by giving prominence to the chorus, creating powerful finales and
adopting the melodramatic style for the third act, to adjust myself
to Beethoven’s last period. I avoided a preliminary conference with
the composer concerning the subject-matter, because I wanted to
preserve the independence of my views. Moreover, it was possible to
make alterations, and in the last instance it rested with him to
compose the book or not to compose it, as he listed. In order not
to coerce him in the least I sent him the book by the same channel
which had brought me the call. He was not to be influenced by
personal considerations or embarrassed in any manner whatsoever.
The book appealed to Beethoven, but several conferences between him
and the poet were necessary before it was brought into satisfactory
shape. Grillparzer had excluded much of the material in the old legend
which was unsuited to dramatic treatment, and strengthened the plot
with conceits of his own invention. As soon as he had sent the text he
went to Beethoven at Schindler’s request. At first blush Beethoven was
much pleased with the book, and he wrote Grillparzer a letter which
delighted the poet. Grillparzer describes the visit to Beethoven at his
lodgings in the Kothgasse which he made in company with Schindler:
I found him lying in soiled night wear on a disordered bed, a book
in his hand. At the head of the bed was a small door which, as I
observed later, opened into the dining-room and which Beethoven
seemed in a manner to be guarding, for when subsequently a maid
came through it with butter and eggs he could not restrain himself,
in the middle of an earnest conversation, from throwing a searching
glance at the quantity of the provisions served--which gave me a
painful picture of the disorder prevailing in his domestic economy.
As we entered Beethoven arose from the bed, gave me his hand,
poured out his feelings of good-will and respect and at once
broached the subject of the opera. “Your work lives here,” said
he, pointing to his heart; “I am going to the country in a few
days and shall at once begin to compose it. Only, I don’t know
what to do with the hunters’ chorus which forms the introduction.
Weber used four horns; you see, therefore, that I must have eight;
where will this lead to?” Although I was far from seeing the need
of such a conclusion I explained to him that without injury to the
rest of the book the hunters’ chorus could be omitted, with which
concession he seemed to be satisfied, and neither then nor later
did he offer any objection to the text or ask that a change be
made. He even insisted on closing a contract with me at once. The
profits of the opera should be divided evenly between us, etc. I
declared to him, and truthfully, that I had not thought of a fee
or anything of the kind while at work.... Least of all was it to
be the subject of conversation between us. He was to do with the
book what he pleased--I would never make a contract with him. After
a good deal of talk (or rather of writing, for he could no longer
hear speech) back and forth, I took my leave, promising to visit
him in Hetzendorf after he had settled himself there.
I had hoped that he had given up all thoughts of business in regard
to the matter; but a few days later my publisher, Wallishauser,
came to me and said that Beethoven insisted upon the execution of
a contract. If I could not make up my mind, Wallishauser suggested
that I assign the property-right in the book to him and he would
arrange with Beethoven, who was already advised of such a step.
I was glad to get rid of the business, let Wallishauser pay me a
moderate sum, and banished the matter from my thoughts. Whether or
not they made a contract I do not know.
Otto Jahn’s notes of a conversation with Grillparzer state that
Beethoven made a contract with Barbaja, who was the _de facto_ manager
of the Kärnthnerthor Theatre, for 6,000 florins, W. W. (2,500 C. M.).
Shortly afterward Barbaja abandoned the contract, saying to Beethoven
that he knew that though he was bound by it he could not use the opera.
Thereupon Beethoven tore up the document. On April 20, 1824, Duport
wrote to Beethoven that Barbaja had sent word from Naples that he would
like to have an opera by Beethoven and would give time and terms as
soon as he received assurance that his contract for the theatre would
be extended from December 1. The extension was not granted. Schindler
denied that a contract between manager and composer ever existed.
Grillparzer kept his promise to visit Beethoven at Hetzendorf, going
thither with Schindler. Part of his account may best be given in his
own words:
We took a promenade and entertained each other as well as was
possible half in conversation, half in writing, while walking.
I still remember with emotion that when we sat down to table
Beethoven went into an adjoining room and himself brought forth
five bottles. He set down one at Schindler’s plate, one at his own
and three in front of me, probably to make me understand in his
wild and simple way that I was master and should drink as much as I
liked. When I drove back to town without Schindler, who remained in
Hetzendorf, Beethoven insisted on accompanying me. He sat himself
beside me in the open carriage but instead of going only to the
edge of the village, he drove with me to the city, getting out
at the gates and, after a cordial handshake, starting back alone
on the journey of an hour and a half homeward. As he left the
carriage I noticed a bit of paper lying on the seat which he had
just vacated. I thought that he had forgotten it and beckoned him
to come back; but he shook his head and with a loud laugh, as at
the success of a ruse, he ran the faster in the opposite direction.
I unrolled the paper and it contained exactly the amount of the
carriage-hire which I had agreed upon with the driver. His manner
of life had so estranged him from all the habits and customs of
the world that it probably never occurred to him that under other
circumstances he would have been guilty of a gross offence. I took
the matter as it was intended and laughingly paid my coachman with
the money which had been given to me.[87]
In a Conversation Book used during the visit to Hetzendorf may be read
one side of a conversation about “Melusine” which permits us to observe
the poet’s capacity to look into the future:
Are you still of the opinion that something else ought to be
substituted for the first chorus of our opera? Perhaps a few tones
of the hunting-horns might be continued by an invisible chorus of
nymphs. I have been thinking if it might not be possible to mark
every appearance of Melusine or of her influence in the action by a
recurrent and easily grasped melody. Might not the overture begin
with this and after the rushing _Allegro_ the introduction be made
out of the same melody? I have thought of this melody as that to
which Melusine sings her first song.
Grillparzer speaks of “Dragomira,” promises to send the plot to
Beethoven in writing and makes many observations concerning music and
musicians which must have interested Beethoven even when he did not
agree with him. He asserts that on the whole the North Germans know
little of music--they will never produce anything higher than “Der
Freischütz.” Also he has a good word for Italian opera:
And yet I cannot agree with those who unqualifiedly reject Italian
opera. To my mind there are two kinds of opera--one setting out
from the text, the other from the music. The latter is the Italian
opera. Lablache, and in a degree Fodor, are better actors than the
Germans ever had. Perhaps Mozart formed himself on the Italian
opera. It is worse now. You would have trouble to find singers for
your opera.
[Sidenote: ADVICE SOUGHT FROM FRIENDS]
There are many others with whom Beethoven discussed the opera and
who came to him to tell him of their desire to see it written.
Duport is greatly interested, wants to read the book with care and
asks Beethoven’s terms; Lichnowsky is willing to risk the financial
outcome; “I will go security,” he says in October, “for the money
which you want for the opera. After selling the opera to the director
you can still reserve the right of disposing of it at home and
abroad.” And again: “If you do not compose the opera it will be all
day with German opera--everybody says that. After the failure of
Weber’s opera ‘Euryanthe’ many sent the books back. ‘Freischütz’ is
not a genuine opera. If you can use me in any way, you know me and
how sincere I am”; and still again, towards the end of November: “You
will get incomparably more without a contract; if you want one, the
director will make a contract with pleasure at once. Talk it over with
Grillparzer; it will also be all one to him. Duport already asked about
the opera several days ago.” From other quarters Beethoven is urged
to write to Duport after the latter had written to him. In a letter
which must have been written late in the year, since Beethoven is back
in his town lodgings, he writes to Grillparzer telling him that the
management had asked for his (Grillparzer’s) terms and suggesting that
he write directly to the management and he would do the same.[88] A
later conversation which must have taken place toward the close of
the year (and may have been the result of this letter) begins with a
complaint by Grillparzer against the censorship for having forbidden
his “Ottokar.” Beethoven’s part in the dialogue may easily be supplied
by the imagination, and it will be seen that he is still unreconciled
to the opening chorus.
You have again taken up “Melusine?” I have already appealed to
the management twice but have had no answer.--I have already
said that I was compelled to ask 100 ducats for it.--Because as
a matter of fact, all the profits of an opera-book remain with
the theatre in which it is performed for the first time.--I could
have made a spoken drama out of the same material which would have
brought me three times as much--I _must_ ask so much in order to
meet my obligations to Wallishauser. For ordinary opera-books
they pay up to 300 florins C. M. Have you already begun to
compose?--Will you please write down for me where you want the
changes made?--Because then, nevertheless, the piece will _have_
to begin with a hunt.--Perhaps the last tones of a vanishing
hunters’ chorus might blend with the introduction without having
the hunters enter.--To begin with a chorus of nymphs might weaken
the effect of the chorus at the close of the first act.--I am
not quite versed in opera texts.--You want to deliver it to the
theatre by September.--The direction wants to make a creditable
showing in the eyes of the public.--Doesn’t the text of the opera
also seem too _long_ to you?--To whom are you thinking of giving
the rôle of _Raimund_?--They are talking of a young tenor who may
have made his début by that time. I believe his name is Cramolini;
besides a handsome figure he is said to have a beautiful voice.--It
is said that the direction is having him educated.--Forti is a
little too gross.--Then I am to expect your written suggestion as
to alterations, soon?--I am not busy at present.--I am ready for
anything.
For a space there is talk about oratorio texts (“Judith”) and the
possibility of musical expression in the case of Christ. Then the text
of “Dragomira” is referred to, concerning which Beethoven seems to have
asked. Grillparzer says:
Dragomira. Great variety--great characters, effects.--The mother
of St. Wenzelaus, the Duke of Bohemia.--One of her sons kills the
other. She herself is a pagan, the better son is a Christian. They
still show the spot in Prague where she was swallowed up by the
earth with horses and equipage.--After I have lost all hope _here_
I shall send it to Berlin.
There is much more talk in the Conversation Book about the opera, but
neither sequence nor date can always be determined. Lichnowsky tells
him that the management of the theatre is willing to do anything
asked of it and is negotiating with Grillparzer. Brother Johann says:
“Grillparzer is coming to-morrow--that is no affair of yours.--You
wrote to the management to make arrangements with the poet, and to this
it was agreed; hence Grillparzer must make terms.” In the same book
Schikh, the editor, writes: “Why don’t you compose Grillparzer’s opera?
Write the opera first and then we shall be in a position to wish you
also to write a Requiem.”
[Sidenote: GRILLPARZER PARTS WITH BEETHOVEN]
Grillparzer says that Beethoven told him in Hetzendorf that his opera
was ready (whether he meant in his head or in its essential elements
in the numerous sketchbooks, the poet could not say), but after the
composer’s death not a single note was found which could indubitably
be assigned to their common work. The poet had faithfully adhered to
his resolve not to remind the composer of the work in any way and “was
never near him again until, clad in black and carrying a burning torch
in my [his] hand,” he walked behind his coffin. Grillparzer’s memory
is faulty in a few details. He says that he never met Beethoven after
the visit to Hetzendorf except once; but the two men were together
again in 1824. This, however, is inconsequential; the fact remains that
Beethoven did not compose “Melusine.”--Why not? Many reasons must be
obvious to those who have followed this narrative closely: illness;
vexation of spirit; loss of initiative; a waning of the old capacity
to assimilate conceptions and ideas which did not originate in his
own consciousness and were not in harmony with his own predilections.
Moreover, it was the period of his greatest introspection; he was
communing more and more with his own soul, and separating himself more
and more from all agencies of utterance except the one which spoke most
truthfully and directly within him, and to which he entrusted his last
revelations--the string quartet. “Melusine” was not composed, but the
opera continued to occupy his attention at intervals until deep into
the next year, and unless Holz is in error, some of his last labors
were devoted to it. Too literal an acceptance must not, therefore, be
given to Schindler’s statement that he “suddenly” abandoned the plan of
writing a German opera because he learned that the similarity between
the subjects of “Melusine” and “Undine” would embarrass the production
of the former in Berlin.
[Illustration: B A C H]
A project which cropped out intermittently during 1823 was the writing
of an overture on the musical motive suggested by the letters composing
the name of Bach. The thought seems to have become fixed in his mind
in 1822, though the device of using as a motive in composition was
at least as old as the Leipsic master’s “Art of Fugue,” and no doubt
familiar to Beethoven. However, he was deeply engrossed in fugal
writing at this period and it is very likely, as Nottebohm suggests,
that he conceived an overture on the motive as a tribute to Bach’s
genius. Several sketches showing different forms of the theme appear
in the books of 1823; and a collateral memorandum, “This overture with
the new symphony, and we shall have a concert (_Akademie_) in the
Kärnthnerthor Theatre,” amongst sketches for the last quartets in
1825, shows that he clung to the idea almost to the end. Had Beethoven
carried out all the plans for utilizing the theme which presented
themselves to him between 1822 and 1825, there would have been several
Bach overtures; unfortunately, he carried out none.
[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND THE BOY LISZT]
On April 13, 1823, the boy Franz Liszt, who was studying with Carl
Czerny and had made his first public appearance on the first day of
the year, gave a concert in the small Ridotto room. Together with his
father he had been presented to Beethoven by Schindler, but had not
been received with any special marks of friendliness. The precocious
boy gave expression to the hope that Beethoven would attend his
approaching concert.[89] Later in the Conversation Book:
Little Liszt has urgently requested me humbly to beg you for a
theme on which he wishes to improvise at his concert to-morrow. He
will not break the seal till the time comes. The little fellow’s
improvisations do not seriously signify. The lad is a fine pianist,
but so far as his fancy is concerned it is far from the truth
to say that he really improvises (_was Phantasie anbelangt, so
ist es noch weit am Tage bis man sagen kann, er phantasiert_).
Czerny (Carl) is his teacher. Just eleven years. Do come; it will
certainly please Karl to hear how the little fellow plays. It is
unfortunate that the lad is in Czerny’s hands.--You will make good
the rather unfriendly reception of recent date by coming to little
Liszt’s concert?--It will encourage the boy.--Promise me to come.
Did Beethoven attend the concert, and did he afterwards go upon the
stage, lift up the prodigy and kiss him? So the world has long believed
on the authority of Nohl,[90] who got the story from Liszt himself.
Schindler ought to be a good witness in this case, since he pleaded
the cause of the little lad before his great friend; but unfortunately
Schindler in this instance gives testimony at one time which he
impeaches at another. In the second edition of his “Biography of
Beethoven” (Münster, 1845, second appendix, page 71, note) he says:
One can never know if a child will grow into a man, and if so what
kind of man; so I could not foresee when I introduced the promising
boy Liszt and his father in 1823, to Beethoven, what kind of
musical vandal would grow out of this young talent. Did Beethoven
have a premonition? The reception was not the usual friendly one
and I had reason at the time not to be particularly satisfied,
since the prodigy had interested me in an unusual degree. Beethoven
himself noticed that he had been somewhat lax in his interest in
little Franz, which made it easy to persuade him to honor the
concert of little Liszt with his presence in order to atone for the
indifference he had first shown.
In the third edition of his book (1860, Part II, p. 178) he says:
The author knows of only one reception to which the term “friendly”
can not be applied. It was in the case of little Franz Liszt, who,
accompanied by his father, was presented by me. This unfriendliness
grew out of the excessive idolization of this truly sensational
talent; but chiefly it was due to the request made of Beethoven
to give the twelve-year-old lad a theme for improvisation at
his farewell concert--a request which was as indiscreet as it
was unreasonable. But hyperenthusiasm always betrays a want of
timeliness. It is not impossible that this enthusiasm, after
Beethoven had declined the request with obvious displeasure, yet
managed to secure from Emperor Franz, or at least Archduke Rudolph,
a theme for the young virtuoso. The idolatry of the wonder-child
gave the master, who had gone through so severe a school of
experience, a text for many observations on the hindrances and
clogs to the equable development of extraordinary talents as soon
as they were made the darlings of the multitude. Sketches of the
life of Liszt have stated that Beethoven attended the farewell
concert of 1823; in Schilling’s encyclopædia it is added that
Beethoven at this concert shook the hand of little Liszt and
thereby designated him as worthy of the name of artist. Beethoven
did _not_ attend the concert; nor any private concert after
1816.[91]
The visit of Louis Schloesser, afterwards chapelmaster in Darmstadt,
who delivered the message from the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt,
took place in the spring of the year. His description of the visit
was printed in the journal “Hallelujah” in 1885 (Nos. 20 and 21).
Schloesser revisited him later and met him afterwards in town, walking
with him to Steiner, whom he said he was about to take to task for a
remissness. “When it comes to the publication of a new work,” Beethoven
said, “they would like to postpone it as long as possible, even till
after my death, thinking thus to do a better business with it; but I
shall checkmate them.” Schloesser was surprised on this occasion to
find Beethoven dressed with unwonted elegance and remarked the fact to
Mayseder, who explained, with a smile, that it was not the first time
that his friends had stolen his old clothes at night and left new ones
in their place. Mayseder added that the substitution was never noticed
by Beethoven, who donned the garments with perfect calmness. Schloesser
observes that he never detected the least sign of absentmindedness in
Beethoven.
At the last meeting between the men Schloesser showed Beethoven one of
his compositions, a somewhat complicated work. Beethoven looked through
it and observed: “You write too much; less would have been better.
That’s the way of our young heaven-stormers who think that they can
never do enough. But that will change with riper age, and I prefer a
superabundance to a paucity of ideas.” To the question how this might
be attained Schloesser says Beethoven replied “literally”:
I carry my thoughts about me for a long time, often a very long
time, before I write them down. Meanwhile my memory is so tenacious
that I am sure never to forget, not even in years, a theme that has
once occurred to me. I change many things, discard and try again
until I am satisfied. Then, however, there begins in my head the
development in every direction and, insomuch as I know exactly what
I want, the fundamental idea never deserts me--it arises before me,
grows--I see and hear the picture in all its extent and dimensions
stand before my mind like a cast and there remains for me nothing
but the labor of writing it down, which is quickly accomplished
when I have the time, for I sometimes take up other work, but never
to the confusion of one with the other. You will ask me where I
get my ideas? That I can not tell you with certainty; they come
unsummoned, directly, indirectly,--I could seize them with my hands
out in the open air; in the woods; while walking; in the silence
of the night; early in the morning; incited by moods which are
translated by the poet into words, by me into tones,--sound and
roar and storm about me until I have set them down in notes.
At parting, Beethoven gave Schloesser a sheet containing a canon
for six voices on the words, “Edel sei der Mensch, hülfreich und
gut,” with the inscription: “Words by Goethe, tones by Beethoven.
Vienna, May, 1823.” On the back he wrote: “A happy journey, my dear
Herr Schloesser, may all things which seem desirable come to meet
you. Your devoted Beethoven.”[92] Judging by the position of the
canon in the Rudolphinian Collection, Nottebohm was of the opinion
that it was composed at an earlier date, say 1819-20. Beethoven also
gave Schloesser, who was going to Paris, a letter of introduction
to Cherubini which accomplished his acceptance as a pupil of the
Conservatoire.
Our old friend Schuppanzigh, after an absence of seven years, returned
to Vienna in 1823. On May 4 he gave a concert at which Piringer
conducted the orchestra, and on June 14 the quartet meetings were
resumed, with Holz, Weiss and Linke as his associates.
[Sidenote: VARIATIONS ON A WALTZ BY DIABELLI]
Schindler places the incident which gave the incentive to the creation
of the last of Beethoven’s characteristic works for the pianoforte,
the “Variations on a Waltz by Diabelli,” Op. 120, in the winter of
1822-’23. In this, as will appear presently, he was in error, as he
was also touching the date of the completion of the composition, but
otherwise his story is no doubt correct. Anton Diabelli, head of the
music-publishing house of Diabelli and Co., having composed a waltz,
conceived the idea of having variations written on its melody by a
large group of the popular composers of the day. Beethoven was among
those who received the invitation, but, mindful of his experiences
in 1808, when he contributed a setting of “In questa tomba” to a
similar conglomeration, he declared that he would never do so again.
Moreover, so Schindler says, he did not like the tune, which he called
a _Schusterfleck_.[93] He declined Diabelli’s request, but not long
afterward asked Schindler to inquire of Diabelli if he were disposed
to take from him a set of variations on the waltz, and if so, what
he would pay. Diabelli received the proposition with delight and
offered 80 ducats, requiring not more than six or seven variations.
The contract was formally closed and Beethoven remarked to Schindler:
“Good; he shall have variations on his cobble!” This the story as told
by Schindler. Lenz, who claimed to have the authority of Holz for his
version, says that after receiving thirty-two variations from other
composers, Diabelli went to Beethoven and asked him for the one which
he had promised. Beethoven inquired how many variations he already had
and when Diabelli replied “Thirty-two” he said: “Well, go and publish
them and I alone will write you thirty-three.” This story, however,
lacks probability. Lenz himself says that Diabelli told him that
Beethoven had not agreed to write for him; hence he could not have
asked for the “promised” variation. But Schindler is also wrong in
saying that the variations were the first work taken up by Beethoven
after his removal to Hetzendorf in the summer of 1823 and that they
were published in July. They were advertised as published by Diabelli
in the “Wiener Zeitung” on June 16, 1823, and there are other dates
to corroborate the evidence that they were finished when Beethoven
removed to Hetzendorf on May 17. On May 7 Beethoven offered them for
publication to Lissner in St. Petersburg; on April 25 he wrote to
Ries: “You will also receive in a few weeks 33 variations on a theme,
dedicated to your wife,” and on July 16: “By this time the variations
must be with you.” The date of Diabelli’s conception of the plan was
probably a whole year, even two years earlier than the date given by
Schindler. In a letter dated June 5, 1822, Beethoven offered to Peters
“Variations on a Waltz for pianoforte solo (there are many)” for 30
ducats; they must therefore have been far advanced in composition and
fully planned at that time. Nottebohm says that Schubert’s contribution
to the collection of variations bears on the autograph the date “March,
1821.” The Variations appeared from the press of Diabelli and Co. in
June, with a dedication to Mme. Antonia von Brentano; not, it will be
observed, to the wife of Ries. Had there been an English edition there
would have been such a dedication, but it is another case in which an
English publisher was disappointed in the conduct of the composer. Ries
had complied with Beethoven’s solicitations and secured a publisher.
He closed an agreement with Boosey; but when the manuscript reached
London, Boosey was already in possession of a copy of the Vienna
edition and the work had also been printed in Paris. The copy made
for London bore a dedication written in large letters by Beethoven to
Madame Ries; but the printed copies were inscribed to Madame Brentano.
Beethoven attempted an explanation and defence in a letter to Ries
dated Baden September 5:
You say that I ought to look about me for somebody to look after
my affairs. This was the case with the _Variat._ which were cared
for by my friends and Schindler. The _Variat._ were not to appear
here until after they had been published in London. The dedication
to B---- (not clear) was intended only for Germany, as I was
under obligations to her and could publish nothing else at the
time; besides only Diabelli, the publisher here, got them from
me. Everything was done by Schindler; a bigger wretch I never got
acquainted with on God’s earth--an arch-scoundrel whom I have sent
about his business. I can dedicate another work to your wife in
place of it.
How much blame in this affair really attached to Schindler is not
known; it seems pretty apparent that though Beethoven was also fuming
against him at the time at home, he was doing duty in London as a
whipping-boy. Beethoven went right on calling in the help of the
“biggest wretch on earth and arch-scoundrel.”
[Sidenote: TROUBLED BY HIS EYES AT HETZENDORF]
After the labors and vexations of town life in the winter, the call of
the country in the summer was more than usually imperative, because the
work which had long occupied Beethoven’s mind--the Ninth Symphony--was
demanding completion. His brother Johann had invited him to visit
him on his estate near Gneixendorf, but he had declined. His choice
for the summer sojourn fell upon Hetzendorf, a village not far from
Vienna, where he hit upon a villa, surrounded by a beautiful park,
which belonged to Baron Müller-Pronay. There was some haggling about
the rent and some questioning about the post service--an important
matter in view of the many negotiations with publishers, in all of
which Schindler was depended on--but eventually all was arranged.
Ill health marred the Hetzendorf sojourn. Beethoven’s other ailments
were augmented by a painful affection of the eyes which called for
medical treatment, retarded his work and caused him no small amount of
anxiety. Complaints on this score began in April and were continued
through July, on the 15th of which month he writes to the Archduke, “My
eyes are better, but improvement is slow. It would be more rapid if
I were not obliged to use glasses; it is an unfortunate circumstance
which delays me in everything”; and later, when on a short visit to
Vienna: “I have just heard here that Y. I. H. is coming to-morrow. If
I cannot obey the wishes of my heart, please ascribe it to my eyes.
They are much better, but I must not breathe the town air for many
more days, for it would have ill effects on my eyes.” In August, very
shortly before his departure for Baden: “I am feeling really badly,
not my eyes alone. I purpose to drag myself to Baden to-morrow to take
lodgings and in a few days will have to go there to stay. The town air
has an injurious effect on my entire organization and I hurt myself
by going twice to my physicians in the city.” From Baden on the 22nd
he complains of a catarrhal affection, the misery in his bowels and
the trouble with his eyes, but adds: “Thank God, the eyes are so much
improved that I can again use them considerably in the daytime. Things
are going better also with my other ailments; more could not be asked
in this short time.”
Among the cheering incidents of the summer were the reports which
reached him of the production of “Fidelio” under the direction of Weber
in Dresden. Weber opened a correspondence on January 28 and continued
it with letters dated February 18, April 7 and June 5; Beethoven’s
answers were dated February 16, April 10 and June 9. Most unfortunately
all these letters have disappeared, and the only hints we have as to
their contents are from the draft for Weber’s first communication
discovered among the papers of the writer:
“Fidelio.” To Beethoven. The performance in Prague under my
direction of this mighty work, which bears testimony to German
grandeur and depth of feeling, gave me an intimacy, as inspiring
as it was instructive, with the essence through which I hope to
present it to the public in its complete effectiveness here, where
I have all possible means at my command. Every representation will
be a festival day on which I shall be privileged to offer to your
exalted mind the homage which lives in my heart, where reverence
and love for you struggle with each other.
Weber had received the score of the opera on April 10 from Beethoven,
who had to borrow it from the Kärnthnerthor Theatre, whose musical
archives were in the care of Count Gallenberg. Through Schindler,
Gallenberg sent word to Beethoven that he would send the score,
provided two copies were on hand; if not, he would have a copy made.
Schindler, reporting the message to Beethoven, adds that Gallenberg had
said he thought Beethoven himself had the score: “But when I assured
him that you did not have it he said that its loss was a consequence
of your irregularity and many changes of lodgings.”[94] Nevertheless,
Weber got the score and after fourteen rehearsals the representation
took place with great success. Von Könneritz, Director-General of the
Royal Chapel, reported the triumph to Beethoven and sent Beethoven a
fee of 40 ducats. Beethoven in acknowledging receipt on July 17 is
emboldened “by the account which my dear friend Maria Weber gives me
of the admirable and noble motives of Your Excellency” to ask his
intercession with the Saxon court in behalf of the Mass in D, as has
already been recorded in this chapter.
A number of incidents may now hurriedly be marshalled. In 1822 the
Royal Academy of Music of Sweden had elected Beethoven to foreign
membership. The consent of the Austrian government was necessary to
his acceptance of the honor and this seems to have been deferred an
unconscionably long time; at least Beethoven’s letters to the Academy
and to King Charles XIV (whom as General Bernadotte, then French
ambassador at Vienna, he had known 25 years before) are dated March
1, 1823. When permission came he wrote notes to the editors of the
newspapers “Beobachter” and “Wiener Zeitschrift,” asking them to
announce the fact of his election--a circumstance which shows that
he was not always as indifferent to distinctions of all kinds as he
professed occasionally. Franz Schoberlechner, a young pianist, appealed
to him for letters of recommendation to be used on a concert-tour. The
letter reached Beethoven through Schindler, to whom he returned it with
the curt indorsement: “A capable fellow has no need of recommendation
other than from one good house to another.” Schindler importuned him
again, and Beethoven wrote to him somewhat testily: “It must be plain
to you that I do not want to have anything to do with this matter.
As for ‘being noble’ I think I have shown you sufficiently that I am
that on principle; I even think that you must have observed that I
have never been otherwise. _Sapienti sat._” That ended the matter;
but when Chapelmaster Dreschler of the Josephstadt Theatre became a
candidate for the post of second court organist, Beethoven recommended
him enthusiastically to Archduke Rudolph, whom in a second letter he
urged to remain firm notwithstanding that Abbé Stadler had presented
another candidate. Archduke Rudolph spoke to the emperor and Count
Dietrichstein in favor of Drechsler, but in vain. In his letters
Beethoven referred to a canon, “Grossen Dank,” which he said he had
written for the Archduke and which he intended to hand him in person.
Sketches for it have been found among those for the third movement of
the Ninth Symphony, but nothing has yet been heard of the completed
work.
[Sidenote: TROUBLES WITH A COUNTRY LANDLORD]
Beethoven’s domestic affairs continued to plague him. While at
Hetzendorf he had the services of a housekeeper whom he described as
“the swift-sailing frigate” Frau Schnaps, in letters to Schindler. He
has no end of trouble about his town lodging in the Kothgasse where
Schindler was living, and must needs take time to write long letters to
his factotum on the subject. Here is one sent from Hetzendorf on July 2:
The continued brutality of the landlord, from the beginning as
long as I have been in the house, calls for the help of the R.
I. Police. Go to them direct. As regards the storm-window, the
housekeeper was ordered to look after it and particularly after
the recent severe rain-storm to see if it was necessary to prevent
rain from entering the room; but she found that it had neither
rained in nor could rain in. Believing this, I put on the lock so
that the brutal fellow could not open my room in my absence as he
threatened to do. Tell them further how he behaved towards you and
that he put up the bill without notice, which he has no right to do
before St. James’s day.--He has also refused to give me a receipt
from St. George’s to St. James’ as this paper shows because of the
demand that I pay a charge for lighting of which I knew nothing.
This abominable lodging _without a stove-flue_ and with the most
wretched sort of main chimney has cost me at least 259 florins W.
W. for extra expenses above the rent in order to make it habitable
while I was there in the winter. It was an intentional cheat,
inasmuch as I never saw the lodgings in the first storey but only
in the second, for which reason many objectionable things remained
unknown to me. I can not comprehend how it is possible that so
_shameful a chimney, ruinous to human health, can be tolerated by
the government_. You remember how the walls of your room looked
because of smoke, how much it cost to get rid of some but not all
of the nuisance. The chief thing now is that he be commanded to
take down the notice and to give me the receipt for the rent paid
at any rate. I never had that wretched lighting, but had other
large expenses in order to make life endurable in this lodging. My
sore eyes can not yet stand the town air, otherwise I would myself
go to the imperial police.
Schindler obeyed instructions; the police director, Ungermann, sent
his compliments to Beethoven, told him that his wishes were all
granted in advance but advised him to pay the 6 florins for lighting
to prevent a scoundrelly landlord from having any kind of hold upon
him--and Schindler got well scolded for his pains! How could he accept
something-or-other from such a churl accompanied by a threat? Where was
his judgment? Where he always kept it, of course! The bill came down,
but Beethoven did not keep the lodging.
Beethoven’s nephew Karl pursued his studies at Blöchlinger’s
Institute till in August and then spent his vacation with his uncle
in Baden. He made himself useful as amanuensis and otherwise, and
his words are occasionally found among the notes of conversation.
His mother remains in the background for the time being, which
is providential, for Beethoven has trouble enough with his other
delectable sister-in-law, the wife of Johann, whose conduct reaches
the extreme of reprehensibleness in the summer of 1823, during a spell
of sickness which threw her husband on his back. The woman chose this
time to receive her lover in her house and to make a shameless public
parade of her moral laxness. The step-daughter was no less neglectful
of her filial duties. Accounts of his sister-in-law’s misconduct
reached Beethoven’s ears from various quarters and he was frank in his
denunciation of her to his brother and only a little more plain-spoken
than Schindler, who was asked by Beethoven to lay the matter before the
police, but managed to postpone that step for the time being.[95]
[Sidenote: AUTOGRAPHED SHUTTERS IN DEMAND]
Meanwhile Beethoven was hard at work on the Ninth Symphony. It was so
ever-present with him that there was neither paradox nor hyperbole in
his words: “I am never alone when I am alone.” He had much to irritate
him while sketches and drafts of the symphony were piling up before
him in August, and finally, if Schindler is to be believed, he could
no longer endure the obsequious bows with which his landlord, Baron
Pronay, always greeted him, and resolved to abandon the pretty villa
at Hetzendorf and go to Baden. He may have formed the plan earlier in
the year--probably had--but the baron’s excessive politeness helped
to turn his departure into something like a bolt. He went to Baden on
a house-hunting expedition with Schindler, and returning, sent his
“swift-sailing frigate” to Schindler with a billet commanding him to
be up and off at 5 o’clock in the morning “_presto prestissimo_.” He
knew only one lodging in Baden suited to his requirements--the one
which he had occupied in 1822--but the owner refused to let him have it
again. This owner was a locksmith. To him Schindler was sent. In the
name of his master he made all manner of humble promises concerning
more orderly conduct and consideration for the other tenants, but the
plea was rejected. A second appeal was made and now the houseowner
relented, but made it a condition that Beethoven replace the
window-shutters which had been removed. Beethoven was the more willing
to do this, since he thought it necessary for the sake of his eyes.
The landlord had not divulged the reason for his demand. Beethoven was
in the habit of scrawling all kinds of memoranda on his shutters in
leadpencil--accounts, musical themes, etc. A family from North Germany
had noticed this in the previous year and on Beethoven’s departure had
bought one of the shutters as a curiosity. The thrifty locksmith had an
eye for business and disposed of the remaining shutters to other summer
visitors.
Beethoven had arrived in Baden on August 13 with the help of Schindler,
towards whom he was filled with as much gratitude as can be read in the
following remarks from two letters to his nephew dated August 16 and 23:
My ruined belly must be restored by medicine and diet, and this I
owe to the _faithful messenger_! You can imagine how I am racing
about, for only to-day did I really begin my service to the muses;
I _must_, though that is not noticeable, for the baths invite me at
least to the enjoyment of beautiful nature, but _nous sommes trop
pauvre et il faut écrire ou de n’avoir pas de quoi_.
He (Schindler) was with me only a day here to take a lodging,
as you know; slept in Hetzendorf, and as he said, went back to
Josephstadt in the morning. Do not get to gossipping against him.
It might work him injury, and is he not already sufficiently
punished? Being what he is, it is necessary plainly to tell him
the truth, for his evil character which is prone to trickery needs
to be handled seriously.
Beethoven’s unamiable mood, which finds copious expression in abuse of
Schindler at this juncture, has some explanation (also extenuation, if
that is necessary) in the rage and humiliation with which contemplation
of his brother’s domestic affairs filled him. Johann was convalescing
and wrote a letter to the composer which occasioned the following
outburst under date of August 13:
Dear Brother:
I am rejoiced at your better health. As regards myself, my eyes
are not entirely recovered and I came here with a disordered
stomach and a frightful catarrh, the first due to the arch-pig of
a housekeeper, the second to a beast of a kitchen-maid whom I have
once driven away but whom the other took back. _You ought not to
have gone to Steiner_; I will see what can be done. It will be
difficult to do anything with the songs _in puris_ as their texts
are German; more likely with the overture.
I received your letter of the 10th at the hands of the miserable
scoundrel Schindler. You need only to give your letters directly
to the post, I am certain to receive them, for I avoid this mean
and contemptible fellow as much as possible. Karl can not come to
me before the 29th of this month when he will write you. You can
not well be wholly unadvised as to what the two _canailles_, Lump
and Bastard,[96] are doing to you, and you have had letters on the
subject from me and Karl, for, little as you deserve it I shall
never forget that you are my brother, and a good angel will yet
come to rid you of these two _canailles_. This former and present
strumpet who received visits from her fellow no less than three
times while you were ill, and who in addition to everything else
has your money wholly in her hands. O infamous disgrace! Isn’t
there a spark of manhood in you?!!!... About coming to you I will
write another time. Ought I so to _degrade_ myself as to associate
with such bad company? Mayhap this can be avoided and we yet pass
a few days with you. About the rest of your letter another time.
Farewell. Unseen I hover over you and work through others so that
these _canailles_ shall not strangle you.
As always your faithful
Brother.
There were several visitors to Beethoven at Baden in the summer of 1823
who have left accounts of their experiences. One was an Englishman,
Edward Schulz, who published his story in the “Harmonicon” in January
1824. This extremely lively letter was reprinted by Moscheles in
his translation (or rather, adaptation) of Schindler’s biography
of Beethoven and incorporated in the second German edition, where
Schindler accompanies it with several illuminative glosses which are
less necessary now than they were when the biographer wrote. Schulz
visited Beethoven on September 28 in the company of Haslinger. He
describes it as a _dies faustus_ for him and, as Schindler shrewdly
observes, it must also have been one for Beethoven, since he managed
to hear the conversation of his visitors without the aid of an
ear-trumpet. He talked with great animation, as was his wont when in
good humor, but, says the English visitor, “one unlucky question, one
ill-judged piece of advice--for instance, concerning the cure of his
deafness--is quite sufficient to estrange him from you forever.” He
asked Haslinger about the highest possible note on the trombone, but
was dissatisfied with the answer which he received; introduced his
nephew and showed his pride in the youth’s attainments by telling his
guest that he might put to him “a riddle in Greek” if he liked. At
dinner during a visit to the Helenenthal he commented on the profusion
of provisions at dinner, saying: “Why such a variety of dishes? Man is
but little above other animals if his chief pleasure is confined to a
dinner-table.” A few excerpts from the letter will serve to advance the
present narrative:
[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN’S TRIBUTE TO HANDEL]
In the whole course of our table-talk there was nothing so
interesting as what he said about Handel. I sat close by him
and heard him assert very distinctly in German, “Handel is the
greatest composer that ever lived.” I can not describe to you
with what pathos, and I am inclined to say, with what sublimity
of language, he spoke of the “Messiah” of this immortal genius.
Every one of us was moved when he said, “I would uncover my head,
and kneel down at his tomb!” H. and I tried repeatedly to turn the
conversation to Mozart, but without effect. I only heard him say,
“In a monarchy we know who is the first”; which might or might
not apply to the subject.... He is engaged in writing a new opera
called “Melusine,” the words by the famous but unfortunate poet
Grillparzer. He concerns himself but very little about the newest
productions of living composers, insomuch, that when I asked about
the “Freischütz,” he replied, “I believe _one_ Weber has written
it”.... He appears uniformly to entertain the most favorable
opinion of the British nation. “I like,” said he, “the noble
simplicity of the English manners,” and added other praises. It
seemed to me as if he had yet some hopes of visiting this country
together with his nephew. I should not forget to mention that I
heard a MS. trio of his for the pianoforte, violin and violoncello,
which I thought very beautiful, and as, I understood, to appear
shortly in London.
Our author’s statement that he heard a manuscript pianoforte trio at
this time piques curiosity. Schindler disposes of the question as to
what it may have been in the manner more characteristic of the present
than the past attitude of German writers towards everything English or
American. “Who knows what it was that the non-musical gentleman took
for a trio?” he asks. Evidently Schindler was of the opinion that no
Englishman except, possibly, a professional musician, could count
three or recognize the employment of pianoforte, violin and violoncello
in a piece of music. He is right in scouting the idea that it could
have been the great Trio in B-flat, for that work had long been in
print. Nor is it likely to have been the little trio in the same key
dedicated to Maximiliane Brentano; for though that was not published
at the time, it is not likely that Beethoven would produce it in 1823
as a novelty. There are in existence sketches for a Trio in F minor
made in 1815, but nothing to show that the work was ever written out.
Had it been in Beethoven’s hands at a time when he was turning over
the manuscripts of earlier days, it would surely have been offered to
a publisher; so that is out of the way. There is only one other known
work which invites speculation--the “Adagio, Variations and Rondo,”
for pianoforte, violin and violoncello, which Steiner and Co. gave to
the public in 1824, as Op. 121. The variations are on a melody from
Wenzel Müller’s opera “Die Schwestern aus Prag” (“Ich bin der Schneider
Kakadu”). It is at least remotely possible that this was the trio which
the English traveller heard, and if so we have in the fact a hint as to
the time of its origin--the only hint yet given.
[Sidenote: VON WEBER’S VISIT TO BEETHOVEN]
A few days after the one just recorded Beethoven received a visit
from a man of much greater moment than the English traveller. The new
visitor was Carl Maria von Weber. That the composer of “Der Freischütz”
was unable in his salad days to appreciate the individuality of
Beethoven’s genius has already been set forth; and the author of the
letter in the “Harmonicon” seems to have learned that Beethoven was
disposed to speak lightly of Weber only a month before he received
him with most amiable distinction at Baden. Schindler’s explanation,
that a memory of Weber’s criticism of the Fourth Symphony may at the
moment have risen, ghost-like, in Beethoven’s mind and prompted the
disparaging allusion quoted by Schulz, is far-fetched. It is not
necessary to account for such moody remarks in Beethoven’s case. He was
often unjust in his comments on even his most devoted friends, and we
may believe that to Schulz he did speak of the composer as “one Weber,”
and at the same time accept the account which Max Maria von Weber gives
of the reception of his father by Beethoven. From the affectionate
biography written by the son, we learn that after the sensational
success achieved by “Der Freischütz” Beethoven was led to study its
score and that he was so astonished at the originality of the music
that he struck the book with his hand and exclaimed: “I never would
have thought it of the gentle little man (_sonst weiche Männel_). Now
Weber must write operas; nothing but operas--one after the other and
without polishing them too much. _Casper_, the monster, stands out here
like a house. Wherever the devil puts in his claws they are felt.” He
learned to know “Euryanthe” later and was less impressed by it than
by its predecessor. After glancing through it hurriedly he remarked:
“The man has taken too much pains.”[97] Whatever may have been their
earlier feelings and convictions, however, the representations of
“Fidelio” at Prague and Dresden under the direction of Weber warmed
their hearts towards each other. Weber’s filial biographer says that
when the youthful sin of his father was called to the notice of
Beethoven, the latter showed some resentment, but there is no shadow
of this in the pictures which we have from the pens of Weber himself,
Max Maria von Weber and Julius Benedict, of the meeting between the two
men. Weber had come to Vienna, bringing with him his pupil Benedict,
to conduct the first performance of “Euryanthe.” On his visit in the
previous year, when “Der Freischütz” was produced, he had neglected
to call on Beethoven, but now some kindly words about “Euryanthe”
spoken by Beethoven to Steiner being repeated to him, he made good his
dereliction and, announced by Haslinger, drove out to Baden to pay his
respects. In his diary Weber noted the visit thus: “The 5th, Sunday
(October, 1823), at 8 o’clock, drove with Burger (Piringer), Haslinger
and Benedict to Baden; abominable weather; Saw spring and baths; to
Duport and _Beethoven_; received by him with great cordiality. Dined
with him, his nephew and Eckschlager at the Sauerhof. Very cheerful.
Back again at 5 o’clock.” On the next day (though the letter is dated
“October 5”) Weber wrote an account to his wife as follows:
I was right tired but had to get up yesterday at 6 o’clock
because the excursion to Baden had been appointed for half-past 7
o’clock. This took place with Hasslinger, Piringer and Benedict;
but unfortunately the weather was atrocious. The main purpose
was to see Beethoven. He received me with an affection which was
touching; he embraced me most heartily at least six or seven times
and finally exclaimed enthusiastically: “Indeed, you’re a devil
of a fellow!--a good fellow!” We spent the afternoon very merrily
and contentedly. This rough, repellant man actually paid court to
me, served me at table as if I had been his lady. In short, this
day will always remain remarkable in my memory as well as of those
present. It was uplifting for me to be overwhelmed with such loving
attention by this great genius. How saddening is his deafness!
Everything must be written down for him. We inspected the baths,
drank the waters, and at 5 o’clock drove back to Vienna.
Max Maria von Weber in his account of the incident says that Beethoven,
in the conversation which followed his greeting of the “devil of
a fellow,” railed at the management of the theatre, the concert
impresarios, the public, the Italians, the taste of the people,
and particularly at the ingratitude of his nephew. Weber, who was
deeply moved, advised him to tear himself away from his discouraging
environment and make an artistic tour through Germany, which would show
him what the world thought of him. “Too late!” exclaimed Beethoven,
shaking his head and going through the motions of playing the
pianoforte. “Then go to England, where you are admired,” wrote Weber.
“Too late!” cried Beethoven, drew Weber’s arm into his and dragged him
along to the Sauerhof, where they dined. At parting, Beethoven embraced
and kissed him several times and cried: “Good luck to the new opera; if
I can I’ll come to the first performance.”
[Sidenote: SIR JULIUS BENEDICT’S RECORD]
A generation later Sir Julius Benedict, who had also put his memory
of those Vienna days at the service of Weber’s son, wrote down his
recollections for his work in these words:
I endeavor, as I promised you, to recall the impressions I received
of Beethoven when I first met him in Vienna in October, 1823. He
then lived at Baden; but regularly, once a week, he came to the
city and he never failed to call on his old friends Steiner and
Haslinger, whose music-store was then in the Paternostergässchen, a
little street, no longer in existence, between the Graben and the
Kohlmarkt.
If I am not mistaken, on the morning that I saw Beethoven for
the first time, Blahetka, the father of the pianist, directed
my attention to a stout, short man with a very red face, small,
piercing eyes, and bushy eyebrows, dressed in a very long overcoat
which reached nearly to his ankles, who entered the shop about 12
o’clock. Blahetka asked me: “Who do you think that is?” and I at
once exclaimed: “It must be Beethoven!” because, notwithstanding
the high color of his cheeks and his general untidiness, there was
in those small piercing eyes an expression which no painter could
render. It was a feeling of sublimity and melancholy combined. I
watched, as you can well imagine, every word that he spoke when he
took out his little book and began a conversation which to me, of
course, was almost incomprehensible, inasmuch as he only answered
questions pencilled to him by Messrs. Steiner and Haslinger. I was
not introduced to him on that occasion; but the second time, about
a week after, Mr. Steiner presented me to the great man as a pupil
of Weber. The other persons present were the old Abbé Stadler and
Seyfried. Beethoven said to Steiner: “I rejoice to hear that you
publish once more a German work. I have heard much in praise of
Weber’s opera and hope it will bring both you and him a great deal
of glory.” Upon this Steiner seized the opportunity to say: “Here
is a pupil of Weber’s”; when Beethoven most kindly offered me his
hand, saying: “Pray tell M. de Weber how happy I shall be to see
him at Baden, as I shall not come to Vienna before next month.” I
was so confused at having the great man speak to me that I hadn’t
the courage to ask any questions or continue the conversation with
him.
A few days afterwards I had the pleasure of accompanying Weber
and Haslinger with another friend to Baden, when they allowed me
the great privilege of going with them to Beethoven’s residence.
Nothing could be more cordial than his reception of my master. He
wanted to take us to the Helenenthal and to all the neighborhood;
but the weather was unfavorable, and we were obliged to renounce
this excursion. They all dined together at one table at an inn, and
I, seated at another close to them, had the pleasure of listening
to their conversation.
In the month of November, when Beethoven came to town and paid
his daily visit to the Paternostergässchen, I seldom missed the
opportunity of being one of the circle of young admirers, eager
to show their reverence to the greatest musical genius as well as
hoping to be honored by his notice. Among those whom I met upon
this errand were Carl Maria von Bocklet, his pupil, Worzischek,
Léon de St. Louvain, Mayseder, Holz, Böhm, Linke, Schuppanzigh,
Franz Schubert and Kanne.
On the morning after the first performance of “Euryanthe,” when
Steiner and Haslinger’s shop was filled with the musical and
literary authorities, Beethoven made his appearance and asked
Haslinger: “Well, how did the opera go last night?” The reply
was: “A great triumph.” “_Das freut mich, das freut mich_,” he
exclaimed, and perceiving me he said: “I should so much have liked
to go to the theatre, but,” pointing to his ears, “I go no more
to those places.” Then he asked Gottdank, the régisseur; “How did
little Sontag get on? I take a great interest in her; and how
is the book--good or bad?” Gottdank answered the first question
affirmatively, but as to the other he shrugged his shoulders and
made a negative sign, to which Beethoven replied: “Always the same
story; the Germans cannot write a good libretto.” Upon which I took
his little conversation book and wrote in it: “And ‘Fidelio’?” to
which he answered: “That is a French and Italian book.” I asked him
afterwards: “Which do you consider the best librettos?”; he replied
“‘Wasserträger’ and ‘Vestalin.’”
Further than this I cannot recall any distinct conversation,
although I often met him, and I had never the good fortune of
hearing him perform or seeing him conduct. But the wonderful
impression his first appearance made on me was heightened every
time I met him. When I saw him at Baden, his white hair flowing
over his mighty shoulders, with that wonderful look--sometimes
contracting his brows when anything afflicted him, sometimes
bursting out into a forced laughter, indescribably painful to
his listeners--I was touched as if _King Lear_ or one of the old
Gaelic bards stood before me; and when I thought how the creator
of the sublimest musical works was debarred by a cruel fate for a
great many years from the delight of hearing them performed and
appreciated I could but share the deep grief of all musical minds.
I may add that I heard the first public performance of one of his
so-called “posthumous” quartets in his own presence. Schuppanzigh
and his companions, who had been his interpreters before, were
scarcely equal to this occasion; as they did not seem to understand
the music themselves, they failed entirely to impart its meaning
to the audience. The general impression was most unsatisfactory.
Not until Ernst had completely imbued himself in the spirit of
these compositions could the world discover their long-hidden
beauties.[98]
[Sidenote: SONGS AND MILITARY MARCHES]
Madame Marie Pachler-Koschak, with whom Beethoven had spent many
happy moments in 1817, was among those who took the waters at Baden
in the summer of 1823, but we are told she searched for him in vain,
a fact which shows in what seclusion he must have dwelt some of the
time at least. She was more fortunate when she returned in September
to complete her cure; and when she left Baden she carried with her an
autographic souvenir--a setting of “The beautiful to the good,” the
concluding words of Matthison’s “Opferlied” which he had in hand in
this year. Towards the close of October Beethoven returned to Vienna.
We know the date approximately from Benedict’s account, the first
performance of “Euryanthe” having taken place on October 25. He removed
to new lodgings in the Ungarstrasse, where his nephew remained with him
as long as he continued a student at the university. Here he worked at
the Ninth Symphony, more particularly on the last movement.
The exact chronological order in which works were taken up in 1823
cannot be recorded here. Matthison’s “Opferlied” was taken up several
times--in 1794, then in 1801 and 1802; finally in 1822 and 1823. In its
last stages he extends its dimensions, adds the refrain for chorus and
an orchestral accompaniment.[99] Beethoven had offered it to Peters
in February, 1823, though at that time he described its accompaniment
as being for two clarinets, horn, viola and violoncello, so that the
violins and bassoon were added later. Why Peters did not publish the
song is not known; the manuscript does not seem to have been returned
to Beethoven. Nottebohm concludes that two or more versions were made
in 1822 and 1823 (possibly as late as 1824), and that the final form
was that known as Op. 121b. On April 9, 1825 (“Notizen,” p. 161), a
letter was written to Ries which said: “You will soon receive a second
copy of the ‘Opferlied,’ which mark as corrected by me so that the one
which you already have may not be used. Here you have an illustration
of the miserable copyist whom I have, since Schlemmer died. You can
depend on scarcely a note.” A sketchbook analyzed by Nottebohm,[100]
which contains sketches made at different times bound up with sketches
for the last quartets made in 1824, shows sketches for a pianoforte
sonata for four hands, the Ninth Symphony, the Mass in C-sharp minor,
a fugue on B-a-c-h, and the “Bundeslied,” besides the latest form of
the “Opferlied” but not wholly like the printed edition. The impetus
to the C-sharp minor mass came in 1823 and the other sketches in all
likelihood were made in the same year. It is therefore to be concluded
that he worked on the new “Opferlied” in 1823 and possibly carried it
over to the early part of 1824. Beethoven owed money to his brother and
offered the song as Johann’s property, in a letter of November 1824,
to Schott and Sons, who published it in 1825; but he made alterations
by letter as late as May 7, 1825. Schindler’s statement that the two
songs “Opferlied” and “Bundeslied” were composed to be sung by the
tenor Ehlers at a benefit concert in Pressburg, is wrong. Schindler’s
inexactitude as to dates is shown by his statements that the concert
took place in 1822 and the song published in 1826. The first song was
written in the soprano clef; the second has tenor clef but two solo
voices; neither was made for Ehlers. As to the “Bundeslied” (words by
Goethe) so far as the history of the song is concerned, the documentary
evidence is found in the sketchbook just mentioned; whether or not it
had its origin at an earlier date has not been ascertained,[101] but
received alterations later. It, too, was published by Schott in 1825.
[Sidenote: MINOR COMPOSITIONS OF THE YEAR 1823]
Besides these songs, and the Bagatelles mentioned in the letter of
February, 1823, as sent to Peters, there are several other minor
compositions which may well be discussed here. The Tattoo with
percussive instruments (Turkish music), the two other Tattoos and a
March, were all old compositions. Up to 1874, when the letter was
made public, only one of the Tattoos had been printed. It was that
in F major, which, according to the autograph preserved by Artaria,
was composed for the Bohemian _Landwehr_ in 1809 and then designated
as March No. 1. A copy more fully orchestrated than it is in the
printed form was dedicated to Prince Anton in that year.[102] A second
autograph of later date (also in Artaria’s collection) is entitled
“Zapfenstreich No. 1.” Here the march had a trio which has not become
known. It was then, together with the one that follows, rewritten for
the tournament at Laxenburg held in honor of the birthday of Empress
Maria Ludovica on August 25, 1810, and this version has been printed
in the Complete Edition of Beethoven’s works.[103] In the earliest
print by Schlesinger it is number 37 in a collection of “Quick-steps
for the Prussian Army. For the York Corps”; but Nottebohm says that
the version does not agree with any of the manuscripts mentioned.
Simultaneously with this march another was published which was composed
in 1810 for Archduke Anton. An autograph at Haslinger’s bears the
inscription “Zapfenstreich No. 3,” and below it “One step to each
measure.” A copy in the archives of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde
is inscribed “March for H. I. Highness, the Archduke Anton, by Ludwig
van Beethoven, 1810 on the 3rd of the Summermonth” (i. e., June). A
third form was prepared for the tournament of 1810, and this has been
published. Artaria had a “Trio No. 3” in F minor, 6-4 time. This is
followed in the “Gesammt-Ausgabe” by a third in C major with a trio
in F major, which was published from a copy made by Nottebohm. This,
which has been published by Haslinger, Steger, and Liszt and Franke,
was entitled “Zapfenstreich No. 2.” In Nottebohm’s opinion it belongs
to the two others and like them had its origin between 1809 and June
1810. These were the three Tattoos which Beethoven sent to Peters,
who, however, did not publish them. The fourth March was the Military
March in D major composed in 1816.[104] It was first published in
1827, after Beethoven’s death, in an arrangement for pianoforte, by
Cappi and Czerny; a four-hand arrangement followed soon after and it
was given to the world in its original shape in the Complete Edition.
It was composed at the personal request of F. X. Embel, “Magisterial
Councillor and Lieut.-Colonel of the Civil Artillery,” who probably
preferred his request in 1815, a sketch for it appearing in a book
used in 1815-1816.--The data concerning these old works are given here
because Beethoven brought them out of his portfolio and offered them to
the publishers in this year.
The Bagatelles, Op. 126, belong to this period, though their completion
fell later. Taking up earlier sketches probably, Beethoven worked on
them after the Ninth Symphony was practically complete in his mind and
the sketchbooks--at the close of 1823 at the earliest. It is likely
that they were not finished until the middle of 1824. Nottebohm had
subjected them to a minute study which leads him to the conclusion that
the pieces were conceived as a homogeneous series, the numbers being
linked together by key-relationship. On the margin of a sketch for the
first one Beethoven wrote “Cycle of Trifles” (“Kleinigkeiten”), which
fact, their separation from each other (all but the first two) by the
uniform distance of a major third, taken in connection with their unity
of style, establishes a cyclical bond. When he offered them to Schott
in 1824 he remarked that they were probably the best things of the
kind which he had ever written. They were among the compositions which
had been pledged to his brother, in whose interest he offered them to
Schott. They were published by that firm, probably in the early part of
1825.
In 1828 Diabelli and Co. published a “Rondo a Capriccio” in G which
had been purchased at the auction sale of Beethoven’s effects after
his death. It bore on its title-page the inscription: “Die Wuth über
den Verlornen Groschen, ausgetobt in einer Caprice” (“Rage at the
loss of a groat stormed out in a Caprice”). Nothing is known of its
origin. In the catalogue of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, Czerny
noted it as belonging to Beethoven’s youthful period; which may be
true of its theme, but can not be of its treatment. Among the sketches
and drafts for the Bagatelles is a sketch for an arch and mischievous
piece evidently intended for strings,[105] and a two-part canon on the
words “Te solo adoro” from Metastasio’s “Betulia liberata,” which, as
transcribed by Nottebohm, has been printed in the Complete Edition.
FOOTNOTES:
[68] In a Conversation Book of 1820 we read this remark by Beethoven:
“What I think of confession may be deduced from the fact that I myself
led Karl to the Abbot of St. Michael for confession. But the abbot
declared that as long as he had to visit his mother, confession would
be of no avail.”
[69] In Vol. IV of the German edition of this biography, Dr. Deiters
presents a long and extremely interesting descriptive and critical
analysis of the mass from the point of view held by a devout
Roman Catholic churchman; wherefore, in spite of his enthusiastic
appreciation of the music, he is obliged to point out its departure
from some of the dogmas of the church, as well as the rubrics which the
composers had long disregarded. All this is, however, far outside the
scope of this biography as originally conceived by Thayer and to which
the editor has sought to bring it back in this English edition.
[70] These pieces, we learn later, were to be an offertory, a graduale
and a _Tantum ergo_.
[71] Beethoven’s mind reverts to the choral movement of the Ninth
Symphony which is occupying him.
[72] Were it not for the very general confusion which still exists
touching musical terms, it might be set down as a bit singular that
neither Beethoven nor Schindler seems to have known that the French
equivalent of “oratorio” is “oratorio,” and nothing else. The letter,
however, reads: _elle se prète de même a etre executée en Oratoire_. In
France an _oratoire_ is still an oratory, a room for prayer.
[73] The blanks were filled according to the formula.
[74] “Papageno” was the name applied to Schindler in his notes when
Beethoven wished to enjoin silence on his factotum; the allusion, of
course, being to the lip-locked bird-catcher in Mozart’s “Magic Flute.”
[75] If this note refers to the Mass, Schindler’s date must be a year
too late.
[76] In view of what will have to be said later about the controversy
which raged for years after Beethoven’s death about the financial
dealings between Prince Galitzin and Beethoven, it was thought best to
establish at this time the fact that Galitzin subscribed for the Mass
and paid the fee in the manner which has been set forth.
[77] The letter is incorrectly dated July 1, by Kalischer. Thayer’s
transcript and also one made by Dr. Kopfermann of the Royal Library at
Berlin for Dr. Deiters give June as the month.
[78] Beethoven had a number of nicknames for Schindler besides
_Papageno_ with its various qualifications. One of these was
_Lumpenkerl_; another _Hauptlumpenkerl_--Ragamuffin and Chief
Ragamuffin. In this instance Schindler is a “Samothracian ragamuffin”
and Schindler in a gloss tells us that the allusion was to the ancient
ceremonies of Samothrace, Schindler being thus designated as one
initiated into the mysteries of Beethoven’s affairs and purposes. The
injunction of silence was understood, of course. Count Brunswick, Count
Lichnowsky and Zmeskall were also initiates. Wocher, to whom Beethoven
sends his compliments, was Prince Esterhazy’s courier. Beethoven’s
second thoughts seem frequently to have been bestowed on the trombones.
We have already seen how often this was the case in the alterations in
the Mass in D. An interesting illustration was found by the present
editor among Thayer’s papers. The biographer owned a sheet of four
pages containing, in Beethoven’s handwriting, the trombone parts of
the Trio in the Scherzo of the Ninth Symphony with instructions to the
copyist where they were to be introduced. As the trombones do not take
part in the first and third movements nor in the Scherzo outside of the
Trio, but are highly important in the choral Finale, it would seem as
if Beethoven had thought of the beautiful effect which they produce in
the Trio after he had decided that they were necessary in the Finale.
[79] In Hetzendorf, while the negotiations with the courts are pending,
Count Moritz Lichnowsky writes in a Conversation Book: “Can you not
sell the Mass to publishers next year, so that it may become publicly
useful?”
[80] “The Philharmonic Society of London,” by George Hogarth, London,
1862, page 31.
[81] _Sic._ Beethoven of course means the Embassy. The Overture was no
doubt that to “The Consecration of the House,” Op. 124.
[82] Bauer was in Beethoven’s company a short time before he went to
England, and the incident of the sending of the score of “Wellington’s
Victory, or the Battle of Vittoria” came up for conversation between
them. We read in a Conversation Book, in Bauer’s hand: “I am of the
opinion that the King had it performed, but perhaps nobody reminded him
that on that account he ought to answer. I will carry a letter to the
King and direct it in a channel which will insure its delivery, since I
cannot hand it over in person.” The story of King George’s action, or
want of action, has been told in earlier pages of this work. From the
opening phrase of the address to the King it is fair to surmise that it
was to follow an invitation to subscribe for the Mass in D, and from
the letter to Ries that Beethoven subsequently decided to strike the
King of England from his list.
[83] In his letter to Zelter, Beethoven says that one of the numbers of
the Mass was without accompaniment. There being no _a cappella_ setting
of any section of the missal text in the Mass in D, it is likely that
Beethoven here, too, had the three additional pieces in mind. For this
speculation, however, as well as the hypothesis that the settings
originally contemplated for the “second” mass in C-sharp minor were
transferred to the scheme of the _Missa Solemnis_, the present editor
is alone responsible. In a Conversation Book of 1823 an unidentified
friend answers several questions about the hymn “Tantum ergo” and its
introduction in the service.
[84] Schindler bases his statements on alleged testimony of the
Archduke’s secretary Baumeister, but there is no word of reproval in
any of the letters of the two men which have been found.
[85] Sporchil’s drama bore the title “The Apotheosis in the Temple of
Jupiter Ammon.” What it had to do with the new operatic project is not
plain to this editor, for it was but a new text to be used to the music
of “The Ruins of Athens.” Beethoven once described “The Ruins” as “a
little opera” and his abiding and continued interest in it is disclosed
by the fact that after he got into touch with Grillparzer he discussed
the possibility of its revival with that poet.
[86] Grillparzer’s “Werke,” Vol. XVI, p. 228 _et seq._
[87] Thayer saw Grillparzer on July 4, 1860, and got from him a
confirmation of both incidents here narrated.
[88] The concluding paragraph of the letter betrays his growing
antipathy towards Schindler: “Afternoons you will find me in the
coffee-house opposite the ‘Goldene Birne.’ If you want to come, please
come alone. This importunate appendix of a Schindler, as you must
have noticed in Hetzendorf, has long been extremely objectionable to
me--_otium est citium_.”
[89] Thayer copies the entry found in the Conversation Book, but doubts
if the handwriting is that of Liszt _fils_. It is as follows: “I have
often expressed the wish to Herr von Schindler to make your high
acquaintance and am rejoiced to be able now to do so. As I shall give a
concert on Sunday the 13th I most humbly beg you to give me your high
presence.” The courtly language suggests the thought that the father
may have written the words for the boy.
[90] “Beethoven, Liszt und Wagner,” p. 199.
[91] In view of the fact that Beethoven would not have been able to
hear a note of the music had he been present and that, unless deeply
moved, he would not have made a public exhibition of his feelings,
and that even Schindler does not seem to have heard of the story of
the kiss, it is very likely, in the opinion of the present editor,
that the whole story is a canard invented for advertising purposes.
Thayer’s note on the copy which he made of the conversation at the
time of the presentation of the lad is: “B. does not appear to have
attended the concert, as some one reports to him that he ‘improvised on
a Hungarian-German theme.’” But there are several versions of the story
(see Frimmel, “Bausteine, etc.,” p 91) and Beethoven may at another
time have kissed the boy.
[92] Nohl is mistaken in saying that the canon was written in
Schloesser’s album. It is printed in the B. and H. “Ges. Ausg.,” Series
XXIII, No. 256.
[93] A _Schusterfleck_, that is a cobble, or cobbler’s patch, like
_Vetter Michel_ and _Rosalia_ in the musical terminology of Germany, is
a tune largely made up of repetitions on different degrees of the scale
of a single figure or motive.
[94] See the conversation, Vol. I, p. 321.
[95] Here are a few extracts from a letter written to Beethoven on July
3, 1823: “As I have been visiting him (Johann) three to four times a
day ever since he took to his bed, and have entertained him by the
hour, I have had an opportunity carefully to observe these two persons;
hence I can assure you on my honor that, despite your venerable name,
they deserve to be shut up, the old one in prison, the young one in
the house of correction.... This illness came opportunely for both of
them, to enable them to go their ways without trammel. These beasts
would have let him rot if others had not taken pity on him. He might
have died a hundred times without the one in the Prater or at Nussdorf
the other at the baker’s deigning to give him a look.... He often wept
over the conduct of his family and once he gave way completely to his
grief and begged me to let you know how he is being treated so that you
might come and give the two the beating they deserve.... It is most
unnatural and more than barbarous if that woman, while her husband is
lying ill, introduces her lover into his room, prinks herself like a
sleigh-horse in his presence and then goes driving with him, leaving
the sick husband languishing at home. She did this very often. Your
brother himself called my attention to it, and is a fool for tolerating
it so long.”
[96] Meaning Johann’s wife and step-daughter. Very incomprehensibly
Kalischer thinks the _Lump_ was Schindler!
[97] Schindler quotes Beethoven as remarking of “Euryanthe” that it was
“an accumulation of diminished seventh-chords--all little backdoors!”
[98] The Quartet which Benedict heard was that in E-flat major, Op.
127, which had its performance on March 6, 1825, the year in which
Benedict left Vienna with Barbaja. His letter to Thayer, therefore,
carries us far beyond the period now under discussion. The conversation
about the libretto of “Euryanthe” is said by Max Maria von Weber to
have taken place at the dinner in Baden; but Benedict’s is the likelier
story.
[99] It was performed for the first time at a concert of the
Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde on April 4, 1824, but it had been
completed a long time before.
[100] “Zweit. Beeth.,” p. 540 _et seq._
[101] Czerny wrote in the catalogue of the Gesellschaft der
Musikfreunde concerning this song, the “Opferlied” and “Der Kuss,”
“sketched at a very early period.” The note cannot be considered
seriously, as there is nothing to show that he had any information on
the subject.
[102] See list of compositions in the chapter of this work devoted to
1809.
[103] B. and H., Series XXV, Nos. 120 and 287.
[104] See _ante_.
[105] Nottebohm’s “Zweit. Beeth.,” p. 208.