus, several
smaller single choruses--if you need the overture to Hungary’s
Benefactor which you performed last year, it is at your service.

The overture to “The Ruins of Athens,” although in a smaller style,
is also at your service. Amongst the choruses is a chorus of
Dervishes, an attractive thing [literally: “a good signboard”] for
a mixed public.

In my opinion you would do best to choose a day on which you could
give the oratorio “Christus am Ölberg”; since then it has been
played all over; this would then fill half of the concert; for
the second half you would play a new symphony, the overture and
different choruses, as also the bass air with chorus mentioned;
thus the evening would not be without variety; but you would
better talk this over with the musical councillors in your city
and let them decide. What you say concerning remuneration for me
from a third person I think I can guess who he is; if I were in my
former condition I would flatly say: “Beethoven never takes pay
when the benefitting of humanity is concerned,” but now, placed
in a condition through my great benevolence (the cause of which
can bring me no shame) and other circumstances which are to blame,
which are caused by men without honesty or honor, I say frankly I
would not decline such an offer from a rich third party; but there
is no thought of a demand; even if there should prove to be nothing
in the talk about a third person, be convinced that I am just as
willing now to be of service to my friends, the reverend women, as
I was last year without the least reward, and as I shall always
be to suffering humanity as long as I breathe. And now farewell.
Write to me soon and I will care for all that is necessary with the
greatest zeal.

My best wishes for the convent.

Closely connected with this in subject, and no doubt in time, is the
following letter to Zmeskall:

See to the delivery of this letter to Brunswick at once to-day, so
that it may arrive as soon as possible and correctly. Pardon me the
burdens which I place upon you. I have just been asked again to
send works to Gratz in the Steirmark for a concert to be given for
the benefit of the Ursulines and their educational convent. Last
year such a concert yielded generous receipts. With this academy
and that which I gave in Karlsbad for the benefit of the sufferers
from the fire in Baden three academies have been given in one year
for, by and through me--to me everywhere a deaf ear is turned
[literally: “for me everybody wears his ears on his feet”].

Thereupon he wrote again to Varena:

Vienna, April 8, 1813.

My dear V!

I received with much pleasure your letter but again with much
displeasure the 100 florins sent by the poor cloister ladies;
meanwhile they are deposited with me to be applied to the payment
of the expenses for copying. Whatever remains will be returned to
the noble cloister women together with a view of the accounts.

For such occasions I never accept anything--I thought that the
third person to whom you referred was perhaps the ex-King of
Holland and--yes, from him who probably took from the Hollanders in
a less righteous way I would have had no hesitation in accepting
something in my present condition; now, however, I beg kindly that
nothing more be said on the subject. Write me your opinion as to
whether if I came to Gratz I could give a concert; for it is not
likely that Vienna will long remain my place of residence; perhaps
it is already too late, but your opinion on the subject will always
be welcome.

The works will be copied and as soon as possible you shall have
them--do whatever you please with the oratorio; wherever it can do
any good my purposes will best be subserved.

All things beautiful to our Ursulines, whom I am glad to be able to
serve again.

Numbers 8 and 9 of Köchel’s “Drei-und-achtzig Original-Briefe” by
Beethoven to Archduke Rudolph and his chamberlain, pray the Archduke to
intercede for him with the Rector of the University for permission to
give two concerts in the hall of the University. The result is shown in
a note to Zmeskall dated April 19:

The hall of the University, my dear Z., is--refused, I received
this information day before yesterday, but being ill yesterday
I could not come to you to talk it over, nor to-day. There will
remain nothing probably except the Kärnthnerthortheater or that
An-der-Wien, and I fancy only one A (cademy). If that will not go
we must resort to the Augarten, there of course we must give 2 A.
Think the matter over a bit, my dear, and give me your opinion.
It may be that the symphonies will be rehearsed to-morrow at the
Archduke’s, if I can go out, of which I shall let you know.

The rehearsal took place on Resurrection Day, April 18, as we learn
from the 48th letter in the Köchel Collection, which, together with the
preceding two (Nos. 46 and 47), belong in the year 1813, not in 1819,
as Köchel surmised. The following little note to Zmeskall refers to the
rehearsal:

Meanwhile I thank you, dear Z., and inform you that the
rehearsal will take place at the Archduke’s to-morrow afternoon
at 3 o’clock--but I shall give you the particulars to-morrow
morning--for the present I have announced it.

Your

Beethoven.

To Zmeskall he wrote on April 23:

Dear Z.: All will go well, the Archduke will take this Prince
Fitzly Putzly soundly by the ears--let me know if you intend to
eat at the inn to-day or when you do? Then tell me please whether
“Sentivant” is correctly spelled, as I want to write to him at the
same time for the chorus. I must yet consult with you about the day
to be chosen, moreover you must not let anything be observed about
the enlistment of the Archduke, for Prince Fitzly Putzly will not
come to the Archduke till Sunday, if this wicked debtor were to
observe anything in advance he would try to get out of it.

(On April 26): Lobkowitz will give me the theatre for a day after
May 15, it seems to me this is about as good as none at all--and I
am almost of a mind to give up all thoughts of a concert. He above
will surely not let me go utterly to ruin.

(On May 10): I beg of you, dear Z., not to let anything be heard
about what I said to you concerning Prince L., as the matter is
really going forward and without this step nothing would ever have
been certain. I have looked for you at the S. every day, but in
vain.

[Sidenote: PICTURES WITH MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT]

There follows another long letter to Varena:

My dear V!

There can be no harm in notifying you in advance of what I am
sending you; you may be able to use more or less of it. You will
receive 3 choruses which are not long and which you can use at
different intervals in the concert--a large scene for bass voice
with chorus; it is from the “Ruins of Athens” and occurs where the
picture of our Emperor appears in view (in Ofen, Hungary, this came
upon the stage from below). You may be able to use something of the
kind to--stimulate the multitude.

In case of need the bass voice might be changed to a contralto.
You will receive only the score of these pieces; had I known which
you would use I could have had them copied for you here; I shall
receive the scores and H. von Rettig will kindly look after them
for you; besides, you will receive a march already copied for the
instruments. Instead of a symphony you will receive two symphonies;
first, the one which you desired to have written out and duplicate;
2nd, another one, also copied, which it appears to me you have not
yet had performed in Gratz. As everything else is copied you can
have the vocal pieces copied easily and in time.

Hr. von Rettich will no doubt find some extraordinary occasion to
have everything delivered to you quickly, as everybody is willing
to help in such benevolent causes. Why can I not do more for the
good ladies!

I should have liked to send you two entirely new symphonies of
mine, but my present condition commands me unfortunately to think
of myself, and I do not know but that I may be obliged to leave
this place as a fugitive from the country, for this thank the
excellent princes who have made it impossible for me to work for
the good and the useful as is my wont. Many thanks for your wine
and thank also the worthy ladies for the sweetmeats which they sent
me.

(To the same, without date):

P.P. I inform you in haste that in case the first two of the four
horn parts are difficult for your players, you replace them with
2 violas, but solo players; the other 2 in C are easy and can be
played by 2 hornists.

For the sake of my health I am hurrying to Baden for a measure of
improvement. The cost of copying the scores was 8 fl. 24 kr., for
which I shall get a receipt. I have charged 3 fl. for my servant
to get the things together, making a total of 11 fl. 24 kr.; after
deducting this sum I shall return the rest of the 100 fl. in a few
days--it is impossible at this moment.

In case you write to me please enclose your letter to the following
address in V., namely: To Hrn. Oliva, to be delivered to the
Brothers Offenheimer in the Bauernmarkt.

In a letter to the Archduke, who was then in Baden (also written on May
27), Beethoven reports his arrival there. From Baden the correspondence
with Varena was continued, as appears from a letter of July 4, 1813, in
which Beethoven says:

Pardon this very belated answer, the reason is still the old
one, my troubles, contending for my rights, and all this goes
very slowly, since I am dealing with a princely rascal, Prince
Lobkowitz; another noble prince, one of an opposite character,
died, but he as little as I was thinking of his death and in my
affairs he left nothing in writing; this must now be fought out in
the law courts at Prague. What an occupation for an artist to whom
nothing is so dear as his art! and I was brought into all this by
H. I. H. Archduke Rudolph....

Receive my thanks for the 150 fl. from the Forest Preservation
Society,[113] commend me to the esteemed Society, but I am
humiliated by the fact; why do you (or they) place so high an
estimate on the little favor which I have shown the reverend
ladies? I hope that my troubles will soon come to an end and that I
may come into possession of my own; as soon as this happens I shall
come in the fall to Gratz and then the 150 fl. shall be dealt with,
and I shall then give a large concert for the benefit of the good
Ursulines, or some other institution which may be recommended to me
as the most needy and most useful....

We learn from the “Aufmerksame” of Gratz, that “Christus am Ölberg,”
sent there by Beethoven in the preceding year, was sung as the second
part of a concert for the poor on Palm Sunday, April 11, with applause
which did honor to the good taste of the musical public of the Styrian
capital.

In Vienna the C minor symphony opened and the new march from “Tarpeia”
closed Schuppanzigh’s concert on the 1st of May in the Augarten; but
no such enthusiasm was awakened as to induce Beethoven to risk the
trouble and expense of producing his new symphonies, and the projected
“Academies” were abandoned.

Recalled to Vienna early in July, Beethoven wrote thence to Archduke
Rudolph:

From day to day I thought that I should be able to return to Baden,
meanwhile the dissonances which are keeping me here may possibly
detain me till next week. It is a torture for me to stay in the
city in the summertime and when I reflect that I am also hindered
from attending upon Y. I. H. it tortures and repels me the more.
Meanwhile it is the Lobkowitz and Kinsky matter which keeps me
here; instead of thinking about a number of measures I must ponder
a number of walks (~Gänge~--passages) which I must make; without
this I should scarcely live to see the end of the matter. Your I.
H. has doubtless heard of Lobkowitz’s misfortunes. It is pitiable,
but to be so rich is not fortunate! It is said that Count Fries
alone paid 1900 ducats in gold to Duport[114] and took a mortgage
on the old Lobkowitz house. The details are incredible. I hear that
Rasoumowsky will come to Baden and bring his Quartet, which would
be a very handsome thing, as Y. I. H. would certainly be nicely
entertained. I know of no more delightful enjoyment in the country
than quartet music. Graciously accept, Y. I. H., my sincerest
wishes for your good health and pity me for being obliged to remain
here under such repulsive circumstances. Meanwhile I shall try to
make up twofold all that you also lose in Baden.

Beethoven soon returned to Baden, where for the present he may be left
in the enjoyment of nature, taking such pleasure as his deafness still
granted in Rasoumowsky’s quartets, and submitting with what patience he
could to his servitude with the Archduke.

[Sidenote: MÄLZEL’S MUSICAL MACHINES]

Mälzel, during the past winter, had opened his “Künstler-cabinet”
as a public exhibition. There were marbles, bronzes and paintings
and a variety of contributions, scientific or curious, from various
artists--among them a large electrical machine with apparatus for
popular experiments, but the principal attractions were his own
Mechanical Trumpeter and the new Panharmonicon. The Trumpeter executed
a French cavalry march with signals and melodies which Mälzel himself
accompanied on the pianoforte. The Panharmonicon combined the
common instruments then employed in military bands, with a powerful
bellows--the whole being inclosed in a case. The motive power was
automatic and the keys were touched by pins fixed in a revolving
cylinder, as in the common hand-organ or music-box. Compositions
of considerable extent had each its own cylinder. The first pieces
made ready were Cherubini’s “Lodoiska” Overture, Haydn’s “Military”
Symphony, the overture and a chorus from Handel’s “Timotheus”; and by
the end of January, Mälzel was at work upon an echo piece composed for
him some years before by Cherubini. In the course of the summer he
added a “few marches” composed by the popular young pianist, Moscheles,
who during their preparation much frequented the workshop.

Beethoven’s “long journey” and “great act” both refer to a proposed
journey to England with Mälzel, seriously contemplated during the first
months of this year. Brunswick’s visit to Vienna occurred just when
the project seemed ripe for execution; as it was on his authority that
Schindler reports the “farewell meal” and the singing of the canon,
this may be accepted as credible.

The condition of Karl van Beethoven’s health forced his brother to
defer the journey; and Mälzel, too, found reason to wait until the
end of the year--the idea of his really very beautiful and striking
exhibition, the “Conflagration of Moscow,” had occurred to him and
he willingly remained in Vienna to work it out. The change for the
better in Karl van Beethoven’s health and pecuniary condition, and
the completion of the “Conflagration,” left both Beethoven and Mälzel
late in autumn free for their departure. The mechanician was not only
a man of unquestionable inventive genius, but he also understood the
public; knew as by instinct how to excite and gratify curiosity without
disappointing expectation, and had the tact and skill so to arrange his
exhibitions as to dismiss his visitors grateful for an amusement for
which they had paid. He was personally both respected and popular. He
knew by experience the principal cities of the Continent, and London
well enough to foresee, that the noble compositions of Handel, Haydn
and Cherubini secured the success of his Panharmonicon there; but that
if he could add to its repertory some new, striking and popular piece,
bearing the now great name of Beethoven, he would increase both its
attractiveness and the public interest and curiosity in the composer.
Battles and sieges had for many years been favorite subjects for
descriptive music, and the grand engagements of the last fifty years
were few indeed which had not been fought over again by orchestras,
bands and all sorts of instruments. Poor Koczwara--who hanged himself
in jest at London in 1792--was the author of a “Grande Battaille”
(in D) for orchestra, and the “Battaille de Prague” for pianoforte
trio “avec tambour,” or pianoforte solo, commemorative of a victory
of Frederick II of Prussia. This, for forty years, was a showpiece
throughout Europe and even in America. Devenne composed the “Battle of
Gemappe”; Neubauer, of Martinestie; Jadin, of Austerlitz; Fuchs, of
Jena; and so on, for orchestra. The grand battle piece for two flutes,
which is generally supposed to have existed but in a joke, the point
of which is its absurdity, was really published--it was an arrangement
of Fuchs’ “Jena.” For the pianoforte solo, or with the accompaniment
of two or more instruments, the press teemed with battles. Among
them were those of Fleurus, Würzburg, Marengo, Jena (by others than
Fuchs), Wagram, the bombardment of Vienna. Steibelt produced two land
engagements and a “Combat naval”; Kauer, “Nelson’s Battle”; and so on
indefinitely.

[Sidenote: “WELLINGTON’S VICTORY, OR THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA”]

When, therefore, the news of Wellington’s magnificent victory at
Vittoria, June 21, 1813, reached Vienna, Mälzel saw instantly that
it presented the subject of a composition for his Panharmonicon than
which none could be conceived better fitted to strike the popular
taste in England. A work which should do homage to the hero, flatter
national feeling by the introduction of “Rule Britannia” and “God
save the King,” gratify the national hatred of the French, celebrate
British victory and Gallic defeat, bear the great name of Beethoven
and be illuminated by his genius--what more could be desired? He
wrought out the plan and explained it to the composer, who, for once,
consented to work out the ideas of another. In a sketchbook for this
composition, having signals for the battle on its first page, we read:
“Wellington’s Victory Vittoria, only God save the King, but a great
victory overture for Wellington”; and in the so-called “Tagebuch”: “I
must show the English a little what a blessing there is in God save the
King”; perhaps, also, another remark just after this was occasioned
by his experience on this work: “It is certain that one writes most
beautifully when one writes for the public, also that one writes
rapidly.” There is nothing in this at all contradictory to Moscheles’s
positive and unimpeachable testimony on the origin of the work. In a
note to his English edition of Schindler’s book he writes:

I witnessed the origin and progress of this work, and remember
that not only did Mälzel decidedly induce Beethoven to write it,
but even laid before him the whole design of it; himself wrote
all the drum-marches and the trumpet-flourishes of the French and
English armies; gave the composer some hints, how he should herald
the English army by the tune of “Rule Britannia”; how he should
introduce “Malbrook” in a dismal strain; how he should depict the
horrors of the battle and arrange “God save the King” with effects
representing the hurrahs of a multitude. Even the unhappy idea of
converting the melody of “God save the King” into a subject of a
fugue in quick movement, emanates from Mälzel. All this I saw in
sketches and score, brought by Beethoven to Mälzel’s workshop, then
the only suitable place of reception he was provided with.

The same, in general and in most of its particulars, was related to
the author by Carl Stein, who was daily in Mälzel’s rooms--they being,
as before noted, in his father’s pianoforte manufactory--and who was
firmly of the opinion, that Mälzel was afterwards very unfairly, not to
say unjustly, treated by Beethoven in the matter of this composition.
The composer himself says: “I had already before then conceived the
idea of a battle which was not practicable on his Panharmonica,” thus
by implication fully admitting that ~this~ idea was not his own;
moreover, the copy of a part of the Panharmonicon score, in the Artaria
Collection, has on the cover, in his own hand: “On Wellington’s Victory
at Vittoria, 1813, written for Hr. Mälzel by Ludwig van Beethoven.”
This is all more or less confirmatory of Moscheles, if indeed any
confirmation be needed. It is almost too obvious for mention, that
Mälzel’s share in the work was even more than indicated above, because
whoever wrote for the Panharmonicon must be frequently instructed by
him as to its capacities and limitations, whether a Beethoven or the
young Moscheles. We may reasonably assume, that the general plan of
“Wellington’s Victory” was fixed during the composer’s occasional
visits to the city in August and September, and such alterations in
the score determined upon as the nature of the instrument demanded; so
that early in October the whole was ready for Mälzel to transfer to its
cylinder.

On Beethoven’s return to his city lodging, between the 15th and
20th of September, his notes to Zmeskall become as usual numerous,
the principal topic just now being the engagement of a new servant.
While with the assistance and under the direction of the excellent
Streichers, Beethoven got his lodgings and wardrobe into decent
order, with the aid of Zmeskall he obtained that servant spoken of by
Schindler,

who was a tailor and carried on his trade in the anteroom of the
composer. With the help of his wife he attended the master with
touching care till into the year 1816--and this regulated mode of
life did our friend much good. Would that it might have endured a
few years longer.

At this stage of the case there came also evidences of love
and admiration from Princess Lichnowsky, which are well worth
more detailed notice. The Prince was in the habit of frequently
visiting his favorite in his workshop. In accordance with a mutual
understanding no notice was to be taken of his presence, so that
the master might not be disturbed. After the morning greeting the
Prince was in the habit of looking through any piece of music that
chanced to be at hand, watching the master at his work for a while
and then leaving the room with a friendly “adieu.” Nevertheless,
these visits disturbed Beethoven, who occasionally locked the door.
Unvexed, the Prince would walk down the three flights of stairs.
As the sartorial servant sat in the anteroom, His Serene Highness
would join him and wait until the door opened and he could speak
a friendly greeting to the Prince of Music. The need was thus
satisfied. But it was not given long to the honored Mæcenas of Art
to rejoice in his favorite and his creations.

This is touching and trustworthy.

To return to “Wellington’s Victory.” Schindler, supposing the
Panharmonicon to have played it, remarked in the first edition of his
book: “The effect of the piece was so unexpected that Mälzel requested
our Beethoven to instrumentate it for orchestra.” He is mistaken as
to the reason; for Mälzel had only, in Beethoven’s words, “begun to
engrave.” In truth, he was musician enough to see from the score, how
very effective it would be if instrumentated for grand orchestra, and
sagacious enough to perceive, that the composition in that form might
prove of far greater advantage to them in London and probably be more
attractive afterwards when performed by the Panharmonicon. But there
was another consideration far more important.

Before the age of steam a journey from Vienna to London with the many
huge cases required for even a part of Mälzel’s collection, was a
very expensive undertaking. The problem now was, how to provide the
necessary funds. Beethoven’s were exhausted and his own were very
limited. To go alone and give exhibitions at the principal cities on
the way, involved little or no risk for Mälzel, as the experience of
the next year proved; but to make the journey direct, with Beethoven
for his companion, was impossible until in some manner a considerable
sum of ready money could be provided.

[Sidenote: A BENEFIT FOR WOUNDED SOLDIERS]

The only resource of the composer, except borrowing, was, of course,
the production of the two new Symphonies, one of which had been copied
for trial with small orchestra at the Archduke’s, thus diminishing
somewhat the expenses of a concert. It was five years since he had
had a benefit, and therefore one full house might be counted on with
reasonable certainty; but no concert of his had ever been repeated, and
a single full house would leave but a small margin of profit. Moreover,
his fruitless efforts in the Spring to arrange an “Akademie” were
discouraging. Unless the new Symphonies could be produced without cost
to himself, and the interest and curiosity of the public so aroused as
to insure the success of two or three subsequent concerts, no adequate
fund for the journey could be gained; but if so great a sensation could
in some manner be made as to secure this object, the fame of it would
precede and nobly herald them in London.

Beethoven was helpless; but Mälzel’s sagacity was equal to the
occasion. He knew that for the highly cultivated classes of
music-lovers, able and ready to appreciate the best, nothing better
could be desired than new Symphonies by Beethoven; but such auditors
are always limited in number; the programme must also contain something
surprising, sensational, ~ad captandum vulgus~, to catch the ear of the
multitude, and open their pockets. His Trumpeter was not enough; it
had lost its novelty; although with an orchestra instead of pianoforte
accompaniment, it would be something. Beethoven alone could, if he
would, produce what was indispensable. Time pressed, Mälzel had long
since closed his exhibition, and every day of delay was a serious
expense. The “Conflagration of Moscow,” the model of his Chronometer
and the cylinders for his Panharmonicon were all finished, except
the “Victory,” and this would soon be ready. Before the end of the
year, therefore, he could be in Munich, as his interest imperatively
demanded, provided Beethoven should not be his companion. There was
nothing to detain him in Vienna after the “Victory” was completed, but
his relations to the composer. Him he knew too well to hope from him
any work deliberately written with a view to please the multitude, had
the time allowed, which it did not.

Preparations were making in October for two grand performances on
the 11th and 14th of November, in the R. I. Winter Riding Academy,
of Handel’s “Timotheus” for the benefit of the widows and orphans of
Austrians and Bavarians who had fallen in the late campaign against
Napoleon. On this hint Mälzel formed his plan. This was, if Beethoven
would consent to instrumentate the “Victory” for orchestra--in doing
which, being freed from the limitations of the Panharmonicon, he could
give free play to his fancy--he (Mälzel) would return to him the score,
risk the sacrifice of it for its original purpose, remain in Vienna,
and make it the popular attraction of a grand charity concert for
the benefit of the Austrians and Bavarians wounded in the battle at
Hanau, trusting that it would open the way for two or more concerts
to be given for their own benefit. Under all the circumstances, it is
difficult to decide, whether to admire the more Mälzel’s good judgment,
or his courageous trust in it and in Beethoven’s genius. He disclosed
his plan and purposes to the composer, they were approved by him, and
the score was returned.

While Beethoven wrought zealously on his task, Mälzel busied himself
with the preparations for the concert. His personal popularity,
the charitable object in view, curiosity to study Beethoven’s new
productions, especially the battle-piece, secured the services of
nearly all the leading musicians, some of whom were there only in
passing or temporarily--Dragonetti, Meyerbeer, the bassoon-player
Romberg, and others. Tomaschek, who heard the “Victory” next year,
writes that he was “very painfully affected to see a Beethoven, whom
Providence had probably assigned to the highest throne in the realm of
music, among the rudest materialists. I was told, it is true, that he
himself had declared the work to be folly, and that he liked it only
because with it he had thoroughly thrashed the Viennese.” There is no
doubt that this was so; nor that they, who engaged in its performance,
viewed it as a stupendous musical joke, and engaged in it ~con amore~
as in a gigantic professional frolic.

The University Hall was granted on this occasion and the 8th of
December was fixed for the concert. Young Glöggl was in Vienna, visited
Beethoven, and was by him granted the privilege of attending the
rehearsals. “I remember,” he writes,

that in one rehearsal the violin-players refused to play a passage
in the symphony and rebuked him for writing difficulties which were
incapable of performance. But Beethoven begged the gentlemen to
take the parts home with them--if they were to practise it at home
it would surely go. The next day at the rehearsal the passage went
excellently, and the gentlemen themselves seemed to rejoice that
they had given Beethoven the pleasure.

[Sidenote: SPOHR DESCRIBES BEETHOVEN’S CONDUCTING]

Spohr, playing among the violins,

for the first time saw Beethoven conduct and was surprised in the
highest degree, although he had been told beforehand of what he now
saw with his own eyes. Beethoven had accustomed himself [he says]
to indicate expression to the orchestra by all manner of singular
bodily movements. At ~piano~ he crouched down lower and lower as he
desired the degree of softness. If a ~crescendo~ then entered he
gradually rose again and at the entrance of the ~forte~ jumped into
the air. Sometimes, too, he unconsciously shouted to strengthen the
~forte~. It was obvious that the poor man could no longer hear the
~piano~ of his music. This was strikingly illustrated in the second
portion of the first Allegro of the symphony. In one place there
are two holds, one immediately after the other, of which the second
is ~pianissimo~. This, Beethoven had probably overlooked, for he
began again to beat time before the orchestra had begun to play the
second hold. Without knowing it, therefore, he had hurried ten or
twelve measures ahead of the orchestra, when it began again and,
indeed, ~pianissimo~. Beethoven to indicate this had in his wonted
manner crouched clean under the desk. At the succeeding ~crescendo~
he again became visible, straightened himself out more and more and
jumped into the air at the point where according to his calculation
the ~forte~ ought to begin. When this did not follow his movement
he looked about in a startled way, stared at the orchestra to see
it still playing ~pianissimo~ and found his bearings only when the
long-expected ~forte~ came and was audible to him. Fortunately this
comical incident did not take place at the performance.

Mälzel’s first placards announcing the concert spoke of the
battle-piece as his property; but Beethoven objecting to this, others
were substituted in which it was said to have been composed “out of
friendship, for his visit to London.” No hint was conveyed of Mälzel’s
share in the composition. The programme was:

I. “An entirely new Symphony,” by Beethoven (the Seventh, in A
major).

II. Two Marches played by Mälzel’s Mechanical Trumpeter, with full
orchestral accompaniment--the one by Dussek, the other by Pleyel.

III. “Wellington’s Victory.”

The success of the performances was so unequivocal and splendid as
to cause their repetition on Sunday, the 12th, at noon, at the same
prices, 10 fl. and 5 fl. “The net receipts of the two performances,
after deducting the unavoidable costs, were 4006 florins, which were
reverently turned over to the ‘hohen Kriegs-Präsidio’ for the purposes
announced” (“Wiener Zeitung,” December 20). The “Wiener Zeitung,”
“Allg. Mus. Zeit.” of Leipsic, and the “Beobachter,” contained
excessively laudatory notices of the music and vivid descriptions
of its effect upon the auditors, whose “applause rose to the point
of ecstasy.” The statements of the contemporary public prints are
confirmed by the veteran Spohr, who reports that the Allegretto of the
Seventh Symphony “was demanded ~da capo~ at both concerts.”

Schindler calls this rightly “one of the most important moments in
the life of the master, at which all the hitherto divergent voices,
save those of the professional musicians, united in proclaiming him
worthy of the laurel.” “A work like the battle-symphony had to come,”
adds Schindler with good judgment, “in order that divergent opinions
might be united and the mouths of all opponents, of whatever kind, be
silenced.” Schindler also preserved a “Note of Thanks” prepared for the
“Wiener Zeitung” and signed by Beethoven, which ends with a just and
merited tribute to Mälzel:

(For the “Intelligenz-Blatt” of the “Wiener Zeitung.”)

I esteem it to be my duty to thank all the honored participants in
the Academy given on December 8, and 12, for the benefit of the
sick and wounded Austrian and Bavarian soldiers who fought in the
battle at Hanau.

It was an unusual congregation of admirable artists wherein every
individual was inspired by the single thought of contributing
something by his art for the benefit of the fatherland, and
coöperated without considering rank in subordinate places in the
excellent execution of the whole.

While Herr Schuppanzigh at the head of the violins carried
the orchestra by his fiery and expressive playing, Hr.
Chief-Chapelmaster Salieri did not scruple to beat time for the
drummers and salvos; Hr. Spohr and Hr. Mayseder, each worthy of
leadership because of his art, collaborated in the second and
third places and Hr. Siboni and Giuliani also occupied subordinate
positions.

To me the direction of the whole was assigned only because the
music was of my composition; had it been by another, I should
have been as willing as Hr. Hummel[115] to take my place at the
big drum, as we were all filled with nothing but the pure love
of country and of joyful sacrifice of our powers for those who
sacrificed so much for us.

But our greatest thanks are due to Hr. Mälzel, since it was he who
first conceived the idea of this academy and there fell to him
afterward the management, care and arrangement--the most arduous
labors of all. I must also thank him in particular, because by the
projection of this academy, he gave me the opportunity, long and
ardently desired, by means of the composition especially written
for this philanthropic purpose and delivered to him without pay, to
lay a work of magnitude upon the altar of the fatherland under the
existing conditions.

Ludwig van Beethoven.

Why was this document not printed? Beethoven had suddenly quarreled
with Mälzel.

Evidence of the impatience with which Beethoven conducted the
controversy with the heirs of Prince Kinsky, concerning the payment of
the annuity installments, is given by a letter dated “Vienna, December
18, 1813,” to Dr. Beyer, a lawyer in Prague, in which he says:

I have many times cursed this unhappy decree through which I have
been plunged into numberless sorrows. Oliva is no longer here and
it is unendurable to lose so much time in the matter, which I
steal from my art only to see things at a standstill. I have now
sent a new opinion to Wolff, he wanted to begin legal proceedings,
but I think it better as I have written to Wolff, first to send a
petition to the general courts--give me your help in the matter and
do not let me go to destruction, here, surrounded by innumerable
enemies in everything that I do, I am almost desperate. My brother,
whom I have overwhelmed with benevolences, with whose consent I
certainly am ... partly in misery is--my greatest enemy!... I would
gladly have taken the entire matter out of Wolff’s hands and placed
it in yours, but we should only make new enemies.

[Sidenote: COMPOSITIONS AND PUBLICATIONS OF 1813]

The ascertained compositions of this year are:

I. Triumphal March, C major, for Kuffner’s “Tarpeia.”

II. “Wellington’s Victory.”

III. Song: “Der Bardengeist” (“On November 3d, 1813”).

IV. Canon: “Kurz ist der Schmerz.” (First form.) “For Herrn Naue
as a souvenir from L. v. Beethoven, Vienna, November 23, 1813.”
Johann Friedrich Naue, successor to Türk as Musik-Direktor, etc.,
at Halle, born in 1790, appears to have been in Vienna on a visit
this Autumn.

V. Irish airs quite, or nearly, completed.

Publications:

In Thomson’s preface to the First Volume of “A Select Collection
of Original Irish Airs,” dated “Edinburgh, Anno 1814,” he remarks:
“After the volume was printed and some copies of it had been
circulated, an opportunity occurred of sending it to Beethoven, who
corrected the few inaccuracies that had escaped the notice of the
Editor and his friends; and he trusts it will be found without a
single error.”

It is to be inferred from this, that the first volume was
published, at the latest, this year; but the corrections were not
sent to Thomson until September, 1814. The songs were originally
printed in numbers. Thus of the first volume of the Scotch Songs,
principally by Koželuch and Pleyel, the First, Third, and Fourth
Sets, now before the writer, contain 25 songs each.

It may be assumed then that at least a part of the Irish Songs came
from the press in 1813. The song “Der Bardengeist” was published as
a supplement to the “Musenalmanach” of Joh. Erichson for 1814. The
preface of the almanac is dated November 20, 1813, and the book was
doubtless published before New Year’s Day, 1814.

FOOTNOTES:

[109] Thayer is writing from the point of view touching Beethoven’s
love-affairs which was justified by all the evidence that had been
discovered up to the time of his writing and, in fact, up to the time
of his death. He thought that the object of the love-letters, which he
insisted in placing in 1806, was “in greatest probability” Countess
Brunswick; he knew that Beethoven had proposed marriage to Therese
Malfatti, but plainly thought the passion for her neither profound nor
lasting; he was inclined to believe that the broken marriage engagement
of 1810, was with the Countess Brunswick and that she dropped out of
his life with the failure of his marriage project. The discovery of
the letter of February, 1811, from Therese to her sister in which his
letter to her about the portrait is quoted, shows Thayer to have been
in error in this. In his revision of the chapter before us, Dr. Riemann
proceeded from an entirely different point of view. In his belief the
love-letters were written in 1812, and to Therese Brunswick. In place
of the opening passages which the English Editor has thought proper to
retain, he substituted the following:

“The convincing reasons advanced in the preceding chapter for placing
the love-letter of July 6-7 in the year 1812, give an entirely
different light to the so-called ‘Journal’ in the Fischoff manuscript.
If that day, in the beginning of July, 1812, which led to a mutual
confession of love forms a climax in Beethoven’s heart-history, which
can scarcely be doubted, the entry in the journal makes it sure
that the obstacles to a conjugal union which are intimated have not
disappeared, but, on the contrary, have proved to be insuperable. The
first entry is dated merely 1812, and in likelihood was written at the
end of the year. Whether or not the initial which shows a flourish is
really an A is a fair question. Those who see more than superficial
playfulness in the relations between Beethoven and Amalie Sebald will
of course see her name in the letter.” It should be observed here that
in the chapter devoted to the year 1812, Dr. Riemann interpolated an
extended argument, following the lines of Dr. San-Galli’s brochure, to
show that the letters were written in 1812 from Teplitz--Dr. San-Galli
says to Amalie Sebald, Dr. Riemann to Countess Brunswick.

[110] Here is Dr. Riemann’s interpretation: “That the reference is
to the obstacles standing in the way of a marriage, can scarcely be
controverted. Compare with this what Fanny Giannatasio del Rio says
on September 16, 1816, in her journal: Five years before he had got
acquainted with a person, union with whom would have been to him the
greatest happiness of his life. ‘It is still as on the first day, I
have not been able to get it out of my mind.’ The words ‘got acquainted
five years ago’ apply rather to Amalie Sebald or Bettina von Arnim than
to Therese Brunswick; but it should be borne in mind that the young
woman is reporting a conversation overheard from some distance between
Beethoven and her father.”

[111] This document is signed and sealed by Karl v. Beethoven, R. I.
Cashier, Ludwig van Beethoven, and Baron Johann von Pasqualati, Peter
von Leben and Fr. Oliva as witnesses.

[112] This date is obviously an error of the copyists. The letter was
written to Oliva who, on January 27, 1813, recalling it to Varnhagen’s
mind, copies it as “your letter of June 9, of last year.” Moreover,
Beethoven was in Prague several days before July 9, 1812.

[113] Thus the title in the first edition; Dr. Riemann changes the word
to “The highly esteemed Society” and says that it meant the Association
of the Friends of Art and Music for the purpose of giving the charity
concerts.

[114] The celebrated dancer and ballet-master.

[115] In a foot-note to Schindler’s account of the performance of the
battle-piece, Moscheles, the English translator, says: “I must claim
for my friend Meyerbeer the place here assigned to Hummel, who had to
act in the cannonade; and this I may the more firmly assert as the
cymbals having been intrusted to me, Meyerbeer and I had to play from
one and the same part.” At the repetitions of the work on January 2
and 24 ensuing, Hummel directed what may well be called the “battery.”
As there were two large drums, one on one side of the stage and one
on the other, Hummel no doubt played one and Meyerbeer the other.
Being pianists, nothing but instruments of percussion could have been
assigned them.

Chapter XIV

The Year 1814--Popular Performances Repeated--Revision of
“Fidelio”--The Opera Succeeds--Anton Schindler Enters Beethoven’s
Life--The Quarrel with Mälzel--Moscheles--The Vienna Congress--J.
W. Tomaschek--Count Rasoumowsky’s Palace Burned--Compositions of
the Year.

On the last day of 1813, the “Wiener Zeitung” contained this public
notice:

MUSICAL ACADEMY

The desire of a large number of music-lovers whom I esteem as
worthy of honor, to hear again my grand instrumental composition
on “Wellington’s Victory at Vittoria,” makes it my pleasant duty
herewith to inform the valued public that on Sunday, the 2d of
January, I shall have the honor to perform the aforementioned
composition with added vocal pieces and choruses and aided by the
most admirable musicians of Vienna in the R. I. large Ridotto Room
for my benefit.

Tickets of admission are to be had daily in the Kohlmarkt in the
house of Baron v. Haggenmüller, to the right of the court on the
ground floor, in the comptoir of Baron v. Pasqualati; parterre 2
fl. gallery 3 fl. Vienna standard.

Ludwig van Beethoven.

Mälzel saw, therefore, that the objects for which he had sacrificed the
“Battle,” for which he had lost so many precious weeks and had spent
so much labor and pains, were accomplished in so far as Beethoven’s
new works were now the subjects of general interest and curiosity,
and their repeated performance to large and profitable audiences
was secured. To his courage and sagacity this was wholly due. It is
thoroughly unjust to deny or ignore the value of his services. What
his feelings were now, to find himself deprived of all share in the
benefit resulting from them, and therefore left without compensation,
may readily be conceived. His Mechanical Trumpeter was necessarily
discarded with himself, and Beethoven had to find something to take
its place on the programme. Hence this note (in December) to Moritz
Lichnowsky:

If you, worthy Count, want to take part in our consultation I
inform you that it will be held this afternoon at half after 3
o’clock in the Spielmann house on the Graben 1188 in the fourth
storey at Hr. Weinmüller’s--it would rejoice me time permitting if
you were to attend.

Entirely your

Beethoven.

The result of this conference was the selection of Nos. 6, 7 and 8 of
the “Ruins of Athens” music, viz: the “Solemn March with Chorus” and
the concluding Bass Air, sung by Weinmüller, with the choruses. The
last was exceedingly appropriate in a concert in the Redouten-Saal,
it being the number in which (as in the old Bonnian “Blick in die
Zukunft”) the bust of the monarch is made suddenly to appear. To insure
the effectiveness of this is the object of a humorous note to Zmeskall,
on New Year’s Day.

All would be well if there were but a curtain, without it the
Air will fall through. Only to-day do I learn this from S. and
it grieves me--let there be a curtain even if it be only a
bed-curtain, only a sort of screen which can be removed for the
moment, a veil, etc. There must be something, the Air is too
dramatic, too much written for the theatre, to be effective in a
concert; without a curtain or something of the sort all of its
meaning will be lost!--lost!--lost!--To the devil with everything!
The Court will probably come, Baron Schweiger asked me to go there
at once, Archduke Karl admitted me to his presence and promised to
come. The Empress did not accept nor did she decline.

Hangings!!! or the Air and I will hang to-morrow. Farewell in the
new year, I press you as warmly to my heart as in the old--with or
without curtain.

The orchestra was for the most part composed of the same professional
and amateur artists as had taken part in the two previous concerts, so
that the rehearsals were comparatively inexpensive, the only new music
being the selections from “The Ruins”; but Salieri, as director of the
cannonade, gave place to Hummel. Franz Wild, the singer, was present
and records in his “Autobiography” his reminiscences of the occasion
thus:

He (Beethoven) mounted the conductor’s platform, and the orchestra,
knowing his weakness, found itself plunged into an anxious
excitement which was justified only too soon; for scarcely had the
music begun before its creator offered a bewildering spectacle.
At the ~piano~ passages he sank upon his knee, at the ~forte~ he
leaped up, so that his figure, now shrivelling to that of a dwarf,
disappeared under the desk and anon stretched up far above it like
a giant, his hands and arms working as if with the beginning of
the music a thousand lives had entered every member. At first this
happened without disturbance of the effect of the composition, for
the disappearance and appearance of his body was synchronous with
the dying away and the swelling of the music; but all at once the
genius ran ahead of his orchestra and the master disappeared at the
~forte~ passages and appeared again at the ~piano~. Now danger was
imminent and at the critical moment Chapelmaster Umlauf took the
commander’s staff and it was indicated to the orchestra that he
alone was to be obeyed. For a long time Beethoven noticed nothing
of the change; when he finally observed it, a smile came to his
lips which, if ever a one which kind fate permitted me to see could
be called so, deserved to be called “heavenly.”

[Sidenote: SUCCESS OF THE BATTLE MUSIC]

The composer had every reason to be satisfied with the result, for not
only was it pecuniarly profitable but

the applause was general and reached the highest ecstasy. Many
things had to be repeated, and there was a unanimous expression of
a desire on the part of all the hearers to hear the compositions
again and often, and to have occasion more frequently to laud and
admire our native composer for works of his brilliant invention.

So speaks the “Wiener Zeitung” on the 9th, which on the 24th of January
printed this:

NOTE OF THANKS.

I had the good fortune on the occasion of a performance of my
compositions at the concert given by me on January 2, to have
the support and help of a large number of the most admirable and
celebrated artists of the city, and to see my works brilliantly
made known by the hands of such virtuosos. Though these artists may
have felt themselves rewarded by their own zeal for art and the
pleasure which they gave the public through their talents, it is
yet my duty publicly to express to them my thanks for their mark of
friendship for me and ready support.

Ludwig van Beethoven.

“Only in this room” (the large Redoutensaal), says Schindler, “was
the opportunity offered to put into execution the manifold intentions
of the composer in the Battle Symphony. With the help of the long
corridors and the rooms opposite to each other the opposing forces were
enabled to approach each other and the desired illusion was strikingly
achieved.” Schindler was among the listeners on this occasion and gives
assurance that the enthusiasm awakened by the performance, “heightened
by the patriotic feeling of those memorable days,” was overwhelming.

Among the direct consequences of this sudden and boundless popularity
of Beethoven’s music, to which Mälzel had given the occasion
and impulse, was one all the more gratifying, because totally
unexpected--the revival of “Fidelio.”

“The Inspizienten of the R. I. Court Opera, Saal, Vogel and Weinmüller,
about this time were granted a performance for their benefit, the
choice of a work being left to them, without cost.” There was then
no opera, German, French or Italian, likely to draw a remunerative
house in the repertory of the theatre, which could be produced without
expense to the institution. The sensation caused by Beethoven’s new
music, including the numbers from “The Ruins of Athens” in which
Weinmüller had just sung, suggested “Fidelio.” All three had been in
Vienna at its production and therefore knew it sufficiently to judge of
its fitness for them as singers, and the probability of its now being
successful; at all events the name of Beethoven would surely secure for
their night a numerous audience. “Beethoven was approached for the loan
of the opera,” says Treitschke, who had this year been re-appointed
stage-manager and poet at the Kärnthnerthor-Theater after having been
employed some years at the Theater-an-der-Wien, “and very unselfishly
declared his willingness, but on the unequivocal condition that many
changes be made.”

At the same time he proposed my humble self as the person to make
these changes. I had enjoyed his more intimate friendship for some
time, and my twofold position as stage-manager and opera-poet made
his wish a pious duty. With Sonnleithner’s permission I first took
up the dialogue, wrote it almost wholly anew, succinct and clear as
possible--an essential thing in the case of ~Singspiele~.

[Sidenote: TREITSCHKE’S REVISION OF “FIDELIO”]

The principal changes made by Treitschke were, by his own account,
these:

The scene of the entire first act was laid in an open court;
the positions of Nos. 1 and 2, were exchanged; later the guard
entered to a newly composed march; ~Leonore’s~ Air received a new
introduction, and only the last movement, “O du, für den ich alles
trug,” was retained. The succeeding scene and duet--according to
Seyfried’s description “a charming duettino for soprano voices
with concertante parts for violin and violoncello, C major, 6/8
time”--which was in the old book, Beethoven tore out of the score;
the former (he said) was unnecessary, the latter a concert-piece;
I was compelled to agree with him; the purpose in view was to save
the opera as a whole. A little terzetto for ~Rocco~, ~Marcelline~
and ~Jacquino~ which followed (“a most melodious terzetto in
E-flat” as Seyfried says) fared no better. There had been a want of
action and the music did not warm the hearers. A new dialogue was
desired to give more occasion for the first finale. My friend was
again right in demanding a different ending. I made many plans; at
length we came to an agreement: to bring together the return of the
prisoners at the command of ~Pizarro~ and their lamentation.

The second act offered a great difficulty at the very outset.
Beethoven at first wanted to distinguish poor ~Florestan~ with an
aria, but I offered the objection that it would not be possible
to allow a man nearly dead of hunger to sing bravura. We composed
one thing and another; at last, in my opinion, I hit the nail on
the head. I wrote words which describe the last blazing up of life
before its extinguishment:

“Und spür’ ich nicht linde, sanft säuselnde Luft,
Und ist nicht mein Grab mir erhellet?
Ich seh’, wie ein Engel, in rosigem Duft,
Sich tröstend zur Seite mir stellet.
Ein Engel, Leonoren, der Gattin so gleich!
Der führt mich zur Freiheit,--ins himmlische Reich!”

What I am now relating will live forever in my memory. Beethoven
came to me about seven o’clock in the evening. After we had
discussed other things, he asked how matters stood with the aria?
It was just finished, I handed it to him. He read, ran up and
down the room, muttered, growled, as was his habit instead of
singing--and tore open the pianoforte. My wife had often vainly
begged him to play; to-day he placed the text in front of him and
began to improvise marvellously--music which no magic could hold
fast. Out of it he seemed to conjure the motive of the aria. The
hours went by, but Beethoven improvised on. Supper, which he had
purposed to eat with us, was served, but--he would not permit
himself to be disturbed. It was late when he embraced me, and
declining the meal, he hurried home. The next day the admirable
composition was finished.

Concerning this air, Röckel writes:

Measurably to satisfy the new ~Florestan~ (the Italian Radichi),
who wanted to be applauded after his air, which was not
possible nor fitting to the situation nor desirable after the
~pianissimo~ conclusion of ~Florestan’s~ air with the ~con sordino~
accompaniment of the violins, without writing a new air, Beethoven
cut the Adagio in two and concluded with an Allegro in the high
register of the singer; but as the noise of applause would not have
been increased by ~Rocco~ and ~Fidelio~, who enter at this moment
to dig a grave for the supposedly dead man, the composer concluded
the noisy Allegro with a coda for the orchestra ending with a
new ~pianissimo~, by which device the silence essential to the
succeeding scene was again restored.

Treitschke continues:

Nearly all the rest in the second act was confined to abbreviations
and changes in the poetry. I think that a careful comparison of the
two printed texts will justify my reasons. The grandiose quartet:
“Er sterbe,” etc., was interrupted by me with a short pause during
which ~Jacquino~ and other persons report the arrival of the
~Minister~ and make the accomplishment of the murder impossible by
summoning ~Pizarro~ away. After the next duet ~Rocco~ comes and
accompanies ~Florestan~ and ~Leonore~ to the ~Minister~.

At this point, Treitschke avoided what had always appeared to him to
be “a great fault”--namely, that the dungeon was the scene of the
entire second act--by introducing a change in the scenery so that the
conclusion should be “in full daylight upon a bright green courtyard of
the palace.”

Before the middle of February the alterations to be made were
determined by musician and poet, and each began his task; both were
hindered by frequent interruptions, and its completion deferred.[116]

Beethoven’s attention to it was immediately called away by the concert
of which these two notes speak:

No. I.

(To Brunswick.)

Vienna, February 13, 1814. Dear friend and brother! You wrote to
me recently, I write to you now--you no doubt rejoice over all
victories--also over mine--on the 27th of this month I shall give
a second concert in the large Ridotto Room--Come up--You know it
now. Thus I am gradually rescuing myself from my misery, for from
my salaries I have not yet received a penny.[117] Schuppanzigh has
written to Michalcovics[118] whether it would be worth while to
come to Ofen; what do you think? Of course such a thing would have
to take place in a theatre. My opera is going to be performed, but
I am writing much of it over. I hope you are living contentedly,
that is not a little, so far as I am concerned, good heavens, my
kingdom is in the air, like the wind the tones often whirl in my
soul--I embrace you.

No. II.

(To Archduke Rudolph.)

I hope for pardon for my non-attendance. Your displeasure would
punish me when I am innocent; in a few days I will make it all
up. They intend to perform my opera “Fidelio” again. This gives
me a great deal of work, and despite my healthy appearance I am
not well. For my second concert the arrangements have been made
in part, I must compose something new for Milder in it. Meanwhile
I hear, and it is comforting to me, that Y. I. H. is in better
health,[119] I hope, unless I am flattering myself too much, soon
again to contribute to it. In the meantime I have taken the liberty
to inform my Lord Falstaff[120] that he will soon graciously be
permitted to appear before Y. I. H.

The “Wiener Zeitung” of February 24th contains the advertisement of
the “Akademie, next Sunday, the 27th inst. in the large Redoutensaal,”
announcing “a new symphony not yet heard and an entirely new as yet
unheard terzetto” as novelties. To Hummel, Beethoven now wrote:

I beg of you conduct this time again the drumheads and cannonades
with your admirable chapelmaster and field-marshall’s bâton--do it,
I beg of you, and if ever I am wanted to cannonade you, I shall be
at your service body and soul.

[Sidenote: “WELLINGTON’S VICTORY” REPEATED]

The report in the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” contains the programme in full
with a few short and pertinent observations:

1. The new symphony (A major) which was received with so much
applause, again. The reception was as animated as at the first
time; the Andante (A minor) the crown of modern instrumental music,
as at the first performance had to be repeated.

2. An entirely new Italian terzetto (B-flat major) beautifully
sung by Mad. Milder-Hauptmann, Hrn. Siboni and Hrn. Weinmüller, is
conceived at the outset wholly in the Italian style, but ends with
a fiery Allegro in Beethoven’s individual style. It was applauded.

3. An entirely new, hitherto unheard symphony (F major, 3/4 time).
The greatest interest of the listeners seemed centered on this, the
~newest~ product of B’s muse, and expectation was tense, but this
was not sufficiently gratified after the single hearing, and the
applause which it received was not accompanied by that enthusiasm
which distinguishes a work which gives universal delight; in
short--as the Italians say--it did not create a furore. This
reviewer is of the opinion that the reason does not lie by any
means in weaker or less artistic workmanship (for here as in all
of B’s works of this class there breathes that peculiar spirit by
which his originality always asserts itself); but partly in the
faulty judgment which permitted this symphony to follow that in A
major, partly in the surfeit of beauty and excellence which must
necessarily be followed by a reaction. If this symphony should be
performed ~alone~ hereafter, we have no doubt of its success.

4. At the close, “Wellington’s Victory in the battle of Vittoria”
was given again, the first part, the Battle, having to be repeated.
The performance left nothing to be desired; and the attendance was
again very large.

The “something new for Milder” resulted in something rather old; for
the terzetto in which she sang was the “Tremate, empj, tremate,” fully
sketched in 1801-1802, but now first written out and completed in its
present form.

Schindler discovered among Beethoven’s papers, and has communicated
substantially in his book, certain accounts of expenses incurred in
this concert. Only the Eighth Symphony and the terzetto had to be
copied; for these “the specification amounted in total: 452 written
pages at 12 kreutzers, makes 90 florins, 24 kr.; the specified cost
of the orchestra alone at this concert amounted to 344 florins.
Nevertheless, only 7 first violinists and only 6 seconds who were paid
some 5 some 7 fl. are mentioned by name, because in each part twice as
many dilettanti had played.” One of Beethoven’s own memoranda gives
the exact number of the string instruments: “At my last concert in the
large Ridotto-room there were 18 first violins, 18 second, 14 violas,
12 violoncellos, 17 contra-basses, 2 contra-bassoons.” Whether the
audience numbered 5000, as Schindler reports, or 3000, which is more
likely, the clear pecuniary profits of the two concerts were very
large. Czerny remembered that on this occasion the Eighth Symphony
“by no means pleased” and Beethoven was angry thereat, “because it is
much better,” he said. Another of his reminiscences is that Beethoven
“often related with much pleasure how, when walking on the Kahlenberg
after the performance of the Eighth Symphony, he got some cherries
from a couple of girls and when he asked the price of one of them, she
replied: ‘I’ll take nothing from you. We saw you in the Ridotto-room
when we heard your beautiful music.’”

The University Law Students had a composition by Beethoven on the
programme of their concert, on February 12; the Medical Students opened
their concert, March 6, with the “Egmont” Overture; and the Regiment
Deutschmeister, theirs of March 25 with that to “Coriolan”; with
these concerts Beethoven had nothing to do; but in the Annual Spring
“Akademie,” March 25, in the Kärnthnerthor-Theater for the Theatre Poor
Fund, he conducted the “Egmont” Overture and “Wellington’s Victory.”

Both poet and composer had now been again delayed in their “Fidelio”
studies, in this wise: The French Armies had so often taken possession
of the capitals of the various Continental states, that the motives are
inconceivable, which induced Schwarzenberg to restrain the approach of
the allied armies on Paris, until Blücher’s persistence, enforced by
his victories, at last compelled the Commander-in-Chief to yield the
point. When this became known in Vienna, it was determined to celebrate
the event, so soon as news of it should arrive, by an appropriate
performance in the Court Opera. To this end, Treitschke wrote a
~Singspiel~ in one act entitled “Gute Nachricht” (“Good News”). Of the
nine pieces of music in it, the overture was given to Hummel and the
concluding chorus, “Germania, wie stehst du jetzt im Glanze da,” to
Beethoven.

In a note to Treitschke, called out by the proposed changes in the
scenery of “Fidelio,” Beethoven wrote:

The arrival of the Spaniards, which is only suggested in the play,
not visibly presented, might be utilized for the multitude to open
the big hole of the Wiedener Theatre [the stage]--and there might
be a good deal of spectacle besides and the music would not be
wholly lost, and I should willingly add something new if it were
asked.

Towards the end of March, Beethoven received the new text to “Fidelio.”
To Treitschke he wrote: “I have read your amendments to the opera
with great pleasure; they determine me to rebuild the ruins of an old
castle.” A letter to the poet refers again to the chorus which he had
composed for Treitschke’s ~Singspiel~:

I beg you, dear T., to send me the score of the song so that the
interpolated note may be written into all the instruments--I shall
not take it at all amiss if you have it newly composed by Gyrowetz
or anybody else--preferably Weinmüller--I make no pretensions in
the matter, but I will not suffer that any man--no matter who he
may be--change my compositions.

[Sidenote: FIRST PERFORMANCE OF THE TRIO IN B-FLAT]

Beethoven’s attention was now again called away from the opera by a
concert in the hall of the Hotel zum Römischen Kaiser, arranged by the
landlord and Schuppanzigh for a military charity. Czerny relates that
a new grand trio had then for some time been a subject of conversation
among Beethoven’s friends, though no one had heard it. This work,
Op. 97, in B-flat major, was to open the second part of the concert
and the composer had consented to play in it. Spohr was by chance in
Beethoven’s rooms at one of the rehearsals and heard him play--the only
time. “It was not a treat,” he writes:

for, in the first place, the pianoforte was badly out of tune,
which Beethoven minded little, since he did not hear it; and
secondly, there was scarcely anything left of the virtuosity of
the artist which had formerly been so greatly admired. In ~forte~
passages the poor deaf man pounded on the keys till the strings
jangled, and in ~piano~ he played so softly that whole groups of
tones were omitted, so that the music was unintelligible unless
one could look into the pianoforte part. I was deeply saddened
at so hard a fate. If it is a great misfortune for any one to be
deaf, how shall a musician endure it without giving way to despair?
Beethoven’s continual melancholy was no longer a riddle to me.[121]
#/

The concert took place at noon on Monday, April 11. Moscheles was
present and wrote in his diary:

In the case of how many compositions is the word “new” misapplied!
But never in Beethoven’s, and least of all in this, which again
is full of originality. His playing, aside from its intellectual
element, satisfied me less, being wanting in clarity and precision;
but I observed many traces of the ~grand~ style of playing which I
had long recognized in his compositions.

In those days a well-to-do music-lover, named Pettenkofer,
gathered a number of young people into his house every Saturday
for the performance of instrumental music. One evening a pupil of
Schuppanzigh’s requested his neighbor at the music-stand, a youth of 18
years, to take a note from his teacher next day to Beethoven, proposing
a rehearsal of the Trio, and requiring no answer but “yes” or “no.” “I
undertook the commission with joy,” he records:

The desire to be able to stand for even a moment beside the man
whose works had for several years inspired me with the greatest
reverence for their author, was now to be so unexpectedly and
strangely realized. The next morning the bearer of the note, with
beating heart, climbed the four flights in the Pasqualati house,
and was at once led by the sartorial servant to the writing table
of the master. After he had read the missive, he turned to me and
said “Yes”; with a few rapidly added questions the audience came to
an end; but at the door I permitted myself to tarry a little while
to observe the man, who had already resumed his writing, closely.

This youth was Anton Schindler. He continues his narrative:

This, almost the most important event in the life-history of
the poor student up to that time, was soon followed by the
acquaintanceship of Schuppanzigh. He gave me a ticket for the
concert of April 11, given by him.... On this occasion I approached
the great master with more confidence, and greeted him reverently.
He answered pleasantly and showed that he remembered the carrier of
the note.

And thus ended all personal intercourse between Schindler and Beethoven
until the end of the year--a fact to be noted.

A few weeks later Beethoven played in the Trio again at a morning
concert of Schuppanzigh’s in the Prater, and thus--excepting once
accompanying a song--he took leave of the public as a pianist.

“Gute Nachricht” was first played also on the evening of Monday, April
11; for the news of the triumphal entry of the allied armies (March
31), as Moscheles records in his diary, reached Vienna the day before.
It was repeated on the 12th, 14th, 17th, 24th and May 3rd, in the
Kärnthnerthor-Theater, and on June 11th and 14th in the Burg.

Meantime an event had occurred, the effect of which on Beethoven is
nowhere indicated; but let us hope and believe that it, for the moment,
unfitted him for labor--Prince Carl Lichnowsky, his old friend and
protector, died April 15. It is gratifying that the last notice of him
in our work is that touching reminiscence by Schindler, which proves
that time had neither cooled nor diminished the warm affection that he
had conceived twenty years before for the young Bonn pianist.

The following note to Zmeskall was written about this time:

Dear Z.: I am not going on the journey, at least I am not going to
hurry--the matter must be pondered more carefully--meanwhile the
work has already been sent to the Prince Regent:--~If I am wanted
I can be had~, and then ~liberty~ remains with me to say ~yes~ or
~no~. Liberty!!! What more do I want???

I should like to consult with you about how to settle myself in my
lodging.

This new lodging, for which Beethoven now left the Pasqualati house,
was in the 1st storey of the Bartenstein house, also on the Mölker
Bastei (No. 96); so that he still remained in the immediate vicinity of
his friends, Princess Christine Lichnowsky and the Erdödys.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN QUARRELS WITH MÄLZEL]

The other matters mentioned in the note call our attention again to
Mälzel, who, notwithstanding his bitter disappointment at the turn
which his affairs with Beethoven had taken, had still lingered in
Vienna several weeks in the hope of making some kind of amicable
arrangement with him. As his side of the story was never made public,
there is little to add to the information on the subject contained in
the papers of Beethoven, preserved by Schindler. From them these facts
appear; that Beethoven repaid the fifty ducats of borrowed money; that
Mälzel and he had several interviews at the office of the lawyer,
Dr. Adlersburg, which had for their subject the “Battle of Vittoria”
and the journey to England; that he made various propositions which
Beethoven would not accept “to get the work, or at least the right
of first performance for himself,” and the like; that, incensed by
the conduct of the composer and hopeless of benefit from any farther
consultation, he did not appear at the last one appointed; and that he
obtained by stealth so many of the single parts of the “Battle” as to
be enabled therefrom to have a pretty correct score of the work written
out, with which he departed to Munich and there produced it in two
concerts on the 16th and 17th of March.

When this became known in Vienna[122] Beethoven’s wrath was excited
and, instead of treating the matter with contemptuous silence, or at
most making an appeal to the public in the newspapers, he committed the
absurdity of instituting a lawsuit against a man already far on his
way to the other extremity of Europe, at the same time in all haste
preparing a copy of the “Battle” and sending it to the Prince Regent
of England, that at least he might prevent Mälzel from producing it
there as a novelty. It was a costly and utterly useless precaution;
for, on the one hand, Mälzel found in London no inducement to attempt
orchestral concerts, and on the other, the score sent by Beethoven lay
buried in the library of the Prince, who neither then nor ever took the
slightest notice of it (except to permit its performance, as we shall
presently see) or made any acknowledgment to the composer.

[Sidenote: DOCUMENTS IN THE MÄLZEL CASE]

Casting aside all extraneous matter contained in Beethoven’s documents,
the real question at issue is very clear. The two leading facts--one
of which is admitted by implication, and the other explicitly stated
by Beethoven himself--are already known to the reader: First, that the
plan of the work was Mälzel’s; second, that the composer wrought it out
for the Panharmonicon gratis. In this form, therefore, the composition
beyond all doubt was Mälzel’s property. There was, therefore, but one
point to be decided: Did the arrangement of the work for orchestra at
Mälzel’s suggestion and request, transfer the proprietorship? If it
did, Beethoven had a basis for his suit; if it did not, he had none.
This question was never decided; for after the process had lingered
through several years, the two men met, made peace, Beethoven withdrew
his complaint, and each paid the half of all expenses that had been
incurred![123]

Thus had been caused a new interruption of the work on “Fidelio.”

“The beneficiaries,” says Treitschke, “urged its completion to take
advantage of the favorable season; but Beethoven made slow progress.
To one of the poet’s notes urging haste, Beethoven wrote, probably in
April:

The damned Academy, which I was compelled to give partly by my bad
circumstances, has set me back so far as the opera is concerned.

The cantata which I wanted to give robbed me of 5 or 6 days.

Now, of course, everything must be done at once and I could write
something new more quickly than add new things to old--I am
accustomed in writing, even in my instrumental music--to keep the
whole in view, but here my whole, has--in a manner--been distributed
everywhere and I have got to think myself back into my work ever and
anon--it is not likely that it will be possible to give the opera in
a fortnight, I think that it will be 4 weeks.

Meanwhile the first act will be finished in a few days--but there
remains much to do in the 2nd Act, and also a new overture, which
will be the easiest because I can compose it entirely new. Before my
Academy a few things only were sketched here and there, in the first
as well as the second act, it was not until a few days ago that I
could begin to write the matters out. The score of the opera is as
frightfully written as any that ever I saw, I had to look through
note after note (it is probably a pilfered one) in short I assure
you, dear T. the opera will secure for me the crown of martyrdom,
if you had not given yourself so much pains with it and revised
everything so successfully, for which I shall be eternally grateful
to you, I could scarcely be able to force myself (to do the work).
You have thereby saved some good remainders of a stranded ship.

If you think that the delay with the opera will be too long,
postpone it till some future time, I shall go ahead now until
everything is ended, and just like you have changed and improved
it, which I see more and more clearly every moment, but it cannot
go so fast as if I were composing something new--and in 14 days
that is impossible--do as you think best, but as a friend of mine,
there is no want of zeal on my part.

Your Beethoven.

[Sidenote: REHEARSALS FOR THE REVISED “FIDELIO”]

The repetitions of the “Gute Nachricht” came to a conclusion with
the performance in the Kärnthnerthor-Theater on May 3, and the
beneficiaries became more and more impatient. Hence, Treitschke wrote
again to Beethoven, asked him what use was to be made of the chorus
“Germania,” and urged him to make haste with the work on “Fidelio.”
Notwithstanding so much was wanting, the rehearsals had begun in the
middle of April, and the performance was now fixed for the 23rd of May.
Beethoven’s memorandum of his revisal of the opera reads: “The opera
Fidelio [?] March to 15th of May, newly written and improved.” May 15th
was Sunday, the “Tuesday” of his answer to Treitschke was therefore the
17th, and the date, doubtless, about the 14th:

Your satisfaction with the chorus delights me infinitely. I was of
the opinion that you ought to apply all the works to ~your profit~
and ~therefore mine also~, but if you do not want to do this I
should like to have you sell it outright for the ~benefit of the
poor~.

Your copyists ---- [illegible] and Wranitzky were here yesterday
about the matter, I told them, most worthy man, that you were
entire ~master~ in the affair. For this reason I await now your
frank opinion--your copyist is--an ass!--but he is completely
lacking in the well-known splendid ~Eselshaut~[124]--therefore my
copyist has undertaken the work of copying, and ~by Tuesday little
will remain to be done~, and my copyist will bring everything to
the rehearsal. As for the rest the whole matter of the opera is the
most wearisome thing in the world, and I am dissatisfied with most
of it--and--there is hardly a piece in it to which in ~my present
state of dissatisfaction~ I ought not to have patched on ~some
satisfaction~. That is the great difference between being able to
surrender to free reflection or enthusiasm.

Wholly your Beethoven.

“The final rehearsal,” says Treitschke, “was on May 22d, but the
promised new overture was still in the pen of the creator.” It was
then, on the 20th or 21st, that Beethoven dined with his friend
Bertolini in the Römischer Kaiser. After dinner he took a bill of fare,
drew lines on the blank side and began to write. “Come, let us go,”
said Bertolini; “No, wait a little; I have the idea for my overture,”
replied Beethoven, who remained and finished his sketches then and
there. Treitschke continues:

The orchestra was called to rehearsal on the morning of the
performance. B. did not come. After waiting a long time we drove
to his lodgings to bring him, but--he lay in bed, sleeping
soundly, beside him stood a goblet with wine and a biscuit in
it, the sheets of the overture were scattered on the bed and
floor. A burnt-out candle showed that he had worked far into the
night. The impossibility of completing the overture was plain;
for this occasion his overture to “Prometheus” [?] was taken and
the announcement that because of obstacles which had presented
themselves the new overture would have to be dispensed with to-day,
enabled the numerous audience to guess the sufficient reason.

Schindler says an overture to “Leonore,” Seyfried the overture to
“The Ruins of Athens,” was played on this occasion. The “Sammler” in
its contemporary notice confirms Seyfried: “The overture played at
the first performance does not belong to the opera and was originally
written for the opening of the theatre at Pesth.” In 1823, Beethoven in
conversation happened to speak of this substitution and remarked: “The
people applauded, but I stood ashamed; it did not belong to the rest.”
In the manuscript book of the text prepared for use in the theatre on
this occasion, one is surprised to see the title begun thus:

“LEONORE, FIDELIO

An Opera in Two Acts, etc.”

The word “Leonore” is crossed out and “Fidelio” written at the side in
red pencil afterwards inked over. There was then on the part of some
one--whom?--an intention subsequently abandoned, of thus changing the
title. Again, in the list of “properties,” stands

A wallet} Mme. Hönig.
2 chains}

and the same name occurs in the list of the

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Herr Saal Don Fernando, minister.
Herr Vogel Don Pizarro, Governor of a State’s prison.
Herr Radichi Florestan, a prisoner.
M. Hönig Leonore, his wife, under the name of Fidelio.
Hr. Weinmüller Rokko, jailer.
Mlle. Bondra Marzelline, his daughter.
Hr. Frühwald Jaquino.
Prisoners of State, etc., etc.

Madame Hönig was a new soprano, engaged after the
“Hoftheater-Taschenbuch” for 1814 had been printed, whose name appears
in that for 1815. Though appointed to the part when this text-book was
copied, she gave place before the day of performance to the original
~Fidelio~, Mme. Milder-Hauptmann.

The opera was capitally prepared (says Treitschke), Beethoven
conducted, his ardor often rushed him out of time, but
Chapelmaster Umlauf, behind his back, guided everything to success
with eye and hand.[125] The applause was great and increased with
every representation.

“Herr v. B.,” says the “Sammler,” “was stormily called out already
after the first act, and enthusiastically greeted.” The opera was first
repeated on the 26th, when the new overture in E major “was received
with tumultuous applause and the composer again called out twice at
this repetition.”

The chorus “Germania,” in pianoforte arrangement, was published in
June “im K. K. Hoftheater-Verlag.” A characteristic note of Beethoven
to Treitschke asks for the manuscript for the purpose of correcting
the proof and introduces to our acquaintance a personage or two, who
will often meet us henceforth to the end, and therefore merit a short
personal paragraph here.

[Sidenote: TOBIAS HASLINGER BECOMES MUSIC PUBLISHER]

The “K. K. Priv. Chemische Druckerey,” the property of Rochus
Krasinzky and Sigmund Anton Steiner, passed about 1810 into the hands
of Steiner alone. In that year Tobias Haslinger (of Zell in Upper
Austria), who had been one of Chapelmaster Glöggl’s singing-boys at
Linz and assistant in his music-shop, came to Vienna with the design
of establishing himself in business, and there soon became acquainted
with Steiner. He detailed to him his purposes and plans and induced
him to withdraw his prints and other wares from Grund’s bookstore in
the Singerstrasse, and open a shop of his own in the narrow passage
then existing at the northeast corner of the Graben, known as the
“Paternoster-Gassel,” employing him (Haslinger) as bookkeeper and
manager; from which position he soon rose to be partner in the firm,
“S. A. Steiner and Co.” Beethoven conceived an odd and whimsical
liking for the young man, and in a few years his relations to the firm
became very much the same as those which formerly existed between him
and the “Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir.” Haslinger had learned divers
instruments in Linz, had begun the study of composition there and
continued it in Vienna. His Opus 10, “Ideal einer Schlacht,” for the
pianoforte, had just been published--the subject of Homeric laughter to
Jupiter-Beethoven and the other gods. He made his place of business
attractive and it became a favorite resort of composers, musicians,
singers, writers for the theatre, the public press, and the like.
In his correspondence with the firm Beethoven was “Generalissimus”;
Steiner “Lieutenant-General”; Haslinger “Adjutant” or rather
“Adjutanterl” (the diminutive of Adjutant); their assistants were
“Subalterns”; and the shop, “Office of the Lieutenant-General.” These
titles make their appearance in a note, typical of many, written to
Treitschke:

The thoughts and endeavors (~Dichten und Trachten~) of Hr. v.
Treitschke are directed to the duty of immediately delivering the
manuscript to the subaltern of the Lieutenant-General’s office, so
that the engraved page scratched full of errors may immediately
be rescratched as it ought to be, and, indeed, all the more, as
otherwise the thoughts and endeavors will be frightfully scratched
and beaten.

Given in Paternoster Lane, at the primitive publishing house of all
who publish. June 4, 1814.[126]

One of Beethoven’s minor productions (still unpublished) was now
composed for his friend Bertolini. The occasion was an evening festival
arranged by the doctor at his own expense on the name-day (St. John’s
day) and in honor of Malfatti. It was a little piece for four voices
with pianoforte accompaniment to a text written by Abbate Bondi:

Un lieto brindisi
Tutti a Giovanni,
Cantiam così, così,
Viva longhi anni, etc., etc.

Invitations were extended not only to Malfatti’s relatives and personal
friends but to a large number of artists of the various professions,
resident or temporarily in Vienna--Dragonetti among the musicians.
The scene was Malfatti’s villa in Weinhaus. There they feasted; the
wine flowed; the cantata was sung; Beethoven, “thoroughly unbuttoned,”
improvised; fun and frolic ruled the hour. “The sport cost me a
few hundred florins,” laughingly said the good doctor fifty years
afterwards.

“Fidelio” was repeated on May 26, June 2d and 4th and on Tuesday, June
7th. The theatre was then “closed because of preparations for the
spectacle to be presented on the return of the Emperor.” After this the
theatre closed again for two days and on the 21st was reopened with
“Fidelio.” A letter to Treitschke was written about this time:

Dear and worthy Tr.! What you say about a quarter of the receipts
is understood, of course! and for a moment only I must moreover
remain your ~debtor~, but I will not ~forget that I am~--as regards
a benefit performance for me I should like to have the day set on a
week from yesterday, that is next Thursday.

I called on Hrn. Palffy to-day but did not find him in. Do not let
the opera rest too much! It is surely ~injurious~.

The day here proposed for the benefit was not granted. The “Wiener
Zeitung” of July 1st contained a “Musical Notice” which may be quoted
as a comment on the first topic of the above note:

The undersigned, at the request of the Herren Artaria and Co.,
herewith declares that he has given the score of his opera FIDELIO
to the aforesaid art establishment for publication under his
direction in a complete pianoforte score, quartets, or arrangements
for military band. The present musical version is not to be
confounded with an earlier one, ~since hardly a musical number
has been left unchanged~, and more than half of the opera was
composed anew. Scores in the only authorized copy and also the
book in manuscript may be had of the reviser of the book, Herrn F.
Treitschke, R. I. Court Poet. Other unauthorized copies will be
punished by law.

Ludwig van Beethoven.
Vienna, June 28, 1814.

[Sidenote: MOSCHELES’S PIANOFORTE SCORE]

Moscheles, then just twenty years of age, wrote about this time in
his diary: “The offer has been made to me to make the pianoforte
score of the masterpiece ‘Fidelio.’ What could be more desirable?”
“We now find entries,” says his widow, “of how he carried two, and
again two numbers to Beethoven, who looked through them; and then,
alternately, ‘he changed little’ or ‘he changed nothing,’ or sometimes
‘he simplified it’ or ‘he reinforced it.’ One note reads, ‘Coming
early to Beethoven, he was still in bed; this day he was particularly
merry, leaped up at once, and, as he was, went to the window, which
opened on the Schottenbastei, to look through the arranged numbers.
Naturally the street boys assembled under the window until he cried
out: ‘Damn the youngsters, what do they want?’ I smilingly pointed to
his garment. ‘Yes, yes, you are right,’ said he and hastily threw a
dressing-gown over his shoulders.[127] When we reached the last great
duet, ‘Namenlose Freude,’ where I had written down the text ‘Ret-terin
des Gat-ten,’ he crossed it out and wrote ‘Rett-erin des Gatt-en’; for
it was not possible to sing on ‘t.’ Under the last number I had written
‘~fine~ with God’s help.’ He was not at home when I carried it to
him; and when he sent it back under mine were the words: ‘O man, help
yourself.’”

Before bidding Moscheles farewell for the next half a dozen years, let
us look at a few sentences from the preface to the English translation
of Schindler’s book, partly for the information they impart and partly
to prevent a mistake or two from passing into history on his authority.
He thus writes:

In the year 1809[128] my studies with my master, Weber (Dionysius),
closed; and being then also fatherless, I chose Vienna for my
residence to work out my future musical career. Above all, I longed
to see and become acquainted with ~that man~, who had exercised
so powerful an influence over my whole being; whom though I
scarcely understood, I blindly worshipped. I learnt that Beethoven
was most difficult of access and would admit no pupil but Ries;
and for a long time my anxiety to see him remained ungratified.
In the year 1810, however, the longed-for opportunity presented
itself. I happened to be one morning in the music-shop of Domenico
Artaria, who had just been publishing some of my early attempts at
composition, when a man entered with short and hasty steps, and,
gliding through the circle of ladies and professors assembled on
business, or talking over musical matters, without looking up,
as though he wished to pass unnoticed, made his way direct for
Artaria’s private office at the bottom of the shop. Presently
Artaria called me in and said: “This is Beethoven!” and to the
composer, “This is the youth of whom I have just spoken to you.”
Beethoven gave me a friendly nod and said he had just heard a
favorable account of me. To some modest and humble expressions,
which I stammered forth, he made no reply and seemed to wish to
break off the conversation[129].... I never missed the Schuppanzigh
Quartets, at which he was often present, or the delightful concerts
at the Augarten, where he conducted his own Symphonies.[130] I also
heard him play several times, which, however, he did but rarely,
either in public or in private. The productions which made the
most lasting impression upon me, were his Fantasia with orchestral
accompaniments and chorus and his Concerto in C minor. I also used
to meet him at the lodgings of Zmeskall and Zizius, two of his
friends, through whose musical meetings Beethoven’s works first
made their way to public attention [?]: but, in place of better
acquaintance with the great man, I had mostly to content myself on
his part with a distant salute.

It was in the year 1814, when Artaria undertook to publish a
pianoforte arrangement of Beethoven’s “Fidelio,” that he asked
the composer whether I might be permitted to make it: Beethoven
assented upon condition that he should see my arrangement of each
of the pieces, before it was given into the engraver’s hands.
Nothing could be more welcome to me, since I looked upon this
as the long wished-for opportunity to approach nearer to the
great man and to profit by his remarks and corrections. During
my frequent visits, the number of which I tried to multiply by
all possible excuses, he treated me with the kindest indulgence.
Although his increasing deafness was a considerable hindrance
to our conversation, yet he gave me many instructive hints, and
even played to me such parts as he wished to have arranged in a
particular manner for the pianoforte. I thought it, however, my
duty not to put his kindness to the test by robbing him of his
valuable time by any subsequent visits; but I often saw him at
Mälzel’s, where he used to discuss the different plans and models
of a Metronome (the Chronometer), which the latter was going to
manufacture, and to talk over the “Battle of Vittoria,” which he
wrote at Mälzel’s suggestion. Although I knew Mr. Schindler, and
was aware that he was much with Beethoven at that time [?], I did
not avail myself of my acquaintance with him for the purpose of
intruding myself upon the composer.

As to the “Fidelio,” Moscheles told the writer (February 22, 1856)
that he was selected to arrange it because Beethoven was on bad terms
with Hummel; and that to hasten the work, Hummel did arrange one of
the finales; but when Beethoven received it and looked it through, he
tore it to pieces without remark, or explaining why he did so. Two
errors in these last sentences will at once strike the reader--that
Schindler was then much with Beethoven, and that Beethoven was on bad
terms with Hummel. The explanation is easy. Moscheles had translated
Schindler’s book, and unconsciously had adopted certain ideas from
it, which in course of time had taken the form of memories. This is a
common experience with us all. The true reason why Beethoven rejected
Hummel as the arranger of “Fidelio” is obvious: Hummel was a man of
sufficient talent and genius to have a style of his own--and one (as
is well known) not much to Beethoven’s taste; “Fidelio” arranged by
him would necessarily exhibit more or less of this style; moreover,
Beethoven could not feel the same freedom in discarding, correcting,
making suggestions if the work were done by him, as when performed by a
young man like Moscheles.

[Sidenote: PUBLISHERS STEAL THE PIANOFORTE SCORE]

So the score was not now published--a mistake, as the event proved, and
as Beethoven himself confessed in the note to Treitschke below. “In
accordance with his wish,” says Treitschke, in concluding the relation
from which so much has been cited,[131] “I offered our work to foreign
theatres; several ordered it, others declined because they already had
the opera by Paër. Still others preferred to get it in a cheaper way
by hiring cunning copyists who, as is still the custom, ~stole~ the
text and music and sacrificed them for a few florins’ profit. It was
of little use to us that others translated ‘Fidelio’ into several
languages and made large sums by it. The composer received scarcely
more than a handsome laurel-wreath, and I a little leaf, and the
sincere affection of the Immortal.”

Meantime the season had far advanced, the summer heats were
approaching, the departure of the nobility and the wealthy for their
country-seats was near, and Beethoven thought, perhaps justly, that new
attractions must be added to “Fidelio” and the public journals moved
to say an appropriate word, to secure him a full house at his benefit,
so long deferred. Doubtless with this last object in view, he now gave
the “Friedensblätter” the song “An die Geliebte” (text by Stoll), which
was engraved as a supplement to the number for July 12, and a notice
closing with

A WORD TO HIS ADMIRERS.

How often in your chagrin, that his depth was not sufficiently
appreciated, have you said that van Beethoven composes only for
posterity! You have, no doubt, been convinced of your error since
if not before the general enthusiasm aroused by his immortal opera
“Fidelio”; and also that the present finds kindred souls and
sympathetic hearts for that which is great and beautiful without
withholding its just privileges from the future.

This was certainly to the purpose. The earliest hint as to what the new
attractions of the opera were to be is found in a note to Treitschke:

For heaven’s sake, dear friend! It seems that you have no instinct
for money-making! See to it that “Fidelio” is not given before my
benefit, this was the arrangement with Schreyvogel--since Saturday
when you last saw me at the theatre, I have been confined to
my bed and room, and not until yesterday did I feel a trace of
improvement. I might have visited you to-day did I not know that
poets like ~faiaken~ observe Sunday! We must talk about sending out
the opera so that you may receive your quarter and that it is not
sent out in stolen copies all over the world. I know nothing of
business but think that if we were to sell the score to a publisher
here and it were to be printed, the result would be better for you
and me. If I understand you correctly I ought to have the song by
this time--please, dear friend, hurry it up! Are you angry? Have
I offended you? If so, it was done inadvertently, and therefore
forgive an ignoramus and musician. Farewell, let me know something
soon.

Milder has had her aria for a fortnight, I shall learn to-day or
to-morrow whether she knows it. It will not take her long.[132]

[Sidenote: THE GREAT AIR IN “FIDELIO”]

Beethoven’s benefit performance of “Fidelio” took place on Monday
evening, July 18, 1814. The song so impatiently awaited could have
been no other than ~Rocco’s~ “gold aria” which had been sung only
in the two performances of 1805. Beethoven, desiring now to give
Weinmüller a solo, restored it to the score. Jahn, in his edition of
“Leonore,” gives two texts--the original by Sonnleithner and one which
he conjectures may have been written by Breuning. From them Treitschke
now prepared a text, as we have it, by changing somewhat and improving
Sonnleithner’s first stanza and joining to it the second stanza of the
other, unchanged except by the omission of its close.

As to the new piece for Milder, Treitschke says explicitly it was “a
grand aria for ~Leonore~, but as it checked the rapid movement of
the rest it was again omitted.” In the advertisement of his benefit
Beethoven says only: “For this performance ... two new pieces have
been added.” The notice in the “Friedensblätter” next day is somewhat
more explicit: “‘Fidelio’ will be given with two entirely new arias
to be sung by Mme. Milder and Hrn. Weinmüller, for the benefit of the
composer”; and from the “Sammler” we learn that at the performance
the new air sung by Madame Milder-Hauptmann “was very effective and
the excellent performance seemed to labor under peculiarly great
difficulties.” What is known from printed sources concerning this air
is this: it was in E-flat major with four horns ~obbligati~;[133] the
text was “Komm’ Hoffnung, etc.”; it was not the aria already sung by
the Milder six times this season; it was one which the composer is not
certain that she can sing after fourteen days’ study; it was not the
one which Moscheles had arranged for the new edition of the opera.

Now we read in the “Fidelio” sketchbook about the time when Beethoven
wrote to Treitschke about “sending out the opera” (p. 107): “Hamburg,
15 ducats in gold; Grätz, 12 fl.; Frankfort, 15 ducats in gold;
Stuttgart, 12 ducats in gold; Carlsruhe, 12 ducats in gold; Darmstadt,
12 ducats in gold”--evidently the price of the opera; and on the
next page, “Abscheulicher, wo eilst du hin!” i. e., sketches for the
recitative; but sketches for the aria are not known. Are not our
informants in error? Was not the new air after all the one which
Moscheles arranged and which is still sung? And if not, what has become
of it?[134]

Shortly before the performance on July 14, 1814, Beethoven wrote a
letter to Archduke Rudolph in which he said:

The management of the theatre is so honest that in spite of a
promise, it has already performed my opera “Fidelio” without
thinking of my benefit. This amiable honesty it would have
practised again had I not been on guard like a former French
Danube watchman. Finally after considerable exertion on my part it
has been arranged that my benefit of “Fidelio” shall take place
on Monday, July 18. This benefit is rather an exception[135] at
this time of the year, but a benefit for the author may become
a little festival if the work has had at least a modicum of
success. To this festival the master humbly invites his exalted
pupil, and hopes--yes I hope that your Imperial Highness will
graciously accept and illumine the occasion with your presence.
It would be nice if Y. I. H. would try to persuade the other
Imperial Highnesses to attend this representation of my opera. I
shall observe here all that respectful homage demands. Because of
Vogel’s illness I was unable to gratify my desire to give the rôle
of ~Pizarro~ to Forti, for which his voice is better adapted--but
because of this there are daily rehearsals, which will benefit the
~performance~, but make it impossible to wait upon Y. I. H. in
Baden before the benefit.

Next day, Friday the 15th, appeared, over his own signature, the
advertisement of “Beethoven’s Benefit” on Monday, the 18th. “Boxes and
reserved seats may be ordered Saturday and Sunday in the lodgings of
the undersigned on the Mölkerbastei, in the Baron Pasqualati house, No.
94, in the first storey.” Imagine his comical consternation when the
“Wiener Zeitung” came to hand and he read the “Pasqualatischen” instead
of the “Bartenstein’schen” house! But the number was correct and that
would save his friends the needless ascent of four flights to his old
lodging. The contemporary reports of the performance are numerous and
all very eulogistic. Forti, as ~Pizarro~, was “entirely satisfactory”;
the “gold aria,” although well sung by Weinmüller, “did not make a
great effect”; “beautiful and of large artistic value was the aria in
E-flat major with four [!] ~obbligato~ French horns, but the reviewer
is of the opinion that it retards the rapid progress of the first act.
The house was very full; the applause extraordinary; the enthusiasm for
the composer, who has now become a favorite of the public, manifested
itself in calls before the curtain after every act.” All free tickets
were invalid; the pecuniary results must therefore have been in a high
degree satisfactory.

[Sidenote: THE LATRONNE-HÖFEL PORTRAIT]

Another consequence of Beethoven’s sudden popularity, was the
publication of a new engraving of him by Artaria, the crayon drawing
for which was executed by Latronne, a French artist then in Vienna.
Blasius Höfel, a young man of 22 years, was employed to engrave it.
He told the writer,[136] how very desirous he was of producing a
good likeness--a matter of great importance to the young artist--but
that Latronne’s drawing was not a good one, probably for want of a
sufficient number of sittings. Höfel often saw Beethoven at Artaria’s
and, when his work was well advanced, asked him for a sitting or two.
The request was readily granted. At the time set, the engraver appeared
with his plate. Beethoven seated himself in position and for perhaps
five minutes remained reasonably quiet; then suddenly springing up went
to the pianoforte and began to extemporize, to Höfel’s great annoyance.
The servant relieved his embarrassment by assuring him that he could
now seat himself near the instrument and work at his leisure, for his
master had quite forgotten him and no longer knew that anyone was
in the room. This Höfel did; wrought so long as he wished, and then
departed with not the slightest notice from Beethoven. The result was
so satisfactory, that only two sittings of less than one hour each were
needed. It is well known that Höfel’s is the best of all the engravings
made of Beethoven. In 1851, Alois Fuchs showed to the writer his great
collection, and when he came to this, exclaimed with strong emphasis:
“Thus I learned to know him!”

Höfel in course of the conversation unconsciously corroborated the
statements of Madame Streicher, as reported by Schindler, in regard
to Beethoven’s wretched condition in 1812-13. The effect upon him
of his pecuniary embarrassments, his various disappointments, and
of a mind ill at ease, was very plainly to be seen in his personal
habits and appearance. He was at that time much accustomed to dine
at an inn where Höfel often saw him in a distant corner, at a table,
which though large was avoided by the other guests owing to the very
uninviting habits into which he had fallen; the particulars may be
omitted. Not infrequently he departed without paying his bill, or
with the remark that his brother would settle it; which Karl did. He
had grown so negligent of his person as to appear there sometimes
positively “schmutzig” (dirty). Now, however, under the kind care of
the Streichers, cheered and inspirited by the glory and emolument of
the past eight months, he became his better self again; and--though
now and to the end, so careless and indifferent to mere externals as
occasionally to offend the sensitiveness of very nice and fastidious
people--he again, as before quoted from Czerny, “paid attention to his
appearance.” From a note of apology to the Archduke, written while
busy with the “arrangements for my opera,” we learn that Beethoven
contemplated another visit to Teplitz; but the public announcement
of a royal congress to meet in Vienna, August 1, put an end to that
project, and Baden again became his summer retreat, for recreation but
not for rest. Sketches for the “Elegiac Song” (“Sanft wie du lebtest”)
are found among the studies for the new “Fidelio,” and this short work
was probably now completed in season to be copied and delivered to his
friend Pasqualati on or before the 23rd of August, that day being the
third anniversary of the death of his “transfigured wife,” in honor
of whose memory it was composed. The Sonata in E minor, Op. 90, bears
date August 16. Then comes a cantata--as it is named in the “Fidelio”
sketchbook, where some hints for it are noted; in fact, it is but a
chorus with orchestra--a piece of flattery intended for the royal
personages of the coming congress.

Ihr weisen Gründer glücklicher Staaten,
Neigt euer Ohr dem Jubelsang,
Es ist die Nachwelt, die eure Thaten
Mit Segen preist Aeonen lang.
Vom Sohn auf Enkel im Herzen hegen
Wir eures Ruhmes Heiligthum,
Stets fanden in der Nachwelt Segen
Beglückende Fürsten ihren Ruhm.

This is the text; but as the congress was deferred, there was no haste,
and the chorus was not finished until September 3rd.

[Sidenote: A COMPROMISE WITH PRINCE KINSKY’S HEIRS]

Meanwhile the controversy with the Kinsky heirs had entered upon a new
phase. Dr. Johann Kanka, a lawyer in Prague, in a communication to the
author,[137] wrote:

The information (concerning Beethoven) which I am able to give,
refers for the greater part to business relations out of which,
because of my personal and official position, grew the friendly
intercourse with Beethoven which was cultivated for several years.

Then, after a rather protracted history of the annuity and the effect
produced upon it by the ~Finanz-Patent~ of 1811, “whereby Beethoven’s
means of subsistence were materially reduced and his longer residence
in Vienna rendered impossible,” he continues:

In this fateful crisis, I, as the judicially appointed curator of
the estate of Prince Kinsky and later of that of Prince Lobkowitz,
was enabled to bring about a more temperate presentation of the
case already presented to the authorities charged with testamentary
and guardianship affairs, touching the contractual annuities to
be paid to Beethoven--a presentation which reconciled a severely
literal interpretation of the law with the righteous demands of
equity, and by paving the way for mutual concessions to secure a
satisfactory judicial decision which Beethoven, actuated throughout
his life by the noblest of feelings, bore in faithful remembrance
and described to his few trusted friends as the firm cement of the
friendly relations which we bore towards each other, and the reason
of his continued residence in Vienna.

Dr. Kanka closed with the promise to grant for use in this work,
such letters of Beethoven--“precious relics”--as remained in his
possession--a promise fulfilled a few days afterwards. Thus, in half a
dozen lines--indeed, by the single statement that he was the curator
of the Kinsky estate and as such effected a compromise between the
parties--the venerable doctor exposes the mistakes and destroys the
hypotheses of all who treated the topic at length from Schindler
onward. Beethoven’s lawyer in Vienna was Dr. Adlersburg, and his “legal
friend” in Prague, Dr. Wolf, who must have already become heartily
weary of his client, for Beethoven himself writes in a letter to the
court at Prague:

My continual urging of him to take an interest in the matter, also,
I must confess, the reproaches made against him that he had not
pursued the matter zealously enough because the steps which he took
against the guardians remained without fruit, may have misled him
into beginning the litigation.

That, as is here insinuated, Wolf instituted the suit against the
Kinsky heirs without explicit instructions from his client, is
doubtful; but at all events that proceeding brought matters to a
crisis, and led to an interview in the course of the summer between
Beethoven and the ~Verlassenschafts-Curator~, with the object, on
the part of the latter, of effecting a settlement of the affair by
compromise. Kanka, a fine musician and composer, an old friend, or
rather acquaintance of Beethoven’s, and of the same age, was a man
also whose legal talents and knowledge must have no less deeply than
favorably impressed him. The letters written during the next six months
to his new friend, show us how Beethoven first relinquished the notion
of a legal claim to the 1800 florins in notes of redemption, then
abandoned the claim in equity, and at length came into a rational view
of the matter, saw the necessity of compromising, and sought no more
than to effect this on the best terms possible.[138]

There is a letter to Thomson dated September 15, and another in
October, the day not specified. Both are in Italian and only signed
by Beethoven. In the first, the demand of “4 zecchini” per melody is
renewed and “mille ringraziamente” sent to the author of a sonnet
printed in the “Edinburgh Magazine” which Thomson had enclosed to the
composer. The occasion of the poem was the performance of selections of
Beethoven’s music at a rural festival of artists in England. The hour
was advanced to near midnight, when Grahame, the Scotch poet, who was
present, inspired by the music and by the beauty of the bright moonlit
night, improvised the lines:

Hark! from Germania’s shore how wildly floats
That strain divine upon the dying gale;
O’er Ocean’s bosom swell the liquid notes
And soar in triumph to yon crescent pale.
It changes now! and tells of woe and death;
Of deep romantic horror murmurs low;
Now rises with majestic, solemn flow,
While shadowy silence soothes the wind’s rude breath.
What magic hand awakes the noon of night
With such unearthly melody, that bears
The raptured soul beyond the tuneful spheres
To stray amid high visions of delight?
Enchanter Beethoven! I feel thy power
Thrill every trembling nerve in this lone witching hour.

Beethoven’s thanks came too late; Grahame was dead. The letter of
October again presses the demand of “4 zecchini,” but is for the
most part devoted to urging Thomson to purchase for publication the
“Wellington’s Victory”--about as preposterous as if Professor Max
Müller had solicited the editor of a popular magazine, to which he had
contributed articles, to undertake a Sanskrit dictionary. Our narrative
brings us to a letter

To Count Moritz von Lichnowsky.

Baden, Sept. 21, 1841 [~sic~].

Worthy honored Count
and friend.

I did not receive your letter, unfortunately until
yesterday--cordial thanks for your thought of me and all manner
of lovely messages to the worthy Princess Christine--yesterday,
I made a lonely promenade with a friend in the Brühl and you up
came particularly in our friendly conversation and behold on
arriving here yesterday I find your good letter--I see that you
still persist in overwhelming me with kindnesses, as I do not want
you to think that a ~step~ which I have taken was prompted by a
~new interest~ or anything of that kind, I tell you that a new
~sonata~ of mine will soon appear ~which I have dedicated to you~.
I wanted to surprise you, for the dedication was set apart for you
a long time ago, but your letter of yesterday leads me to make the
disclosure, no new cause was needed for the public expression of
my feelings for your friendship and kindness--but you would give
me pain with anything resembling a gift, since you would totally
misapprehend my purpose, and everything of the kind I could only
refuse.

I kiss the hands of the Princess for her thought of me and her
kindness, I ~have never forgotten how much I owe you all~, even if
an unfortunate circumstance brought about conditions under which
I could not show it as I should have liked to do--what you tell
me about Lord Castleregt, the matter is already well introduced,
if I were to have an opinion on the subject, it would be that I
think that Lord Castleregt ought not to write about the work on
Wellington until the Lord has heard it here--I am soon coming to
the city where we will talk over everything concerning a grand
concert--nothing can be done with the court, I have made an
offer--but

[Illustration: Adagio

but, but, but, but, but, but
and yet Silentium!
]

Farewell, my honored friend and think of me always as worthy of
your kindness--

Your

Beethoven.

I kiss the hands of the honored Princess C. a thousand times.

Beethoven’s “Lord Castleregt” was Viscount Castlereagh, now in Vienna
as British plenipotentiary in the coming congress; and his object was
to obtain through him some recognition from the Prince Regent for the
dedication of the “Wellington’s Victory.” Nothing came of it.

[Sidenote: PRINCE LICHNOWSKY’S ROMANCE]

The Sonata was the Op. 90, dated “August 16, 1814”--the subject of one
of Schindler’s authentic and pleasantest anecdotes. Lichnowsky, after
the decease of his first wife, fell in love with Fräulein Stummer,
a singer just now transferred from the Theater-an-der-Wien to the
Hoftheater, whose talents and unblemished character rendered her worthy
of the Count’s affection. Difference in social position long prevented
their marriage, nor was it solemnized until some time after the death
of Prince Karl.

When Count Lichnowsky received a copy of the Sonata dedicated
to him (writes Schindler), it seemed to him that his friend
Beethoven had intended to give expression to a definite idea in
the two movements of which it is composed. He made no delay in
asking Beethoven about it. As the latter was never secretive about
anything, least of all when a witticism or joke was in question,
he could not hold back his explanation long. Amidst peals of
laughter he told the Count that he had tried to set his courtship
of his wife to music, observing also, that if the Count wanted a
superscription he might write over the first movement “Struggle
between head and heart” and over the second “Conversation with the
loved one.” Obvious reasons made Beethoven refrain from publishing
the Sonata with these superscriptions.... This circumstance shows
again that Beethoven frequently put a poetic idea at the bottom of
his works, if he did not always do so.

The only new work suitable for a grand concert which Beethoven now had,
was the chorus; “Ihr weisen Gründer.” Over the title of the manuscript
is written in pencil by him: “About this time the Overture in C.” This
work he had now in hand; also a vocal composition of considerable
length. The author of the text, whoever he was, must have profoundly
studied and heartily adopted the principles of composition as set
forth by Martinus Scriblerus in his “Treatise on Bathos, or the Art
of Sinking in Poetry”: for anything more stilted in style, yet more
absurdly prosaic, with nowhere a spark of poetic fire to illuminate its
dreary pages, is hardly conceivable. It begins something like this:

Nach Frankreichs unheilvollem Sturz, die Gottverlassene
Erhob sich auf den blutigen Trümmern, ein düster Schreckensbild,
Gigantisch hoch empor, die Geieraugen weithin nach Raube drehend,
Mit starker Hand schwingend die eherne Sklavengeissel!
«Wer ist mir gleich?» erscholl mit Macht des Frevlers Stimme,
«Mein fester Sitz ist Frankreich; Italien meiner Stirne Schmuck;
Meiner Füsse Schemel Hispania; nun, Deutschland, du bist mein;
Vertilgen will ich Albion vom Grund: zum Knecht soll mir Moskwa
dienen.»

Und furchtbar zog der Riese aus,
Brach ein ins deutsche Kaiserhaus,
Griff frevelnd nach Hispaniens Land,
Verheerte schwer der Moskwa Strand,
Und an der Po und an der Spree
Erschall der Völker lautes Weh.
(And so forth, ~ad nauseam~.)

[Sidenote: ALOIS WEISSENBACH’S ENTHUSIASM]

Neither the Overture nor the Cantata was finished, when the arrival
at Vienna of the King of Wurtemberg on the 22d of September, of the
King of Denmark on the 23d and the announcement of the coming of the
Russian Emperor with the King of Prussia on Sunday the 25th, brought
Beethoven back to the city. Owing to the failure of Lobkowitz, the
Court theatres had passed under the management of Palffy. If there be
any truth whatever in his alleged hostility to Beethoven, it is not a
little remarkable that the first grand opera performed in the presence
of the monarchs--Monday the 26th--was “Fidelio.” One of the audience on
that evening, in a published account of his “Journey to the Congress,”
records: “To-day I went to the Court Theatre and was carried to
heaven--the opera ‘Fidelio’ by L. v. Beethoven was given.” Then follow
some fifteen pages of enthusiastic eulogy. That auditor was Alois
Weissenbach, R. I. Councillor, Professor of Surgery and Head Surgeon of
the St. John’s Hospital in Salzburg, where after sixteen years’ service
in the Austrian armies he had settled, devoting his leisure to poetry
and the drama. His tragedy “Der Brautkranz” in iambics, five acts, was
produced January 14, 1809, at the Kärnthnerthor-Theater. Whether his
“Barmeciden” and “Glaube und Liebe” were also brought out in Vienna
we have no means of deciding. At all events, he was a man of high
reputation. Of him Franz Graeffer writes:

That Weissenbach was a passionate admirer of Beethoven’s is a
matter of course; their natures were akin, even physically,
for the Tyrolean was just as hard of hearing. Both were manly,
straightforward, liberal, upright figures. Weissenbach comes to
Vienna in 1814, and “Fidelio” is performed. An indescribable
longing seizes him to make the personal acquaintance of the
author of the immortal work. When he reaches his lodgings a card
of invitation from Beethoven lies on his table. Beethoven had
been there himself. What a mysterious, magnetic play of congenial
spirits! The next day he received kiss and handgrasp. Afterward
it was possible often to sit at table with them in the rooms on
the ground floor of the Roman Emperor. But it was pitiful to hear
them shout at each other. It was therefore not possible thoroughly
to enjoy them. Strangely enough in a little room, as also in the
inn Zur Rose in the Wollzeile, Weissenbach heard much better, and
conversed more freely and animatedly. Otherwise the most prolific,
amiable, lively of social companions. A blooming man, aging, always
neatly and elegantly clad. How learned he was as a physician will
not be forgotten.

Weissenbach himself writes:

Completely filled with the gloriousness of the creative genius of
this music, I went from the theatre home with the firm resolve
not to leave Vienna without having made the personal acquaintance
of so admirable a man; and strangely enough! when I reached my
lodgings I found Beethoven’s visiting card upon my table with a
cordial invitation to breakfast with him in the morning. And I
drank coffee with him and received his handgrasp and kiss. Yes,
mine is the proud privilege of proclaiming publicly, Beethoven
honored me with the confidence of his heart. I do not know if
these pages will ever fall into his hands: if he learns that
they mention his name either in praise or blame he will indeed (I
know him and know his strong self-reliance) not read them at all;
herein, too, he maintains his independence, he whose cradle and
throne the Lord established away from this earth.... Beethoven’s
body has a strength and rudeness which is seldom the blessing of
chosen spirits. He is pictured in his countenance. If Gall, the
phrenologist, has correctly located the mind, the musical genius of
Beethoven is manifest in the formation of his head. The sturdiness
of his body, however, is in his flesh and bones only; his nervous
system is irritable in the highest degree and even unhealthy.
How it has often pained me to observe that in this organism the
harmony of the mind was so easily put out of tune. He once went
through a terrible typhus and from that time dates the decay of his
nervous system and probably also his melancholy loss of hearing.
Often and long have I spoken with him on this subject; it is a
greater misfortune for him than for the world. It is significant
that before that illness his hearing was unsurpassably keen and
delicate, and that even now he is painfully sensible to discordant
sounds; perhaps because he is himself euphony.... His character is
in complete agreement with the glory of his talent. Never in my
life have I met a more childlike nature paired with so powerful
and defiant a will; if heaven had bestowed nothing upon him but
his heart, this alone would have made him one of those in whose
presence many would be obliged to stand up and do obeisance. Most
intimately does that heart cling to everything good and beautiful
by a natural impulse which surpasses all education by far.... There
is nothing in the world, no earthly greatness, nor wealth, nor
rank, nor state can bribe it; here I could speak of instances in
which I was a witness.

Remarks follow upon Beethoven’s ignorance of the value of money, of the
absolute purity of his morals (which, unfortunately, is not true) and
of the irregularity of his life. “This irregularity reaches its climax
in his periods of productiveness. Then he is frequently absent days at
a time without any one knowing whither he is gone.” [?]

We know no reason to suppose that Beethoven received Weissenbach’s
poem before the interview with him; but, on the contrary, think the
citations above preclude such a hypothesis. Moreover, the composer’s
anxiety to have an interview at the earliest possible moment arose
far more probably from a hint or the hope, that he might obtain a
text better than the one in hand, than from any desire to discuss one
already received. What is certain is this: Beethoven did obtain from
Weissenbach the poem “Der glorreiche Augenblick,” and cast the other
aside unfinished--as it remains to this day.

First, Beethoven had to complete his overture, the supposed scope and
design of which may occupy us a moment.

[Sidenote: EUROPE AFTER THE VIENNA CONGRESS]

Scott said, that when he wrote “Waverly, or ’Tis Sixty Years Since,”
it had already become impossible for the people of England and
Scotland, in their greatly changed and improved condition, to form any
correct conception of the state of public feeling in those kingdoms in
1745, when the Pretender made that last effort against the House of
Brunswick which is the subject of “Waverly,” and the defeat of which is
commemorated by Handel in “Judas Maccabæus.” It is equally difficult
for us to conceive adequately the sensations caused by the downfall of
Napoleon at the time of which we are writing.

When monarchs play chess with armies, “check to the king” means the
shock of contending foes and all the horrors of war; but in perusing
the history of Bonaparte’s campaigns, we become so interested in the
“game” as to forget the attendant ruin, devastation and destruction,
the blood, carnage and death, that made all central Europe for
twenty long years one vast charnel-house. But only in proportion as
the imagination is able to form a vivid picture of the horrors of
those years, can it conceive that inexpressible sense of relief,
the universal joy and jubilee, which outside of France pervaded all
classes of society, from prince to peasant, at the fall of the usurper,
conqueror and tyrant. And this not more because of that event, than
because of the all-prevailing trust, that men’s rights, political and
religious--now doubly theirs by nature and by purchase at such infinite
cost--would be gladly and gratefully accorded to them. For sovereign
and subject had shared danger and suffering and every evil fortune
together, and been brought into new and kindlier relations by common
calamities; thus the sentiment of loyalty--the affectionate veneration
of subject for sovereign--had been developed to a degree wholly
unprecedented. Nothing presaged or foreboded the near advent and thirty
years’ sway of Metternichism. No one dreamed, that within six years the
“rulers” at this moment “of happy states” would solemnly declare, “all
popular and constitutional rights to be holden no otherwise than as
grants and indulgences from crowned heads”;[139] that they would snuff
treason in every effort of the people to hold princes to their pledged
words; and that their vigilance would effectually prevent the access
of any ~Leonore~ to the Pellicos, Liebers and Reuters languishing for
such treasons in their state prisons. At that time all this was hidden
in the future; the very intoxication of joy and extravagant loyalty
then ruled the hour. It was, as we believe, to give these sentiments
musical expression, that Beethoven now took up and wrought out certain
themes and motives, noted by him five years before in connection with
the memorandum: “Freude schöner Götterfunken Tochter--Ouverture
ausarbeiten.”[140] The poetic idea of the work was not essentially
changed--the joy of liberated Europe simply taking the place of the
joy of Schiller’s poem. But the composer’s particular purpose was to
produce it as the graceful homage of a loyal subject on the Emperor’s
name-day. How else can the autograph inscription upon the original
manuscript be understood: “Overture by L. v. Beethoven, on the first of
Wine-month, 1814--Evening to the name-day of our Emperor”? In the arts,
as in literature, there is no necessary connection between that which
gives rise to the ideas of a work, and the occasion of its composition;
the occasion of this overture was clearly the name-day festival of
Emperor Franz; why then may it not in the future, as in the past, be
known as the “Namensfeier” Overture?

Assuming the “first of the Wine-month” (October 1) to date the
completion of the work, there remained three days for copying and
rehearsal. The theatre had been closed on the 29th and 30th of
September, to prepare for a grand festival production of Spontini’s
“La Vestale” on Saturday evening, October 1st; but for the evening of
the name-day, Tuesday the 4th, “Fidelio” (its 15th performance) was
selected. It was obviously the intention of Beethoven to do homage
to Emperor Franz, by producing his new overture as a prelude on this
occasion. What, then, prevented? Seyfried answers this question. He
writes: “For this year’s celebration of the name-day of His Majesty,
the Emperor, Kotzebue’s allegorical festival play ‘Die hundertjährigen
Eichen’ had been ordered. Now, as generally happens, this decision
was reached so late that I, as the composer, was allowed only three
days, and two more for studying and rehearsing all the choruses,
dances, marches, groupings, etc.” This festival play was on the
3d and rendered the necessary rehearsals of Beethoven’s overture
impossible.[141]

“Fidelio” was sung the sixteenth time on the 9th. Tomaschek, one of
the auditors on that evening, gave to the public in 1846 notes of
the impression made upon him, in a criticism which, by its harshness,
forms a curious contrast to Weissenbach’s eulogy. Having exhausted that
topic, however, Tomaschek describes his meetings in an account which
has a peculiar interest not only because, though general descriptions
of Beethoven’s style of conversation are numerous, attempts to
report him in detail are very rare. The description is also valuable
because of its vivid display of Beethoven’s manner of judging his
contemporaries, which was so offensive to them and begat their lasting
enmity. A dramatic poem, “Moses,” words by Klingemann, music (overture,
choruses and marches) by von Seyfried, was to be given on the evening
of Tomaschek’s first call. Tomaschek says he has no desire “to hear
music of this kind” and the dialogue proceeds as follows:

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN’S OPINION OF MEYERBEER]

B.--My God! There must also be such composers, otherwise what would
the vulgar crowd do?

T.--I am told that there is a young foreign artist here who is said
to be an extraordinary pianoforte player.[142]

B.--Yes, I, too, have heard of him, but have not heard him. My
God! let him stay here only a quarter of a year and we shall hear
what the Viennese think of his playing. I know how everything new
pleases here.

T.--You have probably never met him?

B.--I got acquainted with him at the performance of my Battle, on
which occasion a number of local composers played some instrument.
The big drum fell to the lot of that young man. Ha! ha! ha!--I was
not at all satisfied with him; he struck the drum badly and was
always behind-hand, so that I had to give him a good dressing-down.
Ha! Ha! Ha!--That may have angered him. There is nothing in him; he
hasn’t the courage to hit a blow at the right time.

Before Tomaschek visited Beethoven again, Meyerbeer’s opera “Die beiden
Caliphen” had been produced at the Kärnthnerthor Theatre. Tomaschek
comes to take his farewell. Beethoven is in the midst of preparations
for his concert and insists upon giving him a ticket. Then the
conversation goes on:

T.--Were you at ----’s opera?

B.--No; it is said to have turned out very badly. I thought
of you; you hit it when you said you expected little from his
compositions. I talked with the opera singers, and that night after
the production of the opera at the wine-house where they generally
gather, I said to them frankly: You have distinguished yourselves
again!--what piece of folly have you been guilty of again? You
ought to be ashamed of yourselves not to know better, nor to be
able to judge better, to have made such a noise about this opera!
I should like to talk to you about it, but you do not understand me.

T.--I was at the opera; it began with hallelujah and ended with
requiem.

B.--Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! It’s the same with his playing. I am often
asked if I have heard him--I say no; but from the opinions of my
acquaintances who are capable of judging such things I could tell
that he has agility indeed, but otherwise is a very superficial
person.

T.--I heard that before he went away he played at Herrn ----’s and
pleased much less.

B.--Ha, ha, ha, ha! What did I tell you?--I understand that. Let
him settle down here for half a year and then let us hear what will
be said of his playing. All this signifies nothing. It has always
been known that the greatest pianoforte players were also the
greatest composers; but how did they play? Not like the pianists
of to-day, who prance up and down the keyboard with passages which
they have practised--~putsch, putsch, putsch~;--what does that
mean? Nothing! When true pianoforte virtuosi played it was always
something homogeneous, an entity; if written down it would appear
as a well thought-out work. That is pianoforte playing; the other
thing is nothing!

T.--I am also carrying away from here a very small opinion of
----’s knowledge.

B.--As I have said, he knows nothing outside of singing.

T.--I hear that ---- is creating a great sensation here.

B.--My God! he plays nicely, nicely--but aside from that he is a
-- --. He will never amount to anything. These people have their
little coteries where they go often; there they are praised and
praised and that’s the end of art! I tell you he will never amount
to anything. I used to be too loud in my judgments and thereby made
many enemies--now I criticize nobody and, indeed, for the reason
that I do not want to injure anybody, and at the last I say to
myself: if there is any good in it it will survive in spite of all
attacks and envy; if it is not solid, not firm, it will fall to
pieces, no matter how it is bolstered up.

Of some minor compositions belonging to this autumn, this is the story:
The Prussian King’s Secretary, Friedrich Duncker, brought to Vienna,
in the hope of producing it there, a tragedy, “Leonore Prohaska,”
“which tells the story of a maiden who, disguised as a soldier, fought
through the war of liberation.” For this Beethoven composed a soldiers’
chorus for men’s voices unaccompanied: “Wir hauen und sterben”; a
romance with harp, 6/8, “Es blüht eine Blume”; and a melodrama with
harmonica. It is also stated, that he instrumentated for orchestra
the march in the Sonata, Opus 26, Duncker preferring this to a new
~marcia funebre~.[143] Dr. Sonnleithner had also a note from some
quarter--discredited by him--that even an overture and entr’actes were
written. Nothing of the kind is known to exist, and doubtless never
did. “It is said the censor would not allow the piece”--it certainly
never came to performance; and until its production was made sure,
Beethoven would of course--even if he had the time--not have engaged in
a work of such extent.

[Sidenote: CANTATA: “DER GLORREICHE AUGENBLICK”]

Beethoven had announced a grand concert for November 20, in the large
Ridotto Room, but advertisements in the “Wiener Zeitung” of the 18th
postponed it till November 22d, then till the 27th, and finally till
the 29th. On November 30th, the newspaper reports:

At noon of yesterday, Hr. Ludwig v. Beethoven gave all
music-lovers an ecstatic pleasure. In the R. I. Ridotto Room he
gave performances of his beautiful musical representation of
Wellington’s Battle at Vittoria, preceded by the symphony which
had been composed as a companion-piece. Between the two works an
entirely new, etc., etc., cantata, ~Der glorreiche Augenblick~.

One would like to know what Beethoven said when he read this; for the
symphony supposed by the writer to be composed as a companion-piece
(~Begleitung~) to the “Wellington’s Victory” was the magnificent
Seventh![144]

The solo singers in the Cantata were Mme. Milder, Dem. Bondra, Hr. Wild
and Hr. Forti, all of whom sang well, and the Milder wonderfully. “The
two Empresses, the King of Prussia” and other royalties were present
and “the great hall was crowded. Seated in the orchestra were to be
seen the foremost virtuosi, who were in the habit of showing their
respect for him and art by taking part in Beethoven’s Academies.” All
the contemporary notices agree as to the enthusiastic reception of
the Symphony and the Battle, and that the Cantata, notwithstanding
the poverty of the text, was, on the whole, worthy of the composer’s
reputation and contained some very fine numbers. The concert, with
precisely the same programme, was repeated in the same hall on Friday,
December 2d, for Beethoven’s benefit--nearly half the seats being
empty! And again in the evening of the 25th for the benefit of the
St. Mark’s Hospital, when, of course, a large audience was present.
Thus the Cantata was given three times in four weeks, and probably
Spohr, who was still in Vienna, played in the orchestra; yet he gravely
asserts in his autobiography that “the work was not performed at that
time.”

The proposed third concert for Beethoven’s benefit was abandoned
and there is no clue to the “new things in hand” for it, which
Beethoven mentioned in a letter to Archduke Rudolph, unless possibly
the “Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt” may have been begun for the
occasion. The most remarkable and gratifying thing in the letter,
however, is to find Beethoven once more speaking of “pleasures and
joy”--whence arising, we learn from Schindler. True, he does not,
nor cannot yet, speak from personal observation; but his well-known
relations to the composer began while the memories of these days were
still fresh; and what he records is derived from Beethoven himself for
the most part, though, as usual, he has inserted a statement or two,
honestly made, but not the less incorrect on that account. But first, a
paragraph from an article by Schindler in Raumer’s “Hist. Taschenbuch,”
published in 1863:

The rôle which Rasoumowsky played in Vienna at this time was one
of unparalleled brilliancy. From the first weeks of the Congress
his house was full. Thus Gentz notes under date Sept. 18: “Visited
Rasoumowsky; there innumerable visitors, among others Lord and Lady
Castlereagh, Count Münster, Count Westphalen, Mr. Coke, the Marquis
de Saint-Marsan, Count Castellafu, all the Prussians, etc.” But as
balls soon became the order of the day and Count Stackelberg had
given his on October 20, 1814, when the Czar and Czarina of Russia,
the King of Prussia and other grandees of all kinds appeared, he
also planned one for December 6, and Gentz, who permitted himself
the magical vision for only a moment and had to work that night
till two o’clock on his dispatches, assures us that this feast was
the most beautiful of all that he had attended since the arrival
of the French monarch. It was only overshadowed by that which
Czar Alexander gave in the same palace, which he borrowed for the
occasion from his princely subject.

[Sidenote: HONORS RECEIVED AT THE VIENNA CONGRESS]

Turn we to Schindler:

The end of the second period (in Beethoven’s life) showed us the
composer on a plane of celebrity which may fairly be described
as one of the loftiest ever reached by a musician in the course
of his artistic strivings. Let us not forget that it was the
fruit of twenty years of tireless endeavor. The great moment in
the history of the world with which this celebration of his fame
was synchronous could not fail to give the incident a brilliancy
unparalleled in the history of music. The apparent extravagance of
the statement is pardonable when we add that nearly all the rulers
of Europe who met at the Vienna Congress placed their seals on our
master’s certificate of fame.

As Rasoumowsky was not elevated to the rank of Prince until June 3rd,
1815, Schindler, in his next sentences, is all wrong in making that
incident “the cause of festivities of a most extraordinary character to
which Beethoven was always invited.”

There (Schindler continues) he was the object of general attention
on the part of all the foreigners; for it is the quality of
creative genius combined with a certain heroism, to attract the
attention of all noble natures. Shall we not call it heroism, when
we see the composer fighting against prejudices of all kinds,
traditional notions in respect of his art, envy, jealousy and
malice on the part of the mass of musicians, and besides this
against the sense most necessary to him in the practice of his
art, and yet winning the exalted position which he occupies? No
wonder that all strove to do him homage. He was presented by Prince
[Count] Rasoumowsky to the assembled monarchs, who made known their
respect for him in the most flattering terms. The Empress of Russia
tried in particular to be complimentary to him. The introduction
took place in the rooms of Archduke Rudolph, in which he was also
greeted by other exalted personages. It would seem as if the
Archduke was desirous always to take part in the celebration of his
great teacher’s triumph by inviting the distinguished foreigners to
meet Beethoven. It was not without emotion that the great master
recalled those days in the Imperial castle and the palace of the
Russian Prince; and once he told with a certain pride how he had
suffered the crowned heads to pay court to him and had always borne
himself with an air of distinction.

There is reason to believe that these receptions in the apartments of
the Archduke did not begin until those at Rasoumowsky’s had come to
their disastrous end. Huge as the palace was, it lacked space for the
crowds invited thither to the Czar’s festivities. A large temporary
structure of wood was therefore added on the side next the garden, in
which, on the evening of December 30th, a table for 700 guests was
spread. Between five and six o’clock of the morning of the 31st, this
was discovered to be on fire--probably owing to a defective flue--the
conflagration extending to the main building and lasting until noon.

Within the space of a few hours several rooms in this gorgeous
establishment, on which for 20 years its creator had expended
everything that splendor, artistic knowledge and liberality could
offer, were prey of the raging flames. Among them were the precious
library and the inestimable Canova room completely filled with
sculptures by this master, which were demolished by the falling of
the ceiling.

The loss was incalculable. To rebuild the palace out of his own
means was not to be thought of; but Alexander lost no time in
offering his assistance and in sending Prince Wolkonski to him to
learn how much money would be required to defray the principal
cost. The Count estimated it at 400,000 silver rubels, which sum
he requested as a loan, and received on January 24, 1815. But the
sum was far from enough, and in order to obtain further loans,
ownership of the splendid building had to be sacrificed.

And thus Rasoumowsky also passes out of our history.--Among the
visitors to Vienna at the time of the Congress was Varnhagen von Ense,
who had gone into the diplomatic service; he came in the company of the
Prussian Chancellor von Hardenburg. His attitude toward Beethoven had
cooled--probably because of Oliva’s complaints touching Beethoven’s
behavior towards him. His brief report of his meeting with the composer
derives some interest from its allusion to Prince Radziwill, to whom
Beethoven dedicated the Overture, Op. 115 (which was not published
until 1825). The report (printed in Varnhagen’s “Denkwürdigkeiten,”
Vol. III, pp. 314-15) is as follows:

Musical treats were offered on all hands, concerts, the church,
opera, salon, virtuosi and amateurs all gave of their best. Prince
Anton Radziwill, who was already far advanced in his composition
of Goethe’s “Faust” and here gave free rein to his musical
inclinations, was the cause of my again looking up my sturdy
Beethoven, who, however, since I saw him last had grown more deaf
and unsociable, and was not to be persuaded to gratify our wishes.
He was particularly averse to our notables and gave expression to
his repugnance with angry violence. When reminded that the Prince
was the brother-in-law of Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, whose
early death he had so deeply deplored and whose compositions he
esteemed highly, he yielded a trifle and agreed to the visit. But
it is not likely that a more intimate acquaintance followed. I also
refrained from taking the uncouth artist to Rahel, for society
rendered him obstreperous and nothing could be done with him alone,
nothing could be done unless he was disposed to play. Besides,
though famous and honored, he was not yet on that pinnacle of
recognition which he has since attained.

[Sidenote: COMPOSITIONS AND PUBLICATIONS OF 1814]

The compositions of the year 1814 were these:

I. Vocal Trio: “Tremate, empj, tremate.” Practically composed in
1801-02, but not known to have been completed and written out for
performance and publication until “something for Milder” was needed
in the concert of February 27th.

II. “Germania’s Wiedergeburt”; chorus in Treitschke’s “Gute
Nachricht.”

III. “Fidelio”; revised and altered.

IV. “Un lieto Brindisi”; ~cantata campestre~, four voices.

V. Elegiac Song: “Sanft wie du lebtest,” four voices and strings.

VI. Chorus: “Ihr weisen Gründer.”

VII. Sonata for Pianoforte, E minor, Op. 90.

VIII. Overture in C, Op. 115.

IX. Cantata: “Der glorreiche Augenblick.”

X. Three vocal pieces and march (orchestration of the march in the
Sonata, Op. 26), for Duncker’s tragedy “Leonore Prohaska.”

XI. Canon: “Kurz ist der Schmerz”; second form as written in
Spohr’s Album “on March 3d, 1815.”

XII. Song: “Des Kriegers Abschied.”

XIII. Song: “Merkenstein,” Op. 100; “On December 22d, 1814.”

XIV. “Abschiedsgesang”; for two tenors and bass (“Die Stunde
schlägt”). Note on the publication in the “Completed Works, etc.”:
“Beethoven wrote this terzetto at the request of Magistrate
Mathias Tuscher for the farewell party of Dr. Leop. Weiss before
his removal to the city of Steyer.” Beethoven inscribed it: “From
Beethoven, so that he may no longer be touched up.” (~Um nicht
weiter tuschiert zu werden.~ The pun on the Magistrate’s name is
lost in the translation. ~Tuschiren~ means to touch up with India
ink.)

The publications of the year:

I. Irish Airs, Vol. I, complete, published by Thomson.

II. Chorus: “Germania’s Wiedergeburt”; published in June.

III. Song: “An die Geliebte,” by J. L. Stoll; published as a
supplement to the “Friedensblätter,” July 12.

IV. Six Allemandes for Pianoforte and Violin, advertised by Ludwig
Maisch on July 30. (The author lacks means and opportunity to
determine the authenticity of these dances. It is, however, hardly
probable that a Viennese publisher would venture ~at that time~ to
use Beethoven’s name thus without authority.)

V. “Fidelio”; Pianoforte arrangement by I. Moscheles. Published by
Artaria and Co., in August.

FOOTNOTES:

[116] Concerning the revision of “Fidelio” there is much information
in the so-called Dessauer sketchbook (now in the archives of the
Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna), which unquestionably belongs
in the year 1814. This sketchbook contains first of all the two new
finales for the opera. On page 72 is the remark: “For Milder, B-flat
above,” which no doubt refers to the measure before the last in
~Leonore’s~ aria. Then follow, p. 82, ~Florestan’s~ air, p. 90 the
melodrama, p. 108 the recitative “Abscheulicher, wo eilst du hin,” p.
112 “Un lieto Brindisi,” p. 123 sketches for a symphony “2nd movement
~Corni~,” p. 133 “Sanft wie du lebtest” (the “Elegiac song”), p. 141
“Symphony, 2nd movement,” p. 142 “Sanft wie du lebtest,” again, p. 148
“Ihr weisen Gründer” (Homage Cantata), p. 160 “Europa steht” (“Der
glorreiche Augenblick”) with only two or three measures of music, pp.
161-164 again “Ihr weisen Gründer.” Besides these, Nottebohm recognized
sketches for the Farewell song for Tuscher (“Die Stunde schlägt”),
for the first movement of the Sonata, Op. 90, and to the overtures to
“Fidelio” and “Namensfeier.”

[117] Beethoven here, of course, alludes only to the arrears in
payments on his annuity of Lobkowitz and Kinsky.

[118] Johann Alois Michalcovics, “Königl. Stadthaltereiagent” in Ofen,
had been some years before in the same office with Zmeskall in Vienna,
and a member of that jovial musical circle of which young Beethoven
was the prominent figure. Like Zmeskall and Brunswick, he was a fine
violoncellist.

[119] The Archduke was so troubled with gout in his hands that he had
to abandon pianoforte playing.

[120] Schuppanzigh.

[121] At this time Moscheles was a regular listener at the quartet
performances at Schuppanzigh’s. Concerning one of them, he writes
(“Aus Moscheles’ Leben,” I, p. 18): “I sat beside Spohr, we exchanged
opinions about what we heard: Spohr spoke with great heat against
Beethoven and his imitators.”

[122] “In April, 1814, Beethoven received from Munich news of the
performance of the Battle Symphony in that city by Mälzel, and also a
report that the latter had said that he had to recompense himself with
this work for a debt of 400 ducats which Beethoven owed him.” Schindler
I, 3rd ed., p. 236.

[123] The documents in the controversy between Beethoven and Mälzel
alluded to, together with Mr. Thayer’s comments on them, are
appended in this foot-note to prevent a too long interruption of the
biographical narrative:

DEPOSITION

Of my own volition I had composed a Battle Symphony for Mälzel
for his Panharmonica without pay. After he had had it for a while
he brought me the score, the engraving of which he had already
begun--[Beethoven probably meant that Mälzel had begun the preparation
of the cylinder--H.E.K.] and wanted it arranged for full orchestra. I
had previously formed the idea of a Battle (Music) which, however, was
not applicable to his Panharmonica. We agreed to perform this work and
others of mine in a concert for the benefit of the soldiers. Meanwhile
I got into the most terrible financial embarrassment. Deserted by the
whole world here in Vienna, in expectation of a bill of exchange, etc.,
Mälzel offered me 50 ducats in gold. I took them and told him that I
would give them back to him here, or would let him take the work with
him to London in case I did not go with him--in which latter case I
would refer him to an English publisher who would pay him these 50
ducats. The Academies were now given. In the meantime Mälzel’s plan and
character were developed. Without my consent he printed on the placards
that it was his property. Incensed at this he had to have these torn
down. Now he printed: “Out of friendship for his journey to London”;
to this I consented, because I thought that I was still at liberty to
fix the conditions on which I would let him have the work. I remember
that I quarrelled violently with him while the notices were printing,
but the too short time--I was still writing on the work. In the heat
of my inspiration, immersed in my work, I scarcely thought of Mälzel.
Immediately after the first Academy in the University Hall, I was
told on all hands by trustworthy persons that Mälzel was spreading it
broadcast that he had loaned me 400 ducats in gold. I thereupon had the
following printed in the newspaper, but the newspaper writers did not
print it as Mälzel is befriended with all of them. Immediately after
the first Academy I gave back to Mälzel his 50 ducats, telling him
that having learned his character here, I would never travel with him,
righteously enraged because he had printed on the placards, without
my consent, that all the arrangements for the Academy were badly
made and his bad patriotic character showed itself in the following
expressions--I [~unprintable~]--if only they will say in London that
the public here paid 10 florins; not for the wounded but for this did
I do this--and also that I would not let him have the work for London
except on conditions concerning which I would let him know. He now
asserted that it was a gift of friendship and had this expression
printed in the newspaper without asking me about it in the least.
Inasmuch as Mälzel is a coarse fellow, entirely without education, or
culture, it may easily be imagined how he conducted himself toward
me during this period and increased my anger more and more. And who
would force a gift of friendship upon such a fellow? I was now offered
an opportunity to send the work to the Prince Regent. It was now
impossible to ~give him the work unconditionally~. He then came to you
and made proposals. He was told on what day to come for his answer; but
he did not come, went away and performed the work in Munich. How did
he get it? ~Theft~ was impossible--Herr Mälzel had a few of the parts
at home for a few days and from these he had the whole put together by
some musical handicraftsman, and with this he is now trading around
in the world. Herr Mälzel promised me hearing machines. To encourage
him I composed the Victory Symphony for his Panharmonica. His machines
were finally finished, but were useless for me. For this small trouble
Herr Mälzel thinks that after I had set the ~Victory Symphony~ for
grand orchestra and ~composed the Battle for it~, I ought to have him
the ~sole owner~ of this work. Now, assuming that I really felt under
some obligation for the hearing machines, it is cancelled by the fact
that he made at least 500 florins convention coin, out of the Battle
stolen from me or compiled in a mutilated manner. He has therefore paid
himself. He had the audacity to say here that he had the Battle; indeed
he showed it in writing to several persons--but I did not believe it,
and I was right, inasmuch as the whole was ~not compiled by me~ but by
~another~. Moreover, the honor which he credits to himself alone might
be a reward. ~I was not mentioned at all by the Court War Council~, and
yet everything in the two academies was of my composition. If, as he
said, Herr Mälzel delayed his journey to London because of the Battle,
it was merely a hoax. Herr Mälzel remained until he had finished his
patchwork (?), the first attempts not being successful.

Beethoven, m. p.

II.

EXPLANATION AND APPEAL TO THE MUSICIANS OF LONDON BY LUDWIG VAN
BEETHOVEN

Herr Mälzel, who is at present in London, on his way thither performed
~my Victory Symphony and Wellington’s Battle at Vittoria~ in Munich,
and, according to report, will also give concert performances of it
in London as he was also willing to do in Frankfort. This leads me
publicly to declare: that I never under any circumstances yielded or
gave these works to Herr Mälzel, that nobody possesses a copy of them,
and that the only one which I gave out was sent to his Royal Highness,
the Prince Regent of England.

The performance of these works on the part of Herrn Mälzel, therefore,
is a fraud on the public, inasmuch as according to this explanation
he is not in possession of them, or if he is in possession of them an
infringement on my rights, as he has obtained them in an illegal manner.

But even in the latter case the public will be deceived, for that which
Herr Mälzel will give them to hear under the title: ~Wellington’s
Battle at Vittoria and Victory Symphony~, must obviously be a spurious
or mutilated work, since he never received anything of these works from
me except a single part for a few days.

This suspicion becomes certainty when I add the assurance of musicians
of this city whose names I am empowered to mention in case of
necessity, that Herr Mälzel said to them on leaving Vienna that he was
in possession of the work and showed them parts of it, which, however,
as I have already proved, could be nothing else than mutilated and
spurious parts.

Whether Herr Mälzel is capable of doing me such an injury?--is answered
by the circumstance that he had himself announced as the ~sole
undertaker~ of my two concerts given here in Vienna for the benefit
of the soldiers wounded in the war, at which only works of mine were
performed, in the public prints, without an allusion to my name.

I therefore call upon the musical artists of London not to suffer such
an injury to me, their colleague, by a performance arranged by Herrn
Mälzel of the Battle of Vittoria and the Victory Symphony, and to
prevent such an imposition on the London public in the manner set forth.

Vienna, July 25, 1814.

III.

CERTIFICATE

We, the undersigned, certify in the interest of truth and can vouch
under oath if necessary: that there were several conferences between
Herrn Louis van Beethoven and the Court Mechanician, Herrn Mälzel of
this city, at the house of the undersigned. Dr. Carl v. Adlersburg,
the which had for their subject the musical composition called: “The
Battle of Vittoria” and the visit to England; at these, Herr Mälzel
made several propositions to Herrn van Beethoven to secure the work
aforementioned, or at least the right of first performance for himself.
But as Herr Mälzel did not appear at the last meeting arranged for,
nothing came of the matter, the propositions made to the former not
having been accepted by him.

Vienna, October 20, 1814.

Joh. Freiherr v. Pasqualati,
[L. S.]
~K. K. priv. Grosshändler~.

Carl Edler von Adlersburg,
~Hof-und Gerichts-Advocat~
[L. S.]
~K. K. Öffentlicher Notar~.

The so-called “Deposition” is, says Thayer, in truth, nothing more
than an ex-parte statement prepared for the use of his lawyer by a
very angry man, in whom a tendency to suspicion and jealousy had
strengthened with advancing years and with the increase of an incurable
infirmity. Mälzel’s contra-statement to his lawyer is lost. He had no
young disciple planning with zeal to preserve it and give it, with his
version of the story, to posterity.

[Sidenote: THE MERITS OF MÄLZEL’S CASE]

No one, who is ignorant of Schindler’s honestly meant, but partisan
representations, or who, knowing them, can disabuse his mind of
any prejudgment thence arising, can read Beethoven’s statement
without misgivings; all the more, if the facts proved by Moscheles
and Stein--tacitly admitted, though utterly suppressed, in the
document--are known to him. Nor will he be convinced by all the force
of the harsh language of denunciation, that Mälzel did not act honestly
and in good faith, when he called the “Victory” his property.

There is nothing in the first part of the statement that requires
comment; though in passing it may be observed, that the pathos of
“deserted by the whole world here in Vienna” would be increased if one
could forget the Archduke, the Brentanos, the Streichers, Breitkopf and
Härtel, Zmeskall, and others. It must be borne in mind (in Beethoven’s
favor) that the paper was written several months after the events of
which it speaks; that it was drawn up at a time when its writer was
excessively busy; that it bears all the marks of haste and want of
reflection; that it was obviously intended for his lawyer’s eye alone;
that there is evident confusion of memory as to times and events; and
that--be it repeated--it is the ~ex-parte~ statement of an angry man.
Take the “400 ducats in gold”; here Beethoven’s memory must have played
him false, certainly as to the time, probably as to the substance of
what he heard from the “trustworthy persons.” Mälzel could have had no
possible motive to utter so glaring a falsehood; but every motive not
to do so. A few weeks later, he might and very probably did assert,
that the damages to him arising from the sacrifice of the “Victory” as
a piece for his Panharmonicon, from the expense of his prolonged stay
in Vienna, from the loss of the holiday season in Munich, from the
time, study and labor spent in experiments on Beethoven’s ear-trumpets,
and from his exclusion from all share in these profitable concerts,
which he alone had made possible--that these damages were not less
than 400 ducats. Nor does such an estimate appear to be a gross
exaggeration. “I therefore had the following printed in the newspaper,”
continues Beethoven. If the passage which follows be what he desired
to have printed, the reasons why the editors refused are sufficiently
obvious; if they had cherished no regard for Mälzel and had believed
him in the wrong, they must have suppressed such a communication for
Beethoven’s own sake.

The character of Mälzel--drawn in a few dark lines by his opponent--has
no bearing on the real point at issue; it may, however, be observed
as remarkable, that Beethoven alone made the discovery, and this not
until--after some years of close intimacy and friendship--he had
quarrelled with him. There are not many, who having so sagaciously
planted and seen the harvest gathered in by another--who, smarting
under the disappointment, and irritated by the loss of so much time,
pains and labor--would sit down quietly, exhibit Job’s patience, and
refrain from all expressions of feeling not suited to a lady’s boudoir;
nor is it to be supposed that Mälzel acted this Christian part; but
then Beethoven was hardly the man to cast the first stone at the sinner.

The sudden resolution to send the “Wellington’s Victory” to the Prince
Regent of England, was obviously part and parcel of the proceedings
against Mälzel, the object being to defeat there any production of the
work by him. Beethoven himself was the only loser by it. The prince
never said “thank you” for it.

In the argument against the correctness of Mälzel’s copy of the work,
Beethoven is, to say the least, unfortunate. His opponent may have had,
from ~him~, only single parts (in the second paper it stands “a single
part”!); but the circumstances were such that Mälzel could have had no
difficulty in obtaining temporary use of most if not all the parts,
and there were plenty of “musical handicraftsmen” amply capable, after
so many rehearsals and public performances, of producing a copy in the
main correct.

It is painful to one who loves and reveres the memory of Beethoven,
to peruse the closing passages of this document; it is, fortunately,
not necessary to comment upon their character. It was not necessary
for Beethoven to speak of Mälzel’s share in the composition of the
work, in the first of these papers; the opposing lawyer would attend
to that; but was it just and ingenuous to suppress it entirely in the
appeal to the London musicians? Schindler asserts that this appeal
prevented Mälzel from producing it. It ~could~ have had no such effect.
The simple truth is, that in those days for a stranger like Mälzel to
undertake orchestral concerts in London would have been madness. The
new Philharmonic Society, composed of all the best resident musicians,
had hardly achieved an assured existence.

The third paper is testimony to a single fact and is so impartially
drawn, so skilfully worded, as not to afford a point for or against
either of the parties. Schindler closes his history of the affair
thus: “The legal proceedings in Vienna were without result, however,
the defendant being far away and his representatives knowing how to
protract the case unduly, whereby the plaintiff was subjected to
considerable expense and ever new annoyances. For this reason our
master refrained from prosecuting the case further, since meanwhile
the facts had become widely known and had frightened the false friend
from making new attempts. The court costs were divided evenly by the
litigants. Mälzel never returned to Vienna, but at a later period
appealed in a letter to the friend whom he had swindled when he thought
that he needed his recommendation for the metronome. This letter, dated
Paris, April 19, 1818, is here. In it he represents to Beethoven that
he was at work for him upon a hearing machine for use in conducting; he
even invites him to accompany him on a journey to England. The master
expressed his satisfaction with the metronome to the mechanician; but
he never heard more concerning the machines.”

Now Schindler’s own account of the first two occasions when he spoke
with Beethoven, copied into the text, partly with a view to this, shows
that he could have no personal knowledge of the Mälzel affair, except
its issue; and an examination of his pages proves further, that his
account of it is but a paraphrase of Beethoven’s statement. His own
words, written in a Conversation Book, demonstrate that the greater
portion of the above citation is nonsense; for those words inform us
that Mälzel returned to Vienna in the autumn of 1817; that, then and
there, peace was made between the parties, and the old friendship
restored; and that thereupon they passed a jovial evening together in
the “Kamehl,” where Schindler himself sang soprano in the “Ta, ta, ta,”
canon to the bass of Mälzel! What is the historic value of a narrative
so made up and ending with such an astounding lapse of memory?

Mälzel spent his last years mostly in Philadelphia and other American
cities. A few men of advanced years are still living there, unless
recently passed away--(Thayer is writing in the eighth decade of the
nineteenth century)--who retain an affectionate and respectful memory
of him as a gentleman and man of culture; they will rejoice in this, at
the least, partial vindication of their old friend. Candor and justice
compel the painful admission that Beethoven’s course with Mälzel
is a blot--one of the few--upon his character, which no amount of
misrepresentation of the facts can wholly efface; whoever can convince
himself that the composer’s conduct was legally and technically just
and right, must still feel that it was neither noble nor generous.

Mälzel died suddenly on July 21, 1838, on an American brig, while on a
voyage between the United States and the West Indies.

[124] ~Eselshaut~--“Ass’s Skin.”--A fairy play of that name with music
by Hummel was performed on March 10, 1814, in the Theater-an-der-Wien.

[125] Dr. Leopold Sonnleithner, in the “Recensionen” of Vienna
(1861. p. 592), corrects a mistake in an obituary notice of
Chapelmaster Gläser with the remark: “I can very well remember that
the opera (‘Fidelio’) was rehearsed and conducted by Josef Weigl.”
Dr. Sonnleithner’s authority is justly so decisive in all matters
pertaining to the musical annals of Vienna, and even the slightest
errors are so very rare in his writings, that if one occurs it must be
corrected upon unimpeachable authority, to prevent its passing into
history. Now, in the manuscript text-book above cited, is written
below the list of properties: “Herr Umlauf, conducts”; and near the
end of the manuscript overture to “Fidelio” stands in Beethoven’s
hand: “Indicate to Umlauf where the trombones enter.” Treitschke is
thus so fully confirmed as to leave no doubt that in this instance Dr.
Sonnleithner’s memory played him false.

[126] Beethoven’s play on words cannot be reproduced in translation.

[127] He had forgotten, evidently, that he no longer lived in the
fourth storey.

[128] It should be 1808.

[129] Probably on account of his deafness; for Moscheles adds: “I had
seen Artaria speaking close to his ear.”

[130] Can there be any doubt now that Beethoven took Bettina to one of
the rehearsals?

[131] In August Schmidt’s “Musikalisches Taschenbuch, Orpheus,” for
1841.

[132] Judging from the internal evidence this letter is of date, July
10. On Saturday, July 2, “Coriolan” was given, and Beethoven may well
have been present. The note was written on a Sunday. July 10 was a
Sunday.

[133] Seyfried had long been accustomed to write for four horns.
Speaking of his own compositions in 1806, he says: “Moreover I wrote
... for my excellent horn-players several ~divertimenti~ for four
~obbligati~ French horns.”

[134] Dr. Riemann opines that the confusion of opinion concerning
the air sprang from the erroneous statement of the reporter of the
“Allg. Mus. Zeitung” that the new air of the benefit performance
was accompanied by four horns; and that the error was pardonable,
inasmuch as the three horns actually used are supplemented by a fourth
~obbligato~ part for the bassoon. Nottebohm (“Zweite Beethoveniana,”
pp. 302-306), is of the opinion that Beethoven did not compose the
scena anew for the benefit performance of 1814. But what shall we say
to Beethoven’s announcement: “For this performance two new pieces have
been added”?

[135] Another untranslatable play on words: “Diese ~Einnahme~ ist wohl
mehr eine ~Ausnahme~,” etc.

[136] June 23rd, 1860, in Salzburg.

[137] Received July 4, 1859. The venerable man was then eighty-seven
years of age.

[138] The letters written by Beethoven to Dr. Kanka, Archduke Rudolph
and Baron Pasqualati, relative to this subject, are printed in full
in the German editions of this biography: Appendix VIII to Vol. III
in the first edition, Appendix III to Vol. III in the second. As they
contribute nothing to the facts in the controversy with Prince Kinsky’s
heirs, the English Editor felt himself justified in omitting them here
with this direction to the curious student where they may be found.

[139] See the Laybach Circular of May, 1821.

[140] See Nottebohm’s “Beethoveniana,” Chap. XIV.

[141] Since this was written, Herr Nottebohm has kindly communicated
a supplementary article on this overture containing portions of newly
discovered sketches with the remark by Beethoven: “Overture for any
occasion--or for concert use” and closing thus: “The last sketches
were written about March, 1815.” “This seems a contradiction of the
date given at the beginning of the autograph (October 1, 1814). This
contradiction can be explained. Beethoven evidently noted the date
when he began writing out the score, but interrupted the work (because
the overture was not performed on the name-day of the Emperor?) and
did not take it up again until several months had passed, when the
sketches and hints for passages which occur later may have originated.”
Certainly this is possible; but the different dates assigned to the
Petter sketchbook (1809 in this work, 1812 in the “Beethoveniana”)
necessarily lead to an irreconcilable divergence of opinion. A studious
reconsideration of the subject ends in the conviction that the historic
evidence, as it now stands, renders unnecessary any alterations in the
text.

[142] Meyerbeer.

[143] That Beethoven transcribed the march in the Sonata, Op. 26, for
orchestra is confirmed by the following letter of Chapelmaster Ad.
Müller (~père~) written to the author in answer to a note of inquiry:

“Highly respected Sir!

“To your valued letter I have to make reply as follows: I certainly
have in my autograph collection the ~autograph of the orchestral
score~ of the funeral march contained in the great Sonata for
Pianoforte, Op. 26: The score consists of six sheets and twelve
pages--~written throughout in Beethoven’s hand~. On the 1st, 8th
and 12th pages there are marginal notes for the copyist.

“The piece is orchestrated for 2 flutes, 2 clarinets in C, 2 horns
in D, 2 horns in E, to which are added four staves for instruments
which are not named, probably for trumpets and trombones. [To judge
by the setting rather for the string quartet.]

“I received this score of the celebrated master from the art and
music dealer Tobias Haslinger in the year 1829-30 with the remark,
here faithfully reported, that he gave me the manuscript with
pleasure as a souvenir, inasmuch as he would by no means ~print~ or
~publish~ the composition in ~this form~. This score therefore is
~unique~! The piece is in B minor....

“Your ever ready

“Adolph Müller.”

Together with the other music to “Leonore Prohaska” the march is
printed in the Complete Edition of Breitkopf and Härtel, Series 25, No.
272.

[144] The circumstances connected with the last postponement of this
concert and the onerous conditions which Count Palffy sought to
impose upon Beethoven are interestingly told by Dr. Frimmel in his
“Beethoven-Studien, Vol. II,” p. 41 ~et seq.~

Chapter XV

The Year 1815--New Opera Projects--Beethoven Before Crowned
Heads--End of the Kinsky Trouble--Death of Karl van Beethoven--The
Nephew--Dealings with England.

Beethoven might well have adopted Kotzebue’s title: “The most
Remarkable Year of my Life” and written his own history for 1814, in
glowing and triumphant language; but now the theme modulates into
a soberer key. “Then there is the matter of a new opera,” says a
letter to the Archduke early in December. The “Sammler” of the 17th
explains the allusion: “It is with great pleasure that we inform the
music-loving public that Herr van Beethoven has contracted to compose
an opera. The poem is by Herrn Treitschke and bears the title: ‘Romulus
and Remus.’” The notice was based upon this note to Treitschke:

I will compose Romulus and shall begin in a few days, I will come
to you in person, first ~once~ then ~several times~ so that we may
discuss the whole matter with each other.

Now here was a promising operatic project; but before six weeks had
passed came the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” bringing Johann Fuss’s musical
“Review of the month of December,” wherein among the items of Vienna
news was a notice that “Hr. Fuss had composed an opera in three acts
entitled ‘Romulus and Remus’ for the Theater-an-der-Wien”! And this was
so; portions of it were afterwards sung by a musical society of which
Dr. L. Sonnleithner was a member, and in Pressburg it was put upon
the stage at a later date;--but it never came to performance in the
theatres of Vienna, perhaps in consequence of measures adopted after
the following letter to Treitschke:

I thought I could expedite the matter by sending Hrn. v.
Schreyvogel a copy of this letter--but no.

You see this Fuss can attack me in all the newspapers, unless I
can produce some written evidence ~against him~, or you--or the
director of the theatre undertake to make a settlement with him.
On the other hand the business of my contract for the opera is not
concluded.

I beg of you to write me an answer especially as regards Fuss’s
letter; the matter would be easily decided in the court of ~art~,
but this is not the case, which, much as we should like to, we must
consider.

The matter was so arranged with Fuss as to leave the text in
Beethoven’s hands; but how, and on what terms, is not known.

[Sidenote: A POLONAISE FOR THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA]

Among the sketches to “Der glorreiche Augenblick” appears the theme of
the Polonaise for Pianoforte, Op. 89, the story of which is as follows:
In a conversation with Beethoven one day, in the time of the Congress,
Bertolini suggested to him that, as polonaises were then so much in
vogue, he should compose one and dedicate it to the Empress of Russia;
for, perhaps, thereby he might also obtain some acknowledgment from
Emperor Alexander for the dedication to him of the Violin Sonatas, Op.
30,--for none had ever been made. As usual, Beethoven at first scorned
dictation, but at length thought better of the proposal, sat down to
the pianoforte, improvised various themes and requested Bertolini
to choose one; which he did. When it was completed, they waited
upon Walkonski, to seek through him permission to make the proposed
dedication, which was granted. At the appointed time Beethoven was
admitted to an audience with the Empress and presented the Polonaise,
for which he received a present of 50 ducats. On this occasion he was
asked, if he had ever received anything from the Czar? As he had not, a
hundred ducats was added for the Sonatas.[145]

It was about this time (precisely when the painter could not remember
when speaking of it in 1861), that Beethoven sat again to his friend
Mähler, who wished to add his portrait to his gallery of musicians.
This was the picture which, after the death of the artist, was
purchased by Prof. Karajan. Another portrait of Beethoven was painted
by Mähler for Gleichenstein. On the 25th of January, a grand festival
took place in the Burg on the occasion of the Russian Empress’s
birthday, which in part consisted of a concert in the Rittersaal. The
last piece on the programme was the canon in “Fidelio”: “Mir ist so
wunderbar,” and by a whimsical stroke of fortune Beethoven himself
appeared, and, to the audience of emperors and empresses, kings and
queens, with their ministers and retinues, played for the last time in
public! Wild, who dates the concert a month too soon, gives an account
of it in which, after telling of his own success with “Adelaide,” he
says:

It would be as untruthful as absurd were I to deny that my vanity
was flattered by the distinction which the gathered celebrities
bestowed upon me; but this performance of “Adelaide” had one result
which was infinitely more gratifying to my artistic nature; it
was the cause of my coming into closer contact with the greatest
musical genius of all time, Beethoven. The master, rejoiced at
my choice of his song, hunted me up and offered to accompany me.
Satisfied with my singing he told me that he would orchestrate the
song. He did not do this, but wrote for me the cantata “An die
Hoffnung” (words by Tiedge) with pianoforte accompaniment, which,
he playing for me, I sang at a matinée before a select audience.

By far the most important event in Beethoven’s history during these
months, was the final settlement, by compromise, of the annuity affair
with the Kinsky heirs, on the 18th of January. So soon as the legal
formalities could be ended and communicated to Beethoven, he issued in
autograph a power of attorney to Baron Josef von Pasqualati in Prague
to collect the money due, and act for him in all things necessary. On
March 26th, Pasqualati acknowledged the receipt of 2479 florins W. W.
as payment on the annuity in full up to the end of March, 1815. In
this instance “W. W.” (~Wiener Währung~) meant notes of redemption,
since the bank-notes had been retired from circulation in 1812. The
compromise decree arrived at through the ministration of Dr. Kanka
fixed the original annuity of 1800 florins at 1200 florins, beginning
on November 3d, 1812. There was therefore due to Beethoven, for from
November 3d to the end of March, 1815, 2890 florins, from which was
deducted 411 florins, as the equivalent of the 60 ducats paid to
Beethoven by Prince Kinsky in October, 1812, leaving 2479 florins as
aforesaid. The decision in the case with Lobkowitz also soon followed.
According to the judgment of the Court, entered on April 19, 1815, the
future annual payments were fixed at 700 florins (the equivalent of 280
fl. conventional coin, silver), and the 2508 fl. arrears were ordered
paid in notes of redemption within two months. Payments were made
accordingly and (as Dr. v. Köchel reported in a private note to the
author), from 1811 up to his death, Beethoven received on the annuity
contract the following sums every year:

From Archduke Rudolph 1500 fl.
From Prince Kinsky 1200
From Prince Lobkowitz 700
----
Total 3400 fl.

This sum, 3400 fl. in notes of redemption, was the equivalent of
1360 fl. Con. M., silver, or 952 Prussian thalers.

[Sidenote: LOBKOWITZ’S GENEROUS AND HONORABLE CONDUCT]

Notwithstanding that Prince Lobkowitz’s financial affairs had been
satisfactorily ordered, his return to Vienna was delayed until the
Spring of 1815, one reason being that (as he states in a letter to
Archduke Rudolph, dated Prague, December 29, 1814) an opinion prevailed
in the Austrian capital that his presence would be “unseemly.” In this
letter he gives expression to his feelings toward Beethoven as follows:

Although I have reason to be anything but satisfied with the
behavior of Beethoven toward me, I am nevertheless rejoiced, as
a passionate lover of music, that his assuredly great works are
beginning to be appreciated. I heard “Fidelio” here[146] and
barring the book, I was extraordinarily pleased with the music,
except the two finales, which I do not like very much. I think the
music extremely effective and worthy of the man who composed it.

Is this not nobly said?

Consider these facts: Lobkowitz was now deprived of the control of his
revenues; those revenues, in so far as they were based upon contracts,
were subject to the ~Finanz-Patent~ of 1811; the curators of his
estates were also bound by it; and the General Court (~Landrecht~)
had no power arbitrarily to set it aside. What that tribunal could
and did do was, by its assent and decree, to give binding force to
such agreement between the parties in principal, as had obtained the
sanction of the curators, with, probably, the consent of the principal
creditors of the Prince. It follows then that the concession of
Beethoven’s full demand of 700 fl. in notes of redemption ~could~ have
been obtained only through the good will and active intervention of
Lobkowitz himself, using his personal influence with the other parties
concerned. Schindler incidentally confirms this.

Will the reader here pause a moment and think what impression the
aspersions on Lobkowitz’s character in Beethoven’s letters have left
upon his mind? Have they not begotten a prejudice so strengthened by
“damnable iteration” that it is now hardly possible to overcome it,
and believe it unfounded? Lobkowitz, young, generous to prodigality,
rendered careless by the very magnitude of his possessions, had, in the
lapse of some twenty years, so squandered his enormous resources, as
to fall into temporary embarrassments, which threw the responsibility
of meeting his pecuniary engagements upon others, who were bound by
the nature of their office to pay none but strictly legal claims.
Thus Beethoven became a loser in part of what was originally no debt,
but a gift--or rather would have been so, but for the interference of
Lobkowitz.

We have here another warning of the great caution to be exercised when
using private correspondence for purposes of biography. In writing of
Beethoven this is especially necessary, because so large a proportion
of it consists of confidential notes and communications containing
the ebullitions of splenetic moments, and not seldom hasty charges
and mistaken accusations, such as he gladly withdrew on learning the
truth. To accept all this without question is preposterous; to use it
as authentic historic matter without scrupulous examination, is to do
great injustice to the dead.

The proof is ample, that Beethoven was already fully convinced of the
entire innocence of both Prince Kinsky and Prince Lobkowitz of all
desire to escape any really just demands upon them: yet, probably,
until the greater part of our present Beethoven literature has sunk
into oblivion, the memory of those noble and generous personages will
be made to suffer on the authority of Beethoven’s hasty expressions.

A letter written in English, probably by his friend Häring, who had
been much in England, and signed by Beethoven, marks the progress of
his business with Thomson:

Address.

Mr. George Thomson, merchant in the musical line.

Edingbourgh, Scottland.

Sir,

Many concerns have prevented my answers to your favors, to which
I reply only in part. All your songs with the exception of a few
are ready to be forwarded. I mean those to which I was to write
the accompaniments, for with respect to the 6 Canzonettes, which
I am to ~compose~ I own that the honorary you offered is totally
inadequate. Circumstances here are much altered and taxes have been
so much raised after the English fashion that my share for 1814
was near 60£s. besides an original good air,--and what you also
wish--an Overture, are perhaps the most difficult undertakings in
musical compositions. I therefore beg to state that my honorary
for 6 songs or airs must be 35£ or seventy impl. Ducats--and for
an Overture 20£ or 50 impl. Ducats. You will please to assign the
payment here as usual, and you may depend that I shall do you
justice. No artiste of talent and merit will find my pretentions
extravagant.

Concerning the overture you will please to indicate in your reply
whether you wish to have it composed for an easy or more difficult
execution. I expect your immediate answer having several orders to
attend, and I shall in a little time write more copiously in reply
to your favors already received. I beg you to thank the author for
the very ingenious and flattering verses, which obtained by your
means. Allow me to subscribe myself

Sir,
your very obedt. & humble servt.
Ludwig van Beethoven.

Vienna, Feb. 7 [?], 1815.

[Sidenote: “THE MOUNT OF OLIVES” IN LONDON]

This naturally turns our attention to Beethoven’s English affairs.
“Christus am Ölberg” (“The Mount of Olives,” as the oratorio is called
in England and America) had been given for the first time in England on
February 25, 1814, by Sir George Smart, who in 1861, in conversation
with the author at his house (the one in which Weber died), related the
circumstances of this production and of “Wellington’s Victory,” which
was a consequence of the success of the oratorio, substantially as
follows:

In the winter of 1812-1813, Smart undertook the Lenten oratorio season
at Drury Lane Theatre, introducing at the first concert, January 30,
1813, Handel’s “Messiah” with Mozart’s additional accompaniments, but
not noting this fact upon the programme. The audience was delighted
with the new effects and Mozart’s name appeared on the next programme.
During this season Smart heard the “Christus am Ölberg” spoken of.
Desiring to find some novelty the next season and Beethoven having
already a great name, he offered £50 to anyone who would procure
him the score of that work published by Breitkopf and Härtel--an
exceedingly difficult thing to get at that time, when Napoleon had
almost hermetically sealed the Continent against England. The next
winter (1813-14) Jack Morris, keeper of a tavern or eating-house of the
better sort, a man who had free entry behind the scenes of the theatre
and was continually there, came to Smart and put the score of the
oratorio into his hands, to his (Smart’s) great astonishment.

“Well,” said Smart, “I’ll give you the £50.”

“No,” was the reply, “I’ll take only two guineas, for that’s what I
paid for it.”

“How did you get it?” asked Smart.

“A friend of mine who is a King’s Messenger bought it for me in
Leipsic.”

The only acknowledgment that Morris would take, beside the two guineas,
was that Smart should accept an invitation from him to be present at a
pugilistic exhibition and at the supper afterwards. The score bears the
date of reception, January 7, 1814.

Now to bring it out.

Samuel J. Arnold translated the text, putting all the characters into
the third person, so as not to shock English feelings of reverence
by producing Christ and the Apostles on the stage, and Smart adapted
the translation to the music. It was rehearsed at his house (“in this
room,” said he), and very ill received by amateurs present, who told
Smart, he was mad to produce such a thing! On February 25th, the first
part of the programme of the “Oratorio,” a sacred concert, at Drury
Lane Theatre, was selections from the “Messiah” in which Catalani sang;
Part II, “The Mount of Olives,” solos by Mrs. Dickens, Mrs. Bland, Mr.
Pyne and Mr. Bellamy; Part III, Musical selections. Parts I and II also
closed with selections from “Paradise Lost” read by Miss Smith. The
tenth, and last, performance was on May 28th.

Subsequently, Kramer, master of the Prince Regent’s band, told Smart
that the Prince had the score of a Battle Symphony by Beethoven,
and he was welcome to the use of it, if he desired to produce it.
Smart, encouraged by the success of the “Christus,” was delighted,
notwithstanding the musicians called the work a piece of musical
quackery. On examining it, Sir George saw that it would never do
with his audience to end with the fugue on “God save the King,” and
consulted with Ferdinand Ries as to what kind of close to make. Ries
added to the score a short passage of modulation, which led from the
fugue into the plain, simple tune. The work was copied, rehearsed,
and produced on the 10th of February, 1815, as Part II of a Drury
Lane “Oratorio”--the word being used then for a sacred concert, like
“Akademie” in Vienna for a secular one. As the orchestra ended Ries’
passage of modulation, the hymn was taken up and sung by the principal
solo singers, and the full chorus. The audience used also to join in
and make the old theatre ring again. The success was immense; it was
performed several seasons, and Smart cleared £1000 by it.[147]

There is a sketchbook in the Mendelssohn collection, which shows in
part what compositions employed Beethoven’s thoughts about this time.
It contains sketches to marches; for a “Symphony in B minor”; a “Sonata
’cello pastorale”; a chorus, “Meeresstille”; a song, “Merkenstein.”
This confirms a statement of Czerny’s: “On ‘Merkenstein,’ Beethoven
composed two little songs, both, I think, for almanacs.” The one
published by Steiner and Co., however, does not appear to have come
out in that manner. The date of these sketches is fixed by a memorandum
of Beethoven’s on the seventh leaf, of Smart’s production in London of
“Wellington’s Victory”: “In Drurylane Theatre on February 10th, and
repeated by general request on the 13th, ‘Wiener Zeitung’ of March
2d.” This led to inquiry, and Sir George Smart’s name, as leader of
the Lenten concerts in London, became known to Beethoven, who engaged
his friend Häring, who knew Smart intimately, to write the following
English letter in his behalf:

[Sidenote: COMPOSITIONS OFFERED TO ENGLAND]

To Sir George Smart,

Great Portland St., London.

My Dear Sir George:

I see by the papers that you have brought forth in the theatre
Beethoven’s battle and that it was received with considerable
applause. I was very happy to find that your partiality to Mr. B’s
compositions is not diminished and therefore I take the liberty
in his name to thank you for the assistance you afforded in the
performance of that uncommon piece of music. He has arranged
it for the pianoforte, but having offered the original to his
R. H. the Prince Regent, he durst not sell that arrangement to
any Editor, until he knew the Prince’s pleasure, not only with
respect to the dedication, but in general. Having waited so many
months without receiving the least acknowledgment, he begged
me to apply to you for advice. His idea is to dispose of this
arrangement and of several other original compositions to an
Editor in London--or perhaps to several united--if they would
make a handsome offer--they would besides engage to let him know
the day of the appearance for sale of the respective pieces, in
order that the Editor here, may not publish one copy before the
day to be mentioned. At the end of this letter follows the list
of such compositions, with the price, which the Author expects. I
am persuaded, Sir George, you will exert yourself to benefit this
great genius. He talks continually of going to England, but I am
afraid that his deafness, seemingly increasing, does not allow him
the execution of this favorite idea.

You are informed without doubt that his opera “Fidelio” has had the
most brilliant success here, but the execution is so difficult,
that it could not suit any of the English houses.

I submit here his list with the prices. None of the following
pieces has been published, but No. 2, 4 and 9 have been performed
with the greatest applause.

1. Serious Quartett for 2 violins, tenor and bass 40 guineas.
2. Battle of Vittoria--Score 70 guineas.
3. Battle of Vittoria arranged for the pianoforte 30 guineas.
4. A Grand Symphony--Score 70 guineas.
5. A Grand Symphony arranged for the pianoforte 30 guineas.
6. A Symphony--Key F--Score 40 guineas.
7. A Symphony, arranged 20 guineas.
8. Grand Trio for the pianoforte, violin and violoncello 40 guineas.
9. Three Overtures for a full Orchestra each 30 guineas.
10. The Three Arrangements each 15 guineas.
11. A Grand Sonata for the pianoforte and violin 25 guineas.

The above is the produce of four years labor.

Our friend Neate has not yet made his appearance here--nor is it at
all known where he is roving about. We--I mean mostly amateurs--are
now rehearsing Händel’s “Messiah”--I am to be leader of the 2d
violins; there will be this time 144 violins--first and second
altogether, and the singers and remainder in proportion. I have
been so unfortunate, as not to receive a single line or answer
from England since my stay in Vienna, which is near three months;
this discourages me very much from writing, for I have dispatched
immediately after my arrival several letters and have been
continuing to send letters, but all in vain. Amongst those to whom
I wrote about two months ago, is our friend Disi--pray if you meet
him and his very respectable family [give them] my best regards. I
have passed so many happy hours in his house, it would be highly
ungrateful for me to forget such an amiable family.

Beethoven happening to call on me just now, he wishes to address a
few lines to you [which you will] find at the bottom of this.... My
direction is “Monsieur Jean de Häring, No. 298 Kohlmarkt, Vienna.”

Poor B. is very anxious to hear something of the English editors,
as he hardly can keep those of this city from him, who tease him
for his works.

Häring now writes the following for Beethoven to sign:

Give me leave to thank you for the trouble you have taken several
times as I understand, in taking my works under your protection, by
which I don’t doubt all justice has been done. I hope you will not
find it indiscreet if I solicit you to answer Mr. Häring’s letter
as soon as possible. I should feel myself highly flattered if you
would express your wishes, that I may meet them, in which you will
always find me ready, as an acknowledgment for the favors you have
heaped upon my children.

Yours gratefully,
Ludwig van Beethoven.

Vienna 16. March, 1815.

And now I shall beg, my dear Sir George, not to take this long
letter amiss and to believe that I am always with the greatest
regard,

Your most humble and obedient servant,
John Häring.

Vienna 19. March, 1815.

The works enumerated in this letter, taking them in the same order,
are Op. 95, 91, 92, 93, 97, 113, 115, 117 and 96. Häring was evidently
ignorant that all of Beethoven’s new works were even then sold,
except for England. Steiner had purchased them. The precise terms of
the contract between the composer and this publisher are not known;
for, although the transaction was too important to have been left to
a mere parole agreement, no written instrument has been discovered.
Jahn had no copy of any; and Nottebohm writes (November 19, 1875): “I
was yesterday in the comptoir of Haslinger, but there nothing is to
be found.” The earliest reference to the business yet discovered is
a letter to Steiner, from which it is to be inferred that Karl van
Beethoven was in some manner interested--perhaps as arranger, under his
brother’s inspection, of the editions for pianoforte of the orchestral
works:

Vienna, February 1, 1815.
Most Wellborn Lieutenant-General!

I have received to-day your letter to my brother and am satisfied
with it but must beg of you to pay also the ~cost of the pianoforte
arrangements~ in addition, as I am obliged to pay for ~everything~
in the world and ~more dearly than others~ it would be a hardship
for me; besides I don’t believe that you can complain about the
honorarium of 250 ducats--but neither do I want to complain,
therefore arrange for the transcriptions yourself, but all must
be revised by me and if necessary improved, I hope that you are
satisfied with this.

In addition to this you might ~give my brother the collected
pianoforte works of Clementi~, ~Mozart~, ~Haidn~, he needs
them for ~his little son~, do this my dearest Steiner, and be
not stone,[148] as stony as your name is--farewell excellent
Lieutenant-General, I am always.

Yours truly,
General-in-Chief,
Ludwig van Beethoven.

[Sidenote: WORKS SOLD TO STEINER]

The works purchased by Steiner are named in a list sent by Nottebohm
with the letter above cited. It is the copy of an unsigned memorandum,
evidently proceeding from Beethoven, which, except the omission of the
works mentioned in the Häring letter, runs thus:

NOTE

Concerning the following original musical compositions, composed by
the undersigned, and surrendered as property to the licensed art
dealer H. S. A. Steiner.

1st. Score of the opera Fidelio.
2d. Score of the cantata Der glorreiche Augenblick.
3d. Score of a quartet for 2 violins, viola and basso.
4th. Score of a grand Terzet to be sung with pianoforte arrangement.
5th. Score of the Battle of Vittoria with pianoforte arrangement.
6th. Pianoforte arrangement and score of a Symphony in F.
7th. Pianoforte arrangement and score of a Symphony in A major.
8th. Grand Trio for pianoforte, violin and basso in score.
9th. Grand Sonata for pianoforte and violin in score.
10th. Score of a Grand Overture in E-flat major.
11th. Score of a Grand Overture in C major.
12th. Score of a Grand Overture in G major.
13th. 12 English songs with pianoforte accompaniment and German
text.[149]

For all of these works which H. Steiner may use as his property in
all places except England, I have been wholly recompensed.

Vienna, April 29, 1815.

Whatever may have been the proposed interest of Karl van Beethoven in
the contract, his failing health soon prevented him from performing
any labor under it. The correspondence with Steiner and Co. indicates
that the task of arranging the orchestral works for the pianoforte was
performed by Haslinger and Anton Diabelli, with occasional assistance
from Carl Czerny, under Beethoven’s superintendence.

Diabelli, born near Salzburg in 1781, had now been for some years one
of the more prolific composers of light and pleasing music, and one
of the best and most popular teachers in Vienna. He was much employed
by Steiner and Co., as copyist and corrector, and in this capacity
enjoyed much of Beethoven’s confidence, who also heartily liked him as
a man. In the composer’s comical military staff, he was the “General
Profoss,” and in the correspondence his name becomes “Diabolus”--for
Beethoven could never resist the temptation to a play upon words. About
the 1st of April Beethoven received a package which proved to be an
opera text by Rudolph von Berge, sent to him with a letter by his old
friend Amenda from Courland. While this letter was under way Beethoven
received a visit from a friend of Amenda’s who, on his departure from
Vienna, carried with him a letter in which he said:

You are 1000 times in my mind with your patriarchial
simplicity--unfortunately for my good or that of others, fate
denies my wishes in this respect, I can say that I live almost
alone in this greatest city of Germany since I must live almost in
estrangement from all persons whom I love or could love--on what
kind of footing is music with you? Have you ever heard any of my
great works there? Great say I--compared with the works of the
Highest, everything is small!

[Sidenote: SKETCHES FOR A “BACCHUS” OPERA]

The opera book sent by Amenda was entitled, “‘Bacchus,’ Grand Lyric
Opera in Three Acts.” The libretto was preserved among Schindler’s
papers in the Royal Library in Berlin. It seems likely that Beethoven
gave some thought to the opera and experimented with some themes. There
are interesting notes on a work with a classical subject, the words
apparently the beginning of an invocation to Pan, in a sketchbook of
1815, which Nottebohm describes in his “Zweite Beethoveniana” (p. 329
~et seq.~) without saying whether they belong to Treitschke’s “Romulus”
or von Berge’s “Bacchus.” Dr. Riemann assumes without hesitation that
the sketches were made for “Bacchus” and sees a premonition of Wagner’s
methods in the following:

[Illustration: bountiful

~bountiful Pan
not quite so characteristic, it must be evolved out of the B. M.
[150] where the dance only intermittently~
]

[Illustration: Corni]

~Throughout the opera probably dissonances, unresolved or very
differently, as our refined music cannot be thought of in
connection with those barbarous times.~

On the approach of warm weather the Erdödys removed for the summer to
Jedlersee, never to return to the Schottenbastei; and as Lichnowsky
was dead, Beethoven had no inducement longer to remain in that
vicinity and therefore departed from the Mölkerbastei--also never
to return. The new lodging was in the third storey of a house then
belonging to Count Lamberti, in the Sailerstätte, with a double number
1055, 1056, near which he had lived a dozen years before, having the
same sunny aspect and the glorious view across the Glacis from the
Karlkirche and the Belvidere Gardens, away across the Danube to the
blue Carpathian mountains in the distance. In this house, about the
first of June, Häring introduced to Beethoven the very fine English
pianist and enthusiastic musician Charles Neate, who after five
months’ study with Winter in Munich had come to Vienna in the hope of
obtaining instruction from the great symphonist. To his application,
Beethoven replied in substance: “I cannot teach, but I will give you an
introduction to my master, Förster” (which he did by letter), “and you
may bring your compositions to me for my inspection, and I will examine
and remark upon them.” In consequence of this permission Neate saw
him almost daily. Beethoven spent a part of this summer in Baden, and
Neate took a room very near him. There the composer was in the habit of
working all the forenoon, dining early at twelve or one o’clock, and,
towards evening, walking with Neate--sometimes up the Helenen-Thal,
oftener through the fields. Neate, in the course of his long life--he
was nearly eighty when he related these things to the author[151]--had
never met a man who so enjoyed nature; he took intense delight in
flowers, in the clouds, in everything--“nature was like food to him,
he seemed really to live in it.” Walking in the fields, he would sit
down on any green bank that offered a good seat, and give his thoughts
free course. He was then full of the idea of going to England, but
the death of his brother and adoption of his nephew put an end to the
project. Neate remembered the boy as a very beautiful, intelligent
lad. Beethoven, at that time, and as Neate knew him, was charmingly
good-tempered to those whom he liked--but his dislikes were so strong,
that to avoid speaking to persons to whom he was not well affected, he
would actually increase his pace in the street to a run. At this time,
his dark complexion was very ruddy and extremely animated. His abundant
hair was in an admirable disorder. He was always laughing, when in good
humor, which he for the most part was, as Neate saw him.

One day Neate spoke to him about the popularity of his Sonatas,
Trios, etc., in England and added that his Septet was very much
admired:--“That’s damned stuff” (or “a damned thing”), said Beethoven,
“I wish it were burned!” or words to this effect, to Neate’s great
discomfiture. Another time, walking in the fields near Baden, Neate
spoke of the “Pastoral Symphony” and of Beethoven’s power of painting
pictures in music. Beethoven said: “I have always a picture in my mind,
when I am composing, and work up to it.”

Neate conversed with him in German and had no difficulty in making him
understand, when speaking into his left ear. He brought to Beethoven
an order from the Philharmonic Society of London--obtained by the
exertions of Ries--for three concert overtures, of which we shall hear
more hereafter.[152]

The destruction of Rasoumowsky’s palace suspended his quartets, and
Linke, the violoncellist, passed the summer with the Erdödys at
Jedlersee. This gave the impulse to Beethoven to write the principal
works of this year: the two Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violoncello,
Op. 102. The first bears his date: “Towards the end of July”; the
second: “Beginning of August.” While he was employed upon them,
Treitschke called upon him for a closing chorus, “Es ist vollbracht,”
to a little dramatic piece similar to the “Gute Nachricht,” entitled
“Die Ehrenpforten,” and prepared to celebrate the second capitulation
of Paris. It was performed July 15, 16 and 23; and, on the occasion of
the Emperor’s nameday, was revived “with appropriate changes” October
3rd and 4th; but (according to the theatre bills) with the chorus
“Germania” substituted for “Es ist vollbracht.”

[Sidenote: OTTO JAHN’S RECOVERY OF LETTERS]

This was the last year of Beethoven’s personal intercourse with the
Erdödys, a very interesting memorial of which, namely, a series of
notes and letters, has been preserved and made public by the coolness
and decision of Otto Jahn. Being in Munich in 1852, or about that time,
he learned that this correspondence was in the hands--if our memory
serve--of the widow Brauchle, and obtained permission to read it in
the presence of the possessor. Suddenly starting up he exclaimed (in
effect): “I will copy this at the hotel,” and before the lady, in her
amazement and perplexity, could refuse or prevent, he was away, and
made the only copy known to be in existence, except transcripts made
from it.[153] Several of these papers are only Beethoven’s apologies
for not coming to Jedlersee “to-day” or “to-morrow”--but all are
interesting in the glimpse which they give of the affectionate intimacy
which they show as existing between Beethoven and the family.

A letter to Brauchle is important from a biographical point of view. It
reads:

I had scarcely returned before I found my brother making
lamentable inquiries about the horses--please do me the favor to
go to Enzersdorf about the horses, take horses at my expense in
Jedlersee, I’ll gladly recompense you. His sickness (my brother’s)
is accompanied by a sort of unrest--let us be of help where we can,
I am ~obliged to act thus and not otherwise~! I await a speedy
fulfillment of my wishes and a friendly answer on the subject
from you--do not spare expenses I’ll willingly bear them. It is
not worth while to let anyone suffer for the sake of a few dirty
florins.

Neate and the Erdödys have carried us forward quite out of the strict
order of time, to which we now return, beginning with letters to our
old Bonn and London acquaintance, Johann Peter Salomon and others:

Vienna, June 1, 1815.
My respected countryman!

I have long hoped for the fulfillment of a wish to see you in
person in London, to hear you, but the wish has always been
frustrated by manifold hindrances--and for the reason that I am
not in a position to do so I hope you will not deny my request
which is that you speak with some publisher there, and offer him
the following works for me: a Grand Trio for pianoforte, violin
and violoncello (80 ducats). Sonata for pianoforte and violin (60
ducats). Grand Symphony in A (one of my most excellent), smaller
Symphony in F.--Quartet for 2 violins, viola and violoncello in
F minor.--Grand Opera in score, 30 ducats--Cantata with choruses
and solo voices 30 ducats. Score of the Battle of Vittoria on
Wellington’s victory, 80 ducats as also the pianoforte arrangement
(if it has not, as I am assured already been published)--I have set
down the honorarium of a few works which I think fair for England,
but leave it to you in the case of these as well as the others, to
do what you think best as to my pay. I hear, indeed, that Kramer
is also a publisher[154] but my pupil Ries wrote me recently that
he ~had publicly expressed himself against my compositions~, I
hope for no other reason than ~the good of art~, wherefore I have
no objection to offer, but if Kramer wants any of these injurious
works of art, he is just as agreeable to me as any other publisher.
I only reserve to myself the privilege of also giving the same
works to my local publisher so that the works will appear only in
London and Vienna and simultaneously.

Perhaps you may be able to point out to me in what manner I may
get from the Prince Regent at least the copyist’s charges for the
Battle Symphony on Wellington’s Victory at the battle of Vittoria,
which I gave him, for I have long ago abandoned all hope of ever
getting anything more, I was not even vouchsafed an answer as to
whether I might dedicate the work to the Prince Regent when I
publish it, I hear even that the work has already been published
in London in pianoforte arrangement, what a fate for an author!!!
While the newspapers are full of reports concerning the success
of this work as performed at the Drury Lane Theatre, the author
is unable to show even a friendly line touching it, not even the
expense of copying, besides all this, the loss of all profit, for
if it is true that the pianoforte arrangement is already published,
no German publisher will take it, it is probable that the
pianoforte arrangement will soon appear in a reprint by a German
publisher and I will lose honor and honorarium.

Your well-known noble character bids me hope that you will take
an interest in the matter and show yourself active in my service;
the wretched paper money of our country has already been reduced
to the fifth part of its value, I was treated according to the
scale, but after much urging the full standard with a considerable
loss, but we have again reached a point where the currency is
worth much less than one-fifth and I am confronted for the second
time with the prospect that my salary will be reduced to ~nothing~
without recourse of any kind. My only earnings now come from my
compositions, if I could count on their sale in England it would be
very advantageous to me.

Count on my boundless gratitude, I hope for a speedy, a very speedy
answer from you.

Some time about October 15th, Beethoven returned to Vienna. And now
another bitter parting: The Erdödys, accompanied by Brauchle, Sperl and
Linke, departed to Croatia never to return.

[Sidenote: BIRCHALL BECOMES BEETHOVEN’S PUBLISHER]

The letters to Smart, Salomon and Ries were not in vain; through
their efforts, especially Salomon’s, Mr. Robert Birchall, Music
Publisher of No. 133 New Bond St., was induced to purchase four of the
works enumerated by Häring, viz: the pianoforte arrangements of the
“Wellington’s Victory,” Op. 91, and Symphony in A, Op. 92; the Trio
in B-flat, Op. 97, and the Sonata for Pianoforte and Violin, Op. 96,
for “the sum of one hundred and thirty-five gold Dutch ducats--value
in English currency, sixty-five pounds.” The correspondence between
the composer and publisher as presented by Mr. Birchall’s successors
begins with a paper in extraordinary English which has hitherto passed
as a note received from Vienna, but which, it is obvious, is nothing
but the effort of some resident German to interpret the contents of the
following letter from Beethoven:[155]

Vienna, October 28th, 1815.

Well-born Sir!

I inform you that the Battle and Victory Symphony on Wellington’s
Victory in pianoforte arrangement was dispatched to London several
days ago to the house of Thomas Coutts, in London, whence you may
fetch it. I beg you to be speedy as possible in printing it and
~inform me of the day~ when you purpose publishing it so that I may
give timely notice of the fact to the publisher here--such great
hurry is not necessary with the 3 works which follow and which
you will receive soon and in the case of which ~I shall take the
liberty~ to fix the day:--Mr. Salomon will have the goodness to
explain to you more clearly why there is this greater haste in the
matter of the Battle and Victory Symphony.

Awaiting a very speedy answer regarding ~the day of publication~ of
the work which you have received.

I remain your obedient servant,

Ludwig van Beethoven.

[Sidenote: A DYING BROTHER’S INJUNCTION]

We now reach one of the most important and at the same time most
melancholy events in Beethoven’s life--an event which exerted the
profoundest influence on the rest of his life--the death of his brother
Karl. We introduce it with that brother’s last will and testament:

Certain that all men must die and feeling that I am near this goal,
but in the full possession of my understanding, I have freely and
voluntarily deemed it good to make these, my last dispositions.

1. I commend my soul to the mercy of God, but my body to the earth
from which it came and desire that it be buried in the simplest
manner in accordance with the rites of Christian Catholicism.

2. Immediately after my death, four holy masses are to be said, to
which end I set apart 4 florins.

3. My heirs general are commanded to pay the pious legacies
according to law.

4. As my wife at our marriage brought me and paid over 2000 fl.
in B. bonds, for which I gave no receipt, I acknowledge receipt
of these 2000 fl. in B. bonds and desire that these 2000 fl. in
B. bonds as also the deposit be rectified in accordance with the
existing marriage contract.

5. I appoint my brother Ludwig van Beethoven guardian. Inasmuch
as this, my deeply beloved brother has often aided me with true
brotherly love in the most magnanimous and noblest manner, I ask,
in full confidence and trust in his noble heart, that he shall
bestow the love and friendship which he often showed me, upon my
son Karl, and do all that is possible to promote the intellectual
training and further welfare of my son. I know that he will not
deny me this, my request.

6. Convinced of the uprightness of Hrn. Dr. Schönauer, Appellate
and Court Advocate, I appoint him Curator for probate, as also for
my son Karl with the understanding that he be consulted in all
matters concerning the property of my son.

7. The appointment of heirs being the essential matter in a
testament, I appoint my beloved wife Johanna, born Reiss, and my
son Karl, heirs general to all my property in equal portions after
the deduction of my existing debts and the above bequests.

8. The wagon, horse, goat, peacocks and the plants growing in
vessels in the garden are the property of my wife, since these
objects were all purchased with money from the legacy received from
her grandfather.

In witness whereof, I have not only signed this, my last will with
my own hand, but to aid in its execution have also called in three
witnesses.

Thus done, Vienna, November 14, 1815.

Karl van Beethoven,
m. p.

Carl Gaber, m. p.
House owner, Breitenfeld No. 9.

Benedikt Gaber, m. p.
House owner, Breitenfeld No. 25.

Johann Naumann, m. p.
House No. 5, Breitenfeld.

(“This testament was delivered under seal to the R. I. L. Austrian
General Court, by the Karl Scheffer Solicitor Dr. Schönauer, on
November 17, 1815, etc.”)

CODICIL TO MY WILL

Having learned that my brother, Hr Ludwig van Beethoven, desires
after my death to take wholly to himself my son Karl, and wholly to
withdraw him from the supervision and training of his mother, and
inasmuch as the best of harmony does not exist between my brother
and my wife, I have found it necessary to add to my will that I
by no means desire that my son be taken away from his mother, but
that he shall always and so long as his future career permits
remain with his mother, to which end the guardianship of him is
to be exercised by her as well as my brother. Only by unity can
the object which I had in view in appointing my brother guardian
of my son, be attained, wherefore, for the welfare of my child,
I recommend ~compliance~ to my wife and more ~moderation~ to my
brother.

God permit them to be harmonious for the sake of my child’s
welfare. This is the last wish of the dying husband and brother.

Vienna, November 14, 1815.

Karl van Beethoven
m. p.

We, the undersigned, certify in consonance with truth that Karl van
Beethoven declared in our presence that he had read the statement
on the opposite page and that the same is in accordance with his
will, finally we certify that he signed it with his own hand in our
presence and requested us to witness the act.

Thus done on November 14, 1815.

Carl Gaber, m. p.
Benedikt Gaber, m. p.
Johann Neumann, m. p.

(“This codicil was delivered under seal to the R. I. L. Austrian
General Court by the Karl Scheffer Solicitor Dr. Schönauer, on Nov.
17, 1815, etc.”)

On November 20, 1815, the “Wiener Zeitung” printed the announcement:
“Died on November 16, Hr. Karl van Beethoven, Cashier in the R. I.
Bank and Chief Treasury, aged 38 years,[156] of consumption.” And so
in his own house died the brother Karl whose last moments came with a
suddenness which aroused his brother’s suspicions that the end had been
hastened by poison! Nor would he be satisfied upon the matter until his
friend Bertolini had made a ~post mortem~ examination “whereby the
lack of foundation for the suspicion was proved.”

A few weeks before his death, Karl had applied for leave of absence
from his office on the score of his feeble condition; but his petition
was harshly refused in a document on which Beethoven afterwards wrote:
“This miserable financial product caused the death of my brother.” In
fact, however, it made probably little difference; his was evidently
one of those common cases of phthisis, where the patient, except to
the experienced eye, shows no signs of immediate danger; who at the
last moments finds himself free from pain and blessed with a buoyancy
of spirit that gives him vain hopes of prolonged life. It is the last
flickering of the flame, as the skillful physician well knows.

As above noted, Karl van Beethoven’s will was deposited with the proper
authorities on the 17th, and “the R. I. L. Austrian Landrecht (General
Court) on November 22, 1815, appointed the widow of the deceased,
Johanna van Beethoven, guardian, the brother of the deceased, Ludwig
van Beethoven, associate guardian of the minor son Karl.” And so, for
the present, we will leave the matter.[157]

And Breuning? Why during these years and especially in this time
of sorrow does his name nowhere meet us? His son answers the
question in that extremely interesting little volume “Aus dem
Schwarzspanierhause.”[158]

Jacob Rösgen, an employee in the office of the Minister of War in which
Breuning was a Secretary, had learned certain facts, or suspicions, in
relation to Karl van Beethoven’s integrity, which he thought should be
communicated to Ludwig as a warning “not to have anything to do with
him in financial matters.” To this end he, having obtained Breuning’s
word of honor not to make known the source of the information, imparted
to him the whole matter. “Breuning faithfully performed the task which
he had assumed; but Ludwig, in his tireless endeavor to better his
brother, hastened to take him to task for his conduct and charge him
with the acts which had been reported to him; he went so far, when
pressed by his brother for the source of his information, as to mention
the name of his friend Steffen. Kaspar (Karl) then appealed directly
to my father and asked the name of the author of the ‘denunciation,’
and when my father resolutely declined to give the name (Rösgen) Kaspar
indulged himself in abuse to such an extent that he left insulting
letters addressed to him and unsealed with the portier of the Ministry
of War. My father, angered and pained at this impertinence and Ludwig’s
breach of confidence, read the latter a sharp lecture which ended
with the declaration that because of such unreliability it would be
impossible longer to hold association with him.”[159] It will be long
before we meet Breuning again.

There is a striking incongruity between Beethoven’s pleas of poverty in
his letters to correspondents in England at this period and the facts
drawn from official and other authentic sources. Let us tarry a moment
on this point.

[Sidenote: A PERIOD OF PROSPERITY]

He was now, at the end of 1815, in the regular receipt of his annuity,
3400 florins in notes of redemption; in March and April the arrears,
4987 florins in such notes, had been paid him; the profits of his
concerts since January 1, 1814, with presents from crowned heads and
others were, if we may trust Schindler, who appears to speak from
accurate knowledge, sufficient in amount to purchase somewhat later the
seven bank-shares, which at his death, “according to the price current
on the day of his death,” had a value in convention-coin of 7441
florins; Neate had paid him 75 guineas; for the works sold to Steiner
and Co. he had “been wholly compensated”; in March (1816) he received
from Mr. Birchall 65 pounds sterling; and there were payments to him
from Thomson and others, the aggregate of which cannot be determined.

This incongruity is not essentially diminished either by his
taxes--sixty pounds for 1814, he tells Thomson--nor by the 10,000
florins W. W. expended for the benefit of his brother, whether the
“Wiener Währung” in the letter to Ries be understood as the old
five for one, or the new in notes of redemption; for this fraternal
charity extended back over a series of years. In this letter to Ries,
the reader will observe also a remarkable instance of its writer’s
occasional great carelessness of statement, where he speaks of his
“entire loss of salary” for several years; for the Archduke’s share
had throughout been punctually paid; not to mention again the receipt
of what had for a time been withheld of the Kinsky and Lobkowitz
subscriptions. The omission of these facts in this and other letters,
imparted to Ries an utterly false impression; and on their publication
in 1838, to the public also. Hence the general belief that Beethoven
was now in very straitened circumstances, and that Karl’s widow and
child had been left in abject poverty; the truth as to them being this:
that the property left them produced an annual income, which with the
widow’s pension amounted at this time to above 1500 florins. From the
day that Beethoven assumed the office of guardian and took possession
of the child, he had a valid claim upon the mother for a part of the
costs of maintaining him--a claim soon made good by legal process. If
he afterward elected to suffer in his own finances rather than press
his sister-in-law, this is no justification of the heedless statements
in some of his letters now--a truth to be held in mind. And now the
letter to Ferdinand Ries:

Wednesday, November 22, Vienna, 1815.

Dear R!

I hasten to write you that I to-day sent the pianoforte arrangement
of the Symphony in A by post to the house of Thomas Coutts and Co.,
as the Court is not here, couriers go not at all or seldom, and
this besides is the safest way. The Symphony should appear toward
the end of March, I will fix the day, it has occupied too much time
for me to make the term shorter,--more time may be taken with the
Trio and the Sonata for violin, and both will be in London in a
few weeks--I urgently beg of you, dear Ries! to make this matter
your concern and to see that I get the money; it will cost a great
deal before everything gets there and I need it--I had to lose 600
fl. annually of my salary, at the time of the bank-notes it was
nothing then came the notes of redemption and because of them I
lost the 600 fl. with several years of vexation and entire loss of
salary--now we have reached a point where the notes of redemption
are worse than the bank-notes were before; I pay 1000 fl. for
house-rent; figure to yourself of the misery caused by paper money.
My poor unfortunate brother has just died; he had a bad wife, I may
say he had consumption for several years, and to make life easier
for him I gave what I may estimate at 10,000 fl. W. W. True, that
is nothing for an Englishman, but very much for a poor German, or
rather Austrian. The poor man had changed greatly in the last few
years and I can say that I sincerely lament him, and I am now glad
that I can now say to myself that I neglected nothing in respect
of care for him. Tell Mr. Birchall to repay Mr. Salomon and you
the cost of postage for your letters to me and mine to you; he may
deduct it from the sum which he is to pay me, I want those who
labor for me to suffer as little as possible.

Wellington’s Victory at the Battle of Vittoria, this is also the
title on the pianoforte arrangement, must have reached Th. Coutts
and Co. long ago. Mr. Birchall need not pay the honorarium until
he has received all the works, make haste so that I may know the
day when Mr. Birchall will publish the pianoforte arrangement. For
to-day, no more except the warmest commendation of my affairs to
you; I am always at your service in all respects. Farewell, Dear R!

On the same day he wrote to Birchall:

Vienna, November 22, 1815.

Enclosed you are receiving the pianoforte arrangement of
the Symphony in A. The pianoforte arrangement of the Symph.
Wellington’s Victory at the Battle of Vittoria was dispatched 4
weeks ago by the business messenger, Hrn. Neumann, to Messrs.
Coutts and Co., and therefore must long ago have been in your hands.

You will receive also the Trio and Sonata in a fortnight in
exchange for which you will please pay to Messrs. Thomas Coutts and
Co. the sum of 130 gold ducats. I beg of you to make haste with the
publication of these musical compositions and to inform me of the
day of publication of the Wellington Symphony, so that I may make
my arrangements here accordingly. With great respect I remain,

Yours truly,

Ludwig van Beethoven, m. p.

The Trio and Sonata, however, were not forwarded until the 3d of the
next February--a decidedly long “fortnight.”

In those days £65 was no small sum for the mere right of republication
in England of these pianoforte works and arrangements, and Ries richly
merited these words of his old master: “And now my heartiest thanks,
dear Ries, for all the kindness you have shown to me, and particularly
for the corrections. Heaven bless you and make your progress even
greater, in which I take a cordial interest.”

[Sidenote: BECOMES AN HONORARY CITIZEN OF VIENNA]

About the first of December, “a magisterial deputation solemnly
delivered” into the hands of Beethoven a certificate conferring upon
him the citizenship of Vienna in acknowledgment of his benevolent
services in behalf of St. Mark’s Hospital. Ries, writing on September
29th for Salomon, who had broken his right shoulder in a fall from
his horse, informs Beethoven that at that date the three overtures
purchased by Neate for the Philharmonic Society had not reached London.
Beethoven, in December, repeats this to Neate, who was still in Vienna,
adding, in substance, his readiness to make any desired written
agreement about these things in England. Salomon’s misfortune occurred
in August; he lingered only until the 25th of November. No higher
proof of his reputation in England can be given than the fact that the
remains of this Bonn violinist rest near those of Handel in Westminster
Abbey.

Schindler somewhere censures the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde for
its long delay in making Beethoven an honorary member. It did what
was better. Hardly was it organized, when its directors turned their
attention to him; and, in the second year of its legal existence,
proposed to him through Zmeskall to compose an oratorio for its use. On
the 22d of December, Count Appony reported: “that Hr. L. v. Beethoven,
through Hrn. v. Zmeskall, had declared his readiness to deliver a large
work to the society and that the Board of Management were awaiting his
conditions.” It was but the course of common propriety--of ordinary
delicacy--to leave him free of all obligation to the society until this
matter of business should be settled; indeed, that Streicher was one of
the principal founders and most influential members of the society is
a sufficient pledge, that no disrespect for, nor indifference to, his
great merits, had aught to do with the delay, which Schindler blames.
We shall find that, so soon as it was certain that Beethoven could
not live to fulfill his engagement, the society sent him its honorary
diploma. Could it well do this before?

Of noteworthy new friends and acquaintances may be mentioned here
Peters, tutor of the young Princes Lobkowitz, and Carl Joseph Bernard,
a young literateur and poet--the reviser of Weissenbach’s poem--a
great admirer of Beethoven’s music, soon to be appointed Editor of the
official “Wiener Zeitung.” He is the “Bernardus non Sanctus” of the
Conversation Books; and the two are the friends whom Beethoven set to
music in the text:

Sanct Petrus war ein Fels!
Bernardus war ein Sanct??[160]

Another was Anton Halm, “in whose fresh military nature Master Ludwig
took delight,” says Schindler. He was a native of Styria, and now but
twenty-six years of age. After some years’ service against Napoleon,
he had resigned (1812) his lieutenancy in the 44th Regiment. He was a
pianoforte player of very respectable rank, and even before entering
the army had appeared in public in Beethoven’s C minor Trio, Op. 1, and
the C major Pianoforte Concerto, Op. 15. He had now been three years in
Hungary, living during the third with his friend, Brunswick, who gave
him a letter to Beethoven upon his departure for Vienna, whither he had
come to be tutor in a Greek family named Gyike. “Halm once brought a
sonata of his own composition to him,” says Czerny, “and when Beethoven
pointed out a few errors, Halm retorted that he (B.) had also permitted
himself many violations of the rules, Beethoven answered: ‘I may do it,
but not you.’”

[Sidenote: GROWING INTERCOURSE WITH SCHINDLER]

Young Schindler’s acquaintance with Beethoven had now advanced a step:

Toward the end of February, 1815 (Schindler writes), I accepted an
invitation to become tutor at Brünn. Scarcely arrived there, I was
summoned before the police officials. I was questioned as to my
relations with some of the tumultuaries of the Vienna University
as also certain Italians in whose company I had often been seen
in Vienna. As my identification papers, especially the statement
concerning the different lectures which I had attended, were not
in good order, the latter really faulty--through no fault of
mine--I was detained, notwithstanding that a government officer of
high standing offered to become my bondsman. After several weeks
of correspondence back and forth it was learned that I was not a
propagandist and was to be set at liberty. But a whole year of my
academic career was lost.

Again returned to Vienna, I was invited by one of Beethoven’s
intimate acquaintances to come to an appointed place, as the master
wanted to hear the story of the Brünn happening from my own lips.
During the relation, Beethoven manifested such sympathetic interest
in my disagreeable experiences that I could not refrain from tears.
He invited me to come often to the same place and at the same hour,
4 o’clock in the afternoon, where he was to be found nearly every
day--reading the newspapers. A handgrasp said still more. The place
was a somewhat remote room in the beer-house “Zum Rosenstock” in
the Ballgässchen. I was there right often and came to know the
place as a quasi-crypt of a number of Josephites of the first
water, to whom our master presented no discordant note, for his
republican creed had already received a considerable blow through a
more intimate acquaintance with the English Constitution. A captain
of the Emperor’s bodyguard and Herr Pinterics, widely known in
musical Vienna, who played an important rôle in the life of Franz
Schubert, were the closest companions of the master and, in the
exchange of political views, his seconds actively and passively.
From this place I soon began to accompany him on his walks.

But Schindler’s intimacy with Beethoven was not yet such as to save
him from errors when writing of this time. Thus he gravely assures
us that a concert which took place on the 25th of December “provided
the impulse which led the Magistracy of Vienna to elect our master to
honorary citizenship.” And yet the “solemn delivery” of the diploma is
already an item of news in the Vienna newspapers of December 15. This
concert, in the large Ridotto room, conducted by Beethoven was for the
benefit of the ~Bürgerspitalfond~ (Citizens’ Hospital Fund) and the
works performed were “an entirely new overture” (that in C, known as
the “Namensfeier”); “a new chorus on Goethe’s poem ‘Die Meeresstille’”;
“Christus am Ölberg.” Between the cantata and the oratorio, Franz
Stauffer, “the twelve-year-old son of a citizen of Vienna,” played a
“Rondo brillant” by Hummel.

The compositions which are known or, on good grounds, are supposed to
belong to the year 1815 are:

1. “15 Scottish Songs, in the month of May,” arranged for Thomson;
but they are not all Scottish.

2. Chorus: “Es ist vollbracht”; for Treitschke’s “Ehrenpforte.”

3. Two Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violoncello; C major and D major,
Op. 102; in July and August.

4. Chorus with orchestra: “Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt”; text
by Goethe; Op. 112.

5. Song: “Das Geheimniss”; text by Weissenberg.

6. Song: “An die Hoffnung”; text by Tiedge; Op. 94 (probably
finished).

7. Canons: “Das Reden,” “Das Schweigen” and “Glück zum neuen
Jahre.”[161]

The ascertained publications of the year are:

1. Polonaise, in C major, Op. 89; published by Mechetti, in March.

2. Sonata for Pianoforte, E minor, Op. 90; by Steiner, in June.

3. Song: “Des Kriegers Abschied,” text by C. L. Reissig; by
Mechetti, in June.

4. Chorus: “Es ist vollbracht,” pianoforte arrangement; by Steiner
in July.

FOOTNOTES:

[145] In Jahn’s notices these sums are doubled. This audience is
doubtless the one referred to by Schindler, as being proposed by the
Empress, or perhaps was a consequence of that one.

[146] “Fidelio” had its first performance in Prague on November 21,
1814. Liebich was the director of the theatre, and C. M. von Weber
chapelmaster.

[147] it was Smart, who also made Beethoven’s Mass in C known in
England. On April 3rd, 1816, the “Kyrie” as a “First Hymn” with an
English text by Arnold, was on the programme; March 17, 1817, the
“Second Hymn,” and at last the complete work.

[148] German: Stein = English: stone.

[149] No. 3, Op. 90; No. 4, “Tremate, empj, tremate,” Op. 116; No.
8, Op. 97; No. 9, Op. 96; No. 10, “King Stephen,” Op. 117; No. 11,
“Namensfeier,” Op. 115; No. 12, “Ruins of Athens,” Op. 113.

[150] Dr. Riemann interprets Beethoven’s “B. M.” as standing for
“Bacchus Motive.”

[151] The conversations with Neate took place in January, 1861. The
writer was indebted to the late Henry F. Chorley, for the pecuniary
means of making his very valuable researches in England, and one of the
bitter consequences of the unavoidable delay in writing this work, is,
that Chorley can never read it.--A. W. T.

[152] It is sufficient to say here, that instead of composing new ones
as expected, he gave Neate the overtures to “King Stephen,” the “Ruins
of Athens” and the so-called “Namensfeier,” and received for them 75
guineas.

[153] Jahn related this incident to the writer, with much humor, in
the Autumn of 1860. In 1867, he allowed Dr. Alfred Schöne to edit the
correspondence for publication by Breitkopf and Härtel.

[154] J. B. Cramer was associated with John Addison under the style of
Cramer and Co.

[155] Mr. Birchall’s successor was C. Lonsdale, who had been his
principal assistant and who had conducted the correspondence with
Beethoven; and the business is at this writing in the hands of
Mr. Lonsdale’s son Robert. From both these gentlemen, the author
received great kindness and valuable aid in his English researches.
The letter in the text was not in their possession, but has since
been communicated to this work by Mr. S. Ganz. This excepted, the
correspondence may be read in the “Jahrbücher für Musikalische
Wissenschaft,” 1^{ten} Band, by Breitkopf and Härtel. 1863.

As our reading of the English paper mentioned in the text differs from
that in the “Jahrbücher” it is here subjoined.

“Mr. Beethoven send word to Mr. Birchall that it is severall days past
that he has sent for London, Wellington’s Battel Simphonie and that Mr.
B. may send for it at Thomas Coutts. Mr. Beethoven wish Mr. Bl. would
make ingrave the sayd Simphonie so soon as possible and send him word
in time the day it will be published, that he may prevent in time the
publisher at Vienna.

“To regard the 3 Sonatas which Mr. B. shall receive afterwards there is
not wanted such a gt. hurry and Mr. B[eethoven] will take the liberty
to fixe the day when the are to be published. Mr. B[eethoven] sayd tha
Mr. Solomon has a good many tings to say concerning the Simphonie in
(?) Mr. B[eethoven] wish for an answer so soon as possible concerning
the days of publication.”

The letter here queried, does not belong to the English Alphabet, but
the “Battle and Victory Symphony” is meant.

[156] This was an error, as Karl was baptized on April 8, 1774.

[157] A letter, preserved in the Beethoven House Museum at Bonn
(Kalischer, “Sämmtliche Briefe” II, 310), to Madame Antonie von
Brentano mentions that Karl had been pensioned, but this may have
been written after an application had been made and before it had
been refused. The letter says: “Among the individuals (whose number
is infinite) who are suffering, is my brother who was obliged to have
himself pensioned because of his ill health, conditions are very hard
just now, I do all that is possible, but that is not much.” He then
offers Brentano a pipe-bowl belonging to his brother, who thinks that
it might be sold for 10 louis d’or, remarking: “he needs a great deal,
is obliged to keep a horse and carriage in order to live (for he is as
desirous to keep his life as I am willing to lose mine).”

[158] “Aus dem Schwarzspanierhause,” by Dr. Gerhard von Breuning.
Vienna, Rosner, 1874. Dr. Breuning prints the note of reconciliation
(which has appeared in this work) as subsequent to this affair. We are
unable to agree with him.

[159] Dr. Gerhard von Breuning places this incident in 1804, Thayer in
1815. The cause of the quarrel which was followed by a reconciliation
in 1804, has been explained.

[160] Saint Peter was a rock! Bernardus was a Saint!

[161] Nottebohm’s study of the sketchbooks used by Beethoven in 1815
(See “Zweit. Beeth.,” pp. 314-20) discloses that he worked upon
sketches for works which were never finished--a Symphony in B minor,
Pianoforte Concerto in D, and several Fugues, besides experimenting
with the opera “Bacchus.” There are also sketches for compositions
written in 1816, such as the song-cycle “An die ferne Geliebte” and the
Sonata, Op. 101.

Chapter XVI

The Year 1816--Guardianship of the Nephew--Giannatasio del
Rio--Beethoven’s Works in London--Birchall and Neate--New
Distinctions.

Compared with the years immediately preceding, the year 1816 is
comparatively barren of large incidents in the life of Beethoven; its
recorded history, therefore, is to be found to a still larger extent
than before in the composer’s extended correspondence together with
explanatory annotations. Some of the letters, especially those written
to his English friends, are likely to make a somewhat melancholy, and
to that extent erroneous, impression. The real record of the writer
finds expression in the letters which he wrote to Steiner and Co. and
Zmeskall. These are bubbling over with playfulness and jocularity,
proving that the writer was generally in a cheerful humor and in this
year was anything but the melancholy Beethoven of the romance writers.
He seems to have endured the rapid and disquieting increase in his
malady, an inevitable consequence of the exertions and excitement
attending the rehearsing and conducting of so many large concerts,
with surprising patience and resignation. And why not? His pecuniary
affairs were in good condition, notwithstanding his lamentations to
Ries and others; he had won his lawsuit with his brother’s widow, and
his artistic ambition must have found complete satisfaction in the
great fame which he had won. A letter concerning a new operatic project
first invites attention. The eight rôles which Madame Milder had
played in the past summer in Berlin, had given such keen delight that
she had been reëngaged for a second and much longer series. Domestic
troubles and sorrows, in which her husband, the jeweler Hauptmann,
appears to have been entirely the guilty party and which embittered
all her future life, rendered her utterly unable for the present to
appear upon the stage; and “because of illness and weakness” it was
not until several weeks after her return from the baths at Pyrmont
that she could begin the new engagement on October 3d. Meantime
“Fidelio” had been put upon the boards and “given for the first time
on October 11th with great success.” “This opera,” said the Berlin
“Dramaturgisches Wochenblatt” in its notice of the event, “bears within
itself the seeds of a dramatico-musical reformation and will hasten the
end of the bastard music.” And yet on this evening, the ~Leonore~ was
Mad. Schultze--Schuppanzigh’s sister-in-law. When, three days after,
Mad. Milder took the part, its greatness was for the first time fully
appreciated; and of the twenty-four evenings to which her engagement
extended, this greatest representative then living of Gluck’s grandest
inspirations devoted eleven to “Fidelio.” This triumph of his opera in
Berlin, drew from the composer a letter (dated January 6, 1816) full of
expressions of gratitude and enthusiastic appreciation of the singer’s
talents, and giving voice too, to a rekindled dramatic ambition. He
says:

If you were to beg Baron de la Motte Fouqué--in my name--to
invent a grand opera subject which would at the same time be
adapted to you, you would do a great service to me and the German
stage. I should like, moreover, to compose it exclusively for the
Berlin stage as I shall never bring about another opera for the
parsimonious management here.

The next letter relates to the oratorio for the Gesellschaft der
Musikfreunde:

My dear Zmeskall!

With dread I observe for the first time to-day that I have not yet
answered the application of the Gesellschaft der Musif. of the
Austrian capital for an oratorio.

The death of my brother two months ago, the guardianship of my
nephew which thereby devolved upon me, together with many other
unpleasant circumstances and occurrences are the cause of my tardy
writing. Meanwhile the poem by H. von Seyfried is already begun and
I shall also soon set the same to music. That the commission is
highly honorable, I scarcely need tell you; that is self-evident
and I shall try to execute it as worthily as my small powers will
allow.

As regards the artistic means to be employed in the performance
I shall be considerate, but do not wish not to be allowed to
depart from those already introduced. I hope that I have made
myself understood in this matter. As they insist upon knowing what
honorarium I ask, I inquire in turn whether the Society thinks
400 ducats in gold agreeable for such a work. I again beg pardon
of the society for the tardiness of my answer; meanwhile, you my
dear friend have at least reported by word of mouth my readiness
to compose the work, before this, which sets my mind measurably at
ease--My dear Z.

Your B.

The next selections require the preliminary statement of certain
facts. Beethoven’s dissatisfaction at the appointment (on November
22d) of his sister-in-law as the guardian of her son--now nine years
old--was expressed in an appeal to the Upper Austrian ~Landrecht~
on the 28th, to transfer the guardianship to himself. Next day, the
29th, that tribunal ordered the petitioner and Dr. Schönauer to appear
before it in this matter on December 2d at 10 o’clock a. m. At that
time the subject was deferred to the same hour on the 13th. Beethoven
then appeared and declared that he could produce “weighty reasons
why the widow should be entirely excluded from the guardianship.”
Whereupon, on the 15th, it was ordered that he produce those grounds
within three days, “failing which, the preparation of the guardianship
decree to the widow would be proceeded with without further delay.”
The same day Beethoven signed a petition to the City Magistrates for
an official certificate concerning the “condemnation of his (Karl’s)
mother, Johanna van Beethoven, on an investigation for infidelity.” The
magistrate answered him on the same day through their secretary that
they could not legally grant him a copy of the judgment against her,
but would communicate the “necessary disclosures” to the tribunal. This
was done on the 21st. Then came the Christmas holidays, and no further
action was taken until the 9th of January, when a decision was rendered
in Beethoven’s favor, and he was ordered to appear on the 19th to take
the “vows for the performance of his duties.” He complied, and on the
outside of this order is written:

To-day appeared Ludwig van Beethoven as the legally appointed
guardian of his nephew Carl and vowed with solemn handgrasp before
the assembled council to perform his duties.

[Sidenote: THE NEPHEW TAKEN FROM HIS MOTHER]

This document also empowered the new guardian to take possession of the
boy, who of course was still with his mother. But what to do with him?
Beethoven could not take him into his own lodging; a child of that age
needs a woman’s care and tenderness.

A certain Cajetan Giannatasio del Rio was at that time proprietor and
manager of a private school in the city for boys, which enjoyed a high
and deserved reputation. His family consisted of his wife and two
highly accomplished daughters, young women of fine talents, of much
musical taste and culture, and--especially the eldest--enthusiasts for
Beethoven’s music. The composer, accompanied by Bernard and the boy,
visited and inspected the school, and was so much pleased with it and
the family, that he determined to withdraw his nephew from the public
school, and place him there as pupil and boarder. On February 1st, he
wrote to Giannatasio:

With sincere pleasure I inform you that at last on to-morrow I
shall bring to you the precious pledge that has been intrusted to
me. Moreover I beg of you again under no circumstances to permit
the mother to exercise any influence, now or when she may see him,
all this I will talk over with you to-morrow. You may impress this
also on your servants, for ~mine~ in another matter was ~bribed~
by her! More by word of mouth though silence would be preferable
to me--but for the sake of your future citizen of the world, this
melancholy communication is necessary.

[In Karl’s hand]: I am very glad to come to you, and am your Carl
van Beethoven.

The next day, February 2, the boy was taken from his mother. The
intolerable annoyance caused by her appearing in person or sending a
messenger daily to take him from the school, drew from Giannatasio on
the 11th a written application to the guardian for “a formal authority
in a few lines for refusing without further ado to permit her to fetch
her son.” In his reply, Beethoven writes: “as regards the mother I
request that on the plea that he is busy you do not admit her to him
at all.” He then consulted Joseph Edler von Schmerling, a member
of the ~Landrecht~, upon the measures proper for him to adopt, and
communicated that gentleman’s advice to Giannatasio by letter, on the
morning of the 15th. The same day, taking Bernard with him, he went
to the school, and there meeting Giannatasio, the three prepared a
formal petition to the ~Landrecht~, praying that tribunal to grant the
guardian plenary authority to exclude the widow and her agents from all
or any direct communication with the boy. This was signed by Beethoven
and immediately presented. On the 20th, the ~Landrecht~ granted,
essentially, this petition; but its decree contained this proviso: that
the mother might still visit her son “in his leisure hours, without
disturbing the course of his education or the domestic arrangements, in
the company of a person to be appointed by the guardian or the director
of the educational institution.” Armed with this authority, Giannatasio
on March 8th informed in writing “Madame Jeannette de Beethoven,
Vorstadt, Alsergasse, No. 121,” that she has in future “to apply solely
to the uncle as to whether, how and when” she can see her son. And thus
this wretched business again for the present rested. In these days
belongs a letter by Beethoven to Giannatasio:

The Queen of Night surprised us yesterday and also delivered a
veritable anathema against you; she showed her usual impertinence
and malice against me and set me back for a moment and I almost
believed that what she said was right, but when I reached home
later I received the result of the decision of the L. R. which
turns out to be just what was desired and I communicate the most
necessary point, although you will probably receive a ~copy of it~
towards evening....

Neate was now gone to London. On his departure Beethoven wrote in his
album two canons entitled “Das Schweigen” (Silence) and “Das Reden”
(Speech), adding with the date, “January 24, 1816,” the words:

My dear English compatriot in ~silence~ and in ~speech~ remember
your sincere friend

Ludwig van Beethoven.

[Sidenote: THE LONDON PHILHARMONIC BUYS OVERTURES]

The document concerning the sale of the three overtures to the
Philharmonic Society which Beethoven promised to give Neate (which
Moscheles printed in his paraphrase of Schindler’s biography in
translation, as if it had been written in English and not altogether
correctly)[162] ran as follows:

In the month of July, 1816 [~sic~] Mr. Neate in the name of the
Philharmonic Society in London, received from me 3 overtures and
paid me for the same an honorarium of 75 guineas in consideration
of which I bind myself not to permit them to be published in
parts[163] anywhere, though the right is reserved by me to perform
them wherever I please as well as to publish them in pianoforte
arrangement though not before Mr. Neate shall have written to me
that they have been performed in London. Moreover, Mr. Neate has
assured me that he will kindly take it upon himself (to assure me)
that the Philharmonic Society will give me permission after a lapse
of one or two years to publish the 3 overtures in score and parts,
inasmuch as I can do this only with their consent, with which I
present my compliments to the P. S.

Vienna, February 5, 1816. Ludwig van Beethoven.

The three overtures had already been sold to Steiner, but were not
published till six years later. The works entrusted to him, as
remembered by Mr. Neate forty-five years afterwards, were: 1. A copy
of the Violin Concerto, Op. 61, with a transcription of the solo for
Pianoforte on the same pages, which Beethoven said he himself had
arranged and was effective; 2. The two Sonatas for Pianoforte and
Violoncello, Op. 102, with a dedication to Neate; 3. The Seventh
Symphony in score; 4. “Fidelio” in score; and 5. The String Quartet
in F minor, Op. 95--all in manuscript. There is some reason to think
that besides these works Neate also took a copy of “Der glorreiche
Augenblick.” On January 20, Beethoven wrote the following letter to
Ries in London:[164]

Vienna, January 20, 1816.

My dear Ries:

I see from your letter of January 18, that you have safely received
the two things--as no couriers are going, the post is safest, but
it costs a great deal, I will send you the bill for what I have
paid here for copying and postage soon, it is very little for an
Englishman but all the more for a poor Austrian musician!

See that Mr. B.[165] recompenses me for this, since he has the
compositions for England very cheaply. Neate, who has been about to
go every moment, but always remains, will bring the overtures with
him, I have always communicated to him the injunctions touching
them given by you and our deceased S.[166]--the symphony will be
dedicated to the Empress of Russia. The pianoforte arrangement of
the Symphony in A must not be published before the month of June,
the publisher cannot be earlier--tell this at once to B. my dear
good R.

The Sonata with violin, which will go from here by the next post,
may also be published in London in the month of May--but the Trio
later. (It will also arrive by the next post) I will fix the date
myself later.

And now my heartiest thanks dear Ries, for all the kindness you
have shown to me and particularly for the corrections. Heaven bless
you and make your progress ever greater in which I take a cordial
interest--commend me to your ~wife~.

It is necessary here to state certain facts, both to explain the
failure of Mr. Neate to sell any of these works to the London
publishers, and to render some of the letters to come intelligible.

[Sidenote: THE PHILHARMONIC SOCIETY DISAPPOINTED]

The Philharmonic Society was an association of the first musicians
of London and its vicinity, and no city on earth could at that time
present such an array of great names. Here are a few of them taken
alphabetically from its roll: Atwood, Ayrton, Bridgetower, Clementi,
Cramer, Carnaby, Dragonetti, Horsley, Lindley, Mazzinghi, Mori, Naldi,
Novello, Ries, Shield, Smart, Spagnoletti, Viotti, Watts, S. Webbe,
Yanewicz. Imagine the disappointment of these men, fresh from the
performance of the C minor Symphony, when they played through the
overtures to “The Ruins of Athens” and “King Stephen,” which, however
interesting to a Hungarian audience as introductions to a patriotic
prologue and epilogue in the theatre, possess none of those great
qualities expected from Beethoven and demanded in a concert overture!
Nor was the “Namensfeier” thought worthy of its author. Ries speaks
thus of this matter:

After I had with much trouble persuaded the Philharmonic Society
to permit me to order three overtures from him, which should
remain its property, he sent me three, not one of which, in view
of Beethoven’s great name and the character of these concerts,
could be performed, because expectation was tense and more than
the ordinary was asked of Beethoven. A few years later he published
all three and the Society did not think it worth while to complain.
Amongst them was the overture to “The Ruins of Athens,” which I
consider unworthy of him.

But when it became known that neither of the three--Op. 115 possibly
excepted--was new, and that not one of them had been composed to meet
the Society’s order, is it surprising that this act of Beethoven’s was
deemed unworthy of him, disrespectful, nay, an insult to the Society,
and resented accordingly?

Another matter was personal with Mr. Birchall. That publisher, having
at last (early in February) received the last of the works purchased
by him, immediately deposited with Coutts and Co. the sum agreed upon,
to the composer’s credit, and forwarded the following “Declaration” to
Vienna for signature, leaving the day of the month blank--as it still
remains--to be inserted when signed:

Received ... March, 1816, of Mr. Robert Birchall--Music Seller,
133 New Bond Street, London--the sum of One Hundred and thirty
Gold Dutch Ducats, value in English Currency Sixty-five Pounds,
for all my Copyright and Interest, present and future, vested or
contingent, or otherwise within the United Kingdom of Great Britain
and Ireland in the four following Compositions or Pieces of Music
composed or arranged by me, viz.:

1st. A Grand Battle Sinfonia, descriptive of the Battle and Victory
at Vittoria, adapted for the Pianoforte and dedicated to his Royal
Highness, the Prince Regent--40 Ducats.

2nd. A Grand Symphony in the Key of A, adapted to the Pianoforte
and dedicated to

3rd. A Grand Trio for the Pianoforte, Violon and Violoncello in the
Key of B.

4th. A Sonata for the Pianoforte with an Accompaniment for the
Violin in the Key of G, dedicated to

And, in consideration of such payment I hereby for myself, my
Executors and Administrators promise and engage to execute a proper
Assignment thereof to him, his Executors and Administrators or
Assignees at his or their Request and Costs, as he or they shall
direct. And I likewise promise and engage as above, that none of
the above shall be published in any foreign Country, before the
time and day fixed and agreed on for such Publication between R.
Birchall and myself shall arrive.

Instead of ~this~ document, so indispensable for his security, the
publisher received a new demand from Beethoven!--one for five pounds
additional, as per memorandum:

Copying 1.10.0
Postage to Amsterdam 1. 0.0
Trio 2.10.0
------
£5.0.0

The very unfavorable impression which this proceeding made upon the
mind of Mr. Birchall may readily be conceived. These £5 are the 10
ducats mentioned in the following letter, portions of which were
suppressed when printed by Ries:

Vienna, May 8, 1816.

My answer comes somewhat tardily; but I was ill, had much to do
and it was impossible for me to answer you sooner; now only the
most necessary things--not a ~Heller~ of the 10 ducats in gold
has as yet arrived, and I am already beginning to believe, that
the Englishmen, too, are only magnanimous in foreign lands; so
also with the Prince Regent from whom I have not even received the
copyist’s fees for my Battle sent to him, not even written or oral
thanks;[167] Fries here deducted 6 fl. Convention money. On the
receipt of the money from Birchall, besides 15 fl. Convention money
for postage, tell B. this--and see that you yourself get the draft
for the 10 ducats, otherwise it will go like the first time--what
you tell me about Neate’s undertaking ~would be desirable for
me~. I need it, my salary amounts to 3400 florins in paper, I pay
1100 house-rent, my servant and his wife nearly 900 fl. Calculate
what remains. Moreover, I have got to care wholly for my little
nephew. He is till now still in the Institute; this costs me close
to 1100 fl. and is poor besides, so that I must establish myself
in decent housekeeping so that I can have him with me. How much
one must earn in order to live here; and yet there is never an end
for--for--for--you know it already. As to the dedications another
time. A few orders besides the concert would also be welcome from
the Philharmonic Society--besides my dear pupil Ries ought to
sit down and dedicate something good to me to which the ~master
would also~ respond and repay kind with kind. How shall I send you
my portrait! I hope too, to have news from Neate, ~urge him on
a bit~, be assured of my sincere interest in your futures. Urge
Neate on to ~work and composition~. All things lovely to your wife.
Unfortunately I have none. I found only one, whom I shall doubtless
never possess; but am not a woman hater on that account.

Your true friend,
Beethoven.

[Sidenote: UNGROUNDED SUSPICION OF NEATE]

Immediately upon the receipt of this letter, Ries spoke with Mr.
Birchall, who next day (March 15), deposited the £5 with Coutts and
Co.; but month after month passed and still the “Declaration” with
Beethoven’s signature did not arrive. Of the justice, propriety,
delicacy of this new demand, nothing need be said; its historical
importance is due entirely to the very unfavorable effect which it and
the correspondence relating to it produced upon the minds of the London
publishers. Mr. Neate was in some degree prepared for the coldness with
which those gentlemen received his proposals in Beethoven’s behalf, by
a letter written to him after the trial of the overtures. One sentence
in it he remembered word for word: “For God’s sake, don’t buy anything
of Beethoven!” But he was not prepared for the utter refusal in all
quarters to listen to him. He besought Mr. Birchall to purchase the
overtures. The reply was: “I would not print them, if you would give me
them gratis.”

As to the score of the Symphony in A (the Seventh), it was folly
to expect that the Philharmonic Society would pay a large sum for
the manuscript of a work already (March 6) advertised in Vienna for
subscription at the price of twenty-five florins.

It is another instance of Beethoven’s unlucky tendency to suspect the
conduct and motives of others, that seeing in a newspaper a notice of
the production of one of his Symphonies by the Philharmonic Society, he
at once assumed that it was the Seventh and that Neate had given the
use of his manuscript!

Under such circumstances Neate ~could~ do nothing for Beethoven; nor
could he well disclose the true causes of his failure; so the composer
characteristically assumed that he ~would~ do nothing, and, as will
be seen, gave vent to his wrath in terms equally bitter and unjust.
The letters selected pertaining to these transactions are reserved for
their places in chronological order.

Linke’s departure with the Erdödys to Croatia was noted in the last
chapter; he returned to Vienna in the Autumn in season to enable
Schuppanzigh to begin his winter season of quartets in November. They
were given in the hall of the hotel “Zum Römischen Kaiser,” and had now
ended. So, too, had ended the engagement of Schuppanzigh, Weiss and
Linke with Rasoumowsky. The destruction of his palace, the approach
of old age, and failing sight, induced him now to dismiss them with
suitable pensions from his service. Schuppanzigh went to Russia; Linke
returned to the Erdödys and Weiss remained in Vienna. Before their
departure the first two gave each a farewell concert. Schuppanzigh’s
took place in the palace of Count Deym, the programme being made up
entirely of Beethoven’s works, viz: Quartet C major, Op. 59; Quintet
for Wind-instruments and Pianoforte, Op. 16, Carl Czerny, pianist;
and the Septet, Op. 20. Beethoven “entered at the beginning of the
quartet” and shared in the deafening applause of the crowded audience.
Czerny relates: “When I played the Quintet with Wind-instruments at
Schuppanzigh’s concert, I allowed myself in my youthful frivolity,
many changes--increasing the difficulty of passages, using the higher
octaves, etc. Beethoven very properly and severely upbraided me for it
in the presence of Schuppanzigh, Linke and the other players. The next
day I received from him the following letter, which I copy exactly from
the original lying before me”:

I cannot see you to-day, to-morrow I will come to you in person to
talk with you. I burst out so yesterday, I was very sorry after it
had happened, but you must pardon it in an author who would have
preferred to hear his work just as he wrote it, beautifully as you
played otherwise. I will make it good ~publicly~ to-morrow at the
Violoncello Sonata.

Be assured that as an artist I cherish the best of good feeling for
you and shall always strive to manifest it.

Linke’s concert took place on the 18th of February in the hall of
the “Römischer Kaiser,” the programme, except a Rondoletto for the
Violoncello by Romberg, being also entirely Beethoven. Stainer von
Felsburg played the new Sonata, Op. 101, and Czerny the pianoforte part
of one of the Sonatas, Op. 102, on which occasion the composer “made
it good publicly.” And so, except for an occasional visit to Vienna by
Linke, two more of our old acquaintances disappear for several years;
also Hummel and Wild. Hummel we shall meet again beside Beethoven’s
death-bed; Wild no more. An album-leaf containing a canon, “Ars
longa, vita brevis est” and “A happy journey, my dear Hummel, think
occasionally of your friend, Ludwig van Beethoven, Vienna, April 4,
1816,” was the farewell to the pianist and composer. On the 20th, Wild
gave a little musical festival “in the home of an art-lover,” at which
he sang the “Adelaide” and “An die Hoffnung,” Op. 94. Beethoven was
present and played the accompaniments. And this was his farewell to the
singer. On April 3d, Beethoven wrote the following letter to Ries:

My dear Ries:

Hr. B. has probably received the Trio and Sonata by this time, in
the last letter I asked 10 ducats more for copying and postage,
probably you will work out these 10 ducats for me--I always have
some worriment lest you are spending a great deal for me for
postage, I greatly wish that you would be so kind to charge up to
me all my letters to you as I want to have you reimbursed from here
by the house of Fries to the house of Coutts in London. Unless
the publisher B. objects, in which case he must send me notice
immediately by post, the Sonata with violin will appear here
on June 15th, the Trio on July 15th, concerning the pianoforte
arrangement of the Symphony, I will inform Herr B. when it is to
come out. Neate must now be in London; I gave him to carry with
him a number of my compositions; and he promised to put them to
the best use for me, greet him for me. Archduke Rudolph also plays
your works with me, my dear Ries, of which ~Il sogno~ pleases me
particularly. Farewell, my dear R., commend me to your dear wife
as well as all the pretty English women to whom it might give
pleasure.

[Sidenote: APPEALS TO CHARLES NEATE]

On May 15, a letter of condolence to Countess Erdödy was called out by
the sudden death of her son Fritzi. At the countryseat in Croatia, the
lad burst one morning into his sister’s room and, complaining of his
head, with a cry of anguish sank dead at her feet. Beethoven labors
sadly in his effort to find words of comfort for the stricken mother:
“Reflect that your son might have been forced to go into battle and
might then, like millions of others, have met his death, besides you
are still the ~mother~ of two dear, hopeful children.” On the same day
he wrote a French letter to Neate which, because of its characteristic
style and unconventional spelling, Moscheles reproduced literally. A
paragraph will suffice us here:

Avanthier on me portait un extrait d’une Gazette anglaise nommée
Morning cronigle, ou je lisoit avec grand plasir, que la societé
philharmonique à donné ma sinfonie in A♯; c’est une grande
satisfaction pour moi, mais je souhais bien d’avoir de vous même
des nouvelles, que vous ferez avec tous les compositions, que j’ai
vous donnés; vous m’avez promis ici, de donner un concert pour moi,
mais ne prenez mal, si je me méfis un peu, quand je pense que le
Prince regent d’angleterre ne me dignoit pas ni d’une reponse ni
d’une autre reconnaissance pour la Bataile que j’ai envoyé a son
Altesse, et lequelle on a donnée si souvent a Londre, et seulement
les gazettes annoncoient le reussir de cet œuvre et rien d’autre
chose....

The following letter of a few days later was written in English,
probably by Häring, and only signed by Beethoven:

Vienna, May 18, 1816.

My dear Neate:

By a letter of Mr. Ries, I am acquainted with your happy arrival at
London. I am very well pleased with it, and still better I should
be pleased if I had learned it by yourself.

Concerning our business, I know well enough that for the
performance of the greater works, as the Symphony, the Cantata,
the Chorus, and the Opera, you want the help of the Philharmonic
Society, and I hope your endeavour to my advantage will be
successful.

Mr. Ries gave me notice of your intention to give a concert to
my benefit. For this triumph of my art at London I would be
indebted to you alone; but an influence still wholesomer on my
almost indigent life, would be to have the profit proceeding from
this enterprise. You know, that in some regard I am now father
to the lovely lad you saw with me; hardly I can live alone three
months upon my annual salary of 3400 florins in paper, and now the
additional burden of maintaining a poor orphan--you conceive how
welcome lawful means to improve my circumstances must be to me.
As for the Quartet in F minor, you may sell it without delay to a
publisher, and signify me the day of its publication, as I should
wish it to appear here and abroad on the very day. The same you be
pleased to do with the two Sonatas, Op. 102, for pianoforte and
violoncello; yet with the latter it needs no haste.

I leave entirely to your judgment to fix the terms for both works,
to wit, the Quatuor and the Sonatas, the more the better. Be so
kind to write me immediately for two reasons; 1st, that I may not
be obliged to shrink up my shoulders when they ask me if I got
letters from you; and 2dly, that I may know how you do, and if I
am in favour with you. Answer me in English if you have to give me
happy news (for example, those of giving a concert to my benefit),
in French if they are bad ones.

Perhaps you find some lover of music to whom the Trio and the
Sonata with violin, Mr. Ries had sold to Mr. Birchall, or the
Symphony arranged for the Pianoforte, might be dedicated, and from
whom there might be expected a present. In expectation of your
speedy answer, my dear friend and countryman, I am, yours truly,

Ludwig van Beethoven

We can follow the progress of the business in connection with the
compositions to be published in London in the following letter to Ries:

Vienna, June 11, 1816.

My dear R.!

I am sorry that because of me, you are again compelled to pay out
some postage money, willing as I am to help and serve others it
gives me equal pain to burden others with my affairs. Of the 10
ducats nothing has appeared up-to-date and the conclusion to be
formed from this is that in England as here there are wind-bags and
people who do not keep their word. I charge nothing against you in
this. Nevertheless I must beg of you to go to Mr. Birchall again
in the matter of the 10 ducats, and to ~collect~ them yourself,
I assure you on my honor that I paid the 21 fl. in Convention
coin for expenses outside the copyist’s fee and several postages
in bank-notes. The money was not even paid in ducats, though you
yourself wrote me that it would be paid in Dutch ducats--therefore
there are also in England such conscientious persons to whom
keeping their word is nothing?!! The publisher here has applied to
me to have the Trio ~published in London on the last of August~,
for which reason I beg of you kindly to speak with Mr. B. Mr. B.
can get himself in readiness concerning the pianoforte arrangement
of the Symphony in A, since as soon as the publisher here tells me
the day I shall immediately let you or B. know.

As I have not heard a syllable from Neate since his arrival in
London, I beg you to tell him to give you an answer whether
he has sold the Quartet in F minor as I want to publish it
here simultaneously, and what I may expect in reference to the
Violoncello Sonatas? Of all the other works which I sent by him I
am almost ashamed to speak, even to myself for having again been
so trustful to give them to him wholly without conditions trusting
that his friendship and care for my interests would find a way.
I was given to read a translation of a report in the ~Morning
Chronicle~ about the performance of a Symphony (probably in A).
The same thing will probably happen to this as well as all the
other works which I gave to N. as happened to the Battle, I shall
probably get nothing for them as I got nothing for that work except
to read about the performances in the newspapers. The pianoforte
arrangement of the Symphony in A was hastily copied and after
looking through it carefully I have had the transcriber change a
few passages which I will communicate to you. All things lovely to
your wife.

In haste, your true friend,

Beethoven.

N. B. Have you dedicated your Concerto in E-flat to Archduke
Rudolph? Why did you not write to him yourself about it?

Touching the unhappy negotiations with Birchall and the “declaration,”
Beethoven finally wrote, in French, the following letter:

(To Mr. Birchall)

Vienna, July 22, 1816.

Monsieur:

I received the declaration for my signature concerning the works
which I ceded to you. I am perfectly willing to meet your wishes as
soon as the trifling affair of the 10 ducats due me for the expense
of copying, postage, etc., is adjusted, as I have had the honor to
explain to you in detail.

I beg of you, Monsieur, kindly to remit the small sum so as to
enable me to send you the before-mentioned document. Please accept
the assurance of my greatest esteem, etc.

[Sidenote: MOTHER BANNED DURING SURGICAL TREATMENT]

Beethoven had now made up his mind to take his nephew from
Giannatasio’s care and make a home for him with himself. The removal
was to be made at the end of the approaching quarter and meanwhile Karl
was to remain where he was so that he might have proper care during
his recovery from the effects of an operation for hernia. Beethoven
notified his purpose to Giannatasio on July 28, 1816, and admonished
his friend that in the interim the old strictness was to be observed
touching the mother’s visits. The following passage is from the letter:

As regards the Queen of Night, matters will remain as they have
been, and even if the operation should be performed at your place,
as he will be ill for a few days and consequently more susceptible
and irritable, she is all the less to be admitted to him since all
impressions might easily be renewed in K. which we cannot permit.
How little we can hope for amendment in her case is shown by the
enclosed insipid scrawl which I send you only that you may see how
how right I am in pursuing the plan adopted; but this time I did
not answer her like a Sarastro but like a sultan.

The surgical operation on the boy was performed by Dr. Smetana and
under the affectionate care which he received at the hands of the
Giannatasios he quickly recovered and visited his uncle at Baden, going
thither with the Giannatasios. Fräulein Fanny tells the story of the
visit simply and gracefully:

While his nephew was still with us [she writes], Beethoven once
invited us to visit him at Baden where he was spending the summer
months, my father and we two daughters with Karl. Although our host
had been informed of our coming we soon noticed that no arrangement
had been made for our entertainment. B. went with us in the evening
to a tavern where we were surprised to note that he dickered with
the waiter about every roll, but this was because owing to his bad
hearing he had frequently been cheated by serving-people; for even
then one had to be very close to his ear to make him understand and
I recall that I was often greatly embarrassed when I had to pierce
through the grayish hairs which concealed his ear; he himself
often said: “I must have my hair cut!” Looking at him cursorily
one thought that his hair was coarse and bristly, but it was very
fine and when he put his hand through it, it remained standing in
all directions which often looked comical. (Once when he came we
noticed a hole in the elbow when he was taking his overcoat off; he
must have remembered it for he wanted to put it on again, but said,
laughing, taking it completely off: “You’ve already seen it!”)

When we came to his lodgings in the afternoon a walk was proposed;
but our host would not go along, excusing himself saying he had
a great deal to do; but he promised to follow and join us, and
did so. But when we came back in the evening there was not a sign
of entertainment to be seen. B. muttered excuses and accusations
against the persons who had been charged with the arrangements
and helped us to settle ourselves; O how interesting it was! to
move a light sofa with his help. A rather large room in which his
pianoforte stood, was cleaned for us girls to use as a bedroom.
But sleep remained long absent from us in this musical sanctuary.
Yes, and I must confess to my shame that our curiosity and desire
to know things led us to examine a large round table which stood
in the room. A note-book in particular received our attention. But
there was such a confusion of domestic matters, and much of it
which to us was illegible that we were amazed; but, behold, one
passage I still remember--there it stood: “My heart runs over at
the sight of lovely nature--although she is not here!”--that gave
us a great deal to think about. In the morning a very prosaic noise
roused us out of our poetical mood! B. also appeared soon with a
scratched face, and complained that he had had a quarrel with his
servant who was going away, “Look,” he said, “how he has maltreated
me!” He complained also that these persons, although they knew that
he could not hear, did nothing to make themselves understood. We
then took a walk through the beautiful Helenenthal, we girls ahead,
then B. and our father. What follows we were able to overhear with
strained ears:

My father thought that B. could rescue himself from his unfortunate
domestic conditions only by marriage, did he know anybody, etc.
Now our long foreboding was confirmed: “he was unhappy in love!
Five years ago he had made the acquaintance of a person, a union
with whom he would have considered the greatest happiness of
his life. It was not to be thought of, almost an impossibility,
a chimera--nevertheless it is now as on the first day.” This
harmony, he added, he had not yet discovered! It had never reached
a confession, but he could not get it out of his mind! Then there
followed a moment which made good for many misunderstandings and
grievous conduct on his part; for he acknowledged my father’s
friendly offer to help him as much as possible in his domestic
troubles, and I believe he was convinced of his friendship for him.
He spoke again of his unfortunate loss of hearing, of the wretched
physical existence which he had endured for a long time. He (B.)
was so happy at the noonday meal (in the open air in Helena) his
muse hovered around him! He frequently turned aside and wrote a few
measures with the remark: “My promenade with you cost me some notes
but brought in others.” All this happened in September of the year
1816.

Beethoven’s project now was, upon returning to the city to abandon
his tavern life and so to arrange his domestic affairs as to have
his nephew live with him and attend school or study with private
tutors--perhaps both. As usual Zmeskall was charged with looking after
servants, discovering their qualifications, etc. After Karl should come
there would be need of a housekeeper, but meanwhile Beethoven suggested
to Zmeskall that he find for him a servant who should be good, of
decent deportment, well recommended, married “and not murderous so that
my life may be safe inasmuch as for the sake of several rapscallions I
want to live a little longer in this world.” He returned to Vienna by
September 27 at the latest.

[Sidenote: “AN DIE FERNE GELIEBTE”]

That brilliant youth Alois Jeitteles of Brünn, now a student of
medicine at Vienna, wrote when hardly twenty-one years of age the
beautiful series of songs “An die ferne Geliebte,” so exquisitely set
to music by Beethoven. Schindler states, that the composer thanked the
young poet for the happy inspiration; but whether he had found them in
a handbook, which is probable, or received them in manuscript, does
not appear. But no one can hear them adequately sung without feeling
that there is something more in that music than the mere inspiration
of the poetry. It was completed not many weeks before, in his letter
to Ries (May 8), he wrote: “I found only one whom I shall doubtless
never possess”; and but six months before the above conversation with
Giannatasio. Just five years had now elapsed since he became acquainted
with Amalie von Sebald: was she not the real inspiration of “An die
ferne Geliebte”?[168]

Peter Joseph Simrock of Bonn, then 24 years of age, was now in
Vienna. He was often with Beethoven, in Baden, in his lodging in the
Sailerstätte and in the inn “Zur goldenen Birn,” where he often dined
after the removal of Giannatasio to that quarter. Mr. Simrock also told
the writer that he had no difficulty in making Beethoven understand
him if he spoke into his left ear; but anything private or confidential
must be communicated in writing. On one occasion the composer handed
him paper and pencil, remarking that his servant was an eavesdropper,
etc. A few days afterwards when Simrock called again, “Now,” said
Beethoven, “we can talk, for I have given my servant 5 florins, a kick
in the rear and sent him to the devil.”

Everywhere in public, said Simrock, Beethoven railed at Emperor Franz
because of the reduction of the paper money. “Such a rascal ought to
be hanged to the first tree,” said he. But he was known and the police
officials let him do what he pleased. He ate a great deal at the tavern
because he ordered haphazard and sent away what was not to his taste.

Another of Beethoven’s visitors just now was Alexander Kyd. This
gentleman, since July 25, 1810, a Major-General in the East India
Company’s Engineer Corps, paid the usual tribute to the climate,
and, broken down in health, came to Vienna to put himself under the
treatment of Malfatti. He thus made the acquaintance of Dr. Bertolini,
who gave to Jahn and the present writer the following details:

[Sidenote: AN ENGLISH COMMISSION REJECTED]

Kyd was a great lover of music, and, after his long residence in
India, enjoyed to the utmost his present opportunities of hearing it.
Bertolini took him to Czerny, who during several visits played to
him all the pianoforte works of Beethoven then in print. The General
was ravished with these compositions, asked for a complete thematic
catalogue of the composer’s works, and besought Bertolini to introduce
him to their author. This took place on the 28th of September “in the
house next to the Colorado Palace,” said Bertolini. They found him
shaving and looking shockingly, his ruddy face browned by the Baden
sun variegated by razor cuts, bits of paper, and soap. As Kyd seated
himself crash! went the chair. In the course of the interview, the
General, showing the common belief of Beethoven’s poverty, proposed
to him through the Doctor, to compose a symphony for which he would
pay him 200 ducats (£100), and secure its performance by the London
Philharmonic Society, not doubting that the profits of the work to
the composer would thus amount to £1000. He offered also to take him
himself to London. To Beethoven’s leaving Vienna just now there really
seems to have been no serious impediment, other than his nephew; and
the boy was certainly in the best of hands so long as he remained with
Giannatasio. However, he did not accept the proposition, nor even the
order for the Symphony; because Kyd desired to have it rather like the
earlier, than the later ones--that is, somewhat shorter, simpler, and
more easy of comprehension than these last. The conclusion of the story
as told in the Fischoff MS. corresponds entirely with the Doctor’s
relation:

When Bertolini related all this to his friend with sympathetic joy
the latter received it in an entirely different spirit. He declared
that he would receive dictation from no one; he needed no money,
despised it and would not submit himself to the whim of another
man for half the world, still less compose anything which was not
according to his liking, to his individuality. From that time he
was also cool toward Bertolini and remained so.

When he afterwards quarrelled with and insulted Malfatti he broke
entirely with Bertolini; but both those gentlemen were too honorable
ever to disclose the details of this breach. Simrock writes in an
autograph notice for this work:

When I visited Beethoven in Vienna on September 29, 1816, he told
me that he had had a visit on the day before from an Englishman
who on behalf of the London Philharmonic Society had asked him
to compose a symphony for that institution in the style of the
first and second symphonies, regardless of cost.... As an artist
he felt himself deeply offended at such an offer and indignantly
refused it and thus closed the interview with the intermediary.
In his excitement he expressed himself very angrily and with deep
displeasure towards a nation which by such an offer had manifested
so low an opinion of an artist and art, which he looked upon as a
great insult. When we were passing Haslinger’s publishing house
in the Graben in the afternoon he stopped suddenly and pointing
to a large, powerfully built man who had just entered, cried out:
“There’s the man whom I threw down stairs yesterday!”

“Whom I threw down stairs” was, of course, meant metaphorically. It
is pretty evident that Beethoven in some degree misunderstood General
Kyd’s proposition and that this ebullition of spleen was rather
directed against Neate and the Philharmonic Society than the General.
It is greatly to be regretted that this artistic pride had so little
restraining effect upon his correspondence when pecuniary matters form
the topic--which remark brings us again to Mr. Birchall. Beethoven
had at last discovered the £5 to his credit in the bank of Fries and
Co., and signed a receipt for it on August 3d--too late to prevent the
following letter being sent to him:

August 14, 1815.

Sir:

Mr. Birchall received yours of the 22d of last month and was
surprised to hear you have not yet received the additional £5.0.0
to defray your expenses of copying, etc. He assures the above
sum was paid to Messrs. Coutts and Co., March 15th last, to be
transmitted to Messrs. Fries and Co., of Vienna for you, which
he supposed you would receive as safe as the previous sum. In
consequence of your last letter, inquiry has again been made at
Messrs. Coutts and Co., respecting it and they have referred to
their books and find that Messrs. Fries and Co., were written
to on the 13th of May, and in that letter the following extract
respecting you was contained.

London, May 13, 1816.

“To Messrs. Fries and Co.:

“We have received from Mr. Birchall a farther sum of five pounds
[£5] on your account for the use of Mr. Beethoven. You will
therefore please to account to that gentleman for the same and
include the amount in your next bill upon us.

“Coutts and Co.”

If Mr. Beethoven will call on Messrs. Fries and Co., and get them
to refer to that letter, no doubt it will be immediately paid, as
there is a balance in their favour at Messrs. Coutts and Co., of
£5.0.0, which was not included in their last Bill on London.

Mr. Birchall is sorry you have not received it so soon as you
ought, but he hopes you will be convinced the fault does not lay
[~sic~] with him, as the money was paid the day after Mr. Ries
spoke about it.

Mr. Birchall wished particularly to have the Declaration returned
to him as soon as possible and likewise wishes you to favour him
with the Dedications and operas, which are to be put to the Trio,
Sonata and the Grand Symphony in A. The publication of the Sonata
has been delayed a long time in consequence of that, but he hopes
you will not delay forwarding ~all on the receipt of this~. When
you write again Mr. Birchall will be glad to know your sentiments
respecting writing Variations to the most favourite English, Scotch
or Irish airs for the Pianoforte with an accompaniment either for
the violin or violoncello--as you find best--about the same length
as Mozart’s airs “La dove prende” and “Colomba o tortorella” and
Handel’s “See the Conquering Hero Comes”; with your Variations, be
so good, when you oblige him with your terms, as to say whether the
airs need be sent you; if you have many perhaps mentioning the name
will be sufficient. In fixing the price Mr. Birchall wishes you to
mention a sum that will include Copying and Postages.

For R. Birchall.
C. Lonsdale.

Beethoven’s reply in English bears all the marks of Häring’s pen, being
only signed by himself:

Vienna, October 1, 1816.

My dear Sir:

I have duly received the £5, and thought previously you would
not increase the number of Englishmen neglecting their word and
honour as I had the misfortune of meeting with two of this sort.
In reply to the other topics of your favour, I have no objection
to write Variations according to your plan and I hope you will not
find £30 too much, the accompaniment will be a flute or violin
or a violoncello; you’ll either decide it when you send me the
approbation of the price, or you’ll leave it to me. I expect to
receive the songs or poetry--the sooner the better, and you’ll
favour me also with the probable number of works of Variations you
are inclined to receive of me.

The Sonate in G with the accompaniment of a violin is dedicated to
his Imperial Highness, Archduke Rudolph of Austria--it is Op. 96.
The Trio in B-[flat] is dedicated to the same and is Op. 97. The
Piano arrangement of the Symphony in A is dedicated to the Empress
of the Russias, meaning the wife of the Emperor Alexander--Op. 98.

Concerning the expenses of copying and posting, it is not possible
to fix them before hand, they are at any rate not considerable
and you’ll please to consider that you have to deal with a man
of honour, who will not charge one 6d [sixpence] more than he is
charged for himself. Messrs. Fries and Co., will account with
Messrs. Coutts and Co. The postage may be lessened as I have been
told.

I offer you of my works the following new ones. A grand Sonata for
the pianoforte alone £40. A Trio for the Piano with accompt. of
Violin or Violoncello for £50. It is possible that somebody will
offer you other works of mine to purchase: for ex. the Score of
the Grand Symphony in A. With regard to the arrangement of this
Symphony for the piano, I beg you not to forget that you are not to
publish it until I have appointed the day of its publication here
in Vienna. This cannot be otherwise without making myself guilty of
a dishonourable act--but the Sonata with the violin and the Trio in
B-flat may be published without any delay.

With all the ~new Works~ which you will have of me or which I offer
you, it rests with you to name the day of their publication at your
own choice. I entreat you to honour me as soon as possible with an
answer having many orders for compositions and that you may not be
delayed. My address or direction is:

Monsieur Louis van Beethoven,
No. 1055 and 1056 Sailerstätte, 3te Stock,
Vienna.

You may send your letter if you please direct to your,

Most humble servant,
Ludwig van Beethoven.

Beethoven not only complained of Neate to Ries, but now wrote to
Smart of him in such bitter terms that that gentleman suppressed the
letter entirely except to show it to Neate himself, whose grief and
astonishment at the injustice done him are but partly expressed in this
next letter:

[Sidenote: NEATE DEFENDS HIMSELF AGAINST CENSURE]

London, October 29, 1816.

My dear Beethoven:

Nothing has ever given me more pain than your letter to Sir George
Smart. I confess that I deserve your censure, that I am greatly
in fault; but must say also that I think you have judged too
hastily and too harshly of my conduct. The letter I sent you some
time since, was written at a moment when I was in ~such~ a state
of mind and spirits that I am sure, had you seen me or known my
sufferings, you would have excused every unsatisfactory passage in
it. Thank God! it is now all over, and I was just on the point of
writing to you, when Sir George called with your letter. I do not
know how to begin an answer to it; I have never been called upon
to justify myself, because it is the first time that I ever stood
accused of dishonor; and what makes it the more painful is “that I
stand accused by the man who, of all in the world, I most admire
and esteem, and one also whom I have never ceased to think of, and
wish for his welfare, since I made his acquaintance.” But as the
appearance of my conduct has been so unfavorable in your eyes,
I must tell you again of the situation I was in previous to my
marriage.

* * * * *

I remain in my profession, and with no abatement of my love of
Beethoven! During this period I could not myself do anything
publicly, consequently all your music remained in my drawer unseen
and unheard. I, however, did make a very considerable attempt
with the Philharmonic to acquire for you what I thought you fully
entitled to. I offered all your music to them upon condition
that they made you a very handsome present; this they said they
could not afford, but proposed to see and hear your music, and
then offer a price for it; I objected and replied “that I should
be ashamed that your music should be put up by auction and bid
for!--that your name and reputation were too dear to me”; and I
quitted the meeting with a determination to give a concert and take
all the trouble myself, rather than that your feelings should be
wounded by the chance of their disapproval of your works. I was
the more apprehensive of this, from the unfortunate circumstances
of your Overtures not being well received; they said they had no
more to hope for, from your other works. I was not a Director
last season, but I am for the next, and then I shall have a voice
which I shall take care to exert. I have offered your Sonatas to
several publishers, but they thought them too difficult, and said
they would not be saleable, and consequently made offers such as
I could not accept, but when I shall have played them to a few
professors, their reputation will naturally be increased by their
merits, and I hope to have better offers. The Symphony you read
of in the “Morning Chronicle” I believe to be the one in C minor;
it certainly was not the one in A, for it has not been played at
a concert. I shall insist upon its being played next season, and
most probably the first night. I am exceedingly glad that you have
chosen Sir George Smart to make your complaints of me to, as he is
a man of honor, and very much your friend; had it been anyone else,
your complaint might have been listened to, and I injured all the
rest of my life. But I trust I am too respectable to be thought
unfavorably of by those who know me. I am, however, quite willing
to give up every sheet I have of yours, if you again desire it.
Sir George will write by the next post, and will confirm this. I
am sorry you say that I did not even ~acknowledge~ my obligation
to you, because I talked of nothing else at Vienna, as every one
there who knows me can testify. I even offered my purse, which you
generously always declined. Pray, my dear Friend, believe me to
remain,

Ever yours, most sincerely,
C. Neate.

Zmeskall, whose patience and forbearance were inexhaustible, had again
provided his friend with servants--a man and his wife--and something
was done towards making the lodging in the Sailerstätte ready to
receive the nephew at the end of the quarter. But this was not yet to
be. The circumstances explain the following little letter to Zmeskall
of date November 3, 1816:

Dear Z. Your non-recommendation of the servants engaged by me I
can also not recommend--I beg of you at once to hand over to me
through Hr. Schlemmer the papers, testimonials, etc., which you
have from them. I have reason to suspect them of a theft. I have
been continually ill since the 14th of last month and must keep to
my bed and room. All projects concerning my nephew have foundered
because of these miserable persons.

[Sidenote: WRETCHED DOMESTIC CONDITIONS]

Further information is provided by the following letter to Giannatasio:

Valued Friend:

My household greatly resembles a shipwreck, or threatens to, in
brief I have been so swindled in reference to these people by one
who affects to be a connoisseur, moreover my recovery seems to be
in no hurry. To engage a steward whose exterior and interior is
unknown under such circumstances, and to leave the education of my
Karl to chance, I can never do, great as are the sacrifices which
in many respects I shall again be called upon to make, I therefore
beg you to keep my Karl again for this quarter, I shall accept your
suggestion regarding his cultivation of music to this extent that
Karl shall leave you 2 or even 3 times a week evenings at 6 o’clock
and remain with me till the next morning when he shall return to
you again by about 8 o’clock. Every day would be too taxing for
K. and for me, since it would always have to be at the same hour,
too wearisome and restricting. We shall discuss more in detail
during this quarter what would be most practicable and considerate
also for me, for, in view, unfortunately of the fact that my
circumstances are continually getting worse I must also use this
expression, if your residence in the garden had been better adapted
to my health, everything would more easily have been arranged. As
regards my indebtedness to you for the last quarter I must beg of
you to bring the matter directly to my attention as the bearer of
this has been blessed by God with a certain amount of stupidity
which one might not begrudge him if others were not affected by
it. Regarding the other expenditures for Karl during his illness
or matters connected with it, I beg of you to have patience for
a few days as I have large expenditures just now on all hands. I
should also like to know how I am to conduct myself toward Smettana
in view of his successfully accomplished operation. So far as his
compensation is concerned if I were rich or not in the condition
of all (except the Austrian usurers) whom fate has bound to this
country, I would not ask at all. I only mean an approximate
estimate. Farewell, I embrace you with all my heart, and will
always look upon you as the friend of myself and my Karl.

In November, Mr. Lonsdale wrote as follows in behalf of Mr. Birchall:

London, November 8, 1816.

Sir:

In answer to yours of the 1st October, I am desired by Mr. Birchall
to inform you, he is glad to find you are now satisfied respecting
his promise of paying you £5 ... in addition to what you before
received according to agreement; but he did not think you would
have delayed sending the receipt signed after the receipt of the
130 ducats merely because you had not received the £5 ..., which
latter sum was not included in the receipt. Till it comes Mr.
Birchall cannot, at any rate, enter into any fresh arrangement, as
his first care will be to secure those pieces he has already paid
you for, and see how they answer his purpose as a Music Seller
and without the receipt he cannot prevent any other Music Seller
from publishing them. In regard to the airs with variations, the
price of £30, which is supposed you mean for each, is considerably
more than he could afford to give, ever to have any hopes of
seeing them repay him--if that should be your lowest price--Mr.
Birchall will give up his idea of them altogether. The Symphony in
A will be quite ready for publication in a week; Mr. Ries (who has
kindly undertaken the inspection of your works) has it now looking
over--but it will not come out ~till the day comes~ you may appoint.

Mr. Birchall fears the Sonata in G and the Trio in B-flat have been
published in Vienna before his--he will be obliged to you to inform
him of the day, when you write, that they were published. I am
sorry to say, that Mr. Birchall’s health has been very bad for two
or three years back, which prevents him from attending to business
and as there are, I fear, but little hopes of his being much
better, he is less anxious respecting making ~any~ additions to his
catalogue than he otherwise would have been; he is much obliged
to you for the offer of the Sonata and the Trio, but he begs to
decline it for the reasons before mentioned.

Hoping to hear soon respecting the paper sent for your signature,

I am Sir, for Mr. Birchall, etc.
C. Lonsdale.

P. S. The Sonata in G is published and the Trio will be in a few
days. Is Mr. Beethoven’s opera of Fidelio published? Where and by
whom?

[Sidenote: END OF THE ENGLISH CONNECTION]

To this letter Beethoven sent an answer addressed to Mr. Birchall dated
December 14, 1816, as follows:

Vienna, December 14, 1816.--1055 Sailerstätte.

Dear Sir:

I give you my word of honor, that I have signed and delivered
the receipt to the house, Fries and Co., some day last August,
who, as they say, transmitted it to Messrs. Coutts and Co., where
you’ll have the goodness to apply. Some error might have taken
place that instead of Messrs C. sending it to you, they have been
directed to keep it till fetched. Excuse this irregularity, but it
is not my fault, nor had I ever the idea of withholding it from
the circumstance of the £5 not being included. Should the receipt
not come forth at Messrs. C., I am ready to sign any other and you
shall have it directly with return of post.

If you find variations in my style too dear at £30, I will abate,
for the sake of your friendship, one-third, and you have the offer
of such variations as fixed in our former letters for £20 each air.

Please to publish the Symphony in A immediately, as well as the
Sonata and the Trio--they being ready here.

The grand opera Fidelio is my work. The arrangement for the
pianoforte has been published here under my care, but the score of
the opera itself is not yet published. I have given a copy of the
score to Mr. Neate under the seal of friendship and whom I shall
direct to treat for my account in case an offer should present.

I anxiously hope your health is improving. Give me leave to
subscribe myself, Dear Sir,

Your very obedient servant,
[Postmark, Dec. 31, 1816.] Ludwig van Beethoven.

This letter closed the correspondence; for upon the death of Mr.
Birchall his successor, Lonsdale, did not deem the connection with the
composer to be worth retaining. Letters to Zmeskall, Sir George Smart
and Neate, in London, tell of incidents which make up the history of
the latter part of the year 1816:

(To Zmeskall--December 16.)

Here dear Z. you will receive my friendly dedication[169] which I
hope will be a precious souvenir of our long-continued friendship
and be accepted as a proof of my respect and not as the end of a
long-spun thread (for you belong to my earliest friends in Vienna).
Farewell--Abstain from the decayed fortresses, the attack exhausts
more than those on the well preserved.

As ever,
Your friend,
Beethoven.

N.B. If you have a moment’s time please tell me how much a livery
will cost now (without cloak) with hat and boot money.

The most extraordinary changes have taken place, the man, thank
God, has gone to the devil, but on the other hand the wife seems
disposed to attach herself all the more closely.

(To Sir George Smart, dictated to Häring.)

Vienna, December 16, 1816.--1055 Sailerstätte, 3d Floor.

My dear Sir:

You honor me with so many encomiums and compliments that I ought to
blush, tho’ I confess they are highly flattering to me and I thank
you most heartily for the part you take in my affairs. They have
rather gone a little back through the strange situation in which
our lost--but happily recovered--friend Mr. Neate found himself
entangled. Your kind letter of 31 October, explained a great deal
and to some satisfaction and I take the liberty to enclose an
answer to Mr. Neate, of whom I also received a letter, with my
entreaties to assist him in all his undertakings in my behalf.

You say that the Cantata might serve your purpose for the Oratorios
and I ask you if you find £50 too much to give for it? I have had
no benefit for it whatever until now, but I still should not wish
to ask of you a price by which you might be a loser. Therefore we
shall name £40, and if your success should be great, then I hope
you will have no objection of adding the £10, to make the sum as
mentioned. The ~Copyright~ would be ~yours~ and I should only make
the condition of my publishing it ~here~ at a period, which ~you
will be pleased~ to appoint and not before. I have communicated
to Mr. Häring your kind intentions (good wishes) and he joins
with me in the expression of the highest regard, which he always
entertained for you.

Mr. Neate may keep the different works except the Cantata if
you accept it and I hope he will have it in his power with your
assistance to do something for me, which from my illness and from
the state of the Austrian finances would be very welcome.

Give me leave to subscribe myself with the greatest esteem and
cordiality,

Ludwig van Beethoven.

(Mr. Häring, at Beethoven’s dictation, to Mr. Neate.)

Vienna, December 18, 1816.

My dear Sir:

Both letters to Mr. Beethoven and to me arrived. I shall first
answer his, as he has made out some memorandums, and would have
written himself, if he was not prevented by a rheumatic feverish
cold. He says: What can I answer to your warmfelt excuses? Past
ills must be forgotten, and I wish you heartily joy that you
have safely reached the long-wished-for port of love. Not having
heard of you, I could not delay any longer the publication of
the Symphony in A, which appeared here some few weeks ago. It
certainly may last some weeks longer before a copy of this
publication appears in London, but unless it is soon performed at
the Philharmonic, and something is done for me afterwards by way
of benefit, I don’t see in what manner I am to reap any good. The
loss of your interest last season with the Philharmonic, when all
my works in your hands were unpublished, has done me great harm;
but it could not be helped, and at this moment I know not what to
say. Your intentions are good, and it is to be hoped that my little
fame may yet help. With respect to the two Sonatas, Op. 102, for
pianoforte and violoncello, I wish to see them sold very soon, as I
have several offers for them in Germany, which depend entirely upon
me to accept; but I should not wish, by publishing them here, to
lose all and every advantage with them in England. I am satisfied
with the ten guineas offered for the dedication of the Trio, and
I beg you to hand the title immediately to Mr. Birchall, who is
anxiously waiting for it; you’ll please to use my name with him.

I should be flattered to write some new works for the
Philharmonic--I mean Symphonies, an Oratorio, or Cantatas, etc. Mr.
Birchall wrote as if he wished to purchase my “Fidelio.” Please to
treat with him, unless you have some plan with it for my benefit
concert, which in general I leave to you and Sir George Smart, who
will have the goodness to deliver this to you.

The score of the opera “Fidelio” is not published in Germany or
anywhere else. Try what can be done with Mr. Birchall, or as you
think best. I was very sorry to hear that the three Overtures were
not liked in London. I by no means reckon them among my best works,
(which, however, I can boldly say of the Symphony in A), but still
they were not disliked here and in Pesth, where people are not
easily satisfied. Was there no fault in the execution? Was there no
party spirit?

And now I shall close, with the best wishes for your welfare, and
that you enjoy all possible felicity in your new situation of life.

Your true friend,

Ludwig van Beethoven.

[Sidenote: DR. KANKA’S HELP IMPLORED]

Toward the end of the month Beethoven wrote a lengthy letter to Dr.
Kanka:

Vienna, December 28, 1816.

My very dear and honored friend:

To-morrow’s post-wagon will carry for you a Symphony by me in
score, the reported Battle Symphony in score, Trio and a Violin
Sonata and a few song pieces--I know that you feel in advance that
I am grateful for all that you do for me as lately also for the
quick remittance recently of my semi-yearly [dues]. But now again a
request, rather an imposition, yes even a commission. The city of
Retz, consisting of about 500 houses will appoint you as Curator
of a certain Johann Hamatsch in Prague, for heaven’s sake do not
decline such a simple judicial matter for thereby my poor little
nephew will finally receive a small fortune, of course the matter
will first have to be passed on by our magistracy here, inasmuch
as the mother will probably have some benefit of it, think of it
how much time these things will take, my poor unfortunate brother
died without seeing the end, for the courts have such care for
His Majesty, that the predecessor of the present syndicus of the
city of Retz wanted to pay my brother 5000 florins for 500 (x)
such are the honorable men which our amiable Christian monarch has
around him--the present syndicus is himself an honest and capable
man (for, if he wanted to he might have been like the former),
meanwhile the aforementioned Hamatsch in Prague (a tradesman) has
not yet given notice of his acceptance (N. B.--for 4 or 5 years).

The syndicus Bayer of Retz will therefore send you the Curatel
decree together with a copy of the bill of exchange from the
magistracy of Retz, I know much too well how small and trivial the
case is for a man of brains like yourself, if you do not think it
fitting, I beg of you to choose somebody for it and to promote the
matter as much as you can--but it would in every respect be better
if you would undertake it, perhaps a mere consultation with the man
(in Prague) would bring the matter to a conclusion.

xThe present syndicus needed only 30 days and as many nights to
extricate the matter from its former confusion in which it had been
left.

My nephew, so dear to me, is in one of the best institutions in
Vienna, displays great talent, but all this goes to my expense and
the Retz affair might enable me to spend a few hundred florins more
on the education of my dear nephew. I embrace you as one of my
dearest friends.

A little cantata, written in honor of Prince Lobkowitz, belongs to
this month of December. An autograph copy was given some forty years
afterwards to Dr. Ottokar Zeithammer, of Prague, by the aged widow of
Beethoven’s friend Peters, who gives this account of its origin:

The copy of a little cantata which he (Beethoven) wrote for me to
be performed on the birthday of the Prince, now long dead, and
which--as he himself says--reached me after his death, was in
reality written by him and most daintily tied together with blue
ribbon.... The cantata consists only of a few reiterated words, we
can hardly say ~composed~ by himself, and originated when he heard
of the approaching birthday festival of the Prince when visiting
us. “And is there to be no celebration?” he asked, and I answered
him, “No.” “That will not do,” he replied; “I’ll hurriedly write
you a cantata, which you must sing for him.” But the performance
was never reached.[170]

The intended performance never took place, because Lobkowitz, born on
December 7, 1772, died on December 16, 1816. And so he, too, disappears
from our history. The foregoing receives all needful confirmation in
this letter:

(To Peters.)

January 8, 1816.
[Should be 1817.]

Only yesterday did I hear from Hrn. von Bernard, who met me, that
you are here and therefore I send you these two copies, which
unfortunately were not finished until just at the time when the
death of our dear Prince Lobkowitz was reported. Do me the favor to
hand them to His Serene Highness, the first-born Prince Lobkowitz,
together with this writing, it was just to-day, I intended to look
up the cashier to ask him to undertake its delivery in Bohemia, not
having, in truth, believed anyone here.

I, if I may speak of myself, am in a state of tolerably good health
and wish you the same. I dare not ask you to come to me for I
should be obliged to ~tell you why~, and that I should not presume
to do as little as why you ~would not~ or ~would not desire~ to
come. I beg you to write the inscription to the Prince as I do not
know his given name--the 3rd copy please keep for your wife.

[Sidenote: THE COMING OF ANSELM HÜTTENBRENNER]

To the few names which this year have appeared in our narrative, there
is still to be added one worthy of a paragraph: that of a wealthy young
man from Gratz, an amateur musician and composer of that class whose
idol was Beethoven--Anselm Hüttenbrenner, who came to Vienna in 1815
to study with Salieri, and formed an intimate friendship with Franz
Schubert. His enthusiasm for Beethoven was not abated when the present
writer, in 1860, had the good fortune to enjoy a period of familiar
intercourse with him, to learn his great and noble qualities of mind
and heart, and to hear his reminiscences from his own lips. That
these, in relation to Beethoven, were numerous, no one will expect;
since no young man of twenty-two years, and a stranger, could at the
period before us be much with the master except as a pupil--and he
took none--or in the position lately occupied by Oliva and soon to be
assumed by Schindler; which of course was all out of the question with
Hüttenbrenner.

I learned to know Beethoven [he relates] through the kindness of
Hrn. Dr. Joseph Eppinger, Israelite. The first time Beethoven was
not at home; his housekeeper opened to us his living-room and
study. There everything lay in confusion--scores, shirts, socks,
books. The second time he was at home, locked in with two copyists.
At the name “Eppinger” he opened the door and excused himself,
having a great deal to do, and asked us to come at another time.
But, seeing in my hand a roll of music--overture to Schiller’s
“Robbers” and a vocal quartet with pianoforte accompaniment, text
by Schiller--he took it, sat himself down to the pianoforte and
turned all the leaves carefully. Thereupon he jumped up, pounded
me on the right shoulder with all his might, and spoke to me the
following words which humiliated me because I cannot yet explain
them: “I am not worthy that you should visit me!” Was it humility?
If so it was divine; if it was irony it was pardonable.

And again:

A few times a week Beethoven came to the publishing house of
Steiner and Co. in the forenoon between 11 and 12 o’clock. Nearly
every time there was held there a composers’ meeting to exchange
musical opinions. Schubert frequently took me there. We regaled
ourselves with the pithy, often sarcastic remarks of Beethoven
particularly when the talk was about Italian music.

Hüttenbrenner remembered as a common remark in Vienna in those
days that what first gave Beethoven his reputation on coming
there twenty-four years before, was his superb playing of Bach’s
“Well-Tempered Clavichord.”

Two or three minor notes will close the story of the year. In the
concert for the Theatrical Poor Fund, in the Theater-an-der-Wien,
September 8th, one of the finales to Beethoven’s “Prometheus” music
was revived: “A glorious piece worked out in a masterly manner,” says
a reporter; and the concert for the Hospital of St. Mark, on December
25, opened with his “Symphony in A, one difficult of execution, which
was performed with the greatest precision under the direction of this
brilliant composer.” More important was a proposition made early in the
year by his old friend Hoffmeister in Leipsic, for a complete edition
of his pianoforte works, which came to nothing and concerning which
more in another connection. In July he received another series of songs
from Thomson which, according to a letter in French to Thomson, dated
January 18, 1817, he had already finished by the end of September.

[Sidenote: WORKS COMPOSED AND PUBLISHED IN 1816]

The works composed in 1816 are:

I. Pianoforte Sonata in A major, Op. 101, dedicated to Baroness
Dorothea von Ertmann.[171] Nottebohm’s researches place all the
sketches for the sonata in the years 1815 and 1816. (See, “Zweit.
Beeth.,” pp. 340 and 552 ~et seq.~)

II. Song: “Der Mann von Wort,” Op. 99.

III. Song-cycle: “An die ferne Geliebte,” Op. 98. The autograph
bears the inscription “1816 in the month of April.” Sketches from
1815 and 1816 are described by Nottebohm in “Zweit. Beeth.,” p. 334
~et seq.~

IV. March in D major, for military band; the autograph bears the
inscription in Beethoven’s hand: “March for the grand parade of the
Guard, by L. v. Beethoven, June 3, 1816.”

V. Cantata for the birthday of Prince Lobkowitz, composed for
Peters.

VI. Song: “Ruf vom Berge,” dated “December 13, 1816.”

The publications for the year were:

I. Song: “Das Geheimniss,” as a supplement for the “Wiener
Modenzeitung,” February 29, 1816.

II. Song: “An die Hoffnung,” Op. 94; by Steiner and Co., in
February.

III. “Wellington’s Sieg, oder die Schlacht bei Vittoria, in Musik
gesetzt von Ludwig van Beethoven. 91^{stes} Werk”; by Steiner and
Co., Vienna, in March.

IV. Canon: “Glück zum neuen Jahr”; by J. Riedel, Vienna, in May.

V. Song: “Die Sehnsucht,” words by Reissig; by Artaria in a
collection which appeared in June.

VI. Sonata for Pianoforte and Violin, Op. 96; dedicated to Archduke
Rudolph; Vienna, Steiner and Co., in July.

VII. Trio for Pianoforte, Violin and Violoncello, Op. 97; dedicated
to Archduke Rudolph; published by Steiner and Co., Vienna, on July
16.

VIII. Song: “Merkenstein,” Op. 100; dedicated to Count
Dietrichstein; Vienna, Steiner and Co., in September.

IX. Song: “Der Mann von Wort,” Op. 99; Vienna, Steiner and Co., in
November.

X. Song-Cycle: “An die ferne Geliebte,” Op. 98; dedicated to Prince
Lobkowitz; Vienna, Steiner and Co., in December.

XI. Symphony, No. 7, in A major, Op. 92; dedicated to Count Moritz
von Fries; Vienna, Steiner and Co., in December.

XII. Symphony, No. 8, in F major, Op. 93; Vienna, Steiner and Co.,
in December.

XIII. Quartet for Strings, F minor, Op. 95; dedicated to Zmeskall;
Vienna, Steiner and Co., in December.

XIV. Two Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violoncello, Op. 102. According
to a letter of Zmeskall’s dated January 20, 1817, these sonatas
were not published later than the works last mentioned, that is,
December, 1816. They were published by Simrock without dedication.
In the later edition published by Artaria in 1819, they are
dedicated to Countess Erdödy.

FOOTNOTES:

[162] The German original was acquired in 1913 at a sale of autographs
by Mr. Richard Aldrich.

[163] Also in score.

[164] Published in 1909 by Leopold Schmidt in his “Beethoven Briefe an
N. Simrock, etc.”

[165] Birchall.

[166] Salomon.

[167] The Prince Regent had never ordered this work nor had his
permission to present and dedicate it to him been asked before sending
it. Beethoven resented the fact that he had not been recompensed until
the day of his death.

[168] Dr. Riemann, holding to his theory that the love-letter to the
“Immortal Beloved” was written on July 6, 1812, changes Thayer’s
concluding words to make them read: “That this cycle, which advances
Beethoven so greatly as a song composer, was directed to the addressee
of the love-letter of July 6, 1812, can be accepted as certain.”

[169] To the Quartet in F minor, Op. 95.

[170] This composition, solo and chorus, E-flat major, 4-4, forty-three
measures long, had for a text only these words:

“Long life to our dear Prince
May he live!
May noble deeds be his loveliest calling,
Then shall he not forgo the loveliest reward.
May he live, etc.”

A copy of this, received many years ago from Dr. Edmund Schebek, is
inscribed “Evening of April 12, 1822, before the birthday of His Ser.
Prince Ferdinand Lobkowitz.” This young Prince completed his 25th year
on April 13, 1822. It is clear, therefore, that this inscription refers
to a performance, not to the composition of the little work.

[171] The anecdote told by Mendelssohn of Beethoven’s playing to
relieve the sorrow of the Baroness has a complement in a document found
among the posthumous papers of Thayer. On December 25, 1864, Thayer
received a poem from Frau von Arneth (Antonie Adamberger) written
by Gustav Frank, a production of no literary value but based upon
an incident thus told in a note attached to it: After the burial of
Baroness von Ertmann’s only child, the grief-stricken woman was unable
to find the consolation which comes with tears. Greatly concerned
thereat, her husband, General von Ertmann, took her to Beethoven,
who without a word sat down to the pianoforte and played until the
Baroness’s sobs testified that relief had come. Thayer endorsed on the
copy of the poem which he made: “It is a fact in Beethoven’s and Frau
Dorothea v. Ertmann’s intercourse.”

Chapter XVII

The Year 1817--Beethoven and the Public Journals of Vienna--Fanny
Giannatasio’s Diary--The Philharmonic Society of London--Cipriani
Potter--Marschner--Marie Pachler-Koschak--Beethoven’s Opinion of
Mälzel’s Metronome.

Beethoven’s splenetic remarks to strangers in his last years upon
the music, musicians and public of Vienna have given rise to widely
diffused but utterly false conceptions as to the facts. Thus William
Henry Fry, a leading American writer on music in the middle of the
nineteenth century,[172] did but express a common opinion in the
following:

That composer [Beethoven] worked hard for thirty years. At his
death, after the cup of glory had overflowed, his name resounding
through Christendom, he left in all a beggarly sum of two or three
thousand dollars, having lived as any one acquainted with his
career knows, a penurious life, fitted to his poverty and servile
position in Vienna.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND THE VIENNESE JOURNALISTS]

The popular want of appreciation of his merits “doomed Beethoven to
a garret, which no Irish emigrant would live in.” It is altogether
unnecessary to argue against such statements, as the whole tenor of
this biography refutes them; but the public press of Vienna deserves a
vindication, and the appearance of a new “Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung” on
January 2nd, 1817, affords a suitable opportunity for the little that
need be said on the subject. This journal, conducted “with particular
reference to the Austrian Empire,” and published by Steiner and Co.,
was, during the first two years, without the name of any responsible
editor; the volumes for 1819 and 1820 announce Ignaz von Seyfried as
holding that position; the others, from 1821 to 1824, bear the name of
Friedrich August Kanne. A leading writer in the earlier volumes was
Hofrath Ignaz von Mosel, who already had some local celebrity for
his articles on musical topics in the “Vaterländische Blätter” and
other periodicals, and who continued a prolific contributor to musical
journals to the end of his life in 1844. Beethoven valued him as a
writer; but Mosel had the temerity to undertake, like Mozart, the task
of revising and modernizing Handel. Of his eight mutilations of that
great man’s works, two, “Samson” and “Belshazzar,” were printed and,
for some fifty years, adopted for performance throughout Austria and
Germany--a remarkable proof of the general ignorance which prevailed
concerning the works of the greatest oratorio composer; for two such
monuments of arrogant presumption, of incompetency to comprehend his
author and of a false and perverted taste, probably do not exist
unless, perhaps, among the other six works which were not printed.
One of Beethoven’s sarcasms, remembered by Carl Czerny, indicates his
opinion of Mosel’s dilettantism. Reading a newspaper once at Artaria’s,
he saw that Mosel “had been ennobled, particularly because of his
services in behalf of music.” “The Mosel is muddy where it flows into
the Rhine” (~Der Mosel fliesst trüb in den Rhein!~), said Beethoven,
laughingly. Kanne ranked with the best musical journalists of the day,
and, to use the words of Hanslick, his labors and influence as a critic
were considerable, especially because of his enthusiasm for Beethoven,
is certain.

Taking 1821-1822 as a medium date, the leading political and literary
journals in Vienna in those years were the “Wiener Zeitung,” Joseph
Carl Bernard, editor; the “Beobachter,” Joseph Pilat, editor;
the “Sammler,” Portenschlag and Ledermeyer, editors; the “Wiener
Zeitschrift” (fashion journal), Johann Schickh, editor; and the
“Theater-Zeitung,” Adolph Bäuerle, editor. Most of these editors were
personal friends of Beethoven; and whoever performs the weary task of
looking through their myriads of pages sees that all were his admirers
and let no opportunity pass unimproved of adding a leaf to his laurels.
Still, disappointment at the comparative paucity of matter relating to
him follows such an examination. The cause, however, lay in himself;
in the small number of his new compositions of high importance, and
in the rarity of his appearance before the public. True, there were
newspapers, and in divers languages, that took no note of Beethoven
and his works because music and musicians were not within their scope;
but not one of them was hostile. In short, whether the periodical
press be considered as the exponent or the guide of public opinion, in
either case its tone at Vienna during the ten years which remained of
Beethoven’s life is ample refutation of the so oft asserted disregard
for and contemptuous neglect of their great composer on the part of the
Viennese. The correspondence of this and the next two or three years is
very voluminous. Schindler says most pertinently of it:

During these years our composer, instead of writing many notes,
as had been his wont, wrote many letters, referring in part to
his domestic affairs, in part to the litigation and in part to
the education of his nephew. These letters are, in general,
among the least encouraging and most deplorable testimonials
to the excitement which attended his passionate prosecution of
these objects. Those of his friends and nearer acquaintances who
permitted themselves to be drawn into these three matters were so
overwhelmed with documents and communications that they blessed the
hour in which the lawsuit was brought to a conclusion.

[Sidenote: MISTAKEN TRAINING OF NEPHEW KARL]

There are few men of whom a most false and exaggerated picture may
not be presented by grouping together their utterances, spoken or
written at long intervals and in the most diverse moods and states
of mind. Thomas Carlyle says: “Half or more of all the thick-plied
perversions which distort the image of Cromwell will disappear if we
honestly so much as try to represent them in sequence as they were,
not in the lump as thrown down before us.” Hence, strict chronological
order must not lightly be abandoned--never when distortion of the
image is thereby produced. But there are series of letters covering
comparatively short periods of time, which may be grouped and placed
apart with no ill consequence. Such is the series to Steiner and Co.;
and such to the Streichers and Zmeskall, which are too unimportant to
place in the text.[173] An abstract or analysis of them would serve
but a small purpose; but they should be read despite their triviality,
for they show, better than any description would, the helplessness of
their writer in all affairs of common life; also, by implication, the
wretched prospect of any good result to his undertaking the supervision
and education of a boy more than usually endowed with personal
attractions and mental capacity, but whose character had already
received a false bias from the equally indiscreet alternate indulgence
and severity of his invalid and passionate father and of his froward
and impure mother. Moreover, this undertaking rendered necessary a
sudden and very great change in the domestic habits of a man nearly
fifty years of age, who, even twenty years before, had not been able,
when residing in the family of his Mæcenas, Lichnowsky, to bear the
restraints imposed by common courtesy and propriety. It is obvious
that there was but one course to be taken for the boy from which a
good result might reasonably have been expected; and this was to send
him at once to some institution far enough from Vienna to separate him
entirely, vacations excepted, from both mother and uncle; to subject
him there to rigid discipline and give him the stimulus of emulation
with boys of his own age. When it was too late, as will be seen, this
idea was entertained, but not sanctioned by the civil authorities.
That such a course with the boy would have resulted well, subsequent
events leave no doubt; for, passing over the question how far facts
justify the harsh judgments recorded against him for more than half a
century, each new writer bitterer than the last, we know this: that
after his uncle’s death, although his bad tendencies of character had
been strengthened and intensified by the lack of efficient, consistent,
firm and resolute restraint from 1815 to 1827, yet a few years of
strict military discipline made of him a good and peaceable citizen, a
kind and affectionate husband and father. Had Beethoven’s wisdom and
prudence equalled his boundless affection for his nephew, many painful
pages in this work would have no place; many which, if the truth and
justice to the dead and living permitted, one would gladly suppress.
But it must not be forgotten that Beethoven, on his death-bed, as
Schindler relates, expressed “his honest desire that whatever might
some day be said of him, should adhere strictly to the truth in every
respect, regardless of whether or not it might give pain to this or the
other person or affect his own person.”

Let us again take up the thread of our narrative. We are still to
imagine Beethoven living in the lofty, narrow house. No. 1055-6
Sailerstätte, entered from the street, but its better rooms on the
other side looking over the old city wall and moat and out across
the Glacis and little river Wien to the suburb Landstrasse, where,
fronting on the Glacis, stood the institute of Giannatasio in which
his nephew was a pupil, having been placed there in February, 1816.
There is no record, nor do the sketchbooks show, that in the first half
of this year his mind was occupied with any important composition;
on the contrary, his time and thoughts were given to the affairs of
his nephew, to his purposed housekeeping and to quarrels with his
servants, as the frequent letters to the Streichers and Zmeskall show
~ad nauseam~. A curiously interesting picture of the man and his doings
is disclosed by the letters referred to, Fanny Giannatasio’s records,
and the jottings which that young woman wrote down in the form of a
diary.[174]

At the beginning of the year 1817, Beethoven seems to have harbored
a desire to take lodgings nearer the institute. Giannatasio offered
to let him have one which was at his disposal, but Beethoven declined
the offer with the words: “Gladly as I should like to make use of your
kind offer that I live with you in the garden-house, it is for various
reasons impossible.” In April he moved into rooms in the Gärtnerstrasse
near the Streichers and the institute. Meanwhile there had been a
misunderstanding between him and Giannatasio. A fortnight later
explanations had been made and peace restored; but when Nanni asked
Beethoven if he was still angry he replied: “I think much too little of
myself to get angry.” The nephew had been to blame and had disclosed
new evidences of a thoughtlessness which had deeply pained his good
uncle.

Chiefly from the letters written in this year, we learn a sequence
of other happenings. Early in January, Beethoven sends copies of the
song-cycle, “An die ferne Geliebte,” to Court Councillor Peters, tutor
in the house of Prince Lobkowitz, for the new prince whose Christian
name he does not know. In the same month he writes an autograph French
communication to Thomson, in Edinburgh, stating that all the songs
which he had commissioned in the previous July had been completed by
the end of September, but had not been forwarded because of an illness
from which he was not yet quite recovered. As to the folksongs of
various nations he urges that prose versions of the texts be obtained
as being preferable to the versified, a thing which he had suggested
before, the prose being a better guide for him to the sentiment of
the songs than rhymed lines. On January 30, he rebukes Zmeskall for
having pained him by sending him a gift in acknowledgment of the
dedication of the String Quartet, Op. 95, which had come from the press
in December, 1816. “Although you are only a performing musician,” he
writes, “you have several times exercised the power of imagination, and
it seems to me that it has occasionally put unnecessary whims into your
head--at least so it seemed to me from your letter after my dedication.
Good as I am and much as I appreciate all the good in you, I am yet
angry, angry, angry.” Other letters to Steiner at this time refer to
the Pianoforte Sonata in A, Op. 101, which was then in the hands of
the printers and appeared in February with a dedication to Baroness
Ertmann. The suggestion had gone out that German composers substitute
German terms in music in place of Italian. With characteristic
impetuosity, Beethoven decided to begin the reform at once, although
it seems to have involved the reëngraving of the title-page of the new
Sonata. He wrote to Steiner in the military style with which we are
already familiar:

To the Wellborn Lieut[enant] Gen[eral], for his own hands.

~Publicandum~

After individual examination and taking the advice of my council
we have determined and hereby determine that hereafter on all
our works with German titles, Hammerclavier be printed in place
of pianoforte; our best Lt. Gen. as well as the Adjutant and all
others concerned will govern themselves accordingly and put this
order into effect.

Instead of Pianoforte, Hammerclavier--which settles the matter once
for all.

Given, etc., etc.,
on January 23, 1817.

by the
G[eneralissimu]s
....m.p.

Beethoven was in doubt as to the correctness of “Hammerclavier,”
thinking that it might better be “Hämmerclavier.” In another
communication he says the matter must be referred to a philologist.
At the same time he offers, if necessary, to pay for the engraving of
a new title, adding that perhaps the old one might be utilized for
another sonata. He bases his acceptance of the new word on the belief
that the instrument itself was a German invention--a theory long ago
disproved so far as the priority of the invention is concerned.

Baroness Ertmann now lived at St. Pölten, where the command of her
husband lay quartered, and thither Beethoven sent a copy of the
“Hammerclavier” sonata accompanied by the following letter:

My dear, valued Dorothea-Cäcilia!

You must often have misunderstood me when I was obliged to appear
displeasing to you particularly in the early days when my style had
~less recognition than it has now~. You know the teaching of the
un-called apostles who helped themselves along with quite other
means than the holy gospel; I did not want to be counted among
them. Receive now what was often intended for you and what may be
a proof of my affection for your artistic talent as well as your
person. That I did not hear you play at Czerny’s recently was due
to my ill-health which at last seems to be giving way before my
strength.

I hope soon to hear you, how it goes at Pölten with ..., and
whether you care anything for your

Admirer and friend,

L. van Beethoven, m.p.

All things lovely to your worthy ~husband~ and ~consort~.[175]

[Sidenote: REFLECTIONS COMMITTED TO PAPER]

The picture of Beethoven’s domestic affairs will gain in vividness by
imagining the following extracts from the so-called “Tagebuch” of the
Fischoff Manuscript to be scattered through these preceding pages.
Dates are nowhere given; but memoranda of letters to Brentano in April
follow which prove these notes to belong to the previous months:

Never again live alone with a servant; there is always danger,
suppose, for instance, the master falls ill and the servant,
perhaps, also.

He who wishes to reap tears should sow love. (Beethoven is here
surely thinking of his nephew.)

The Compassionate Brothers (the monks) in Tell, form a semi-circle
around the dead man and sing in deep tones:

~Rasch tritt der Tod den Menschen an
Es ist ihm keine Frist gegeben
Er stürzt ihn mitten in der Bahn
Es reisst ihn fort vom vollem Leben
Bereitet oder nicht zu gehn!
Er muss vor seinen Richter stehen!~

~Vidi malum et accepi.~--(Plinius.)

~Tametsi quid homini potest dari maius quam gloria et laus et
aeternitas.~--(Plinius.)

What more can be given to man than fame and praise and immortality?

~Audi multa loquere pauca.~

Something must be done--either a journey and to this end the
writing of the necessary works or an opera--if you are again to
remain here during the coming summer an opera would be preferable
in case circumstances, but moderately--if the summer sojourn is to
be here, a decision must be made, where, how?

God help me, Thou seest me deserted by all men, for I do not wish
to do wrong, hear my supplication, only for the future to be with
my Karl, since the possibility shows itself nowhere, O harsh fate,
O cruel destiny, no, no, my unhappy condition will never end.

This one thing I feel and clearly comprehend, possessions are not
the highest things in life, but guilt is the greatest evil.

There is no salvation for you except to go away, only thus can
you swing yourself up to the summits of your art again, while
here you are sinking into vulgarity, and a symphony ... and then
away--away--away--meanwhile collect the salary which mayhap can be
done yet for years.

Work during the summer for the journey, only thus can you carry
out the great task for your poor nephew, afterward wander through
Italy, Sicily, with a few artists--make plans and be of good cheer
for the sake of C.

In my opinion, first the saline baths, like those of Wiesbaden,
etc., then the sulphur baths like Aix-la-Chapelle were
everlastingly cold. Spend evenings and afternoons in company, it is
uplifting and not wearying and live a different life at home.

Sensual enjoyment without a union of souls is bestial and will
always remain bestial; after it, one experiences not a trace of
noble sentiment but rather regret.

Beethoven’s mind was engrossed with the plans of travel indicated in
these excerpts throughout the year; he considered a tour of some kind
essential to the restoration of his health and the recovery of his
creative powers. A remittance from the Kinsky estate falling due in
April, he wrote a letter to Kanka asking him to make the collection
for him and enclosed a receipt. He complains of still feeling the
effects of an inflammatory catarrh with which he had been attacked in
the previous October, and ends by asking what would be the consequence
if he were to leave the Austrian Empire; would a signature sent from
a foreign place be valid?--meaning, probably, would such a signature
be looked upon as evidence of a violation of the contract which he
was under to his noble patrons not to take up a residence outside the
Austrian dominions. His chronic dissatisfaction with the conditions
which surrounded him in Vienna, as well as the moody mind in which
his illness had left him, also breathes through the following letter
(written in German) to Charles Neate in London:

[Sidenote: EXPLANATIONS TO CHARLES NEATE]

Vienna, April 19, 1817.

My dear Neate!

Since the 15th of October I have been seemingly ill and I am still
suffering from the consequences and not quite healed. You know
that ~I must live from my compositions alone~, I have been able
to compose very little, and therefore to earn almost nothing, all
the more welcome would it have been if you had done something
for me--meanwhile I suspect that the result of everything has
been--~nothing~.

You have even written ~complainingly of me~ to Hering, which was
not deserved by my fair dealing with you--meanwhile I must justify
in the premises, namely: the opera Fidelio had been written for
several years, but the book and text were very faulty; the book had
to be thoroughly remodeled, wherefore several pieces of the music
had to be extended, others shortened, others newly composed. Thus,
for instance, the overture is entirely new, as well as various
other numbers, but it is possible that the opera may be found in
London, ~as it was at first~, in which case it must have been
stolen as is scarcely to be avoided at the theatre. As regards
the Symphony in A, as you did not write me a satisfactory reply,
I was obliged to publish it, I should as willingly have waited
3 years if you had written me that the Philharmonic Society had
accepted it--but on all hands nothing--nothing. Now regarding
the ~Pianoforte Sonatas with Violoncello~, for them I give you
~a month’s time~, if after that I have no answer from you I
shall publish them in ~Germany~, but having heard as little from
you about them as about the other works, I have given them to a
German publisher who importuned me for them, ~but I have bound
him in writing (Hering has read the document) not to publish the
Sonatas until you have sold them in London~, it seems to me that
you ought to be able to dispose of these 2 sonatas for 70 or 80
ducats in gold at least, the English publisher may fix ~the day
of publication in London and they will appear on the same day in
Germany~, it was in this manner Birchall bought and got the Grand
Trio and the Violin Sonata from me. I also beg you as a last favor
to ~give me an answer touching the sonatas as soon as possible.
Frau v. Jenny~ swears that ~you have done everything~ for me,
I too, that is to say I swear that you have done ~nothing~ for
me, are doing ~nothing~ and will do ~nothing~--~summa summarum~,
nothing! nothing! nothing!!!

I assure you of my most perfect respect and hope ~as a last favor a
speedy reply~.

The Sonatas had been published three months before this letter was
written, by Simrock in Bonn; a fact which Beethoven seems to have
assumed was not known in London. The Frau v. Jenny mentioned was
the Countess von Genney, through whose aid Beethoven hired a villa
in Hetzendorf, from Baron von Pronay in 1823. Beethoven’s irascible
outbreak against Neate must be read in the light of the latter’s letter
of explanation and apology dated October 29, 1816, and printed in the
preceding chapter.

The new lodgings in Georgi were occupied by Beethoven on April 24,
1817, but the contract of rent may have been temporary and conditional,
for in July and again in September he wrote to Frau Streicher about
lodgings in the Gärtnergasse, and later in the year he changed his
lodgings, for which he had little use during the summer because of his
sojourn in the country.

Alois Fuchs, now a youth of nearly 18 years, had come to Vienna some
months earlier to enter the university, dependent largely upon his
musical talents and knowledge for his support. Here he appears to have
studied the violin under Beethoven’s old friend, Krumpholz. Whether
because the composer remembered him as the solo singer in his mass
at Troppau, or through the intervention of Krumpholz, Fuchs has not
informed us; but at any rate he had promised a contribution to the
youngster’s album. On May 2nd Krumpholz died very suddenly of apoplexy
while walking on the Glacis, and Beethoven commemorated the event by
writing his “Gesang der Mönche” (from Schiller’s “Tell”) for three male
voices in Fuchs’s album with the superscription: “In memory of the
sudden and unexpected death of our Krumpholz on May 3rd, 1817.” The
date was not intended to record the time of composition, but of the
death of the violinist; as such a record it was an error.

[Sidenote: KARL’S MOTHER MADE TO SHARE HER PENSION]

After the composer’s removal to the suburb Landstrasse, his mind was
much occupied with a new matter between himself and the widow van
Beethoven, namely, her bearing a share of the expenses of her son’s
education. This was concluded by a contract signed by both parties on
May 10, 1817, binding her to pay at once into court 2,000 florins for
the lad’s education and support, and in the future to pay to the same
tribunal every quarter at least one-half of the pension which the widow
was to receive, as well as other contributions. Reference is had to
this agreement in the following entries in the Fischoff “Tagebuch” in
January or February of the next year:

Karl’s mother asked for the contract, the basis of which was that
the house should be sold. From the proceeds of the sale it might be
counted upon that all debts could be paid out of the one-half and
also the half of the widow’s income besides the money for Karl’s
needs and desires, so that all (indeed! prob. not alone) might live
decently but well, but inasmuch as the house is not to be sold!
which was the chief consideration for the signing of the contract
since it was alleged that execution had already been levied against
it, my scruples must now cease, and I can well imagine that the
widow has cared pretty well for herself, which I most cordially
wish her. My duty, O Lord, I have done.

It would have been possible without offending the widow, but that
was not the matter, and Thou, Almighty One, seest into my heart,
knowest that I have sacrificed the best of my own for the sake
of my precious Karl, bless my work, bless the widow, why cannot
I wholly follow my heart’s inclinations and hereafter for the
widow----

God, God, my refuge, my rock, O my all, Thou seest my inmost heart
and knowest how it pains me to be obliged to compel another to
suffer by my good labors for my precious Karl!!! O hear me always,
Thou Ineffable One, hear me--Thy unhappy, most unhappy of all
mortals.

This was the barren result of negotiations which had cost Beethoven, as
to any important work, the first half of the year. In May, Beethoven
took rooms in Heiligenstadt to try the baths for his obstinate catarrh,
of which he speaks in a characteristic letter to Countess Erdödy,
railing against his Italian physician (either Malfatti or Bertolini),
whom he accuses of lacking both honesty and insight, and describing the
treatment prescribed for him.

Christian Kuffner, a poet, afterwards Court Secretary, who (though
Nottebohm questioned it) probably gave poetical form to the text for
the Choral Fantasia, also spent some time in the summer of 1817 in
Heiligenstadt, and, as he told Music Director Krenn, often went with
Beethoven of an evening to Nussdorf for a fish supper in the tavern
“Zur Rose.” On one of these occasions, when Beethoven was amiably
disposed, Kuffner began:

K.--Tell me frankly, which is your favorite among your symphonies?

B.--(in great good humor) Eh! Eh! the “Eroica.”

K.--I should have guessed the C minor.

B.--No; the “Eroica.”

Long years afterwards, in 1826, when Kuffner was negotiating with
Beethoven for an oratorio text, he recalled the meetings in Nussdorf
and wrote in Beethoven’s Conversation Book: “Do you remember the
fisherman’s house in Nussdorf, where we sat till midnight in the light
of the full moon on the terrace, before us the rushing brook and the
swollen Danube? I was your guest.” Beethoven soon had his fish with
less trouble; he moved to Nussdorf, perhaps in June (at least he was
there in July, though he kept his lodging in the city), and in Nussdorf
he remained till October, sending occasional notes to Frau Streicher,
from which it appears that he was having his customary trouble with
servants. Here, too, he received the following highly important letter
from Ferdinand Ries, written in London on June 9, 1817:

For a very long time I have been forgotten by you, although I can
think of no other cause than your too great occupation, and, as I
was compelled to hear from others, your serious illness. Truly,
dear Beethoven, the gratitude which I owe you and always must
owe you--and I believe I may honestly say I have never forgotten
it--although enemies have often represented me to you as ungrateful
and envious--is unalterable, as I have always ardently desired to
prove to you in more than words. This ardent desire has now (I
hope) been fulfilled, and I hope to find again in my old teacher,
my old and affectionate friend. The Philharmonic Society, of which
our friend Neate is now also a director, and at whose concerts
your compositions are preferred to all others, wishes to give you
an evidence of its great respect for you and its appreciation of
the many beautiful moments which your great works have so often
provided for us; and I feel it a most flattering compliment to
have been empowered with Neate to write to you on the subject. In
short, my dear Beethoven, we should like to have you with us in
London next winter. Friends will receive you with open arms; and
to give you at least one proof of this I have been commissioned on
behalf of the Philharmonic Society to offer you 300 guineas on the
following conditions:

1st. You are to be here in London next winter.

2nd. You are to write two grand symphonies for the Philharmonic
Society, which are to be its property.

3rd. You must bind yourself not to deliver any composition for
grand orchestra for any concert in London, nor direct any concert
before or during our eight concerts, which begin towards the end of
February and end in the first half of the month of June (without
the consent of the Philharmonic Society), which certainly will not
be difficult.

Do not understand by this that we want to tie your hands; it is
only in case an opposition which we have once put down should again
arise, since the gentlemen might plan to have you for themselves
against instead of for us. At the same time it might call up many
enemies against you to decline something when the responsibility
would rest entirely with us directors, and we should not be obliged
to give heed to the matter. We are all cordially disposed in your
favor and I believe that every opportunity to be helpful to you
in your plans would sooner give us pleasure than any desire to
restrict you in the least.

4th. You are not to appear in the orchestra at any concert until
our first two concerts are over, unless you want to give a concert
yourself, and you can give as many of your own concerts as you
please.

5th. You are to be here before the 8th of January, 1818, free from
all obligations to the Society except to give us the preference
in the future in case we meet the same conditions offered you by
others.

6th. In case you accept the engagement and need money for the
journey you may have 100 guineas in advance. This is the offer
which I am authorized to make to you by the Society.

All negotiations with publishers are left to you as well as those
with Sir G. Smart, who has offered you 100 guineas for an oratorio
in one act, and who has specially commissioned me to remind you
of an answer, inasmuch as he would like to have the work for
next winter. The intendant of the grand opera, G. Ayrton, is a
particular friend of ours. He does not want to engage himself, but
he promised us to commission an opera from you.

Your own concert, or as many concerts as you choose to give, may
bring in a handsome sum to you as well as other engagements in
the country. Neate and I rejoice like children at the prospect of
seeing you here and I need not say that I will do all in my power
to make your sojourn profitable and pleasant; I know England, too,
and do not doubt your success for a moment.

Moreover, we need somebody here who will put life into things and
keep the gentlemen of the orchestra in order.

Yesterday evening our last concert took place and your beautiful
Symphony in A-sharp [B-flat] was given with extraordinary applause.
It frightens one to think of symphony writers when one sees and
hears such a work. Write me very soon an explicit answer and bid me
hope to see you yourself here before long.

[Sidenote: PLANS FOR A TRIP TO ENGLAND APPROVED]

Beethoven was prompt with his answer, but wishing to send a fair copy
to Ries and having his own reasons for not wanting Häring’s handwriting
to appear in the correspondence he sent his letter to Zmeskall for
transcription and posting. The letter, which was promptly forwarded to
London, was as follows:

Vienna, July 9, 1817.

The propositions made in your letter of the 9th of June are very
flattering. You will see by this how much I appreciate them; were
it not for my unlucky affliction which entails more attendance
and cost than ordinary, particularly while travelling and in a
strange land, I would accept the Philharmonic Society’s offer
~unconditionally~. But put yourself in my place; reflect how many
more hindrances I have to contend with than any other artist, and
judge then if my demands be unfair. Here they are and I beg of you
to communicate them to the directors of the said Society.

1) I shall be in London in the first half of the month of January,
1818, at the latest.

2) The two grand symphonies, newly composed, shall then be ready
and become and remain the exclusive property of the Society.

3) For them the Society is to give me 300 guineas and 100 guineas
for travelling expenses, which will be much more, since I must
necessarily take a companion with me.

4) Inasmuch as I shall go to work on the symphonies at once, the
Society is to advance me (on the acceptance of this offer) 150
guineas here so that I may provide myself with a carriage and other
necessaries for my journey without delay.

5) The conditions respecting my non-appearance with another
orchestra in public and my non-conducting, and preferring the
Society under equal conditions are accepted by me and in view of my
sense of honor would have been understood as a matter of course.

6) I shall rely upon the support of the Society in the projection
and promotion of one, or, if circumstances justify, more benefit
concerts. The particular friendship of some of the directors of
your worthy ~Reunion~ as well as the kind interest of all artists
in my works are a guarantee for this and will increase my zeal to
fulfil all their expectations.

7) In conclusion I beg that the acquiescence in or confirmation
of the above be written out in English and sent to me with the
signatures of three directors of the Society.

You can imagine that I heartily rejoice at the prospect of becoming
acquainted with the estimable Sir George Smart and of meeting you
and Mr. Neate again. Would that I might fly to you instead of this
letter!

To this Beethoven appended an autograph postscript as follows:

I embrace you with all my heart; I purposely employed the hand
of another in the above so that you might the more easily read
it to the Society. I am convinced of your kind feelings toward
me and hope that the Philharmonic Society will approve of my
proposition, and you may rest assured that I shall exert all my
powers worthily to fulfil the honorable commission of so select a
body of artists. How numerous is your orchestra? How many violins,
etc., etc., single or double ~wind-instruments~? Is the room large,
acoustically good?

These letters, as well as those which passed between Beethoven and
Ries subsequently, ought to serve to indicate that the relationship
between them at this time was, and remained, one of cordial friendship,
Schindler’s statements to the contrary notwithstanding. That
biographer’s list of grievances between the men may have had a small
shadow of foundation, but after all it would be better to take them
with a few grains of salt. It is very possible, as Czerny told Jahn,
that Beethoven once complained to him that Ries imitated his style more
than was agreeable to him; but this is far from saying, as Schindler
says, that Ries, following a bent for brilliant technique, gradually
lost his understanding of Beethoven’s works, took it upon himself to
find fault with some of his daring innovations and made arbitrary
changes in performing them. Nor does it seem likely that Ries should
have been so indifferent to the success of Beethoven’s compositions in
London as to withhold his help while reporting their great popularity
to the composer in such enthusiastic words; yet Schindler intimates
that it was this fact which, coming to the ears of Beethoven, provoked
the latter to expressions of anger which in turn were reported to Ries.
There is in all this, we fear, an undercurrent of prejudice which is
not difficult of explanation; at any rate, if Ries cherished a feeling
of ill-will against his master it found no expression in the “Notizen.”

[Sidenote: DISCIPLINE FOR KARL AND HIS MOTHER]

Efforts of the widow van Beethoven to keep in touch with her son, and
questions of discipline in his bringing-up and education, were matters
which weighed heavily on Beethoven’s mind during the summer of 1817,
and occasioned more misunderstandings between Giannatasio and the
composer, as also much distress in the minds of the former’s daughters,
especially the solicitous Fanny, as is evidenced by entries in her
diary under dates June 25 and July 8 and 21. In an undated letter which
seems to belong to this period, Beethoven explains to Giannatasio that
the mother had expressly asked to see Karl at his, the composer’s,
house and that certain evidences of indecision on his part which his
correspondent had observed (and apparently held up to him) had not been
due to any want of confidence, but to his antipathy to “inhuman conduct
of any kind,” and the circumstance that it had been put out of the
power of the woman to do the lad harm in any respect. On the subject of
discipline he writes:

As regards Karl, I beg of you to hold him to strict obedience and
if he does not obey you (or any of those whom he ought to obey)
to ~punish~ him at once, treat him as you would your own child
rather than as a pupil, for as I have already told you, during the
lifetime of his father he could only be forced to obey by blows;
this was very bad but it was unfortunately so and must not be
forgotten.

He requested that the letter be read to his nephew. Beethoven’s
“antipathy to inhuman conduct of any kind” seems to have led him to
make concessions to the widow of which he soon repented. In a letter
to Zmeskall dated July 30, he says: “After all, it might pain Karl’s
mother to be obliged to visit her son at the house of a stranger and,
besides, there is more harshness in this affair than I like; therefore
I shall permit her to come to me to-morrow”; and he urgently begs his
friend to be a witness of the meeting. In a note to Giannatasio he
informs him of his intention to take Karl to see his mother, because
she was desirous to put herself in a better light before her neighbors,
and this might help. But a fortnight after the letter to Zmeskall he
has changed his mind, as witness a letter to Giannatasio dated August
14, in which he writes:

I wanted this time to try an experiment to see if she might not
be bettered by greater forbearance and gentleness ... but it has
foundered, for on Sunday I had already determined to ~adhere to
the old necessary strictness~, because in the short time she had
communicated some of ~her venom~ to Karl--in short we must stick to
the zodiak and permit her to see Karl only 12 times a year and then
so hedge her about that she cannot secretly slip him even a pin. It
is all the same to me whether it be at your house, at mine, or at a
third place. I had believed that by yielding wholly to her wishes
she might be encouraged to better her conduct and appreciate my
utter unselfishness.

Notwithstanding the jeremiads in Beethoven’s letters this year, and the
annoyance caused him by his sister-in-law, there are indications in
plenty that he was not on the whole in that state of dejection which
one might suppose. One of these indications is a work which amused him
during the summer, the story of which the careful Dehn admitted into
the “Cäcilia.” A musician, whose name is not mentioned, brought to
Beethoven the Pianoforte Trio, Op. 1, No. 3, which he had arranged for
string quintet (two violins, two violas and violoncello). Though the
composer, no doubt, found much to criticize in the transcription it
seems to have interested him sufficiently to lead him to undertake a
thorough remodelling of the score, on the cover of which he wrote the
whimsical title:

Arrangement of a Terzett as a
3 voiced Quintet
by Mr. Goodwill
and from the appearance of 5 voices
brought to the light of day in 5 real voices
and lifted from the most abject ~Miserabilität~
to moderate respectability
by Mr. ~Wellwisher~
1817
August 14.

N. B. The original 3 voiced Quintet score has been sacrificed as a
burnt offering to the gods of the Underworld.

The score of the arrangement is in the handwriting of a copyist with
corrections by Beethoven; the title, however, is his autograph. It is
preserved in the Royal Library at Berlin. The work was published by
Artaria in February, 1819, as Op. 104. Beethoven evidently attached
considerable importance to it. He referred to it in letters to Frau
von Streicher, Zmeskall and Ries; it was performed at a musical
entertainment of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna on
December 13, 1818.

Beethoven having obtained possession of his nephew and placed him in
Giannatasio’s institute, very naturally took measures that he should
have systematic instruction in music; to this end he employed Carl
Czerny as teacher, and to him we now turn for information on this
point.[176] Czerny writes:

[Sidenote: PEDAGOGIC SUGGESTIONS TO CZERNY]

In the year 1815 [1816], at his request I began teaching his
nephew Karl, whom he had already adopted, and from that time I
saw him almost daily, since for the greater part of the time he
brought the little fellow to me. From this period I still have many
letters written by him, one of which I reproduce here with absolute
fidelity because it is musically noteworthy:

“I beg of you to have as much patience as possible with Karl even
if matters do not go now as well as you and I might wish, otherwise
he will accomplish even less, for (but this he must not know) he
is already subjected to too great a strain because of the improper
division of his studies. Unhappily this cannot be changed at
once, therefore treat him with as much loving consideration as
possible, but with seriousness; thus you will have better success
with Karl in spite of the unfavorable conditions. In regard to
his playing for you, I beg that not until he has acquired a
correct fingering and can play in time and reads the notes with
reasonable correctness, you direct his attention to the matter of
interpretation, and thereafter not to stop him because of ~trifling
mistakes~ but to point them out after he has finished the piece.
Although I have given but few lessons I have always followed this
method, it soon makes ~musicians~ which, at the last, is one of the
first purposes of art, and gives the minimum of weariness to master
and pupil. At certain passages like

[Illustration: ~etc.~]

I wish that you would use all the fingers occasionally as well in
such as these

[Illustration: ~etc.~]

so that they may be played in a gliding manner. True, such passages
sound ‘pearly’ as the phrase goes (played with few fingers) or
‘like a pearl,’ but at times other jewels are desirable. More at
another time. I wish that you may receive all this in the loving
spirit in which it is expressed and intended, at any rate I am and
will always remain your debtor. May my sincerity be a pledge for
future payment so far as possible.”

Noteworthy in this interesting letter is the very correct view that
one ought not to weary the talent of a pupil by too much petty
concern (wherein much depends on the qualities of the pupil, it
is true) as well as the singular fingering and its influence on
interpretation.

Much more valuable were Beethoven’s oral remarks about all kinds
of musical topics, other composers, etc., touching whom he always
spoke with the greatest positiveness, with striking, often caustic
wit and always from the lofty point of view which his genius opened
to him and from which he looked out upon his art. His judgment even
concerning classic masters was severe, as a rule, and uttered as if
he felt his equality. At one lesson which I gave his nephew he said
to me: “You must not think that you will do me a favor by giving
him pieces of mine to play. I am not so childish as to desire that.
Give him what you think good for him.”

I mentioned Clementi. “Yes, yes,” said he; “Clementi is very good,”
adding, laughingly “For the present give Karl the regular things so
that after a while he may reach the irregular.”

After such conceits, which he was in the habit of weaving into
nearly every speech, he used to burst into a peal of laughter.
Since irregularities used to be charged against him by the critics
in his earlier days he was wont often to allude to the fact with
merry humor. At that time (about 1816) I began to have musical
entertainments at my home for my very numerous pupils every Sunday
before a very select circle. Beethoven was almost always present,
he improvised many times with kindly readiness and with that wealth
of ideas which always characterized his impromptu playing as
much, or often more, than his written works. As his compositions
were chiefly played at these meetings and he indicated the tempo,
I believe that in this respect I am intimately acquainted with
his wishes regarding his works (even his symphonies, which were
frequently played in arrangements for two pianofortes).

[Sidenote: SOME ERRORS BY SCHINDLER CORRECTED]

No animadversion upon the venerable Carl Czerny is intended in again
remarking that both in his memoirs and in the language in which he
has sometimes recorded them there is occasionally a very disturbing
inexactness. In the citations above the date 1815 for 1816, the loose
expression “from that time I saw him almost daily,” “Beethoven was
almost always present” in the Sunday music meetings, which can have
been true only of the first months, and the words “he improvised many
times,” must not be understood too literally. Schindler, in whose hands
Jahn placed Czerny’s notes and other manuscripts for examination and
remark, observes touching this improvising: “Only twice; the first
time when Frau von Ertmann played one of his sonatas, the other time
when Czerny performed Op. 106, which he had repeatedly gone through
with him. In the year 1818, and those that followed, Beethoven never
improvised outside of his own dwelling.” Schindler is certainly
mistaken upon this last point, and, very possibly, upon the other. It
is not a matter of much importance in any aspect, but it offers an
opportunity for remarking upon errors in his dates which have long
been and still are an abundant source of confusion in this part of
Beethoven’s life, like those of Wegeler and Ries in his youth and
early manhood. More than one recent writer speaks of his “intimate
association with the composer from the year 1814 onward”; one has even
learned that “he lived ten years in the same house with Beethoven,
devoting all the time at his command to him.” Nothing is more common
than to find circumstances accepted as undoubted facts on Schindler’s
authority. The present writer[177] discussed at length Schindler’s
character as a biographer with Otto Jahn, both of us having known him
personally. Our opinions coincided perfectly. We held him to be honest
and sincere in his statements, but afflicted with a treacherous memory
and a proneness to accept impressions and later formed convictions as
facts of former personal knowledge, and to publish them as such without
carefully verifying them. In justice to him it must be remembered
that when, at Frankfort-on-the-Main, he rewrote his book in the form
in which it appeared in 1860, he had no longer the means of doing
this, for the Conversation Books which would have prevented his more
glaring errors had, since 1845, been in the Royal Library in Berlin.
Therefore, whoever studies his life of the master and his numberless
contributions to the periodical press during the long period of thirty
years--all abounding in biographical matter of great value--must
be continually upon his guard. When one seeks precise information
upon Beethoven’s life during the years 1816-1820 in Schindler’s
writings, his notices are found to be so meagre and vague, and to
exhibit occasionally such inconsistencies and errors, as to awaken
the suspicion that he, as to those years, did not always write from
personal knowledge, and that his memory served him ill.

If he had had the Conversation Books still in his possession he could
not have written: “About 1817, Oliva left the Imperial City forever,”
for there he would have seen that Oliva was still in his old relation
with Beethoven in 1820. Again: “Already in 1816 he [Beethoven]
found himself involved in circumstances which compelled him to do a
vast amount of writing. Dr. Bach, in whose office I worked several
hours every day, advised him to confide everything to me; thus I
became Beethoven’s private secretary--without pay.” Later we read in
connection with the topic of Beethoven’s nobility, and the transfer of
his suit with the mother of Karl to the Vienna magistracy: “There it
was possible to achieve something advantageous to Beethoven only by
dismissing his representative and pitting an entirely different person
against his opponent. His choice fell upon Dr. Johann Baptist Bach, who
had just entered the ranks of the court and trial advocates.” Finally:
“When Dr. Bach took his case in hand he declared that thenceforward his
client must present himself with the title of Chapelmaster, because
the gentlemen magistrates were chiefly Bœotians, and a composer was as
good as nothing in their eyes, etc.” Now, a document of the Landrecht
dated November 29, 1815, contains these words: “Ludwig van Beethoven
(Royal Imperial Chapelmaster and Music Composer).” Dr. Bach may have
continued to use this title, but how could he have introduced it?
Again: “Dr. Bach took the oath as advocate on January 21, 1817.” How
then could Schindler in 1816 have “worked several hours every day”
in an office not yet in existence? Still again: the decree of the
Landrecht transferring Beethoven’s case to the Magistracy is dated
December 18, 1818, and Schindler is correct in making this the cause
of the employment of Dr. Bach in 1819; how then could he have been the
composer’s “private secretary” on Bach’s recommendation during the two
years preceding?

The unavoidable conclusion is this: Although there is no reason to
doubt that Schindler was upon excellent terms with Beethoven, and
often visited him in 1817-1819, the “intimate association” above-noted
and in the sense there intended, could not have begun before 1819;
and even then, for Oliva was still in Vienna, did not extend beyond
aiding in correspondence and like duties. The earliest Conversation
Book preserved by Schindler is from April, 1819, in which both he
and Dr. Bach write; and from this time onward these books show that
the association grew more intimate and of course his records become
more trustworthy. Returning to the trivial matter which led to this
digression, the accuracy of Schindler’s statement that Beethoven
improvised but twice at Czerny’s Sunday concerts may well be doubted.
Czerny’s testimony is the weightier.

We resume an account of the events of the year. In August and September
the after-effects of the attack of catarrh and the state of Beethoven’s
health generally are so distressing and so depressing upon his spirits
that he seems to be on the verge of despair. A letter which Zmeskall
notes as received by him on August 21, says: “God have pity on me! I
look upon myself as good as lost. This servant ~steals~. My health
calls for meals at home. If my condition does not improve I shall not
be in London next year--perhaps in my grave. Thank God, the part is
nearly played.” On September 9, he writes to the same friend: “I ~am
trying~ every day to near my grave, without music.” Only two days
later he is able to report to Zmeskall that the reply to his letter
had been received from the London Philharmonic Society (on September
10). There is no tone of elation in his note; it merely mentions the
arrival of the letter and a request for the name of some one who could
translate it for him, it being in English. As might have been expected
the Philharmonic Society rejected the new terms demanded by him, but,
as the Society’s records show, repeated the old. These were now at once
accepted by Beethoven.

And did he now sit himself down zealously and perseveringly to work on
a ninth and tenth symphony? Not at all. His thoughts had become engaged
upon a new pianoforte sonata (in B-flat, Op. 106), and so far as is yet
discovered, he did not even resume his work on the Ninth Symphony, some
parts of which were already sketched. That “indecision in many things,”
noted by Breuning a dozen years before, was only aggravated by the
lapse of time; and this now was his bane. There was really nothing to
prevent his departing at once except that the new symphonies were still
to be written. If his nephew must remain in or near Vienna, he could
nowhere be so well placed as in the school and family of the excellent
Giannatasios, who had all the necessary legal power to save the boy
from the bad influence of his mother. The effects of such a journey;
of a stay of some months in England; of the intercourse of cultivated
people; of the enthusiastic admiration which awaited him there, and of
the great pecuniary rewards for his labors which were certain, could
only have been propitious in the highest degree to both his physical
and mental health. There was, too, just now a new and powerful motive
for accepting and fulfilling this engagement.

[Sidenote: WHAT MIGHT HAVE COME FROM A LONDON VISIT]

Though the depreciation of the redemption certificates never quite
touched the point feared by him in his letter to Ries in 1815, it
did once amount to 4 for 1; and the Government was again forced to
repudiate its obligations in part. It founded that National Bank
(seven shares in which Beethoven soon afterwards purchased), and
made a contract with a new institution by which the bank assumed the
obligation of redeeming the redemption certificates at the rate of
2-1/2 for 1. It went into full operation July 15, 1817, and thenceforth
Beethoven’s annuity remained instead of 3,400 florins in that paper,
1,360 florins in silver. But this fatal indecision! Could he have but
resolutely taken up any two of the many new symphonies which he had
planned, as the sketchbooks show, and once fairly engaged himself upon
them, he could not have rested until they were finished; he could, and
doubtless would, then have redeemed his promises; and like Handel,
Haydn and many other German musicians of far less note, have secured
from an admiring and generous London public an ample sufficiency for
the future. The standard of excellence was high and catholic in London
and musical taste pure and exalted. True, at the first trial of the
C minor Symphony by the Philharmonic Society a part of it only was
played, for the leader of the violins--really the conductor, as the
orchestras were then constituted--declared it “rubbish.” But this
leader was a German--our old Bonn acquaintance J. P. Salomon. He,
however, repented and made amends. At another trial of it, two or three
years afterwards, after the first movement, Salomon laid his violin
upon the pianoforte, walked to the front and, turning to the orchestra
said (through his nose): “Gentlemen, some years ago I called this
symphony rubbish; I wish to retract every word I then said, as I now
consider it one of the greatest compositions I ever heard!”

[Sidenote: CIPRIANI POTTER AND BEETHOVEN]

We have had occasion heretofore to refer to several young British
Beethoven enthusiasts; another is now added to the list--Cipriani
Potter--who came just at this time to Vienna, bringing letters to the
composer from Neate, Ries, Rode, Dragonetti and others. He heard so
much of Beethoven’s rudeness of manners and moroseness of disposition,
and so often noticed how people shook their heads when he or his
music was mentioned, that he hesitated to visit him. Two weeks had
thus passed when one day, at Streicher’s, he was asked if he had seen
Beethoven and if he had letters to him. He therefore explained why he
had not seen him. He was told this was all nonsense; Beethoven would
receive him kindly. He exclaimed: “I will go out at once!” which he
did, namely, to Mödling.[178] He presented a letter or two, one of
the first being that of Dragonetti. Upon opening that Beethoven also
opened his heart to his visitor and demanded immediately to see some
of his compositions. Potter showed him an overture--probably one that
had been commissioned and played by the London Philharmonic Society in
1816. Beethoven looked through it so hurriedly that Potter thought he
had only glanced at it out of politeness and was greatly astonished
when Beethoven pointed to a deep F-sharp in the bassoon part and said
it was not practicable. He made other observations of a similar nature
and advised him to go to a teacher; he himself gave no lessons but
would look through all his compositions. In answer to Potter’s question
as to whom he would recommend, Beethoven replied: “I have lost my
Albrechtsberger and have no confidence in anybody else”; nevertheless,
on Beethoven’s recommendation Potter became a pupil of Aloys Förster,
with whom he studied a long time until one day the teacher said to
him that he had now studied sufficiently and needed only to practise
himself in composition. This brought out the remark from Beethoven that
no one ought ever to stop studying; he himself had not studied enough:
“Tell Förster that he is an old flatterer!” Potter did so, but Förster
only laughed. Beethoven never complimented Potter to his face; he would
say: “Very good, very good,” but never give unequivocal praise. Yet
at Streicher’s he praised him and expressed his surprise that Potter
did not visit him at Mödling.[179] Once Beethoven advised him never
to compose sitting in a room in which there was a pianoforte, in order
not to be tempted to consult the instrument; after a work was finished
he might try it over on the instrument, because an orchestra was not
always to be had.

Beethoven used to walk across the fields to Vienna very often and
sometimes Potter took the walk with him. Beethoven would stop, look
around and give expression to his love for nature. One day Potter
asked: “Who is the greatest living composer, yourself excepted?”
Beethoven seemed puzzled for a moment, then exclaimed “Cherubini.”
Potter went on: “And of dead authors?” Beethoven answered that he had
always considered Mozart as such, but since he had been made acquainted
with Handel he had put him at the head. The first day that Potter was
with Beethoven the latter rushed into politics and called the Austrian
government all sorts of names.[180] He was full of going to England and
said his desire was to see the House of Commons. “You have heads upon
your shoulders in England,” he remarked. One day Potter asked him his
opinion of one of the principal pianists then in Vienna (Moscheles).
“Don’t ever talk to me again about mere passage players,” came the
answer. At another time Beethoven declared that John Cramer had
given him more satisfaction than anybody else. According to the same
informant, Beethoven spoke Italian fluently but French with less ease.
It was in Italian that Potter conversed with him, making himself heard
by using his hands as a speaking-trumpet; Beethoven did not always
hear everything, but was content when he caught the meaning. Potter
considered “Fidelio” the greatest of all operas and once remarked to
Beethoven that he had heard it in Vienna, which brought out the remark
that he had ~not~ heard it, as the singers then at the opera-house were
not able to sing it. He was asked if he did not intend to write another
opera. “Yes,” replied Beethoven, “I am now composing ‘Romulus’;[181]
but the poets are all such fools; I will not compose silly rubbish.”
Potter told him of the deep impression made upon him by the Septet
when first he heard it; Beethoven replied in effect that when he wrote
the piece he did not know how to compose; he knew now, he thought,
and, either then or at another time, he said, “I am writing something
better now.” Soon after, the Pianoforte Sonata in B-flat (Op. 106) was
published.

Another visitor now, and probably occasionally during the winter
following, was Heinrich Marschner, who had come from Carlsbad to Vienna
on the invitation of Count Amadée. He was 21 years old, ambitious and
eager to get Beethoven’s judgment on some of his compositions, which
he carried to the great master in manuscript. Beethoven received him,
glanced through the music hurriedly, handed it back with a muttered
“Hm,” in a tone more of satisfaction than dispraise, and the words:
“I haven’t much time--do not come often--bring me something again.”
The young man was grievously disappointed; he had expected so much
more. He did not understand Beethoven’s sententious manner, and not
until he told the story of his reception to his patron and Prof. Klein
of Pressburg, did he recall that Beethoven had looked kindly upon
him when he spoke the words and had given him his hand at parting.
He had gone to his lodgings in a passion of despondency, torn up the
manuscripts, packed his trunk with the resolve to abandon music and
return to Leipsic to continue his studies for the profession for which
he had been designed. But now, on the advice of his friends, he took a
different view of Beethoven’s actions, and continued his intercourse
with him. The great man was always gracious, and even occasionally let
fall a word of encouragement; but an intimacy never sprang up between
them.

[Sidenote: ANOTHER MYSTERIOUS PASSION]

Beethoven’s intercourse with a third new acquaintance was, doubtless,
far more delightful than any other; but not at all of the nature
assumed by Schindler, who has attributed to it a very exaggerated
and, indeed, ludicrous importance. This visitor was Frau Marie
Pachler-Koschak, of Gratz, whom Anselm Hüttenbrenner described as
the most beautiful maiden and for several years the most beautiful
woman in her native town, who was called “heaven’s daughter,” and who
“glowed with admiration for Jean Paul, Goethe, Schiller, Beethoven,
Mozart and Schubert.” Beethoven had already heard from Prof. Schneller,
whose pupil she had been, of her extraordinary beauty, talents,
intellectual culture and refinement, and of her genius for music. He
had unconsciously the year before borne testimony to this last in
this wise: Her brother-in-law, Anton Pachler, ~Dr. jur.~ in Vienna,
had at her request showed him for an opinion a fantasia composed by
her, but without disclosing the author’s identity. Beethoven looked
at the piece carefully and said that it was a good deal from one
who had not studied composition, and if the composer were present
he would point out the faults in it; it would take too much time to
do this in writing and the composer would find them out for himself
if he studied diligently. The lady was 24 years old and had been
married a little over a year. She had never been in Vienna, Beethoven
never in Gratz, and they, of course, had never met. But when they
did, it could not be as strangers; for his music had been to her
like a new divine revelation, and such noble mental and personal
qualities as distinguished her always awakened in him feelings akin to
worship. Unfortunately, absolutely nothing is known of their personal
association except that Dr. Anton Pachler introduced her to him,
that she wrote ten years later that “they were often in each other’s
company,” and that Beethoven wrote her two notes “in pencil”--one
utterly illegible, the other in terms placing her as a player of his
pianoforte music even higher than Frau von Ertmann. He wrote:

I am greatly delighted that you will remain another day, we will
make a lot more music, you will play the sonata in F major and C
minor for me, will you not? I have never yet found anybody who
plays my compositions as well as you do. Not even excepting the
great pianists, they either have nothing but technique or are
affected. You are the true guardian of my intellectual offspring.

Her son has so fully exploded Schindler’s assumption that she was the
object of Beethoven’s “autumnal love” that no words need be wasted upon
it. It was, no doubt, upon seeing in Beethoven’s papers the letter
“M”[182] in this outburst of feeling:

Love alone--yes, only love can possibly give you a happier life--O
God, let me--let me finally find the one--who will strengthen me in
virtue--who will ~lawfully~ be mine.

Baden on July 27

when M drove past and seemed to give a glance at me--

A consideration of the dates given in Dr. Pachler’s pamphlet proves
conclusively, however, that this “M” cannot refer to Marie Pachler, for
its writer could never have seen her “drive past” on any 27th of July!

There are few unmarried men of highly sensitive nature who have not
had the bitter experience of a hopeless passion, who have not felt
how doubly grateful at such times is intercourse with a glorious
creature like Madame Pachler, and how beneficial in preventing the
thoughts from continually dwelling on the impossible, and thus aiding
reason and conscience to gain the victory over the heart and fancy.
Now it happens that one of Beethoven’s transient but intense passions
for a married woman, known to have occurred in this period of his
life, has its precise date fixed by these passages in the so-called
“Tagebuch” from the years 1816 and 1817. “In the case of T. there is
nothing to do but to leave it to God, never to go where one might do
a wrong through weakness--to Him, to the all-knowing God, be all this
committed.” And again: “But as kind as possible to T. her attachment
deserves never to be forgotten even if the results could never prove
advantageous to you.” Let the reader recall the passages in his letters
showing a strong desire to leave Vienna and read again: “Work during
the summer for the journey, only thus can you carry out the great
task for your poor nephew, afterwards wander through Italy, Sicily,
with a few artists--make plans and be of good cheer for the sake of
C....” The last initial is uncertain. Other copies have “L.”; what the
original was in Beethoven’s handwriting is not now to be determined.
No instance, however, is known of his writing his nephew’s name with
a C, and this “C” or “L” was probably T. As the family name of this
lady, whose husband was a man of high position and distinction though
not noble by birth, is known, it is certain that the T in the above
citations is not Therese Malfatti, now Baroness Drosdick; but as her
baptismal names have eluded search one can only hint the possibility
that the “T” and “M” may indicate the same person, and that this last
cry of anguish was written a year or two afterwards when the sight of
“M” again, for a moment, tore open a half-healed wound.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND MÄLZEL’S METRONOME]

In numbers 5 to 8 inclusive of the “Neue Musik-Zeitung” appeared, from
the pen of J. Kandler, a long article containing historical notices of
various attempts to produce a satisfactory instrument for measuring
time in music, and closing with an account, taken from the English, of
Mälzel’s metronome. To No. 25 (June 19) of the same journal, Gottfried
Weber contributed a paper “On a chronometric tempo designation
which makes Mälzel’s metronome, as well as all other chronometric
instruments, unnecessary,” in which he repeated his idea, already put
forth in the Leipsic “Musikzeitung” in 1813, that the simplest and most
correct chronometer is a simple pendulum, a bit of thread with a bullet
at the end, whose oscillations would mark the duration of measures
according to the length of the thread. This article pleased Beethoven,
and in one of his variations on the theme of pens he commends it to
his “~clarissime amice~” Zmeskall, as the best invention yet made.
Zmeskall took up the subject with interest and in two articles in the
same journal called attention to the fact that Neate, in London, had
described a time measurer of the same kind which was known in England,
but had not remained long in use--“a little ball hanging at the end of
a thread and below it a line divided into a scale of inches.” Zmeskall
approved of Weber’s suggestion in principle but improved upon it by
proposing that the oscillations of the pendulum indicate the duration
of a note instead of a measure, and that the varying lengths of the
pendulum be marked by knots in the thread. Beethoven, to whom Zmeskall
seems to have sent his contrivance, was interested and lauded its
simplicity, playfully wondering whether or not it might be used in
measuring from time to eternity.

Music had already come from the press with Mälzel’s tempo marks, and
Weber, who seems to have had no kindly feeling for him, prints an
article, in the number of the journal following Zmeskall’s, entitled
“Mälzel’s Metronome to be had gratis everywhere,” and gives a table
showing the lengths of a pendulum in Rhenish inches and French
centimetres corresponding to all the numbers on the metronome. As the
months passed, the metronome had come largely into use in England,
France and the United States, but not in Germany and Austria. It was
of high importance to the manufacturers of the instruments to obtain
the countenance and good will of the composers in those countries
also--Salieri, Weigl, Beethoven, etc.--and Mälzel came back to Vienna
to try the effect of personal effort, taking the risk of any serious
consequences arising from the lawsuit between him and Beethoven. But
there were none. The matter was amicably adjusted, each party paying
half of the legal expenses which had been incurred. This would be
incredible had Beethoven had any substantial grounds for the action;
for his sanction of the metronome was of such value that Mälzel would
readily have conceded much to obtain it; and the whole tone of the
composer’s correspondence in this period, so far as relates to his
pecuniary affairs, shows how little likely he was to sacrifice any just
claim.

Beethoven was at first not well disposed to the instrument,
notwithstanding he had joined Salieri and the other composers in
strongly recommending the “chronometer” in 1813, which certificate
had been used in England ~a fortiori~ for the new metronome. In a
letter[183] Mr. Joseph J. Mickley, of Philadelphia, writes: “Mr.
Mälzel, with whom I was well acquainted, told me that he had been
particularly anxious Beethoven should mark his music by his metronome,
and to get his recommendation; that he (B) refused and became quite
indignant, saying: ‘It is silly stuff; one must feel the tempos’”;
but Beethoven soon yielded to the obvious considerations in favor of
the invention. These were presented to the public together with the
objections to Weber’s and Zmeskall’s pendulums, clearly, explicitly
and cunningly by Mosel in an article in Steiner’s “Musik-Zeitung” on
November 27, which put an end to controversy on the topic.

Meanwhile, Beethoven had prepared a table of tempos for his eight
symphonies which was printed in the Leipsic “Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung”
on December 17 (copied, says Nottebohm, from a little pamphlet
published by Steiner and Co. in which also tempos of the Septet were
included), and followed this up with a general metronomizing of his
works. On the autograph of his song, “Nord oder Süd,” he wrote: “100
according to Mälzel; but this must be held applicable to only the first
measures, for feeling also has its tempo and this cannot entirely be
expressed in this figure (i. e., 100).”[184]

If the picture of Mälzel drawn by Schindler and his copyists is true,
even the most Christian and forgiving spirit could scarcely have
demanded more of Beethoven than this public acknowledgement of the
value of the metronome by way of heaping coals of fire upon his head;
but he did more, by writing to Mosel this very valuable and for us very
interesting letter:

I am heartily rejoiced that you agree with me in the opinion
touching the time designations which date back to the barbarous
period in music, for what, for instance, can be more nonsensical
than ~Allegro~, which always means ~merry~ and how often are we
so far from this conception of time that the piece says the very
~opposite of the designation~. As regards these 4 chief speeds
(~Hauptbewegungen~), which by no means have the correctness or
truthfulness of the chief winds, we gladly allow that they be put
aside, it is a different matter with the words used to designate
the character of the composition, these we cannot give up, since
time is really more the body while these have reference to the
spirit. So far as I am concerned I have long thought of giving
up the nonsensical designations ~Allegro~, ~Andante~, ~Adagio~,
~Presto~; Mälzel’s metronome gives us the best opportunity to do
this. I give you ~my word~ that I shall ~never use them again~ in
my new compositions--it is another question if we shall thereby
accomplish the necessary universal use of the instrument--I do
not think so. But I do not doubt that we shall be decried as
~taskmasters~, if the cause might thus be served it would still
be better than to be accused of ~feudalism~--I therefore think
that it would be best, especially in our countries where music has
become a national need and every village schoolmaster ought to use
the metronome, that Mälzel try to dispose of a certain number of
metronomes by subscription at higher prices, and that as soon as
his expenses are thus covered he will be in a position to furnish
the needed metronome for the national need so cheaply that the
greatest universality and ~widest distribution~ may be expected.
It is self-evident that somebody must take the initiative in this
matter so that zeal be aroused. As for me you may count on me and I
await with pleasure the post of duty to which you will assign me.

Still more: he joined with Salieri in a public announcement which was
printed in the “Wiener Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” of February
14, 1818, setting forth that the metronome would attest its utility
forever, was indispensable to all students of singing, the pianoforte
or other instruments, etc. On one of the last days of December,
Beethoven writes to Madame Streicher: “Day before yesterday I was busy
with Mälzel, who is in a hurry as he is soon to leave here.” What had
he so important to do with this “rude fellow, wholly without education
or breeding,” to cite his own words? Was it in contemplation to make
this sudden zeal for the metronome a source of pecuniary profit? No one
knows.

[Sidenote: STUDIES IN HOUSEHOLD ECONOMY]

As the lodging in the Sailerstätte was separated from Giannatasio’s
institute by the whole breadth of the Glacis, Beethoven, on his
return from Mödling, exchanged it for one in the house “Zum grünen
Baum,” first ~étage~, 2nd storey, No. 26, in the Gärtnergasse, suburb
Landstrasse. He was now near both his nephew and the Streichers (in
the Ungarstrasse), and, with the aid of Madame Streicher, he had at
last brought his domestic arrangements into a condition so that he
might take his nephew to himself. While making these arrangements,
doubtless he asked practical guidance of some unknown friend touching
his table. On one side of a large sheet of paper (it is now preserved
in the Royal Library in Berlin) he wrote a list of questions which were
painstakingly answered, by the friend to whom they were addressed, on
the opposite page. The questions were as follows:

What ought one to give 2 servants to eat at dinner and supper both
as to quantity and quality?

How often ought one to give them roast meat?

Ought they to have it at dinner and supper too?

That which is intended for the servants, do they have it in common
with the victuals of the master, or do they prepare their own
separately, i. e., do they have different food from the master?

How many pounds of meat are to be reckoned for 3 persons?

What allowance per day do the housekeeper and maid receive?

How about the washing?

Do the housekeeper and maid get more?

How much wine and beer?

Does one give it to them and when?

Breakfast?

Beethoven announced his intention to take his nephew to himself at the
end of the current quarter in a letter to Giannatasio dated November
12, 1817. The step involved not only an increase in his expenses, but
also an abandonment of his engagement with the London Philharmonic
Society and of all the profits which might thence arise. Giannatasio,
moved by his complaints of poverty, and probably also by a desire to
aid him in the proposed visit to London, kindly offered to keep the
boy at a much reduced rate of remuneration for board and instruction.
Beethoven’s reply shows him to be still undecided as to his movements
in the coming spring, and it is possible, could he have made ready the
required symphonies, that he might have gone to England; but now the
new Sonata had got possession of his imagination, and the symphonies
must wait.

But one public appearance professionally of Beethoven is recorded
this year. At the concert for the Hospital Fund on December 25, the
first part was devoted to the Eighth Symphony, which was conducted by
the composer. In the second part Seyfried produced C. P. E. Bach’s
oratorio, “The Israelites in the Wilderness,” which he had revised,
adding to the accompaniments, curtailing the airs, prefixing it
with the well-known fugue on B-A-C-H (orchestrated by himself), and
concluding it with the double chorus “Holy, holy, holy.” Nottebohm
has shown that the sketches for the overture on the name of the great
Leipsic cantor which Beethoven once thought of writing, belong to a
later period; but it is yet possible, if not likely, that he conceived
the idea at this concert. On November 15, Anton Halm gave a concert
for the benefit of the poor in the Kärnthnerthor-Theater at which the
Choral Fantasia was performed; but we know nothing of Beethoven’s
participation in it in any way.

[Sidenote: FUGUES AND THEIR CONTENTS]

It is probable that to this time is to be assigned a portrait in oils
painted by Christoph Heckel, who was a student at the Royal Imperial
Academy in Vienna from 1814 to 1818. Beethoven, it is said, made the
acquaintance of the painter in Streicher’s pianoforte wareroom. There
is but little to be added to what has been said about the compositions
of this almost sterile year. The transcription of the Pianoforte Trio
as a quintet (which was the largest work of the year), and the “Song
of the Monks,” written on the death of Krumpholz, have been mentioned.
Besides these we have a few short songs with pianoforte accompaniment.
“Nord oder Süd” (also known as “So oder So”), the poem by Karl Lappe,
was known and widely liked in a setting by K. Klage. “Resignation”
(“Lisch aus mein Licht”), words by Count Paul von Haughwitz, was
composed towards the end of the Summer, and the sketches show that
Beethoven contemplated a setting for four voices. A Fugue in D major,
for five stringed instruments, was completed on November 28, 1817,
and was designed for the manuscript collection of Beethoven’s works
projected by Haslinger, who published it soon after Beethoven’s death
in 1827, as Op. 137. Beethoven was particularly interested in fugues
at the time. “To ~make~ a fugue requires no particular skill,” he said
later to Holz; “in my study days I made dozens of them. But the fancy
wishes also to assert its privileges, and to-day a new and really
poetical element must be introduced into the old traditional form.” The
sketches for the conclusion of the Quintet fugue (Nottebohm, “Zweite
Beethoveniana,” p. 350) are mixed with notes from Bach and others
showing how zealous were his studies in the form at that time. The year
also saw work done on the Pianoforte Sonata in B-flat, Op. 106, and the
beginning of the Symphony in D minor.

The list of publications for the year is also very small:

1. Sonata for Pianoforte, A major, Op. 101; Steiner and Co.

2. Two Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violoncello, Op. 102, published,
apparently in January, 1817, by Simrock in Bonn, and in 1819 by
Artaria in Vienna.

3. Song: “So oder So”; as supplement in the “Modenzeitung” of
February 25.

4. Song: “Ruf vom Berge”; supplement to Treitschke’s poems, for
which it had been composed at the close of 1816.

5. The canon: “Lerne Schweigen,” written for Neate; supplement to
Kanne’s “Allg. Mus.-Zeit.” March 6, and on June 5 with Payer’s
solution.

6. Volume III of the Welsh songs written for Thomson.

FOOTNOTES:

[172] Mr. Fry was for many years editorial writer and music critic of
the “New York Tribune,” with which Mr. Thayer was also associated for a
time.

[173] Since Thayer wrote, all these letters have been published in
German as well as in English translation and may easily be consulted by
the student.

[174] Dr. Herman Deiters, who wrote the concluding two volumes of
Thayer’s biography, making use of the material and framework left by
the author, devotes twenty-nine pages in the appendix of the fourth
volume to Fanny Giannatasio’s notes of Beethoven’s intercourse with
her father’s family and her sentiments concerning the composer. These
notes, together with a number of letters, had been used by Edward
Duboc (Robert Waldmüller) in the preparation of two articles which
were published in the “Grenzboten” of April 3 and 10, 1857. A complete
transcript of the diary was found by the editor of the present edition
of this biography among Thayer’s posthumous papers and forwarded to Dr.
Deiters. The circumstances under which the transcript was made deserve
to be set forth here. When Thayer took up his permanent abode in Europe
for the purpose of prosecuting his researches concerning Beethoven,
the manuscript was owned by Frau Pessiak, granddaughter of Kajetan
Giannatasio del Rio, daughter of Fanny’s sister Anna, familiarly known
as “Nanni.” Through the mediation of Dr. Gerhard von Breuning, Thayer
had come into possession of a copy of such passages of the diary as
referred to Beethoven. On his first visit to Vienna, Thayer called
upon Frau Pessiak, then a prominent teacher of singing in the Austrian
capital, to thank her for her kind help. The acquaintance thus made,
quickly ripened into a cordial friendship, and when Thayer was about
to return to his home, the lady, to his surprise and delight, placed
the manuscript into his hands and gave him permission to carry it with
him to Trieste for examination at leisure. One reason for the act
was, if possible, to obtain a rectification of what she considered a
grievous wrong done to her aunt’s memory by Ludwig Nohl. This writer
had, some time before, importuned her for the privilege of reading the
diary and using it in the preparation of his biography of Beethoven.
After many protestations, due to the fact that a number of letters
from Beethoven to her grandfather had mysteriously disappeared from
the family archives (Thayer found some of them later in the possession
of a music publishing house in London), Frau Pessiak yielded to Nohl’s
requests. Shortly after the manuscript had been returned to her, there
appeared a booklet entitled: “Eine stille Liebe zu Beethoven. Nach
dem Tagebuch einer jungen Dame. Von Ludwig Nohl.” (Second edition,
Leipsic, 1902), in which excerpts, wrenched from their context, were
made the foundation of a story of a romantic, but unconfessed and
unrequited passion for the composer on the part of the unnamed author
of the diary. Frau Pessiak felt deeply wounded that such unauthorized
and unpardonable use had been made of an effusion designed only for
the eyes of its writer, and wanted now to learn whether or not the
deduction was consistent with the utterances of the diary as a whole.
Thayer, after a study of the manuscript and all the circumstances
connected with the relations between Beethoven and the family of
the writer, thought not; and his conclusion, evidently, was that of
Dr. Deiters also, who printed copious extracts compassing all the
references to Beethoven found in the manuscript.

[Sidenote: A YOUNG WOMAN’S SENTIMENTAL JOURNAL]

In explanation of the sentimental tinge of some of the young woman’s
utterances, which taken alone might easily be interpreted as secret
confessions of a deeper feeling than mere admiration, friendship and
sympathy, it is urged that Fanny Giannatasio del Rio began her diary,
which is not a continuous record, on January 1, 1812, when she was
twenty-two years old; she, therefore, was twenty-six when Beethoven
became a frequent visitor at her father’s house. She was very musical
(so much so that Beethoven did not hesitate to play four-hand pieces
with her), and had been an admirer of his music before she met him.
Two affairs of the heart, both unhappy in their outcome--(her first
lover proved unworthy, her second was an invalid and like an honorable
man unwilling to burden her life with his sufferings; he died in
1815)--had left her inclined to the melancholy mood, with a hunger
for affection and an almost passionate longing to extend sympathy to
those who seemed to her to be in need of care and love. Her outpourings
frequently touch on the border of extravagant sentimentality; but calm
reflection generally intervenes with its wholesome clog. So that, on
the whole, they can be, perhaps ought to be, interpreted as nothing
more than a disclosure of a warm interest in the great composer on the
part of a generous-souled young woman filled with the literary habits
of the period mixed with an overwhelming admiration for his genius and
nobility of character and an impulsive desire to bring some cheer into
his lonely life. Moreover, after the withdrawal of the nephew from the
institute and the cessation of intercourse between Beethoven and the
Giannatasio family, his name disappears from the diary, though it was
continued till 1824.

The friendship which existed for years between Thayer and Frau Pessiak
is attested in two letters from the latter to the former in which the
lady’s recollections of her grandparents and their intercourse with
Beethoven are set forth. Some of the anecdotes contained in these
letters deserve record here. Once, Frau Pessiak relates, there arose a
serious disagreement between her grandfather and Beethoven concerning
the latter’s nephew, which resulted in the boy’s dismissal from the
institute. Thereupon Beethoven wrote to Anna Giannatasio begging her
to intercede with her father and get his consent to Karl’s return,
but at the same time to keep the fact of the writing secret and to
burn the letter as soon as it had been read. The lady respected both
wishes, the latter dictated by the composer’s pride, but she burned
the letter with a heavy heart. “My mother’s admiration for Beethoven,”
adds Frau Pessiak, “was like that of my aunt, so that his wish was to
her a command.” While at a picnic party in the environs of Vienna,
Beethoven stood beside the writer’s mother on the most beautiful
observation point. Suddenly he took out his note-book, tore out a leaf,
drew a staff upon it, jotted down the melody of the song, “Wenn ich
ein Vöglein wär” (Treitschke’s “Ruf vom Berge,” No. 219, in Thayer’s
“Chronological Catalogue”) and handed it to his companion with the
words: “Now, Miss Nanni, do you write the bass for it.” “My mother
cherished the leaf as a precious souvenir for a long time, then gave it
to me because, as she said, I was the most musical one of the family,
and would best appreciate the treasure. I have it preserved under a
glass and frame.” One day Beethoven brought with him the song from
“Faust” beginning: “Es war einmal ein König, der hatt’ einen grossen
Floh” (“Once upon a time there was a king who had a large flea”).
“Aunt and mother had to try it.” Then Beethoven took his seat at the
pianoforte and played the conclusion in which he turned his thumb and
with it struck two adjoining keys at the same time, laughed and said:
“That’s the way to kill him!” On the occasion of Anna Giannatasio’s
birthday, Beethoven came and offered a musical congratulation.
Approaching her he sang with great solemnity the melody of a canon to
the words: “Above all may you want happiness and health, too,--”. Then
he stopped and the lady protested that the wish that she might fail
in happiness and health was scarcely a kind one; whereupon Beethoven
laughed and finished the sentiment with “at no time.” Here is the canon:

[Illustration: Glück fehl Dir vor allem, Gesundheit auch niemalen!]

[175] This letter is dated “February 23, 1816”--another obvious blunder
of the kind to which Beethoven was prone; it should of course be 1817.
In the letter to Steiner last referred to he asks the publisher to keep
the dedication a secret, as he intended it to be a surprise. Thayer
accepted the date and explained the discrepancy with the suggestion
that Beethoven had forwarded a manuscript copy to the baroness. The
theory is no longer tenable. The lady could scarcely be surprised by
a printed copy if she already had the Sonata in manuscript and also
the letter which so plainly shows that the Sonata was written for
her. It is also plain that Schindler was in error when he stated that
the Sonata had been played in public in February, 1816. According to
Nottebohm (“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 344), the autograph of the Sonata
bears the inscription: “Neue Sonata für Ham....., 1816, im Monath
November.” Its forthcoming appearance in print was announced in Kanne’s
“Musik-Zeitung” under date January 23, 1817.

[176] The principal contributions to Beethoven’s biography from
Czerny’s pen are in Schmidt’s “Wiener Allg. Mus. Zeitung,” 1845, No.
113; Cock’s “Musical Miscellany,” London, 1852; and manuscript notes in
Jahn’s papers.

[177] It is Thayer who is speaking here.

[178] “Mödling,” said Potter in narrating the incidents of his
association with Beethoven to Mr. Thayer in 1861; but Potter was nearly
69 years old at the time and his memory of the suburbs of Vienna may
have been a trifle faulty. Beethoven was in Mödling in 1818, but
it has not been learned that he went thither after his sojourn in
Heiligenstadt and Nussdorf in 1817. At any rate, he was in Nussdorf
till late September, perhaps early October, and was then on the eve of
a new experiment in housekeeping so that he might have his nephew with
him, concerning which he wrote to Giannatasio in Vienna on November 12.
There is nothing in his letters to Frau Streicher and others at this
time to indicate a change to Mödling, whither he went in May of the
next year after he had reported Potter’s visits to Ries in March.

[179] This agrees with the theory that the first meetings took place at
some other place. To Ries, Beethoven wrote on March 5, 1818: “Botter
[~sic~] visited me a few times; he appears to be a good man and has
talent for composition.”

[180] Other instances of this nature have been recorded in this
biography. In December, 1811, a visitor, Xaver Schnyder von Wartensee,
reported to Nägeli in Zürich that Beethoven had said to him: “All
Viennese, from the Emperor to the bootblack, are good for nothing.” “I
asked him,” von Wartensee continues, “if he took no pupils?” “No,” he
replied, “teaching is a disagreeable task; he had only one pupil who
gave him a great deal of trouble and whom he would like to get rid of
if he could.” “And who is he?” “Archduke Rudolph.”

[181] Treitschke had provided the libretto of “Romulus”; it does not
appear that Beethoven ever began its composition.

[182] The letter, which is reproduced in ~facsimile~ in Schindler’s
biography, is a more or less fantastic scrawl or flourish which may be
read as an “R” as well as an “M.”

[183] The letter to Thayer is dated May 21, 1873. Mälzel, it will be
remembered, lived in Philadelphia for some time before his death at sea
on July 21, 1838.

[184] Thus copied by Fischoff.

Chapter XVIII

The Year 1818--A Broadwood Pianoforte--Commission for an
Oratorio--Conception of the Mass in D--The Nephew; A Mother’s
Struggle for Her Son--The Pianoforte Sonata in B-flat, Op. 106.

[Sidenote: DELIGHT IN THE BROADWOOD PIANOFORTE]

An entry in an old “Porter’s Book” of John Broadwood and Sons,
manufacturers of pianofortes in London, offers an agreeable
starting-point for the story of Beethoven’s life in 1818. In this book
the porter of the firm signs his name, Millet, to the record that
on December 27, 1817, he took from the warehouse “A 6 octave Grand
Pianoforte, No. 7,632, tin and deal case, Thomas Broadwood, Esq.,
marked V. B. care of F. E. J. Bareaux and Co., Trieste (a present to
Mr. van Beethoven, Viene), deliv’d to Mr. Farlowes to be shipped.” Some
time previously Mr. Thomas Broadwood, the then head of the house, with
a Mr. Goding (probably the rich brewer), visited the principal cities
of the continent and doubtless became acquainted with Beethoven and
offered to present to him one of the firm’s pianofortes. On January
3, 1818, Mr. Broadwood seems to have informed Beethoven that the
instrument had been shipped, and exactly one month later Beethoven sent
the following acknowledgment to the generous donor:

~Mon tres cher Ami Broadwood!~

~Jamais je n’eprouvais pas un grand Plaisir de ce que me causa
votre Annonce de cette Piano, avec qui vous m’honorés de m’en faire
présent; je regarderai comme un Autel, ou je deposerai les plus
belles offrandes de mon esprit au divine Apollon. Aussitôt comme je
recevrai votre Excellent Instrument, je vous enverrai d’en abord
les Fruits de l’Inspiration des premiers moments, que j’y passerai,
vous servir d’un souvenir de moi à vous mon très cher B., et je ne
souhaits ce que, qu’ils soient dignes de votre Instrument.~

~Mon cher Monsieur et Ami recevès ma plus grande Consideration de
votre Ami et très humble serviteur~

~Louis van Beethoven~.

~Vienne le 3me du mois Fevrier, 1818.~

This letter was sent to Broadwood by Joseph Anton Bridi of the firm of
Bridi, Parisi and Co., in Vienna, who had evidently been commissioned
to look after the delivery of the instrument to Beethoven after its
arrival in Trieste. At least Bridi, in transmitting the letter to
Broadwood under cover and date February 5, informs the latter that he
had taken the proper steps to have the pianoforte sent to Vienna by
Bareaux (or Barraux) and Co., and asks for instructions how to carry
out what he understands to be the donor’s desire that the instrument be
delivered to Beethoven without his being put to any expense whatever,
not even for the import duty. The latter charge must have been in
the mind of Beethoven when he wrote a letter, without date, to Count
Lichnowsky enclosing a document bearing on the case expressing the
hope that he be permitted to receive the instrument and proposing
to apply by word of mouth to Count Stadion, the Austrian Minister
of Finance. Madame Streicher was also appealed to in the matter,
Beethoven begging her in a letter to ask her “Cousin from Cracow”
to get from the chief customs official in Vienna an order for the
forwarding of the pianoforte, which could be sent to the custom house
in Trieste. But neither Broadwood nor Beethoven was called on to pay
the duty, the Austrian Exchequer remitting the charge. After some
delay the pianoforte was delivered at Streicher’s wareroom and later
sent to Beethoven at Mödling. While it was still in his possession,
Streicher asked Potter to try it, saying that Moscheles and others
could do nothing with it--the tone was beautiful but the action too
heavy. Potter, who was familiar with the English instruments, found no
difficulty in disclosing its admirable qualities. He told Beethoven,
however, that it was out of tune, whereupon the latter replied in
effect: “That’s what they all say; they would like to tune it and
spoil it, but they shall not touch it.” Beethoven’s delight in the
pianoforte must have been great. Bridi reports to Broadwood that the
composer already rejoiced in it in anticipation and expressed a desire
to dedicate the first piece of music composed after its reception
to the donor, “convinced that it would inspire something good.” His
jealousy of it seems to have been so great that he would not permit
anybody to tune it except Stumpff, of London, who came with a letter of
introduction from Broadwood.[185]

The case of the instrument, simple, plain but tasteful in design, is of
mahogany and the structure generally of a solidity and strength paired
with grace which caused no little surprise at the time. The compass
is six octaves from C, five leger-lines below the bass staff. Above
the keys is the inscription: ~Hoc Instrumentum est Thomœ Broadwood
(Londini) donum, propter Ingenium illustrissimi Beethoven~. On the
board, back of the keys, is the name “Beethoven,” inlaid in ebony,
and below this the makers’ mark: “John Broadwood and Sons, Makers of
Instruments to His Majesty and the Princesses. Great Pulteney Street.
Golden Square. London.” To the right of the keyboard are the autograph
names Frid. Kalkbrenner, Ferd. Ries, C. G. Ferrari, J. L. Cramer and
C. Knyvett. The presence of these names gave rise to a theory which
was widely spread, and is not yet wholly dissipated, that their owners
had joined Mr. Broadwood in making the gift; it has also been stated
that the gift came from the Philharmonic Society. This latter statement
is disproved by the fact that the records of the Society contain no
mention of such a transaction; as for the names of the virtuosi,
they were no doubt scratched upon the instrument as a compliment to
Beethoven and an evidence that they had played upon it. Beethoven kept
the instrument as long as he lived. At the sale of his effects it was
bought by Spina, the music publisher, for 181 florins; Spina gave it
to Liszt, in whose house at Weimar it was up to his death. In 1887,
Princess Marie Hohenlohe, daughter of Liszt’s friend, the Princess
Sayn-Wittgenstein, presented it to the National Museum in Buda-Pesth.

The time had come for Beethoven to take his nephew from the home
and institute of the Giannatasios. On January 6 he wrote to inform
the director that Karl would leave his “admirable institute” at the
expiration of the month and that Giannatasio might rest assured of his
and the lad’s life-long gratitude: “I have observed in Karl that he
already feels grateful, and this is a proof that though he is frivolous
he is not malicious, and least of all is he bad at heart. I have hopes
of all manner of good from him, all the more because he has been under
your excellent care for nearly two years.” Karl left the institute on
January 24, and on June 15 Fanny Giannatasio wrote in her diary: “We
hear nothing from Beethoven,” who was then in Mödling.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN’S UNFITNESS AS GUARDIAN]

Ill-advised and full of evil consequences as was Beethoven’s step in
taking personal charge of his nephew, it was yet creditable to his
heart and bears strong witness to his high sense of duty. His purpose
was pure and lofty, and his action prompted by both love and an ideal
sense of moral obligation. It was a woeful mistake, however; Beethoven
sadly misjudged his fitness to fill the delicate and difficult rôle of
guardian and parent. In all his life he had never had occasion to give
a thought to the duties which such an office involved. In the conduct
of his own affairs he had always permitted himself to be swayed by
momentary impulses, emotions and sometimes violent passions, and he
could not suddenly develop the habits of calm reflection, unimpassioned
judgment and consistent behavior essential to the training of a
careless and wayward boy. In his treatment of him he flew from one
extreme to the other--from almost cruel severity to almost limitless
indulgence, and, for this reason, failed to inspire either respect for
his authority or deep affection for his person, to develop the lad’s
self-control or a desire for virtuous living. Very questionable, too,
if not utterly unpardonable, were the measures which Beethoven took to
separate the boy from his mother in spite of the dying wishes of his
father. We have seen his protestations at times of his unwillingness to
give her pain. When he was cruel in his own confession it was because
he imagined himself constrained to be so by a high obligation of duty.
There can be no doubt that the woman whom Beethoven called “The Queen
of Night” was wicked and vicious, and that his detestation of her was
as well founded as his wish to save his nephew from evil communications
and influences. But there were times when he seemed willing to give
filial instincts their due. “Karl did wrong,” he writes to Madame
Streicher from Mödling in June 1818, “but--mother--mother--even a bad
one remains a mother. To this extent he is to be excused, especially by
me, who know his intriguing, passionate mother too well.” Why did he
not follow this thought to its ultimate conclusion? Why did he permit,
if indeed, he did not encourage, the lad to speak disrespectfully of
his mother? A memorandum in the ~Tagebuch~ after February 20th reads:
“Karl’s mother has not seen him since August 10”--a period of more than
six months. How often she was allowed to see him during the following
months is not of record; we only know from Beethoven himself, in his
letters to Madame Streicher, that the mother’s instinct--if, because
she was a bad woman, the word “love” be not allowed--drove her to
employ the only means by which she could know the condition of her son
during the summer in Mödling--i. e., bribing or feeing the servants.
That at least is Beethoven’s accusation, and exceedingly wroth he
was.[186]

[Sidenote: THE LONDON VISIT POSTPONED]

After taking Karl from Giannatasio’s institute to his own home
Beethoven engaged a tutor to prepare him for matriculation at the
gymnasium. This tutor, whose name has not been learned, was a professor
at the Vienna University and had evidently agreed not only to look
after all of the lad’s intellectual needs but also to have an eye on
some of the domestic affairs and to that end to become a member of
the Beethoven household. On this point, Beethoven enjoined secrecy
upon Madame Streicher. How long the service of his “steward,” as he
playfully called him to Madame Streicher, continued is not known, nor
how satisfactory it was. He does not become a subject of Beethoven’s
correspondence beyond a single reference to the fact that once he staid
out all night. Beethoven’s London trip had been abandoned without
notice or explanation to the Philharmonic Society, apparently; but Ries
must have written to him, renewing the offer previously accepted, for
on March 25, Beethoven writes to his old pupil as follows:

In spite of my desire, it was impossible for me to come to London
this Winter; I beg of you to say to the Philharmonic Society that
my poor state of health hindered me, but I hope that I may be
entirely well this Spring and then take advantage of the renewed
offers of the Society towards the end of the year and fulfil all
its conditions. Please ask Neate in my name not to make use, at
least not in public, of the many compositions of mine which he has
until my arrival in person; no matter what the condition of his
affairs may be I have cause of complaint against him.

Botter [Cipriani Potter] visited me several times, he seems to be
a good man and has talent for composition--I hope and wish that
your prosperity may grow daily; unfortunately I cannot say that
of myself. My unlucky connection with the Archduke has brought
me to the verge of beggary. I cannot endure the sight of want--I
must give; you can imagine how present conditions increase my
sufferings. I beg of you soon to write to me again. If it is at all
possible I shall get away from here sooner in order to escape total
ruin and will then arrive in London in the Winter at the latest.

I know that you will stand by an unfortunate friend; had it only
been in my power, and had I not been fettered by circumstances here
I would surely have done much more for you. Fare you very well,
give my greetings to Neate, Smart, Cramer--although I hear that he
is a counter-subject to you and me, yet I already know something of
the art of treating such and we shall produce an agreeable harmony
in London.

Ries’s reverence for royalty, apparently, led him to omit Beethoven’s
unkind allusion to his august patron and pupil, Archduke Rudolph;
Schindler, writing much later, prints it and admits, very properly, as
we know from other instances of the same kind, that Beethoven sometimes
used his friends as whipping-boys and that his words and deeds were not
always consistent with each other. Beethoven removed to Mödling on May
19, taking with him his nephew and the two servants whose treachery
aroused the storm of passion which he loosed in the long letter to
Madame Streicher, written in June. He found lodgings in the so-called
Hafner House in the Hauptstrasse, now ornamented by a memorial tablet.
He began taking the baths two days after his arrival and the desire
and capacity for work soon returning, he took up energetically the
Pianoforte Sonata in B-flat. Karl was placed in a class of boys taught
by the village priest, named Fröhlich, who dismissed him a month later
for reasons which became a matter of judicial record before the end
of the year.[187] In a document filed as an appendix to Madame van
Beethoven’s application for guardianship over her son, Fröhlich sets
forth that Beethoven had encouraged his nephew to revile his mother,
applauding him when he applied vile epithets to her either in writing
or by shrieking them into his ear, “thus violating the fourth divine
commandment”; that the boy had confessed to him that while he knew that
he was doing wrong he yet defamed his mother to curry favor with his
uncle and dared not tell him the truth because he would only believe
lies. “This he once told his mother and would have said more had he
not feared being found out and maltreated by his uncle.” Once, too,
Beethoven came to him (the priest) and in a tone of malicious joy told
him that his nephew had that day called his mother a “Ravenmother”
(~Rabenmutter~--meaning a wicked and unnatural mother). Karl’s training
being thus contrary to all moral principles, he having also displayed
indifference to religious instruction, been guilty of unruly conduct
in church and in the streets, so that many of the inhabitants of the
village had come to him with complaints, and, therefore, admonitions
to the boy and appeals to the uncle having borne no fruit, he had been
constrained for the sake of his twelve other pupils, who had said “they
did not want to study with the unruly Karl van Beethoven,” to dismiss
him.

[Sidenote: AN ORATORIO FOR THE FRIENDS OF MUSIC]

These unfortunate first-fruits of Beethoven’s error in undertaking
personal and sole care of his nephew will call for more attention
before the history of the year 1818 is closed, and may be dismissed
for the present for more cheerful topics. Towards the end of the year
1815, the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde had instituted inquiries
through Zmeskall touching Beethoven’s willingness to compose a work
of magnitude for the Society. Beethoven signified his assent to the
project and in turn asked Zmeskall whether or not the Society would
allow him 400 ducats as an honorarium. There the matter seems to have
rested until May, 1818, on the 17th of which month Vincenz Hauschka,
a violoncello player and member of the governing committee of the
Society, was authorized by his associates to offer Beethoven from 200
to 300 “pieces of gold” for the music to a “heroic oratorio” to be the
exclusive property of the Society for one year after the date of its
first performance. Hauschka wrote to Beethoven at Mödling and received
a droll letter in reply. It bears no date. In it Beethoven addresses
his friend as “Chief Member of the Society of Enemies of Music [the
play on the words ~Freunde~ and ~Feinde~ is impossible in English], in
the Austrian Empire” and “Grand Cross of the Order of the Violoncello.”
He signifies his willingness to accept the commission in the words: “I
am agreed” (~Ich bin bereit~) set to a fugue-theme:

[Illustration: I am agreed!

Tenore ~etc.~]

adding that he had no subject on hand except a sacred one, while the
Society had expressed a desire for a heroic work. This was satisfactory
to him, but he suggested that as the choir was a large one something
sacred be “mixed in”:

[Illustration: Amen!

~etc.~]

Mr. v. Bernard would suit him as poet, but the Society, since it
claimed to be friendly to music, ought to pay him. He said nothing of
his own compensation, but concluded with:

I wish you open bowels and the handsomest of close-stools. As
for me, I am wandering about here amongst mountains, clefts and
valleys, with a piece of music-paper smearing down many a thing for
the sake of bread and money--for to such a pitch have I brought it
in this all powerful land of the Phæacians that to gain a little
time for a work of magnitude I must always first smear a great deal
for money so that I may hold out for a large work. For the rest, my
health is much better and if haste is necessary I can still serve
you well.

[Illustration: I am agreed! I am agreed! Amen!]

[Sidenote: CONCEPTION OF THE MASS IN D]

Schindler also places this letter in 1818, and is doubtless correct in
so doing, for its tone and contents show that it was not designed as
an official communication to the Society, whose minutes show that such
a communication was not received until June 15, 1819. In the interim,
no doubt, some negotiations were in progress between Beethoven and
Hauschka, for the former had refrained from mentioning the matter of
remuneration. Some understanding on this point must have been reached,
however, for, if Pohl is correct, Beethoven was paid an advance sum
of 400 florins on August 18, 1819. Nothing came of the matter, as we
shall see later. In this year, however, there came to Beethoven an
incitation of a different nature and one productive of lasting and
magnificent results. About the middle of 1818, as Schindler relates,
it became known as a settled fact that Archduke Rudolph had been
appointed Archbishop of Olmütz. March 20th, 1820, was fixed as the day
of his installation. Without bidding, invitation or summons of any
kind Beethoven “resolved to compose a mass for the solemnity, thus
turning again after the lapse of many years to that branch of his art,
toward which, after the symphonic--as he himself often said--he felt
himself most drawn. This resolution shows that his outburst against
the Archduke[188] was merely a passing cloud, even if we did not know
that the master never missed an opportunity to disclose his affection
for his august pupil. I saw the score begun late in the Autumn of
1818, after the gigantic Sonata in B-flat major, Op. 106, had just
been finished.” Though there is no reason for questioning the rest
of Schindler’s statement, the concluding observation is probably
incorrect. It may be accepted, inasmuch as the ~Credo~ of the mass was
already far advanced in 1819, that the ~Kyrie~, at least, perhaps the
~Gloria~, as well, was begun in 1818. The two great works which now
filled the mind of Beethoven, which he wrote, indeed, with his heart’s
blood, were not only dedicated to the Archduke, but were designed for
him from the beginning--facts which may be cited as proof that despite
his petulant outbursts against his pupil and patron he was after all
sincerely devoted to him in his innermost soul.

The same summer saw the beginning of the most widely distributed
portrait of Beethoven. At the instance of his uncle, Baron von
Skrbensky, a young painter named August von Klöber (born at Breslau in
1793), who was continuing his artistic studies in Vienna, undertook to
paint a portrait of the composer. His own account of his acquaintance
with Beethoven and the incidents connected with the painting of the
portrait (or rather with the original sketch) were published in the
“Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung,” of 1864 (p. 324). From it we learn
that the artist was introduced to Beethoven by a letter written by
Dont.[189] He visited Beethoven at Mödling, after receiving permission
to make a drawing of him and found him giving a lesson to his nephew
on the Broadwood pianoforte. This fact fixes the date of the picture.
Though the artist found it impossible to make himself understood
unless he wrote his words or spoke them into an ear-trumpet, Beethoven
corrected the errors in the lad’s playing, compelled him to repeat
passages apparently without difficulty. He grew uneasy after Klöber
had worked about three-quarters of an hour and the latter, heeding the
advice given by Dont, suspended his work and asked permission to come
again on the morrow, since he was living in Mödling. “Then we can meet
often,” said Beethoven, “because I do not like to sit long. You must
take a good look at Mödling, for it is very beautiful here, and, as
an artist, you must be a lover of nature.” Klöber met him often in
his promenades and saw him suspend his work at intervals, stand as if
listening and make notes on music paper which he carried about with
him. When Beethoven saw the picture he was pleased with the treatment
of the hair; the artists had hitherto always made him look too well
groomed. Klöber’s description of the composer as he saw him was this:

Beethoven’s residence in Mödling was extremely simple as, indeed,
was his whole nature; his garments consisted of a light-blue
frockcoat with yellow buttons, white waistcoat and necktie, as was
the fashion at the time, but everything ~negligée~. His complexion
was healthy, the skin somewhat pockmarked, his hair was of the
color of slightly bluish steel as it was already turning from black
to gray. His eyes were bluish-gray and very animated--when his
hair was tossed by the wind there was something Ossianic-demoniac
about him. In friendly converse, however, his expression became
good-natured and gentle, particularly when the conversation pleased
him. Every mood of his soul found powerful expression instantly in
his features.

Klöber’s original painting has disappeared. It was a full-length
portrait with a bit of Mödling landscape as a background. The nephew
Karl was included, reposing under a tree. The composer was depicted
with note-book and pencil. The head only was reproduced in a lithograph
in Klöber’s atelier, and has been widely copied.

[Sidenote: A MOTHER’S STRUGGLE FOR HER CHILD]

We now reach an incident in the story of Beethoven’s life concerning
which much has been written from the biased and frequently erroneous,
because uninformed or ill-informed, point of view adopted by Schindler
and which it becomes a duty to rectify not only so that the picture
of Beethoven as he was may be kept true, but that the better motives
and impulses which prompted the woman whom he so cordially and no
doubt justly detested be placed in their proper light also. There
is nothing in the narrative which brings reproach upon Beethoven so
far as his high sense of duty and disinterested affection for his
nephew is concerned--an affection which was as little weakened by the
self-sacrifice which it entailed as it was balked by the conduct of
his ward and the frequently unwarranted means employed by his mother
to acquire possession of the lad and the right to superintend his
physical, mental and moral training; but the rights of a woman and the
honor which a world has always accorded to the strongest, noblest,
divinest instinct of woman--maternal love--were also at stake. The
mother of Karl, though she had been convicted and punished for adultery
at an earlier period, and though she might not have proved a safe
mentor for her son, was yet a mother, his mother. That fact Beethoven
was willing, in the long letter to Madame Streicher in which he set
forth the wicked acts of his servants, to recognize as palliating the
conduct of the boy; but he could not bring himself to recognize that it
might also palliate if it did not justify the steps which his harshness
compelled a mother to take to gratify the need implanted in her by
nature. Johanna van Beethoven is at least entitled to the same hearing
at the bar of posterity that she received in the tribunals of her day,
and it is the duty of Beethoven’s biographer to strip the story of the
quarrel between her and her brother-in-law of the romantic excrescences
which many writers have fastened upon it. In this narrative the truth
will be told, perhaps for the first time, as it is disclosed by the
documents, the evidence and the judicial decrees in the case. To set
forth these documents in full in the body of the text would call for
the sacrifice of much space and sadly interrupt the story; what is
essential in them will be given literally, or in outline, whenever it
becomes necessary.[190]

After his dismissal from the class of the parish priest at Mödling,
Karl van Beethoven was placed in the hands of a private tutor to be
prepared for admission to one of the public schools of Vienna--no
doubt that known as the Academic Gymnasium. To enter this school the
boy had to pass an examination, and for this purpose Beethoven brought
him to Vienna about the middle of August. Madame van Beethoven was now
determined to wrest from her brother-in-law the authority, which was
his as sole guardian, to keep the boy in his care and to direct his
training. She took to her aid Jacob Hotschevar, a ~Hofconcipist~ (clerk
or scrivener in the government service), and petitioned the ~Landrecht~
of Lower Austria to take from Beethoven the authority to direct the
future training of his ward. The ~Landrecht~ was a tribunal with
jurisdiction in litigations and other matters affecting the nobility.
Acting on the assumption that the Dutch “van,” like the German “von,”
was a badge of noble birth, it had listened to Beethoven’s plea and
appointed him sole guardian of his nephew, removing the widow from
the joint guardianship directed in the will of the boy’s father on
the score of her immorality, as we already know. The proceedings were
begun in September and were dismissed, as the records show, on the
18th of that month. Three days later, that is, on September 21, she
applied to the court again, this time for permission to place her
son in the Royal Imperial Convict, where he would have board, lodging
and instruction. She and Beethoven as “co-guardian” were commanded to
appear in court on September 23, and the latter was directed to bring
the report of the lad’s examination with him. There was a postponement
of the hearing till September 30, and on October 3d the widow’s
application was rejected. Thus far victory had gone to Beethoven.

The postponement of the hearing was had in great likelihood to enable
Beethoven to change his residence from Mödling to the city. At any
rate, Karl is a public school scholar on November 6th, as Fanny
Giannatasio records in her diary on that day together with the fact
that her father had met Beethoven, who had shortly before returned from
the country. That the boy was in the third grammar class and remained
there during the months of November and December, receiving also
instruction in pianoforte playing, French and drawing from a private
teacher, is known from the court proceedings which were held later. The
lad made good progress in his studies, all seemed well and something
of the old cordial relations seemed again to be established between
Beethoven and the Giannatasios. They provided him with a housekeeper
and on one day in November he spent three hours with the family. Fanny
writes:

One cannot be in his company without being impressed with his
admirable character, his deep sense of what is good and noble. If
Karl would but recompense him for the many sacrifices which he
makes for his sake! My hopes are intermingled with anxious doubts.
He will probably make a journey to London this Spring. It might be
advantageous to him financially in many ways.

[Sidenote: THE LAD RUNS AWAY FROM HIS UNCLE]

Before long Beethoven is at the Giannatasio house again and becomes
interested in the singing of the sisters, singing with them, which
produced a comical effect, as he seldom was in tune, but helping them
to give the correct expression to the music. Fanny now deplores that
their childish timidity had so long deprived them of such a pleasure,
which would now perhaps be of short duration, since he had received a
second invitation to England. This entry bears date November 20. Within
a fortnight the diary chronicles the severest trial that the boy had
yet caused his uncle: he ran away from home and sought a haven with his
mother. The sympathetic young woman wrote later:

“One day B. came in great excitement and sought counsel and help
from my father, saying that Karl had run away! I recall that on this
occasion amid our expressions of sympathy he cried out tearfully: ‘He
is ashamed of me!’” The incident is recorded in her diary under date
of December 5; it occurred, apparently two days before. The diarist’s
entry is as follows:

Never in my life shall I forget the moment when he came and told
us that Karl was gone, had run away to his mother, and showed
us his letter as an evidence of his vileness. To see this man
suffering so, to see him ~weeping~--it was touching! Father took
up the matter with great zeal, and with all my sorrow I feel a
pleasurable sensation in the consciousness that now we are ~much~
to Beethoven, yes, at this moment his only refuge. Now he surely
perceives his error if he has wronged us in his opinions. Ah! he
can never appreciate how highly we esteem him, how much I should be
capable of doing for his happiness!... The naughty child is again
with him with the help of the police--the Ravenmother! Oh! how
dreadful it is that this man is compelled to suffer so on account
of such outcasts. He must go away from here, or she; that will be
the outcome. For the present B. will give him into our care; it
will be an act of great kindness on my father’s part if he receives
him, as he will have to look upon him as one under arrest.... It
did me good when he went away to note that his thoughts were more
diverted. He told me that he had been so wrought up by the matter
that it took him some time to gather his thoughts. During the night
his heart had beat audibly. Alas! and there remains nothing for me
to say except that all that we can do is so little! I would give
half my life for the man! He always thinks of himself last. He
lamented that he did not know what would become of his housekeeping
when Karl was gone.

We learn the probable reason for the lad’s truancy from Beethoven’s
statement at the examination in court on December 11th. Two letters
written by his housekeeper to Fanny Giannatasio, and one written by the
latter, had fallen into Beethoven’s hands and from them he had learned
of certain delinquencies with which he then confronted his nephew. But
let us call Beethoven himself to the witness stand; his recital will
give more vitality to the history than any statement of a historian
writing nearly a century later. We quote from the minutes of the
~Landrecht~:

Ludwig van Beethoven examined:

How did his nephew leave him?

He did not know exactly; his nephew had made himself culpable; he
had charged him with it and the same day in the evening he had
received a note of farewell. He could not tell the cause of his
departure; his mother may have asked him to come to her the day
before, but it might have been fear of punishment.

What had his nephew done?

He had a housekeeper who had been recommended to him by
Giannatasio; two of her letters to Miss Giannatasio and one of the
latter’s had fallen into his hands; in them it was stated that his
nephew had called the servants abusive names, had withheld money
and spent it on sweetmeats.

In whose care was his nephew?

He had provided him with a ~Corepetitor~ for pianoforte playing,
French and drawing who came to the house; these studies occupied
all the leisure time of his nephew so completely that he needed
no care; moreover, he could not trust any of his servants with
the oversight of his nephew, as they had been bribed by the
boy’s mother; he had placed him in the hands of a priest for the
development of his musical talent, but the mother had got into an
agreement with him also. He would place his ward in the Convict,
but the oversight was not strict enough there among so many pupils.

Did he have any testimonials touching his nephew’s studies?

He had appended them to his last examination.

Had his nephew not spoken disrespectfully of his mother in his
presence?

No; besides, he had admonished him to speak nothing but the truth;
he had asked his nephew if he was fond of his mother and he
answered in the negative.

How did he get the boy back?

With the help of the police. He had gone to the mother in the
forenoon to demand him of her, but she would promise nothing except
that she would deliver him back in the evening; he had feared that
she intended to take him to Linz, where his brother lived, or to
Hungary; for that reason he had gone to the police; as soon as he
got him back he placed him in the care of Giannatasio.

What were his objections to having his nephew sent to the Convict?

It was not advisable at present because, as the professor had said,
there were too many pupils there and the supervision over a boy
like his ward was not adequate.

What means did he purpose to employ in the education of his ward?

His ward’s greatest talent was in study and to this he would be
held. His means of subsistence were the half of his mother’s
pension and the interest on 2,000 florins. Heretofore the
difference between this sum and the cost had been paid by him and
he was willing to assume it in the future if the matter could but
once be put in order. As it was not practicable to place his nephew
in the Convict now, he knew only of two courses open to him: to
keep a steward for him who should always be with him, or to send
him for the winter to Giannatasio. After half a year he would send
him to the Mölker Convict, which he had heard highly commended, or
if he were but of noble birth, give him to the Theresianum.

Were he and his brother of the nobility and did he have documents
to prove it?

“Van” was a Dutch predicate which was not exclusively applied to
the nobility; he had neither a diploma nor any other proof of his
nobility.

[Sidenote: THE MOTHER’S APPREHENSIONS]

In listening to these words from Beethoven on the witness stand we have
stretched the thread of our story; for this testimony was given in
court on December 11th, and the second attempt of the widowed mother to
get control of her son had been foiled by the decision on October 3rd.
It was therefore a new case which the court had under consideration
when Beethoven made the above utterances. This third application on
the part of the mother was filed on December 7, and grew out of the
runaway prank of Karl and her fear of what might be its consequences.
In her petition she set forth the fact that her son had left the home
of his uncle and guardian without her knowledge, that he had been taken
back by the police, and that “as, to judge by his actions, Ludwig van
Beethoven was willing to send her son away from Vienna, perhaps into
foreign lands,” she asked that he be restrained from doing so, and she
renewed her request that she be permitted to send her son to the Royal
Imperial Convict for keep and education.

Hotschevar supported this petition in a document like a modern law
brief, explaining his interest in the matter on the grounds that his
wife was a stepsister of Madame van Beethoven’s deceased mother,
that the law permitted such an act in all cases where human rights
were concerned and that he, having had experience for several years
as instructor in the houses of the aristocracy, could not be blamed
if he put the knowledge of pedagogics and psychology thus acquired
at the service of a lad to whom he bore a family relationship and
brought to the attention of the supreme guardian matters which it
(the ~Landrecht~) could not possibly know concerning its wards unless
proceedings were brought before it. He admitted that Madame van
Beethoven had years before been guilty of a moral delinquency for which
she had been punished, but asserted her right to a standing in court;
he then contended: (1) that the mother had illegally been denied all
influence over her son partly with, partly without the knowledge of the
court, and (2) that her son could not remain under the sole influence
of his uncle and guardian without danger of suffering physical and
moral ruin. In support of these contentions he recited that the
brothers van Beethoven were eccentric men, so often at odds with each
other that they might better be called enemies than friends, Karl van
Beethoven being pleasantly disposed toward his brother only when he was
in need of money from him, and that the suspicion lay near that the boy
had been an object of traffic between them, inasmuch as an agreement
touching the payment of 1,500 florins had been made only on condition
that Ludwig van Beethoven surrender a document which appointed him
guardian. Karl van Beethoven, moreover, knowing the animosity which his
brother felt towards his wife, had in a codicil to his will expressly
said that he did not want Ludwig van Beethoven to be sole guardian of
his son but joint guardian with the mother, and had, for the sake of
the boy, admonished more compliancy on the part of the mother and more
moderation on that of the brother. Although the Court had deprived
the mother of the guardianship over her son, it had granted permission
to her to visit him; but this privilege had been withheld from her.
The statement of the village priest Fröhlich (which has already been
given in these pages) was appended to the widow’s application as
evidence of the physical and moral degeneration of the boy, and for
himself Hotschevar says that he had observed after the boy had run
away from his uncle that his hands and feet were frostbitten, that
he had no seasonable clothing and that his linen and baths had been
neglected. The priest’s statement was also appealed to to show that the
boy had been led into unfilial conduct, indifference toward religion,
hypocrisy, untruthfulness and even theft against his guardian--in
short, was in danger of becoming a menace to society. He willingly
granted Beethoven’s readiness and desire to care for his ward, but
maintained that his hatred of the mother, his passionate disposition
inflamed by the talebearing of others (once naming Giannatasio), made
it difficult for him to employ the proper means. Conceding Beethoven’s
magnanimity, he yet urged that in view of the danger in which the lad
was, he ought to forgo the guardianship or associate with himself
either the mother or some other capable person, it appearing from the
facts in the case that he was “physically and morally unfit” for the
post.

Madame van Beethoven’s deposition, apparently filed as appendix to
Hotschevar’s brief (like that of Fröhlich), alleges that a letter of
Giannatasio’s dated March 8, 1816, showed that she had to forgo her
desire to visit her son or satisfy it once a month and then “like
a thief.” After Beethoven took the boy, and especially after his
removal to Mödling, she was not permitted to see him at all. She had
been assured that her son would be admitted to the Convict, but his
testimonials had been withheld from her and so she had been unable to
file them with her application for a scholarship. His expenses were 750
florins per year for board, lodging, clothes, books, medicines, etc.,
to pay which 2,000 florins had been deposited in Court and yielded 100
florins interest per annum. She had pledged herself to give one-half
of her pension of 333 florins, 20, that is 116 florins, 40 kreutzers
towards his education. This amounted to 380 florins W. W., including
the interest on the deposit; and she would gladly pay the difference
between this sum and 750 florins until she should get the promised
scholarship for her son. On December 11, the widow appealed to the
court that in case the guardian of her son should make application
touching plans for his future training it be not granted without giving
her a hearing. This was the day when Beethoven, who had brought Joseph
Carl Bernard with him, no doubt to protect him in his deafness, gave
the testimony already set forth. The nephew had been examined before
him:

[Sidenote: THE TESTIMONY OF MOTHER AND SON]

Carl van Bethoven [~sic~] age 12 years, student in the 3rd Latin
class, was examined:

Had he received good testimonials?

“Eminent” in Latin, “1st class” in other studies.

Why had he left his uncle?

Because his mother had told him she would send him to a public
school and he did not think he would make progress under private
instruction.

How did his uncle treat him?

Well.

Where had he been of late?

He had been in hiding at his mother’s.

Where would he rather live--at his mother’s or his uncle’s?

He would like to live at his uncle’s if he but had a companion, as
his uncle was hard of hearing and he could not talk with him.

Had he been prompted by his mother to leave his uncle?

No.

When did he leave him?

Eight days ago.

How could he say that he could not succeed under private
instruction when he had made such good progress?

This had been the case since he had studied in public; before that
he had received 2nd class in mathematics and had not made it up.

Had his mother commanded him to return to his uncle?

She had wanted to take him back to him herself, but he had resisted
because he feared maltreatment.

Had his uncle maltreated him?

He had punished him, but only when he deserved it; he had been
maltreated only once, and that after his return, when his uncle
threatened to throttle him.

How long had he been with his mother?

Two days.

Who had given him instruction in religion?

The same teacher who taught him other subjects, formerly the priest
at Mödling, who was not kindly disposed towards him because he did
not behave himself in the street and babbled (or talked) in school.

Had he indulged in disrespectful remarks about his mother?

Yes; and in the presence of his uncle, whom he thought he would
please in that way and who had agreed with him.

Was he often alone?

When his uncle was not at home he was left wholly alone.

Had his uncle admonished him to pray?

Yes; he prayed with him every morning and evening.

* * * * *

Johanna van Beethoven examined:

How did her son come to her from the house of his guardian?

He had come to her in the evening for fear of punishment and
because he did not like to live with his uncle.

Had she advised him to return to his uncle?

Yes; but her son did not want to do so because he feared
maltreatment.

It looked as if she had concealed her son?

She had written to her brother-in-law that she would send her son
back to him, but she had not seen him for a long time and was
therefore glad to have him with her for awhile, and for this reason
she had not sent him back at once.

Had she been forbidden to see her son?

Her wish to do so had been frustrated by telling her of different
places where she might see him, but when she went to the places he
was not there.

Had her son been taken from her by the police?

She had herself taken him to the police at 4 o’clock.

How did she learn of the plan to send her son out of the country?

Giannatasio had disclosed the project to the police.

Did she consider that her son had been well treated at his uncle’s?

She thought it unsuitable for the reasons given in her former
application. She wished to say in particular that v. Beethoven had
only one servant and that one could not rely on servants; he was
deaf and could not converse with his ward; there was nobody to look
after the wants of her son satisfactorily; his cleanliness was
neglected and supervision of his clothing and washing; persons who
had brought him clean linen had been turned back by his guardian.

What prospects had she for caring for her son?

She had previously had the assurance of Count von Dietrichstein
that her son would be accepted at the Convict; she had not been to
him since because her application [to the Court] had been rejected.

In whose presence had her son spoken disrespectfully of her?

She had not herself heard him do so, nor could she mention the
names of persons who had heard him.

From what source would she meet the deficiency in her income which
would have to be applied to the support of her son?

She had no fortune herself but the Hofconcipist Hotschevar would
defray the expenses.

Was her husband of noble birth?

So the brothers had said; the documentary proof of nobility was
said to be in the possession of the oldest brother, the composer.
At the legal hearing on the death of her husband, proofs of
nobility had been demanded; she herself had no document bearing on
the subject.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN NOT OF NOBLE BIRTH]

The testimony of the widow, like that of her son, was taken before
Beethoven had been examined and the answer to the final question,
no doubt, raised a doubt in the mind of the court touching its
jurisdiction; hence the question concerning his birth put to Beethoven.
His answer that “van” was a Dutch predicate not confined to the
nobility and that he had no proof of noble birth, is all that the
minutes of the court show bearing on this question. It led to the
~Landrecht’s~ sending the proceedings to the Vienna Magistracy on
December 18; this action cut Beethoven to the quick, but the record as
here produced also gives a blow, perhaps a fatal one, to one of the
pretty romances to which a statement of Schindler’s gave currency.
The world knows the story: Doubt having arisen in the mind of the
court touching Beethoven’s nobility, he was called upon to produce
documentary proof. “At the appointed time he appeared before the
tribunal in person and exclaimed: ‘~My nobility is here and here~,’
pointing to his head and his heart.” But the court would not accept
the proof. It is a pity to lose the story, but it must be relegated
to the limbo of fiction unless it shall appear that Beethoven made
the remark and the clerk refused to record it; and who shall now
prove this? Schindler’s insinuation that the reference of the case
to the Magistracy had been planned as a move by the widow’s advocate
to get the case into a more pliant tribunal is made questionable by
the circumstances that it was she who insisted upon the noble birth
of the Beethovens and Beethoven who gave the claim a quietus by his
straightforward and incontestable answer. It remains a mystery, if she
spoke the truth when she said that proof of nobility had been demanded
at the probate of the will of her husband, how the case ever got into
the ~Landrecht~. As a matter of fact, it deserves to be mentioned,
however, that, as later events showed, the lower court espoused the
cause of Madame van Beethoven with something like the zeal of an
advocate.

Schindler’s comments on the effect of the reference of the case to the
Civic Magistrates demand a moment’s attention. Schindler says:

The transfer of the case to the Magistracy was felt as an
overwhelming blow by Beethoven. It would be difficult to maintain
that Beethoven attached importance to appearing in the public eye
as of noble birth, his origin as well as family conditions being
well known--especially the latter by reason of the humble social
position of his brothers. But it is certain that he laid great
weight upon having his lawsuit adjudicated by the exceptional
upper court, partly because as a matter of fact there was in
that tribunal a better appreciation of his importance, partly
because the lower court had an unfavorable reputation which could
not inspire in him a hope for the desired outcome.[191] But
nevertheless it may be said as sure that neither his genius nor
his works of art would have given him the privileged position which
he occupied in the circles of the nobility had there not been a
presumption that he was an equal. This was variously demonstrated
as soon as the occurrence in the aristocratic court became known to
the public. Not in the middle classes, but in the upper, the little
word “van” had exercised a palpable charm. It is a settled fact
that after the incident in the Lower Austrian ~Landrecht~ the great
city of Vienna became too small for our aggrieved master, and had
he not been restrained by his sense of duty which was placed upon
him by his brother’s will, the projected journey to England would
have been undertaken and his sojourn there perhaps become permanent.

It is also certain that Schindler was not as well informed as he ought
to have been in the premises and that his memory often left him in the
lurch, as we have frequently seen already and shall see again. Not
exact knowledge but an amiable bias in favor of his hero speaks out
of his recital. It is scarcely conceivable that Beethoven should have
cherished the thought that possibly he was of noble birth or that he
seriously encouraged such a belief among his exalted friends.

The nephew’s stay at Giannatasio’s was not of long duration and
the signs of an imminent disruption of a beautiful and profitable
friendship soon showed themselves, though for the nonce amiable
relations between Beethoven and the Giannatasio family were continued.
Yet Fanny saw her lovely illusions melting away. It had been agreed
that Karl should not associate with the other pupils at the institute.
Willing, perhaps desirous at first, that such an arrangement should be
made, it seems that Beethoven felt his ~amour propre~ hurt by it as
soon as the first fit of resentment against the lad gave way before
one of his tender moods; now there ensued one of the old fits of
moroseness, dissatisfaction and suspicion. He wrote to Giannatasio that
Karl’s room should be better heated--that he had never had frostbitten
hands and feet when living with him;[192] moreover, too much importance
was being attached to his act, and the consequences to the delinquent
were being carried too far. In her diary under date December 14, Fanny
deplores that Beethoven’s moodiness, and weakness for the lad, had
taken possession of him again and induced him to believe “the liar”
rather than his tried friends; she concludes with the lamentation that
it will never be possible to gain Beethoven’s entire confidence; she
has grievous forebodings as to the outcome.

[Sidenote: WORK UPON THREE MASTERPIECES]

Let the rest of the year’s history be devoted to Beethoven’s creative
work. Considering the revival of interest and desire on the part of
the composer, the net result, measured by finished products, was
not as large as might have been expected. Two explanations for this
circumstances may be offered: the first lies in his domestic miseries
and the frame of mind in which they kept him for long stretches at a
time--that is obvious; the second may be read in his compositions. He
was growing more and more prone to reflection, to moody speculation;
his mental processes, if not slower than before, were more protracted,
and also more profound, and they were occupied with works of tremendous
magnitude. The year produced sketches and partial developments of the
Sonata in B-flat, the Symphony in D minor and the great Mass in D. The
Sonata, so two sketchbooks carefully analyzed by Nottebohm show, was
begun in 1817, and occupied much of the composer’s time during the
summer of 1818, notes showing that he worked upon it in his walks about
Mödling and in the Brühl valley. Notes of an announcement of a sale
of carriages and of a house for rent, taken from a Vienna newspaper
(probably in some inn), show that his thoughts were on the London visit
and another of his frequent changes of residence. In April the Sonata
was so far advanced that he could write to Archduke Rudolph that on
his name-day (April 17) he had written out the first two movements
in a fair copy, but this does not necessarily mean that the pieces
had received their definitive shape. Among the sketches for the last
movement there is an outline for a pianoforte piece in B-flat which,
according to an inscription upon the autograph, was composed on the
afternoon of August 14.[193] Plainly he was already at work on the
finale before the end of 1818, and there is no reason for questioning
Schindler’s correctness when he says that the Sonata was finished late
in the fall when he took up the “Missa Solemnis.” Czerny played it in
Beethoven’s presence in the spring of 1819, and it was in London ready
for the engraver in April of that year.

Nottebohm, believing that the letter in which Beethoven informed
the Archduke that he had written out the first two movements on his
name-day could not refer to April 17, 1818, placed both incident and
letter in the year following.[194] But, as has been said, it does not
at all follow from Beethoven’s remark that the two movements were in
a finished state;[195] the reference may have gone only to the first
elaboration of the sketches. The “latest happening” to the Archduke
was, probably, his elevation to the archbishopric of Olmütz, which
occurred on June 4, 1819; but this was merely the formal execution
of a purpose which had long been known in anticipation. Nottebohm’s
contention for the name-day of 1819, is untenable for the reason that
on April 17 of that year the Sonata had been so long in London that,
as Ries says, it was already engraved when he received a note dated
April 16, 1819, giving metronomic indications for all the movements
and prefixing the ~Adagio~ with its present first measure.[196] This
note must have been preceded by the one erroneously dated April 30;
erroneously, because it promises the metronome marks; and this letter
again by a still earlier one, mentioning the Sonata as ready for
publication. This letter, which Ries does not even mention, is as
follows:[197]

Dear Ries:

I am just recovering from a severe attack and am going into the
country--I wish you would try to dispose of the following 2 works,
a grand solo sonata for pianoforte and a pianoforte sonata which
I have myself arranged for 2 violins, 2 violas, 1 violoncello,
to a publisher in London. It ought to be easy for you to get 50
ducats in gold for the two works, the publisher would only have
to announce at what time he intended to publish the two works and
I could publish them here at the same time, which would yield me
more than if I published them here only. I might also publish a new
Trio for pianoforte, violin and violoncello, if you were to find a
publisher for it.[198] I have never done anything unlawful and you
can take up this matter in London without injury to your honor or
mine. The publisher on receiving the works is to inform me when he
intends to publish them and then they shall appear here. Pardon me
if I am giving you trouble; my condition is such that I am obliged
to turn everywhere to make a pitiful livelihood--Potter says that
Chaphell in Bond Street is one of the best publishers; I leave
everything to you only begging you to answer as soon as possible so
that the works may not lie idle on my hands. I beg of Neate not to
make known the many works of mine which he carried with him until I
myself come to London which I hope surely to do next winter--I must
unless I wish to become a beggar here. Say all things beautiful to
the Phil. Society--I shall soon write you about various things and
beg you again to answer soon. As ever your true friend

Beethoven.

Many lovely greetings to your lovely wife.

N. B. If you can get more, all the better. It ought to be
possible!!!

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN DEFENDS SOME OVERTURES]

The letters printed in the “Notizen” ought to be read in connection
with this; we give the first and refer the reader to Ries, or the
collections, for the others:

Vienna, 30 April (March). 1819.

My dear Ries:

It is only now that I can answer your last of December 18th. Your
sympathy does me good. At present it is impossible for me to come
to London owing to a net of circumstances in which I am involved;
but God will help me surely to get to London next winter when I
shall also bring the new symphonies with me. I am expecting soon
to get the text for a new oratorio which I am writing for the
Musical Society here and which may serve us also in London. Do
everything for me that you can; for I need it. Commissions from
the Philharmonic Society would have been very welcome; the reports
which Neate sent me about the near failure of the three overtures
were vexing to me; each one of them not only pleased here each in
its way but those in E-flat and C major made a great impression.
The fate of these compositions with the p. S. is incomprehensible
to me. You will have before now received the arranged quintet and
the sonata. See to it that both works especially the quintet, are
engraved at once. More leisure may be taken with the sonata but I
should like to have it published inside of two months, or three
at the latest. Your earlier letter referred to I did not receive;
wherefore I had no hesitation in selling both works here--but that
is only for Germany. Moreover it will be three months also before
the sonata will appear here; but make haste with the Quintet. So
soon as the draft for the money is received here I will send a
writing for the publisher as proprietor of these works in England,
Scotland, Ireland, France, etc.

You shall receive the tempos for the sonata according to Mälzel’s
metronome by the next post. De Smidt, Courier of Prince Esterhazy,
has taken the Quintet and Sonata with him. At the next opportunity
you will also receive my portrait, since I hear that you really
want it.

Farewell, keep me in your affections.

Your friend,

Beethoven.

Say all beautiful things to your beautiful wife for me!!!!!

The Sonata was sold to Artaria in Vienna for 100 ducats. The publisher
sent the proofs to Beethoven on July 24, and announced it as “marking
a new period in Beethoven’s pianoforte works” in the “Wiener Zeitung”
of September 15, 1819. It appeared under the title: “Grosse Sonate
für das Hammerklavier Seiner Kais. Königl. Hoheit und Eminenz,
dem Durchlauchtigsten Hochwürdigsten Herrn Erzherzog Rudolph von
Österreich Cardinal und Erzbischoff von Olmütz, etc., etc., etc.,
in tiefster Ehrfurcht gewidmet von Ludwig van Beethoven, Op. 106.”
Soon after its publication (on October 1st), Beethoven in a jocose
letter asked for six copies of the Sonata and six of the Variations on
Scottish Songs. Beethoven informed Ries of the publication in a letter
printed in the “Notizen” and wanted to send him a copy to aid him in
correcting the English edition, which was not ready. The Sonata Op.
106 was, therefore, the chief product of the year 1818. Beethoven told
Czerny that it was to be his greatest; and so it is, not only in its
dimensions but also in its contents. “The Sonata was composed under
distressful circumstances,” said Beethoven in a letter to Ries (April
19, 1819), “for it is hard to write almost for the sake of bread alone,
and to this pass I have come.”

Simultaneously with the Sonata, Beethoven was at work on the Ninth
Symphony during a large portion of the year, but these labors were
suspended when his mind became engrossed with the great Mass which
was to be a tribute to his pupil, Archduke Rudolph, about to be
invested with eminent ecclesiastical dignities. Not alone the Ninth
Symphony, a Tenth also was before his fancy, but with neither of them
had Schiller’s “Ode to Joy” been brought into association, though the
employment of the human voice in one or the other was already under
consideration. Schindler records that he saw a beginning made on the
score of the Mass in D “late in the fall of 1818”; how far he had
proceeded in the work by the end of the year cannot be determined
from the sketches which have been discovered up to the present time.
It is safe to assume, however, that the ~Kyrie~ was fully sketched
and fixed in outline, and, as he worked pretty continuously on the
~Credo~ throughout 1819, it seems likely that the ~Gloria~ had also been
begun in the year immediately preceding. Notes in the ~Tagebuch~ and
sketchbooks which, to judge by their context, were written during the
summer sojourn in Mödling show the trend of Beethoven’s thoughts on
religious subjects and may be naturally associated with the Mass. Thus
(in the ~Tagebuch~):

In order to write true church music ... look through all the
monastic church chorals and also the strophes in the most correct
translations and perfect prosody in all Christian-Catholic psalms
and hymns generally.

Sacrifice again all the pettinesses of social life to your art. O
God above all things! For it is an eternal providence which directs
omnisciently the good and evil fortunes of human men.

Short is the life of man, and whoso bears
A cruel heart, devising cruel things,
On him men call down evil from the gods
While living, and pursue him, when he dies.
With cruel scoffs. But whoso is of generous heart
And harbors generous aims, his guests proclaim
His praises far and wide to all mankind,
And numberless are they who call him good.

--~Homer.~

Tranquilly will I submit myself to all vicissitudes and place my
sole confidence in Thy unalterable goodness, O God! My soul shall
rejoice in Thy immutable servant. Be my rock, my light, forever my
trust!

Among the sketches for the Sonata in B-flat are memoranda of vocal
pieces which came into his mind during his wanderings in the environs
of Mödling. Goethe’s “Haidenröslein,” to which his mind several times
turned, occupied him again. His spiritual exaltation finds expression
in fragments which he notes as “written while walking in the evening
between and on the mountains,” among them this: [Illustration: Gott
allein ist unser Herr. Er allein (God alone is God our Lord. He alone)]

[Sidenote: GREAT WORKS AND POTBOILERS]

The remark made in the letter to Hauschka that he was compelled to do
a lot of scribbling (or “smearing,” as he expressed it) for the sake
of money in order to procure leisure for great works may be explained
by the fact that he was engaged upon the arrangement of folksongs for
Thomson, which were published in Thomson’s Vol. VI, as well, possibly,
as those contained in the subsequent octavo edition of 1822-24. The
pianoforte piece in B-flat, published by Schlesinger in Berlin under
the title “Dernière pensée musicale,” of which mention has already been
made, was no doubt a potboiler. With the folksongs must be associated
the Variations for Pianoforte alone, or Pianoforte and Flute (or
Violin), which he wrote in this and the following year and which were
published as Op. 105 and 107. The suggestion had come from Birchall;
but Beethoven’s demands for an honorarium was thought too large by
the English publisher, and though Beethoven modified them, nothing
came of the project at the time. On February 21, 1818, Beethoven
offered Thomson twelve “overtures” (in the sense of introductions, or
preludes, no doubt) for 140 ducats, and twelve Themes and Variations
for 100 ducats, both lots for 224 ducats. The Themes and Variations
were accepted and published by Thomson. Beethoven composed sixteen
Themes and Variations on folksong material in all; six of them were
published by Artaria in Vienna (Op. 105) and the other ten by Simrock
in Bonn (Op. 107).

Little is to be added to what has been said about the works published
in 1818. Thomson’s Vol. V, the settings for which had been made
earlier, was published on June 1, Thomson’s announcement in the preface
reading: “On the first of June, 1818, was published by George Thomson,
Nr. 3, Royal Exchange, Edinburgh, and by T. Preston, 97 Strand,
London, the fifth Volume of Select Scottish Melodies with Symphonies
and Accompaniments to each Melody for the Pianoforte, Violin and
Violoncello, composed by Haydn and Beethoven.” Four of the settings are
by Haydn; the rest by Beethoven. The song “Resignation” was published
on March 31, as supplement of the Vienna “Modezeitung.”

END OF VOLUME II

FOOTNOTES:

[185] Beethoven does not seem always to have maintained so reverential
a feeling for the instrument as is indicated by the above statement.
In Thayer’s note-book the American editor of this biography found this
anecdote: “Once Beethoven told Stein that some strings in his Broadwood
Pf. were wanting, and caught up the bootjack and struck the keys with
it to show.”

[186] We have contented ourselves with mere references to Beethoven’s
letters to Madame Streicher in this period. They are mostly brief notes
monotonously asking help in domestic affairs, and, though frequently
interesting because of their exhibition of characteristic traits and
moods, too insignificant to justify the cumbering of these pages with
their literal contents. Those who wish to do so can read them in any
of the German collections of Beethoven’s letters or in the English
translation by Shedlock. But Kalischer’s notes and dates and sometimes
Mr. Shedlock’s translation ought to be critically scrutinized. The
letter referred to above, however, deserves to be given in full.

“Best Madame von Streicher!

“It was not possible to reply to your last letter sooner. I would
have written to you a few days ago when the servants were sent
away, but hesitated in my determination until I learned that it was
Frau D. in particular who hindered Karl to make full confession.
“~He ought to spare his mother~,” she told him; and Peppi
coöperated with her; naturally they did not want to be discovered;
they worked together shamefully and permitted themselves to be
used by Frau v. Beethoven; both received coffee and sugar from
her, Peppi ~money~ and the ~old one~ probably also; for there can
be no doubt that she was ~herself at the house of Karl’s mother~;
she said to Karl that ~if I drove her away~ from my ~service she
would go straight to his mother~. This happened at a time when I
had reproved her for her conduct with which I had frequent occasion
to be dissatisfied; Peppi who often played the eavesdropper when I
spoke with Karl appears to have tried to tell the truth, but the
old one ~accused her of stupidity and scolded her stoutly~--and so
she remained silent and tried to throw me off the trail. The story
of this abominable deception may have lasted about six weeks--they
would not have got off so easy with a less magnanimous man. Peppi
borrowed 9 or 10 florins for stuff for shirts and I afterwards made
her a present of the money and instead of 60 she got 70 florins;
she might have denied herself these wretched bribes. In the case
of the old woman, who was always the worse, hate may have played
a part as she always thought herself neglected (although she got
more than she deserved) for the ~scornful smile on her face~ one
day when Karl embraced me, made me ~suspect treachery~ and how
shameless and deceitful such an old woman could be. Just imagine,
2 days before I came here K. went to his mother one afternoon
without my knowledge and both the old woman and P. knew it. But
now listen to the triumph of a hoary-headed traitress; on the way
hither with K. and her, I spoke with K. about the matter in the
carriage, although I did not know all, and when I expressed the
fear that we should not be safe in Mödling, she exclaimed “I should
only rely upon her.” O the infamy of it! This was only the 2nd time
in the case of a person of such venerable age that ~such a thing~
happened to me. A few days before I sent both away I had told
them in writing that under no circumstances were they to accept
anything for Karl from his mother. Instead of repenting, Peppi
tried secretly to take revenge on Karl, after he had confessed all
which they knew from the fact that in writing, I had said that
~all had been~ discovered--I expected that they would both beg
my pardon after this, instead of which they played me one wicked
trick after the other. As no betterment was to be expected in such
obstinate sinners and I had every moment to fear another piece of
treachery, I decided to sacrifice my body, my comfort to better
self, my poor, misguided Karl and out of the house they went as a
~warning example~ to all those who may come after. I might have
made their certificates of character a little less favorable; I
set down the time of service of each at full six months although
it was not true. I never practise ~vengeance~; in cases where I
~oppose~ myself to other people, I never do more ~against~ them
than is necessary to protect myself against them or to prevent them
from doing further harm. On account of Peppi’s honesty in general I
am sorry to have lost her for which reason I made her certificate
more favorable than that of the old woman, and she appears to have
been led astray by the old woman but that P.’s conscience was not
at ease she showed by saying to Karl that ~“she did not dare go
back to her parents,” and, in fact I believe she is still here~--I
had suspected treachery for a long time until one evening before
my departure I received an anonymous letter the contents of which
filled me with dread; but they were only suspicions. Karl, whom I
took to task at once in the evening confessed but not all. As I
often treat him harshly and not without cause, he was too greatly
afraid to admit everything at once. In the midst of the struggle
we reached here. As I often questioned him, the servants noticed
it and the old woman in particular tried to persuade him not to
admit the truth. But when I gave Karl my sacred assurance that
all would be forgiven if he would but confess the truth, while
lying would plunge him into a deeper abyss than that in which he
already was, everything came to the light of day--add to this the
other data which I gave you before concerning the servants and you
will have the shameful story of the two traitresses clearly before
you. K. did wrong, but--mother--mother--even a bad one remains a
mother. To this extent he is to be excused, particularly by me
who know his intriguing, passionate mother ~too well~. The priest
here knows already that I know about him for K. had already told
me. It is likely that he was not fully informed and that he will
be careful; but to guard against K.’s being mistreated by him,
since he appears to be rather a rude man, the matter may rest for
the nonce. But as K.’s virtue was put to the test for there is no
virtue without temptation, I purposely pass the matter by until
it happens again (which I do not expect) in which case I will so
bethwack his reverence with such spiritual cudgels, amulets with my
sole guardianship and consequent privileges that the whole parish
will shake. My heart has been terribly shaken up by this affair and
I can scarcely recover myself. Now to my housekeeping; it needs
your help; how necessary it is to us you already know; do not be
frightened away, such a thing might happen anywhere, but if it has
once happened and one is in a position to hold it up to one’s new
servants, it is not likely that it will occur again. You know what
we need--perhaps the French woman, and whatever can be found in the
way of a chambermaid, good cooking remains the principal thing,
even in the matter of economy, for the present we have a person
who cooks for us, but badly. I cannot write you more to-day, you
will perceive that in ~this matter~ I could not act differently;
it had gone too far. I do not yet invite you to visit me here for
everything is still in confusion; nevertheless ~it will not be
necessary to send me to a lunatic asylum~. I can say that I already
suffered from this thing fearfully while I was yet in Vienna,
though I kept silent. Farewell; do not make anything of this known
as some one might think prejudicially of K.; only I who know all
the driving wheels here can testify for him that he was terribly
misled. I beg of you soon to write us something comforting,
touching the art of cooking, washing and sewing.

“I am very ill and in need of a stomach restorative.

“Mödling, June 18 (10?), 1818.”

[187] It was this priest, evidently, against whom Beethoven threatened
to launch the thunderbolts of his wrath so as to shake the earth in a
certain event, as he told Madame Streicher.

[188] In the letter to Ries.

[189] Evidently Joseph Valentine, a violoncello player, father of Jacob
Dont, the violinist, chiefly famous as a teacher of his instrument in
Vienna.

[190] Mr. Thayer made or procured transcripts of the records of
the tribunals in which the struggle for the possession of Karl van
Beethoven were made. Students whose curiosity is not satisfied by these
pages are referred to Appendix III of Vol. IV of the German edition of
this biography.

[191] In one of the Conversation Books used by Beethoven in 1820,
there occurs this remark in Beethoven’s handwriting: “... when it
learned that my brother was not of the nobility. It is singular, so
far as I know, that there is a hiatus here which ought to be filled,
for my nature shows that I do not belong among these ~plebs~”; and,
in February, 1820, when Peters had observed his dissatisfaction:
“The common citizen should be excluded from higher men, and I have
gotten ~amongst them~.” “In three weeks,” Peters wrote, he would have
nothing to do with citizens and magistracy. He would yet be asked for
assistance and receive the most favorable report concerning his appeal.
Not long afterward the Appellate Court brought in its decision in his
favor in the guardianship matter.

[192] Hotschevar’s accusation was evidently rankling in his breast.

[193] It is the short piece in B-flat published as a supplement to the
Berlin “Allgem. Musik. Zeit.” on December 8, 1824, under the title
“Dernière pensée musicale.” Beethoven’s autograph inscription runs:
“Auf Aufforderung geschrieben Nachmittags am 14. August 1818, von
Beethoven.” “Letzter musikalischer Gedanke.”

[194] Beethoven had written: “To the two pieces which I wrote down on
the name-day of Y. R. H., two others have been added, the last of which
is a large Fugato, so that the whole constitutes a grand sonata which
will soon be published and long ago ~in my heart~ was designed for you;
~the latest happening to Y. R. H., is not in the least responsible for
this~.”

[195] Nor even, as Thayer opined, that they had been delivered in
manuscript to the Archduke on that day.

[196] “Notizen,” p. 149.

[197] This letter was first printed in Vol. IV of the German edition
of Thayer’s biography--not, as Mr. Shedlock says, in his translation
of Kalischer’s collection. Vol. IV appeared in 1907; Mr. Shedlock’s
translation in 1909. Dr. Deiters found a transcript of the letter among
the posthumous papers of Mr. Thayer, who had it from Mr. J. Marshall,
of London. Its pages had been separated by some vandal who probably
wanted to sell two autographs instead of one. Mr. Marshall bought
the sheets at two different autograph sales and, recognizing their
relationship, united them. The letter appears afterwards to have come
into the hands of Mr. A. F. Hill, who loaned it to Mr. Shedlock.

[198] Beethoven had sketched a promising Trio in F minor, in 1816,
along with the song-cycle and the Sonata in A major, and this,
probably, was in his mind.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Note

Page headers in the original text have been moved above the paragraph
to which they relate.

Italics are represented by ~swung dashes~. Superscript text is
indicated by carat signs, e.g. 3^{tio}.

"804" in the phrase "804 im August" was overlined on each occurence.

On p. 390, "V. B." was printed in a box.

All instances of "i.e." have been regularised to "i. e.".

The following printing errors have been corrected:

p. 5 "he “doubled" changed to "he doubled"

p. 6 "performance." changed to "performance.”"

p. 26 "that that this" changed to "that this"

p. 30 "difficult one. Beethoven violently" changed to "difficult one,
Beethoven violently"

p. 35 "and the begining" changed to "and the beginning"

p. 54 the paragraph beginning "Many years after" was indented

p. 76 "you were!”" changed to "you were!””"

p. 103 "prefer ~me~?" changed to "prefer ~me~?”"

p. 123 "in the “house" changed to "in the house"

p. 153 "much easier.”" changed to "much easier.’”"

p. 161 "“Weinmonath”" changed to "“Weinmonath"

p. 171 "diastrous" changed to "disastrous"

p. 174 "From Zmeskall’s lodgings" changed to "From Beethoven’s lodgings"

p. 215 "out of place" changed to "out of place."

p. 219 "acquaintaince" changed to "acquaintance"

p. 226 "romatic" changed to "romantic"

p. 227 "you good.”" changed to "you good.””"

p. 231 "similiar" changed to "similar"

p. 262 "Zukünft" changed to "Zukunft"

p. 266 "Gründer" changed to "Gründer”"

p. 290 "inprovised" changed to "improvised"

p. 296 "This seems" changed to "“This seems"

p. 296 "etc.," changed to "etc."

p. 302 "III “Fidelio”" changed to "III. “Fidelio”"

p. 313 "in C major" changed to "in C major."

p. 325 "Farwell" changed to "Farewell"

p. 327 "passively" changed to "passively."

p. 342 "out attention" changed to "our attention"

p. 366 "disatisfaction" changed to "dissatisfaction"

p. 381 (note) "Zurich" changed to "Zürich"

p. 383 "wereoften" changed to "were often"

p. 389 "was compossed" changed to "was composed"

p. 398 "setted" changed to "settled"

p. 412 "two movenents" changed to "two movements"

The following possible errors have not been changed:

p. vii "Disappointing Decrease" and p. 170 "Decrease"

p. 3 "at both: and in this wise:"

p. 6 and p. 267 "Tremate, empj, tremate"

p. 151 (note) "Neverthless"

p. 273 "“urged its completion" has no closing quotation mark

p. 291 "you up came"

p. 341 "how how right"

p. 353 "xThe present"

p. 415 "was thought"

The text uses the following inconsistently:

Carl and Karl

contrabass and contra-bass

Kozeluch and Koželuch

Les Ruines de Babylon and Les ruines de Babilone

nameday and name-day

P.P. and P. P.

pianoforte and piano-forte

In addition, there are many inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation
in quotations, which have not been changed.

Grätz and Gratz are different names.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Life of Ludwig van Beethoven, Volume II (of 3)" ***

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