General Bernadotte--His Connection with the “Heroic”
Symphony--Rival Pianists--J. Wölffl--Dragonetti and
Cramer--Compositions of the Years 1798 and 1799.
Early in the year 1798, a political event occurred which demands notice
here from its connection with one of Beethoven’s noblest and most
original works--the “Sinfonia Eroica.” The singular tissue of error
which, owing to carelessness in observing dates, has been woven in
relation to its origin may be best destroyed by a simple statement of
fact.
The extraordinary demands made by the French Directory upon the
Austrian government as preliminary to the renewal of diplomatic
intercourse, after the peace of Campo Formio--such as a national palace
and French theatre for the minister and the right of jurisdiction over
all Frenchmen in the Austrian dominions--all of which were rejected
by the Imperial government, had aroused to a high pitch the public
curiosity both as to the man who might be selected for the appointment
and as to the course he might adopt. This curiosity was by no means
diminished by the intelligence that the new minister was Jean Baptiste
Bernadotte, the young general who had borne so important a part in the
recent invasion of Istria. He arrived in Vienna on February 5th, 1798.
The state of the Empress’s health, who was delivered of the Archduchess
Maria Clementine on the 1st of March, delayed the private audience
of Bernadotte for the presentation of his credentials to the Emperor
until the second of that month, and his public audience until the 8th
of April. During the festivities of the court, which then took place,
Bernadotte was always present, and a reporter of that day says both the
Emperor and Empress held more conversation with him than with any other
of the “cercle.” This familiar intercourse, however, came speedily to
an end; for on the 13th Bernadotte had the rashness to display the
hated tricolor from his balcony and to threaten to defend it by force.
A riot occurred, and it was thought that in the extreme excitement of
popular feeling nothing but the strong detachments of cavalry and
infantry detailed for his protection saved his life--saved it to ascend
the throne of Sweden on the twentieth anniversary of his arrival in
Vienna!
Since etiquette allowed a foreign minister neither to make nor receive
visits in his public capacity until after his formal reception at
court, the General, during the two months of his stay, except the last
five days, “lived very quietly.” Those who saw him praised him as “well
behaved, sedate and modest.” In his train was Rudolph Kreutzer, the
great violinist.
BERNADOTTE AND THE HEROIC SYMPHONY
Bernadotte had now just entered his 34th year; Kreutzer was in his
32nd; both of them, therefore, in age, as in tastes and acquirements,
fitted to appreciate the splendor of Beethoven’s genius and to enjoy
his society. Moreover, as the Ambassador was the son of a provincial
advocate, there was no difference of rank by birth, which could prevent
them from meeting upon equal terms. Under such circumstances, and
remembering that just at that epoch the young General Bonaparte was the
topic of universal wonder and admiration, one is fully prepared for the
statement of Schindler upon the origin of the “Heroic” Symphony:
The first idea for the symphony is said to have gone out from
General Bernadotte, then French Ambassador in Vienna, who esteemed
Beethoven very highly. This I heard from several of Beethoven’s
friends. I was also told so by Count Moritz Lichnowsky (brother
of Prince Lichnowsky), who was often in the society of Bernadotte
with Beethoven....
Again in 1823:
Beethoven had a lively recollection that Bernadotte had really
first inspired him with the idea of the “Eroica” Symphony.
This is from Schindler’s work in its first form. His unfortunate
propensity sometimes to accept the illusions of his fancy for matters
of fact is exhibited in the corresponding passage in his third edition:
In Bernadotte’s salon, which was open to notabilities of all ranks
of life, Beethoven also appeared. He had already made it known
that he was a great admirer of the First Consul of the Republic.
From the General emanated the suggestion that Beethoven celebrate
the greatest hero of his age in a musical composition. It was not
long (!) before the thought had become a deed. (Vol. I, page 101.)
In proceeding with the history of the Symphony, Schindler extracts
largely from Beethoven’s own copy of Schleiermacher’s translation of
Plato. That the idea of Bonaparte as First Consul may have influenced
the form and matter of the Symphony, when he came to the labor of its
composition, and that Beethoven may have based for himself a sort of
system of political ethics upon Schleiermacher’s Plato--all this is
very possible; but Bernadotte was far away from Vienna before the
consular form of government was adopted at Paris, and the “Sinfonia
Eroica” had been publicly performed at Vienna before the Plato came
from the Berlin press!
It is certainly to be regretted that so much fine writing by Schindler
and his copyists on this point should be exploded by a date--like
a ship by a single shell; but how could anyone believe that the
much-employed Beethoven, at the age of 27, he who had refused two years
before, even despite Wegeler’s urging, to listen to a single private
lecture on Kant, had become in so short a time a Platonic philosopher?
Let us return to a field where Beethoven was even now more at home
than he ever became in Plato’s political philosophy. Salieri had again
engaged him for the “Widows and Orphans” concerts of April 1st and 2nd
at which Haydn’s “Seven Last Words” was sung and Beethoven’s Pianoforte
Quintet played. Kaiser Franz and the imperial family were present.
RIVALRY OF BEETHOVEN AND WÖLFFL
It was now no longer the case that Beethoven was without a rival as
pianoforte virtuoso. He had a competitor fully worthy of his powers;
one who divided about equally with him the suffrages of the leaders in
the Vienna musical circles. In fact the excellencies peculiar to the
two were such and so different, that it depended upon the taste of the
auditor to which he accorded the praise of superiority. Joseph Wölffl
of Salzburg, two years younger than Beethoven, a “wonder-child,” who
had played a violin concerto in public at the age of seven years, was
a pupil of Leopold Mozart and Michael Haydn. Being in Vienna, when but
eighteen years old, he was engaged, on the recommendation of Mozart, by
the Polish count Oginsky, who took him to Warsaw. His success there,
as pianoforte virtuoso, teacher and composer, was almost unexampled.
But it is only in his character as pianist that we have to do with him;
and a reference may be made to the general principle, that a worthy
competition is the best spur to genius. When we read in one of his
letters Beethoven’s words “I have also greatly perfected my pianoforte
playing,” they will cause no surprise; for only by severe industry
and consequent improvement could he retain his high position, in the
presence of such rivals as Wölffl and, a year or two later, J. B.
Cramer. A lively picture of Wölffl by Tomaschek, who heard him in 1799,
in his autobiography sufficiently proves that his party in Vienna was
composed of those to whom extraordinary execution was the main thing;
while Beethoven’s admirers were of those who had hearts to be touched.
A parallel between Beethoven and Wölffl in a letter to the “Allgemeine
Musikalische Zeitung” (Vol. I, pp. 24, 25) dated April 22, 1799, just
at the time when the performances of both were topics of general
conversation in musical circles, and still fresh in the memory of all
who had heard them, is in the highest degree apposite to the subject of
this chapter. The writer says:
Opinion is divided here touching the merits of the two; yet it
would seem as if the majority were on the side of the latter
(Wölffl). I shall try to set forth the peculiarities of each
without taking part in the controversy. Beethoven’s playing is
extremely brilliant but has less delicacy and occasionally he
is guilty of indistinctness. He shows himself to the greatest
advantage in improvisation, and here, indeed, it is most
extraordinary with what lightness and yet firmness in the
succession of ideas Beethoven not only varies a theme given him on
the spur of the moment by figuration (with which many a virtuoso
makes his fortune and--wind) but really develops it. Since the
death of Mozart, who in this respect is for me still the _non plus
ultra_, I have never enjoyed this kind of pleasure in the degree
in which it is provided by Beethoven. In this Wölffl fails to
reach him. But W. has advantages in this that, sound in musical
learning and dignified in his compositions, he plays passages
which seem impossible with an ease, precision and clearness
which cause amazement (of course he is helped here by the large
structure of his hands) and that his interpretation is always,
especially in Adagios, so pleasing and insinuating that one can
not only admire it but also enjoy.... That Wölffl likewise enjoys
an advantage because of his amiable bearing, contrasted with the
somewhat haughty pose of Beethoven, is very natural.
No biography of Beethoven which makes any pretence to completeness, can
omit the somewhat inflated and bombastic account which Seyfried gives
of the emulation between Beethoven and Wölffl. Ignatz von Seyfried at
the period in question was one of Schikaneder’s conductors, to which
position he had been called when not quite twenty-one years of age, and
had assumed its duties March 1, 1797. He was among the most promising
of the young composers of the capital, belonged to a highly respectable
family, had been educated at the University, and his personal character
was unblemished. He would, therefore, naturally have access to the
musical salons and his reminiscences of music and musicians in those
years may be accepted as the records of observation. The unfavorable
light which the researches of Nottebohm have thrown upon him as editor
of the so-called “Beethoven Studien” does not extend to such statements
of fact as might easily have come under his own cognizance; and the
passage now cited from the appendix of the “Studien,” though written
thirty years after the events it describes, bears all the marks of
being a faithful transcript of the writer’s own memories:
Beethoven had already attracted attention to himself by several
compositions and was rated a first-class pianist in Vienna when
he was confronted by a rival in the closing years of the last
century. Thereupon there was, in a way, a revival of the old
Parisian feud of the Gluckists and Piccinists, and the many
friends of art in the Imperial City arrayed themselves in two
parties. At the head of Beethoven’s admirers stood the amiable
Prince Lichnowsky; among the most zealous patrons of Wölffl was
the broadly cultured Baron Raymond von Wetzlar, whose delightful
villa (on the Grünberg near the Emperor’s recreation-castle)
offered to all artists, native and foreign, an asylum in the
summer months, as pleasing as it was desirable, with true British
loyalty. There the interesting combats of the two athletes not
infrequently offered an indescribable artistic treat to the
numerous and thoroughly select gathering. Each brought forward the
latest product of his mind. Now one and anon the other gave free
rein to his glowing fancy; sometimes they would seat themselves
at two pianofortes and improvise alternately on themes which they
gave each other, and thus created many a four-hand Capriccio
which if it could have been put upon paper at the moment would
surely have bidden defiance to time. It would have been difficult,
perhaps impossible, to award the palm of victory to either one
of the gladiators in respect of technical skill. Nature had been
a particularly kind mother to Wölffl in bestowing upon him a
gigantic hand which could span a tenth as easily as other hands
compass an octave, and permitted him to play passages of double
notes in these intervals with the rapidity of lightning. In his
improvisations even then Beethoven did not deny his tendency
toward the mysterious and gloomy. When once he began to revel
in the infinite world of tones, he was transported also above
all earthly things;--his spirit had burst all restricting bonds,
shaken off the yoke of servitude, and soared triumphantly and
jubilantly into the luminous spaces of the higher æther. Now
his playing tore along like a wildly foaming cataract, and the
conjurer constrained his instrument to an utterance so forceful
that the stoutest structure was scarcely able to withstand it; and
anon he sank down, exhausted, exhaling gentle plaints, dissolving
in melancholy. Again the spirit would soar aloft, triumphing over
transitory terrestrial sufferings, turn its glance upward in
reverent sounds and find rest and comfort on the innocent bosom
of holy nature. But who shall sound the depths of the sea? It was
the mystical Sanscrit language whose hieroglyphs can be read only
by the initiated. Wölffl, on the contrary, trained in the school
of Mozart, was always equable; never superficial but always clear
and thus more accessible to the multitude. He used art only as
a means to an end, never to exhibit his acquirements. He always
enlisted the interest of his hearers and inevitably compelled them
to follow the progression of his well-ordered ideas. Whoever has
heard Hummel will know what is meant by this....
But for this (the attitude of their patrons) the _protégés_ cared
very little. They respected each other because they knew best how
to appreciate each other, and as straightforward honest Germans
followed the principle that the roadway of art is broad enough for
many, and that it is not necessary to lose one’s self in envy in
pushing forward for the goal of fame!
Wölffl proved his respect for his rival by dedicating to “M. L.
van Beethoven” the pianoforte sonatas, Op. 7, which were highly
commended in the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” of Leipsic of January, 1799.
Another interesting and valuable discussion of Beethoven’s powers and
characteristics as a pianoforte virtuoso at this period is contained
in the autobiography of Tomaschek, who heard him both in public and in
private during a visit which Beethoven made again this year to Prague.
Tomaschek was then both in age (he was born on April 17, 1774) and in
musical culture competent to form an independent judgment on such a
subject.
TOMASCHEK ON BEETHOVEN’S PLAYING
In the year 1798, says Tomaschek (unfortunately without giving any
clue to the time of the year), in which I continued my juridical
studies, Beethoven, the giant among pianoforte players, came to
Prague. He gave a largely attended concert in the Konviktssaal, at
which he played his Concerto in C major, Op. 15, and the Adagio
and graceful Rondo in A major from Op. 2, and concluded with an
improvisation on a theme given him by Countess Sch... (Schick?),
“Ah tu fosti il primo oggetto,” from Mozart’s “Titus” (duet No.
7). Beethoven’s magnificent playing and particularly the daring
flights in his improvisation stirred me strangely to the depths
of my soul; indeed I found myself so profoundly bowed down that
I did not touch my pianoforte for several days.... I heard
Beethoven at his second concert, which neither in performance nor
in composition renewed again the first powerful impression. This
time he played the Concerto in B-flat which he had just composed
in Prague.[83] Then I heard him a third time at the home of
Count C., where he played, besides the graceful Rondo from the A
major Sonata, an improvisation on the theme: “Ah! vous dirai-je,
Maman.” This time I listened to Beethoven’s artistic work with
more composure. I admired his powerful and brilliant playing,
but his frequent daring deviations from one motive to another,
whereby the organic connection, the gradual development of idea
was put aside, did not escape me. Evils of this nature frequently
weaken his greatest compositions, those which sprang from a too
exuberant conception. It is not seldom that the unbiassed listener
is rudely awakened from his transport. The singular and original
seemed to be his chief aim in composition, as is confirmed by
the answer which he made to a lady who asked him if he often
attended Mozart’s operas. “I do not know them,” he replied, “and
do not care to hear the music of others lest I forfeit some of my
originality.”
The veteran Tomaschek when he wrote thus had heard all the greatest
virtuosos of the pianoforte, who, from the days of Mozart to 1840, had
made themselves famous; and yet Beethoven remained for him still “the
lord of pianoforte players” and “the giant among pianoforte players.”
Still, great as he was now when Tomaschek heard him, Beethoven could
write three years later that he had greatly perfected his playing.
It is only to be added to the history of the year 1798, that it is
the time in which Beethoven fixes the beginning of his deafness. Like
it, the year 1799 offers, upon the whole, but scanty materials to the
biographers of Beethoven--standing in broad contrast to the next and,
indeed all succeeding years, in which their quantity and variety become
a source of embarrassment.
Two new and valuable, though but passing acquaintances, were made by
Beethoven this year, however--with Domenico Dragonetti, the greatest
contrabassist known to history, and John Baptist Cramer, one of
the greatest pianists. Dragonetti was not more remarkable for his
astounding execution than for the deep, genuine musical feeling which
elevated and ennobled it. He was now--the spring of 1799, so far as
the means are at hand of determining the time--returning to London
from a visit to his native province, and his route taking him to
Vienna he remained there for several weeks. Beethoven and he soon met
and they were mutually pleased with each other. Many years afterwards
Dragonetti related the following anecdote to Samuel Appleby, Esq., of
Brighton, England: “Beethoven had been told that his new friend could
execute violoncello music upon his huge instrument, and one morning,
when Dragonetti called at his room, he expressed his desire to hear a
sonata. The contrabass was sent for, and the Sonata, No. 2, of Op. 5,
was selected. Beethoven played his part, with his eyes immovably fixed
upon his companion, and, in the finale, where the arpeggios occur, was
so delighted and excited that at the close he sprang up and threw his
arms around both player and instrument.” The unlucky contrabassists of
orchestras had frequent occasion during the next few years to know that
this new revelation of the powers and possibilities of their instrument
to Beethoven, was not forgotten.
Cramer, born at Mannheim, 1771, but from early infancy reared
and educated in England, was successively the pupil of the noted
Bensor, Schroeter and Clementi; but, like Beethoven, was in no small
degree self-taught. He was so rarely and at such long intervals on
the Continent that his extraordinary merits have never been fully
understood and appreciated there. Yet for a period of many years in
the first part of the nineteenth century he was undoubtedly, upon the
whole, the first pianist of Europe, The object of his tour in 1799
was not to display his own talents and acquirements, but to add to
his general musical culture and to profit by his observations upon
the styles and peculiar characteristics of the great pianists of the
Continent. In Vienna he renewed his intercourse with Haydn, whose prime
favorite he had been in England, and at once became extremely intimate
with Beethoven.
Cramer surpassed Beethoven in the perfect neatness, correctness and
finish of his execution; Beethoven assured him that he preferred his
touch to that of any other player; his brilliancy was astonishing;
but yet taste, feeling, expression, were the qualities which more
eminently distinguished him. Beethoven stood far above Cramer in power
and energy, especially when extemporizing. Each was supreme in his
own sphere; each found much to learn in the perfections of the other;
each, in later years, did full justice to the other’s powers. Thus Ries
says: “Amongst the pianoforte players he [Beethoven] had praise for but
one as being distinguished--John Cramer. All others were but little
to him.” On the other hand, Mr. Appleby, who knew Cramer well, was
long afterwards told by him, “No man in these days has heard extempore
playing, unless he has heard Beethoven.”
CRAMER’S RECOLLECTIONS OF BEETHOVEN
Making a visit one morning to him, Cramer, as he entered the anteroom,
heard Beethoven extemporizing by himself, and remained there more
than half an hour “completely entranced,” never in his life having
heard such exquisite effects, such beautiful combinations. Knowing
Beethoven’s extreme dislike to being listened to on such occasions,
Cramer retired and never let him know that he had so heard him.
Cramer’s widow communicates a pleasant anecdote. At an Augarten Concert
the two pianists were walking together and hearing a performance of
Mozart’s pianoforte Concerto in C minor (Köchel, No. 491); Beethoven
suddenly stood still and, directing his companion’s attention to
the exceedingly simple, but equally beautiful motive which is first
introduced towards the end of the piece, exclaimed: “Cramer, Cramer!
we shall never be able to do anything like that!” As the theme was
repeated and wrought up to the climax, Beethoven, swaying his body to
and fro, marked the time and in every possible manner manifested a
delight rising to enthusiasm.
Schindler’s record of his conversations upon Beethoven with Cramer
and Cherubini in 1841 is interesting and valuable. He has, however,
left one important consideration unnoticed, namely, that the visits
of those masters to Vienna were five years apart--five years of
great change in Beethoven--a period during which his deafness, too
slight to attract Cramer’s attention, had increased to a degree
beyond concealment, and which, joined to his increased devotion to
composition and compulsory abandonment of all ambition as a virtuoso,
with consequent neglect of practice, had affected his execution
unfavorably. Hence the difference in the opinions of such competent
judges as Cramer, describing him as he was in 1799-1800, Cherubini in
1805-6, and two years later Clementi, afford a doubtless just and fair
indication of the decline of Beethoven’s powers as a mere pianist--not
extending, however, at least for some years yet, to his extemporaneous
performances. We shall find from Ries and others ample confirmation of
the fact.
And now let Schindler speak:
To the warm feeling of Cramer for Beethoven I owe the more
important matters.... Cherubini, disposed to be curt,
characterized Beethoven’s pianoforte playing in a single word:
“rough.” The gentleman Cramer, however, desired that less offence
be taken at the rudeness of his performance than at the unreliable
reading of one and the same composition--one day intellectually
brilliant and full of characteristic expression, the next freakish
to the verge of unclearness; often confused. (Which is confirmed
by Ries, Czerny and others.) Because of this a few friends
expressed a wish to hear Cramer play several works publicly from
the manuscript. This touched a sensitive spot in Beethoven; his
jealousy was aroused and, according to Cramer, their relations
became strained.
This strain, however, left no such sting behind it as to diminish
Cramer’s good opinion of Beethoven both as man and artist, or hinder
his free expression of it. To this fact the concurrent testimony of
his widow and son, and those enthusiasts for Beethoven Charles Neate,
Cipriani Potter and others who knew Cramer well, bear witness. It was
the conversation of Cramer about Beethoven which induced Potter, after
the fall of Napoleon, to journey to Vienna, to make the acquaintance of
the great master and, if possible, become his pupil.
Cramer’s musical gods were Handel and Mozart, notwithstanding his
life-long love for Bach’s clavier compositions; hence the abrupt
transitions, the strange modulations, and the, until then, unheard
passages, which Beethoven introduced ever more freely into his
works--many of which have not yet found universal acceptance--were
to him, as to Tomaschek and so many other of his contemporaries,
imperfections and distortions of compositions, which but for them were
models of beauty and harmonious proportion. He once gave this feeling
utterance with comic exaggeration, when Potter, then a youth, was
extolling some abstruse combinations, by saying: “If Beethoven emptied
his inkstand upon a piece of music paper you would admire it!”
Upon Beethoven’s demeanor in society, Schindler proceeds thus:
BEETHOVEN’S DEMEANOR IN SOCIETY
The communications of both (Cramer and Madame Cherubini) agreed
in saying that in mixed society his conduct was reserved, stiff
and marked by artist’s pride; whereas among his intimates he was
droll, lively, indeed, voluble at times, and fond of giving play
to all the arts of wit and sarcasm, not always wisely especially
in respect of political and social prejudices. To this the two
were able to add much concerning his awkwardness in taking hold
of such objects as glasses, coffee cups, etc., to which Master
Cherubini added the comment: “Toujours brusque.” These statements
confirmed what I had heard from his older friends touching the
social demeanor of Beethoven in general.
Cramer reached Vienna early in September, and remained there, according
to Schindler, through the following winter; but he does not appear to
have given any public concerts, although, during the first month of
his stay, we learn from a newspaper, he “earned general and deserved
applause by his playing.” It is needless to dwell upon the advantages
to Beethoven of constant intercourse for several months with a master
like Cramer, whose noblest characteristics as pianist were the same as
Mozart’s, and precisely those in which Beethoven was deficient.
* * * * *
Let us pass in review the compositions which had their origin in the
years 1798 and 1799. First of all come the three Trios for stringed
instruments, Op. 9. The exact date of their conception has not yet
been determined, all that is positive being that Beethoven sold them
to Traeg on March 16, 1798, and that the publisher’s announcement of
them appeared on July 21st of the same year. The only sketches for the
Trios quoted by Nottebohm show them in connection with a sketch for
the last movement of the “Sonate pathétique,” which was published in
1799; but this proves nothing. It may be easily imagined that Beethoven
desired to make more extended use of the experience gained in writing
the Trios, Op. 3, and that he therefore began sketching Op. 9 in 1796
or 1797. Beethoven dedicated the works to Count Browne in words such
as could hardly have been called forth by the present of a horse.
Perhaps some future investigator will be able to show upon what grounds
Beethoven in the dedication called Count Browne his “first Mæcenas,” a
title better deserved by Prince Lichnowsky.
THE FIRST TWO PIANOFORTE CONCERTOS
The first two concertos for pianoforte call for consideration here, for
it was not until 1798 that they acquired the form in which they are
now known. That the Concerto in B-flat was the earlier of the two has
been proved in a preceding chapter of this volume. It was this Concerto
and not the one in C major (as Wegeler incorrectly reported) that was
played in March, 1795. Wegeler’s error was due to the circumstance that
the Concerto in C was published first. Sketches for the Concerto in
B-flat major are found among the exercises written for Albrechtsberger,
sketches for the Sonata in E major (Op. 14, No. 1), and others for
a little quartet movement which was owned by M. Malherbe of Paris;
on this sheet occurs a short exercise with the remark “Contrapunto
all’ottava” which points to the beginning of 1795 or even 1794. The
sketch is an obviously early form of a passage in the free fantasia.
This agrees with the statement that on March 29, 1795, Beethoven played
a new concerto, the key of which is not indicated. It is most likely
that it was this in B-flat, since the one in C did not exist at the
time. Beethoven, it appears, played it a few times afterward in Vienna
and then rewrote it. According to Tomaschek’s account he played the
B-flat Concerto (expressly distinguished from that in C) in 1798, again
in Prague. Tomaschek added, “which he had composed in Prague.” This is
confounding the original version with the revision, concerning which
Nottebohm gives information in his “Zweite Beethoveniana” on the basis
of sketches which point to 1798. The fact of the revision is proved by
Beethoven’s memoranda, such as “To remain as it was,” “From here on
everything to remain as it was.” The revision of the first movement
was radical, and the entire work was apparently undertaken in view of
an imminent performance, most likely that of Prague in 1798. It was
published by Hoffmeister und Kühnel and dedicated to Carl Nikl Edlen
von Nikelsberg.
That the Concerto in C was composed later than that in B-flat has been
proved by Beethoven’s testimony as well as other external evidences
and is confirmed by the few remaining sketches analyzed by Nottebohm.
They appear in connection with a sketch for the cadenza for the B-flat
Concerto which, therefore, must have been finished when its companion
was begun. A sketch for a cadenza for the C major Concerto comes after
sketches for the Sonata in D, Op. 10, No. 3, which was published in
1798. This new concerto must, therefore, have been finished. According
to the testimony of Tomaschek he played it in 1798 in the Konviktsaal
in Prague. Schindler says he played it for the first time “in the
spring of 1800 in the Kärnthnerthor-Theater,” but this concert is
likely to have been that of April 2nd, 1800, described by Hanslick
in his “Geschichte des Concertwesens in Wien” (p. 127). Schindler
evidently knew nothing of the performance in Prague and a confusion
must be at the bottom of Czerny’s statement that the Concerto was
played in the Kärnthnerthor-Theater in 1801. The Concerto in C,
dedicated to the Countess Odescalchi, _née_ Keglevich, was published
by Mollo in Vienna in 1801. There are three cadenzas for the first
movement of the Concerto, the last two of which call for an extended
compass of the pianoforte and are thus shown to be of later date than
the first.
To these concertos must be added the Rondo in B-flat for Pianoforte
and Orchestra found unfinished among Beethoven’s compositions and
published by Diabelli and Co. in 1829. Sonnleithner, on the authority
of Diabelli, says it was completed by Czerny, who also filled out
the accompaniment. There is no authentic record of the time of its
composition. O. Jahn surmised that it may have been designed for
the Concerto in B-flat. Its contents indicate an earlier period. A
sketch printed by Nottebohm associated with a Romanza for Pianoforte,
Flute and Bassoon, judged by the handwriting, is not of later date
than 1795. E. Mandyczewski compared the original manuscript, now in
the library of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, with the printed
form and decided that the work was completed in plan and _motiri_
by Beethoven, who, however, did not carry out the cadenzas and only
indicated the passages. The share which Czerny had in it is thus
indicated; he added the cadenzas and extended the pianoforte passages
which Beethoven had only indicated, making them more effective and
brilliant. The use of the high registers of the pianoforte which Czerny
employs somewhat too freely in view of the simple character of the
piece, was not contemplated by Beethoven, who once remarked of Czerny:
“He uses the piccolo too much for me.” In Mandyczewski’s opinion the
handwriting points to a time before 1800, and the contents indicate
the early Vienna if not the Bonn period. Mandyczewski also thinks that
the romanza-like Andante is palpably a very early composition and
that the correspondence in key and measure with the B-flat Concerto
might indicate that it was originally designed as a part of that work,
a supposition which is strengthened by the fact that the original
manuscript is neither dated nor signed. This internal evidence has
much in its favor, the more since it is not at all obvious what might
have prompted Beethoven to write an independent rondo for concert
use. There is no external evidence; if there were, the conception
of the B-flat Concerto would have to be set at a much earlier date
than has yet been done. The first Vienna sketches for the Concerto,
as Nottebohm shows, prove that the present three movements belonged
together from the beginning. They were, therefore, surely played at the
first performance in 1795. Nottebohm, who repeated Jahn’s surmise in
his “Thematisches Verzeichniss,” changed his mind after a study of the
sketches and rejected the notion that the rondo had been designed for
the Concerto. Only by assuming an earlier date for the rondo can the
theory be upheld. Attention may here be called to Wegeler’s statement
(“Notizen,” p. 56) that the rondo of the first Concerto (he says, of
course, the Concerto in C) was not composed until the second afternoon
before the performance. There may possibly have been another. This is
not necessarily disproved by the fact that sketches for the present
one were in existence. The question is not settled by the evidence now
before us, but the probabilities are with Mandyczewski.
Now begins the glorious series of sonatas. The first were the three
(Op. 10) which, though begun in part at an earlier date, were
definitively finished and published in 1798. Eder, the publisher,
opened a subscription for them by an advertisement in the “Wiener
Zeitung,” July 5th, 1798; therefore they were finished at that time.
The sketching for them had begun in 1796, as appears from Nottebohm’s
statement,[84] and Beethoven worked on the three simultaneously.
Sketches for the first movement of the first Sonata are mixed with
sketches for the soprano air for Umlauf’s “Schusterin” which have been
attributed to 1796, and the Variations for three Wind-Instruments
which were played in 1797. Sketches for the third sonata are found
among notes for the Sextet for Wind-Instruments (composed about 1796)
and also for the Concerto in C minor, which, therefore, was begun
thus early, and for one of the seven country dances which appeared in
1799, or perhaps earlier. The sketches for the last movement of No.
3 are associated alone with sketches for a cadenza for the C major
Concerto which Beethoven played in Prague in 1798, and may therefore be
placed in this year. It follows that the three sonatas were developed
gradually in 1796-98, and completed in 1798. From the sketches and
the accompanying memoranda[85] we learn, furthermore, that for the
first Sonata, which now has three movements, a fourth, an Intermezzo,
was planned on which Beethoven several times made a beginning but
permitted to fall. Two of these movements became known afterwards as
“Bagatelles.” We learn also that the last movement of the first Sonata,
and the second movement of the second, were originally laid out on a
larger scale.
COMPOSITION OF THE “SONATE PATHÉTIQUE”
The “Sonate pathétique,” Op. 13, was published by Eder, in Vienna, in
1799, and afterwards by Hoffmeister, who announced them on December 18
of the same year. Sketches for the rondo are found among those for the
Trio, Op. 9, and after the beginning of a fair copy of the Sonata, Op.
49, No. 1. From this there is no larger deduction than that the Sonata
probably had its origin about 1798. One of the sketches, however,
indicates that the last movement was originally conceived for more
than one instrument, probably for a sonata for pianoforte and violin.
Beethoven published the two Sonatas, Op. 14, which he dedicated to
the Baroness Braun, immediately after the “Sonate pathétique.” They
came from the press of Mollo and were announced on December 21, 1799.
The exact time of their composition cannot be determined definitely.
Up to the present time no sketches for the second are known to exist;
copious ones for the first, however, are published by Nottebohm in his
“Zweite Beethoveniana” (p. 45 _et seq._), some of which appear before
sketches for the Sonata, Op. 12, No. 3, then approaching completion,
and some after sketches for the Concerto in B-flat. Because of this
juxtaposition, Nottebohm places the conception of the Sonata in 1795.
Touching the history of the Trio, Op. 11, for Pianoforte, Clarinet and
Violoncello, little is known. It was advertised as wholly new by Mollo
and Co. on October 3, 1798, and is inscribed to the Countess Thun.
Sketches associated with works that are unknown or were never completed
are in the British Museum and set forth by Nottebohm in his “Zweite
Beethoveniana” (p. 515). The sketch for the Adagio resembles the
beginning of the minuet in the Sonata, Op. 49, No. 2, and is changed
later; this points approximately to 1798. The last movement consists
of a series of variations on the theme of a trio from Weigl’s opera
“L’Amor marinaro,” beginning “Pria ch’io l’impegno.” Weigl’s opera was
performed for the first time on October 15, 1797. Czerny told Otto
Jahn that Beethoven took the theme at the request of a clarinet player
(Beer?) for whom he wrote the Trio. The elder Artaria told Cipriani
Potter in 1797, that he had given the theme to Beethoven and requested
him to introduce variations on it into a trio, and added that Beethoven
did not know that the melody was Weigl’s until after the Trio was
finished, whereupon he grew very angry on finding it out. Czerny says
in the supplement to his “Pianoforte School”:
It was at the wish of the clarinet player for whom Beethoven wrote
this Trio that he employed the above theme by Weigl (which was
then very popular) as the finale. At a later period he frequently
contemplated writing another concluding movement for this Trio,
and letting the variations stand as a separate work.
If Czerny is correct in his statement, obvious deductions from it are
these, which are scarcely consistent with Artaria’s story: if the
theme was “very popular” at the time the opera must have had several
performances, and it is not likely that the melody was unfamiliar to
Beethoven, who also, it may be assumed, wrote the title of Weigl’s
trio, which is printed at the beginning of the last movement of
Beethoven’s composition. Beethoven produced the Trio for the first time
at the house of Count Fries on the occasion of his first meeting with
Steibelt. The three Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violin, Op. 12, were
advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of January 12, 1799, as published by
Artaria, which would seem to place their origin in 1798. The program of
a concert given by Madame Duschek on March 29, 1798, preserved in the
archives of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, announces a sonata with
accompaniment to be played by Beethoven. The accompanying (_obbligato_)
instrument is not mentioned, but the work may well have been one of
these Sonatas. Nottebohm discusses the juxtaposition of sketches for
the second Sonata with sketches for the Pianoforte Concerto in B-flat
and the sonata in E, Op. 14, No. 1, and is inclined to fix 1795 as
the year of the sonata’s origin. But we are in the dark as to whether
the sketches for the Pianoforte Concerto were for its original or its
revised form.
Among the instrumental compositions of this year belong the Variations
for Pianoforte and Violoncello on “Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen” from
Mozart’s “Zauberflöte,” of which nothing more is known than that Traeg
announced their publication on September 12, 1798. They were afterward
taken over by Artaria. The Variation for Pianoforte on a theme from
Grétry’s “Richard, Cœur de Lion” (“Une fièvre brûlante”) were announced
as newly published on November 7, 1798, by Traeg; Cappi and Diabelli
acquired them later. Sketches for them are found by the side of
sketches for the first movement of the Sonata in C minor, Op. 10, No.
1, which circumstance indicates that 1796 was the year of their origin.
According to Sonnleithner, “Richard, Cœur de Lion” was first performed
at the Hoftheater, Vienna, on January 7, 1788; then again on June 13,
1799 in the Theater auf den Wieden; but a ballet, “Richard Löwenherz,”
by Vigano, music by Weigl, in which Grétry’s romance, “Une fièvre
brûlante,” was interpolated, was brought forward on July 2, 1795, in
the Hof- und Nationaltheater and repeated often in that year, and it
was thence, no doubt, that the suggestion for the variations came to
Beethoven. The six little Variations on a Swiss air were published,
according to Nottebohm, by Simrock in Bonn in 1798. The ten Variations
on “La stessa, la stessissima” from Salieri’s “Falstaff, ossia le tre
Burle,” were announced as just published in the “Wiener Zeitung” of
March 2, 1799. Salieri’s opera was performed on January 3 (Wlassak
says January 6), 1799, in the Hoftheater; Beethoven’s, therefore,
was an occasional composition conceived and produced in a very short
time. Sketches are found among some for the first Quartet, Op. 18, and
others. The Variations are dedicated to the Countess Babette Keglevich.
Twice more in the same year operatic productions induced similar
works. The publication of the Variations on “Kind, willst du ruhig
schlafen?” from Winter’s “Unterbrochenes Opferfest,” was announced in
the “Wiener Zeitung” of December 21, 1799, by Mollo and Co.; the opera
had its first performance in Vienna on June 15, 1796, and was repeated
frequently within the years immediately following--six times in 1799.
In this case also it may be assumed that publication followed hard on
the heels of composition. Sketches are found in companionship with
others belonging to the Quartet, Op. 18, No. 5, and the Septet. The
Variations on “Tändeln und Scherzen,” from Süssmayr’s opera “Soliman
II, oder die drei Sultaninnen,” belong to the same time. The opera was
performed on October 1, 1799, in the Hoftheater; the publication of
the variations by Hoffmeister was announced in the “Wiener Zeitung”
on December 18, 1799. They may have been printed previously by Eder.
They were dedicated to Countess Browne, _née_ von Bietinghoff. It is
interesting to learn from Czerny that these Variations were the first
of Beethoven’s compositions which the master gave him to study when he
became his pupil. Before them he had pieces by C. P. E. Bach and after
them the “Sonate pathéthique.”
THE PERIOD OF THE FIRST SYMPHONY
As evidence pointing to the period in which the first Symphony was
written we have, first of all, the report of the first performance
on April 2, 1800; but inasmuch as the copying of the parts and the
rehearsals must have consumed a considerable time, the period would be
much too short (especially in view of Beethoven’s method of working) if
we were also to assume that the Symphony originated in 1800. It is very
likely that, with the Quartets, it was sketched at an earlier period
and worked out in the main by 1799 at the latest. It was published
toward the end of 1801 by Hoffmeister and Kühnel as Op. 21, dedicated
to Baron van Swieten and advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of January
16, 1802. Beethoven had already planned a symphony while studying with
Albrechtsberger. Nottebohm reports on his purposes after a study of
some sketches and from him we learn that the theme of the present last
movement was originally intended for a first movement. Beethoven must
have worked on this composition in 1794-’95, perhaps at the suggestion
of van Swieten--a conclusion suggested by the fact that the dedication
of the first symphony went to him. Beethoven abandoned this early plan
and turned to other ideas for the new symphony, but there is no clue
as to the precise time when this was done. In 1802, Mollo published
an arrangement of the symphony as a quintet at the same time that
Hoffmeister and Kühnel published a like arrangement of the Septet.
Beethoven published the following protest in the “Wiener Zeitung” of
October 20, 1802:
I believe that I owe it to the public and myself publicly to
announce that the two Quintets in C major and E-flat major, of
which the first (taken from a symphony of mine) has been published
by Mr. Mollo in Vienna, and the second (taken from my familiar
Septet, Op. 20) by Mr. Hoffmeister in Leipzig, are not original
quintets but transcriptions prepared by the publishers. The
making of transcriptions at the best is a matter against which
(in this prolific day of such things) an author must protest in
vain; but it is possible at least to demand of the publishers
that they indicate the fact on the title-page, so that the honor
of the author may not be lessened and the public be not deceived.
This much to hinder such things in the future. At the same time
I announce that a new Quintet of mine in C major, Op. 29, will
shortly be published by Breitkopf and Härtel in Leipzig.
Mention may here be made in conclusion of the two French songs, “Que
le temps (jour) me dure” (Rousseau) and “Plaisir d’aimer,” recovered
from sketches and described by Jean Chantavoine in “Die Musik” (Vol.
I, No. 12, 1902). The origin of the latter is fixed in 1799, by its
association with a sketch for the Quartets, Op. 18.
FOOTNOTES:
[83] It will be seen in a letter of Beethoven’s that this concerto was
in fact composed before that in C major; but it is not improbable that
the last movement was written in Prague.
[84] “Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 29 _et seq._
[85] Among sketches for the second movement of the Quintet, Op.
16, Beethoven wrote: “For the new sonatas very short minuets. The
Scherzo remains for that in C minor.” And in another sketch he
writes: “Intermezzo for the sonata in C minor.”--Nottebohm, “Zweite
Beethoveniana,” 32, 479.