CONFLICT.
Deafness and its Consequences--His Brothers' Influence--Letters to
Wegeler--"Mount of Olives"--Beethoven's Will--Beethoven as an
Instructor--a Conductor--Sinfonia Eroica--"Leonora"
("Fidelio")--"Adelaide."
Suffering and genius! apparently so far apart, in reality so near!
The bitter cry of Milton,--
"Dark, dark, dark, amidst the blaze of noon!"
has gone up from many a thousand hearts to the eternal throne; but who
may presume to fathom the dispensations of a mysterious providence? or
to question that wisdom which gives to every earthborn soul the
necessary discipline for immortality? Let us rather wonder and adore,
and--
"Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and _be strong_."
We left our young musician in the full flush of success, in apparently
vigorous health, caressed and flattered by princes, without a rival as
a virtuoso, and fast leaving all competitors behind him as a composer,
when suddenly a cloud appears, the brightness is overcast, and darkness
comes on apace. _Beethoven became deaf._
For three years he had had premonitory fears, which were too sadly
realized in the year 1801.
The loss of hearing is deprivation enough in ordinary cases; but to a
young man of excitable artist temperament, and a musician! it seemed for
a while worse than the loss of life itself. Our Beethoven writes thus to
Wegeler:--
"If I had not read somewhere that man must not of his own free will
depart this life, I should long ere this have been no more, and that
through my own act."
From this despair he was mercifully rescued. The strong, secret voice
within, impelling Beethoven onwards and upwards to that aim which he
"felt, but could not describe," spoke now in more stirring accents and
with more thrilling emphasis amid the profound silence and desolation of
his nature.
He "was not disobedient" to the heavenly call; the triumph of mind was
achieved; and from the dark prison-house the noblest strains the world
has ever heard escaped to wake responsive echoes in the hearts of all
who have felt and suffered.
But this victory was not gained without leaving behind it evident tokens
of the struggle; distrust, suspicion, irritability, those constant
attendants on deafness, haunted Beethoven day and night, poisoning his
happiness, and casting their shadow over his childlike, benevolent
disposition. Stephan Breuning writes thus of the alteration in his
friend in a letter dated the 13th of November, 1806:--"You cannot
realize the indescribable impression made upon Beethoven by the loss of
his hearing. Imagine, with his excitable temperament, the feeling of
unhappiness, added to reserve, distrust of his best friends, and
indecision in many things. In general, intercourse with him is a
positive exertion, in which it is impossible to feel entirely at one's
ease; the occasions on which his old true nature shows itself are few
indeed."
Schindler, also his friend and biographer, describes him as being "like
a child, devoid of all experience, suddenly cast upon this earth from
some ideal world; like a ball, tossed from one hand to another;
consequently, at the mercy of other people. And," he adds, "_so
Beethoven remained throughout his whole life_."
These evils were increased by the presence of his brothers, Carl and
Johann (the "evil principles" of his life, as Schindler calls them), who
now began to exercise an almost unlimited influence over him. These men
seem to have been totally incapable of appreciating the true character
or work of Ludwig; they only saw that he was making money rapidly (and,
as they thought, easily), and determined to take advantage of it. To
this end they resolved to obtain entire possession of him, and began by
endeavouring to alienate as far as possible Beethoven's friends,
misrepresenting to him all that occurred, and fanning every little spark
of anger into a flame.
Their efforts partially succeeded; our unhappy composer, absorbed in his
own creations, overwhelmed by his misfortune, and intensely irritable,
was but too ready to believe all the world in league against him, and
would have shut the door against his best friends. Prince Lichnowski
alone had still some weight with him, and when once persuaded that he
had acted unjustly, nothing could exceed Beethoven's contrition and
desire to make amends to those he had wounded.
But he would never lay any blame upon his brothers, and even when their
duplicity and falseness had been clearly pointed out to him, he would
still continue to defend them strenuously, refusing to look upon their
conduct in any but the most favourable light, and adding, "After all,
they are my brothers."
It may easily be believed how, with dispositions such as those of Carl
and Johann, this mistaken lenity and brotherly feeling confirmed them in
their course. It was they who generally made all arrangements with the
music publishers, and through their instrumentality many minor pieces
were given to the world which the composer had produced in Bonn, and
kept back from publication as unworthy of his name.
Such a consideration, however, had no weight with the two; money they
wanted, and were resolved to get at all hazards. Once only did Beethoven
come into collision with them regarding this, when he discovered that
Carl had, without his knowledge, sold a copyright which had been
promised to another person.
Carl held a situation in the National Bank of Austria, and Johann had
been established by Beethoven as an apothecary. In a very short time,
however, the latter became so wealthy (how?) as to be able to exchange
the pestle and mortar for the state of a country gentleman. Of this he
was so immoderately proud, that one New Year's day he sent in to his
brother a card, on which was written,--
"Johann van Beethoven, Land Proprietor."
The composer, who was at table when it was brought to him, laughed
heartily, and writing on the other side,--
"Ludwig van Beethoven, Brain Proprietor,"
sent it back to him.
The following letters to Wegeler display, more fully than we can
describe, Beethoven's condition during the first few years of his
calamity:--
"_Vienna, 29th June_, (1801.)
"MY DEAR GOOD WEGELER,--How much I thank you for your remembrance of
me! I have deserved it, and sought to deserve it, so little; and yet
you are so good, and will not allow yourself to be discouraged even
by my unpardonable neglect--you are always the same true, good,
worthy friend. That I could ever forget you or yours, who were once
so dear and precious to me, do not believe; there are moments in
which I long for you, and wish that it were in my power to spend
some time with you. My fatherland, the lovely spot in which I first
saw the light, is as distinct and beautiful before my eyes now as
when I first left you. In short, I shall consider it one of the
happiest events of my life when I am able to see you, and to greet
our Father Rhine again. When this will be I cannot positively say.
So much I will tell you--you shall not see me again until I have
become really great--not as an artist only, but a better and more
perfect man: and if the prosperity of my country be once more
re-established, my art shall be devoted solely to the relief of the
poor. Oh blissful moment! how happy do I consider myself in being
able to procure thee--to create thee!
"You want to know something about my position? Well, after all it is
not so bad. Lichnowski is still, and always has been, my warmest
friend, however incredible it may appear to you. (Of course there
were little misunderstandings between us; but did they not serve
rather to cement our friendship?) Since last year he has settled on
me a pension of six hundred guldens, which I am to draw until I find
an appointment suited to me. I make a great deal by my compositions;
indeed, I may say that there are more demands upon me than I can
execute. For every one of my works I have at least six or seven
publishers, and could have more if I wished. They do not drive
bargains with me now: I demand, and they pay. You see this is a
very good thing. If, for instance, I see a friend in difficulty, and
am not in funds to help him immediately, I have only to sit down and
write, and in a short time he is relieved. I am also more economical
than I used to be. If I remain here permanently, I shall certainly
contrive to reserve one day in every year for a grand concert, of
which I have already given several. That malicious demon, bad
health, has cast a stumblingblock in my path--for the last three
years my hearing has gradually become weaker. The original cause of
this defect is the state of my digestive organs, which, as you know,
was formerly bad enough, but has now become much worse, for I have
been constantly troubled with diarrhoea, which has induced extreme
weakness. Frank tried to restore the tone to my constitution by
strengthening medicines, and to my hearing by oil of almonds, but
_prosit!_ with no good effect; my hearing grew worse, and my
digestion remained in the same state. This lasted till the autumn of
last year, and I was often in despair. Then one medical _asinus_
recommended cold bathing for my complaint; another, a little more
sensible, the ordinary tepid Danube bath. This worked wonders; my
digestion became better, but my deafness continued as bad as ever,
or grew worse. Last winter I was truly miserable, suffering so
dreadfully from colic that I fell completely back again into my
former state, in which I continued till about four weeks ago, when I
went to consult Vering;[16] partly because I think my complaint
requires surgical treatment, and partly also because I have always
had confidence in him. He succeeded in almost entirely arresting the
violent diarrhoea. He ordered me the tepid Danube bath, into which
I pour every time a phial of some strengthening mixture; but he gave
me no medicine at all, except four days ago some digestive pills and
a lotion for the ears. I must say I find myself much stronger and
better for this treatment, but the buzzing and ringing in my ears
continues day and night.
"I may say that I pass my life wretchedly; for nearly two years I
have avoided all society, because I cannot possibly say to people,
'_I am deaf!_' If I were in any other profession it would not so
much signify, but for a musician it is a really frightful condition.
Besides, what would my enemies say to it?--and they are not few!
"To give you an idea of this extraordinary deafness, I must tell you
that in the theatre I am obliged to lean forward quite close to the
orchestra in order to understand the actors. The high tones of the
instruments and voices I do not hear if I am a little way off. In
conversation it is surprising that there are some people who do not
observe it--they attribute it to the absent fits which I often have.
Many a time I can with difficulty distinguish the tones, but not the
words, of any person who speaks in a low voice; and yet, directly
any one begins to shout, it is unendurable to me. What is to be the
result of all this, the good God alone knows. Vering says that my
condition will certainly improve, though I may not be perfectly
restored. I have often already--cursed my existence. Plutarch has
led me to resignation. I am resolved, if possible, to defy my fate,
although there should be moments in my life when I shall be the most
unhappy of all God's creatures.
"I beg of you not to mention my state to any one, not even to
Lorchen;[17] I only confide it as a secret to you. I should like
much if you would correspond some day with Vering about it. Should
my affliction continue, I shall come next spring to you. You shall
hire a house for me in some lovely spot in the country, and there I
shall become a peasant for six months. Perhaps that might bring
about a change. Resignation! what a miserable refuge! and yet the
only one left to me!
"You must forgive me for adding the burden of these friendly cares
to your troubles, already gloomy enough. Steffen Breuning[18] is now
here, and we are almost every day together; it does me so much good
to call up the old feelings. He has become really a capital fellow,
who knows something, and has his heart pretty much in the right
place, like us all.
"I have very pleasant rooms now close to the Ramparts,[19] which is
doubly advantageous for my health. I think I shall be able to manage
so that Breuning may come to me.
"Your Antiochus[20] you shall have, together with plenty of music
from me,--that is, if you do not fear its costing you too much.
Honestly, your love of art rejoices me greatly. Only let me know how
to set about it, and I shall send you all my works, which now amount
to a pretty number, and are daily added to.
"Instead of the portrait of my grandfather (which I beg you to send
me as soon as possible with the mail), I send you that of his
grandson, your ever loving and affectionate Beethoven. It has been
brought out here by Artaria, who, as well as other publishers, has
often begged me for it. I shall write next to Stoffeln[21], and read
him a lecture about his peevish temper. I shall sound our old
friendship well in his ears, and get him to promise sacredly not to
annoy you again in your present sad position.
"Never have I forgotten one of you, my dear, good friends, although
I may not have written often to you; but writing, as you know, was
never my _forte_; even my best friends have not heard from me for
years. I live only in my music; and, no sooner is one thing
completed, than another is begun. In fact, as at present, I am often
engaged on three or four compositions at one time.
"Write me now frequently; I shall make a point of finding time to
write you occasionally. Give my kind regards to all, especially to
the good Frau Hofraethin[22], and tell her that even now I sometimes
have a 'raptus.'
"With regard to K----, I am not at all surprised at the change.
Fortune rolls on like a ball; and naturally, therefore, does not
always stop at what is noblest and best. One word for Ries,[23] to
whom remember me cordially. With regard to his son,[24] I shall
write you more particularly, but I believe that Paris offers a
better field for his exertions than Vienna, which is so overstocked
that even people of the greatest merit find it a hard matter to
maintain themselves. By autumn or winter I shall see what I can do
for him, for then everybody will have returned to town.
"Farewell, my good, faithful Wegeler. Rest assured of the love and
friendship of your
"BEETHOVEN."
_Vienna, November, 16th, 1801._
"MY DEAR WEGELER,--For this fresh proof of your solicitude about me,
I must thank you the more, that I deserve it so little. You want to
know how I am progressing, and what remedies I use; however
unwilling I am in general to refer to this subject, I do so with the
least reluctance to you.
"For several months past, Vering has ordered me to apply blisters
constantly to both arms, made of a certain kind of bark, which you
doubtless know. This is a most disagreeable remedy, inasmuch as
(without taking the pain into consideration) I am deprived of the
free use of my arms for a few days, until the blisters have drawn
sufficiently. It is true, and I cannot deny it, that the buzzing and
ringing are somewhat less than formerly, especially in the left ear,
that in which my malady first commenced--but my hearing is certainly
not a whit better. I dare not say positively that it has not rather
grown worse.
"My digestion is better, especially after using the tepid baths,
when I feel tolerably well for eight or ten days. Tonics I very
seldom take, but follow your advice now with regard to the
herb-plasters. Plunge baths Vering will not hear of. On the whole, I
am not at all pleased with him; he has far too little solicitude or
indulgence for a malady such as mine; if I did not go to him, and
this I cannot do without great difficulty, I should never see him.
What do you think of Schmidt?[25] I am unwilling to make a change,
but it seems to me that Vering is too much of a practitioner to gain
fresh ideas by reading. With regard to this, Schmidt appears a very
different sort of man, and might also, perhaps, not be quite so
negligent of my case.
"I hear wonders of galvanism--what say you to it? A medical man told
me that he had known a deaf and dumb child whose hearing was fully
restored by it (in Berlin), and also a man who, after having been
deaf for seven years, recovered his hearing. They tell me that your
friend Schmidt is making experiments on the subject.
"I lead a somewhat more agreeable life now that I mingle more with
other people. You can hardly realize what a miserable, desolate life
mine has been for the last two years. Like a ghost did my deafness
haunt me everywhere, till I fled society, and must have appeared a
misanthrope--yet this is so little my character.
"This change has been brought about by a lovely and fascinating
girl,[26] who loves me, and whom I love. After the lapse of two
years I have again enjoyed some blissful moments, and now for the
first time I feel that marriage can bestow happiness; but, alas! she
is not in the same rank of life as myself; and at present, certainly
I could not marry: I must first bestir myself actively. Were it not
for my deafness, I would long ago have travelled half round the
world, and I must do it yet. For me there is no greater pleasure
than to follow and promote my art. Do not believe that I could be
happy with you. What would there be, indeed, to make me happier?
Even your solicitude would pain me; every moment I should read
sympathy on your faces, and should find myself only the more
wretched.
"Those lovely scenes of my Fatherland, what part had I in them?
Nothing but the hope of a better future, which would have been mine,
were it not for this affliction! Oh! once free from this, I would
span the world! My youth, I feel it, is only beginning; have I not
always been a sickly creature? For some time past my bodily strength
has been increasing more than ever, and my mental power as well.
Every day I approach nearer the goal which I feel, but cannot
describe. Only in this can your Beethoven live. No rest for me! I
know of none other than Sleep, and sorry enough I am to be obliged
to give up more time to it than formerly. Let me be only half
delivered from this malady, and then--a more perfect, mature man--I
shall come to you, and renew the old feelings of friendship.
"You shall see me as happy as I am destined to be here below,--not
unhappy. No, that I could not bear. I will grasp Fate by the throat,
it shall not utterly crush me. Oh! it is so glorious to live one's
life a thousand times! For a quiet life, I feel it, I am no longer
made.
"Pray do write me as soon as possible. Persuade Steffen to decide
upon seeking an appointment somewhere from the Teutonic Order.[27]
His position here is too fatiguing for his health, and besides, he
leads such an isolated life, that I do not see how he is ever to get
on. You know how things are here. I will not positively say that
society would lessen his depression, but we cannot persuade him to
join in it at all. A short time ago I had some music in my house,
but our friend Steffen stayed away. Advise him to be more calm and
composed. I have already tried all my powers on him,--without this
he can never be either happy or in good health. Tell me in your next
letter if there is any objection to my sending you my music, even
though there should be a quantity of it. What you don't require, you
can sell, and thus get back what you paid for carriage,--and my
portrait into the bargain.
"Say all that is kind and obliging to Lorchen, as well as to her
mamma and Christoph. Have you still a little love for me? Be
convinced of the love as well as of the friendship of
"Your
BEETHOVEN."
The year 1800 found Beethoven already busy with his "Mount of Olives,"
which, however, was not produced till 1803. This, the master's first and
last attempt at oratorio writing, "is a striking instance of the
insufficiency of even the highest powers to accomplish that to which the
special call has not been given. It was impossible for Beethoven to feel
himself so inspired by his task as the composer of a time when the mind
of the people was almost exclusively occupied by religious convictions;
the man of the revolutionary period could not see or think out a Christ
like that of Bach and Handel before him. Even the pure spring, out of
which we Protestants of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries draw
our ideas of Christ--the Bible--flowed not for him; his Christ must
first be poetically made for him. And how? The poet had no other aim but
that of making verses for a composer; the latter no other motive than
the ordinary creative impulse prompting him to try his powers in a
different and important sphere. The result on both sides could not,
therefore, be other than _Phrases_, although the better of the two
proceeded from the composer, and that composer was Beethoven. To conceal
or palliate this would be derogatory to the reverence which we all owe
to Beethoven,--he stands too high to be in need of extenuation."
So far Marx; but in addition to the miserable libretto (which imparted
unreality, artificiality, to the whole work, and especially gave to the
part of the Saviour a theatrical air which Beethoven afterwards
deplored) many peculiarities of the oratorio--with all deference to the
able critic just quoted--may be traced to the period in which it was
composed. The very choice of subject reveals the convulsion that was
taking place in Beethoven's _volcanic_ nature. It is a question whether
Beethoven would ever have asserted his sovereignty in this branch of
composition; it may be, as Marx hints, that the peculiar tone of thought
and feeling necessary to the successful treatment of sacred subjects was
wanting in him; but there can be no doubt that had the master's
attention been devoted to the subject in happier days, when his
tempest-tossed natures had attained to some degree of peace and
serenity, the result would have been very different. Let him who would
see Beethoven as a _devotional_ writer, turn to his Gellert songs, which
breathe the very depths of true religious feeling.
The greater part of the oratorio, and also of "Fidelio," was composed at
Hetzendorf, a pretty little village near the imperial summer palace of
Schoenbrunn. Here Beethoven passed several summers in the greatest
retirement--wandering all day long, from early dawn to nightfall, amid
the leafy glades of the park. His favourite seat was between two immense
boughs of an old oak, which branched out from the parent stem about two
feet from the ground. This memorable tree, endeared to Beethoven as the
birthplace of many a thought, was afterwards visited by him, in
Schindler's company, in 1823.
In 1802 a gleam of hope dawned upon the sufferer; his deafness was for a
time cured by the skilful treatment of Dr. Schmidt (to whom, out of
gratitude, he dedicated his Septet arranged as a Trio), by whose advice
he went for the summer to the village of Heiligenstadt, in the hope that
the calm, sweet influence of nature, to which he was at all times most
sensitive, might act beneficially upon his troubled mind.
This spot--this _consecrated town_--must always be an object of
veneration to those who cherish the name of Beethoven, for here it was
that he wrote his remarkable will, or promemoria, a document which
excites our warmest sympathy, revealing, as it does, the depths of that
great heart.
"TO MY BROTHERS, CARL AND ---- BEETHOVEN.[28]--O ye who consider or
represent me as unfriendly, morose, and misanthropical, how unjust are
you to me! you know not the secret cause of what appears thus to you.
"My heart and mind have been from childhood given up to the tender
feeling of benevolence, and I have ever been disposed to accomplish
something great. But only consider that for six years I have been
afflicted by a wretched calamity, which was aggravated by unskilful
physicians--deceived from year to year by the hope of amendment--now
forced, at length, to the contemplation of a _lingering disease_ (the
cure of which will, perhaps, last for years, if indeed it be not an
impossibility).
"Born with a passionate, lively temperament, keenly susceptible to the
pleasures of society, I was obliged at an early age to isolate myself,
and to pass my life in loneliness.
"When I at times endeavoured to surmount all this, oh, how rudely
was I thrust back again by the experience--the doubly painful
experience--of my defective hearing! and yet it was impossible for me
to say to people, Speak louder, shout; for I am deaf! Alas! how could
I proclaim the weakness of a sense which ought to have been with me in
a higher degree than with others--a sense which I once possessed in
the greatest perfection--and to an extent which few of my profession
enjoy, or ever have enjoyed! Oh, this I cannot do! Forgive me,
therefore, when you see me turn away where I would gladly mingle with
you. My misfortune is doubly painful to me, inasmuch as it causes me
to be misunderstood. For me there can be no relaxation in human
society, no refined conversations, no mutual outpourings of thought.
Like an exile must I live. Whenever I come near strangers, I am seized
with a feverish anxiety from my dread of being exposed to the risk of
betraying my condition.
"Thus it has been with me during these last six months which I have
spent in the country. The orders of my sensible physician, to spare my
hearing as much as possible, were quite in accordance with my present
disposition; although often, overcome by my longing for society, I
have been tempted into it. But what humiliation, when any one by my
side heard from afar a flute, and I heard _nothing_, or when any one
heard _the shepherd singing_, and I again heard _nothing_!
"Such occurrences brought me nigh to despair; but little was
wanting, and I should myself have put an end to my existence.
_Art_--art alone--held me back! Ah! it seemed impossible for me to
quit the world before I had done all that I felt myself destined to
accomplish. And so I prolonged this miserable life; a life so truly
wretched that a sudden change is sufficient to throw me from the
happiest condition into the worst.
"_Patience!_ it would seem that I must now choose her for my guide! I
have done so. I trust that my resolve to persevere will remain firm,
until it shall please the inexorable Fates to cut the thread of life.
Perhaps I may get better; perhaps not. I am prepared. Compelled to be
a philosopher in my twenty-eighth year![29] This is not easy--for the
artist harder than for any one else. O God! Thou lookest down upon my
heart, Thou seest that love to man and beneficent feelings have their
abode in it!
"O ye who may one day read this, reflect that you did me injustice,
and let the unhappy be consoled by finding one like himself, who, in
defiance of all natural obstacles, has done all that lay in his power
to be received into the ranks of worthy artists and men.
"My brothers, Carl and----, as soon as I am dead, if Professor Schmidt
be still alive, beg him in my name to describe my disease, and then
add these pages to the history of my malady, that at least, so far as
possible, the world may be reconciled to me after my death.
"I also hereby declare you both heirs of my little fortune (if so it
may be called). Divide it honestly, bear with and help one another.
What you did against me I have, as you know, long since forgiven. I
thank you in particular, brother Carl, for the attachment which you
have shown me of late. My wish is, that your life may be happier, and
more free from care, than mine has been. Recommend _Virtue_ to your
children; it is she alone, and not money, that can confer happiness. I
speak from experience; for it was Virtue who raised me when in
distress. I have to thank her, in addition to my art, that I did not
put an end to my life through suicide. Farewell, and love one another!
I thank all my friends, especially Prince Lichnowski and Professor
Schmidt. I should like the instruments of Prince L. to be preserved by
one of you; but let no dispute arise between you on this account. As
soon as you perceive that it will be more to your advantage, you have
only to sell them. How shall I rejoice, if even in the grave I can
serve you!
"Thus has it happened:--with joy I hasten to meet Death. Should he
come before I have had opportunity to develop all my artistic powers,
he will have come too soon, notwithstanding my hard fate, and I shall
wish that he had tarried a little longer; but even then I shall be
content, for he will set me free from a state of endless suffering.
Come when thou wilt--I go courageously to meet thee!
"Farewell, and do not quite forget me even in death. I have deserved
this of you, since in my life I often thought of you, and wished to
make you happy.
"So be it!
"LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN."
_Heiligenstadt, 6th October, 1802._"
"_Heiligenstadt, 10th October, 1802._
"Thus I bid farewell to thee, mournfully enough. Even the dearest hope
that I brought hither with me, the hope of being to a certain degree
restored, has utterly forsaken me. As the leaves of autumn fall and
wither, so has my hope faded. Almost as I came do I depart; even the
lofty courage which inspired me during the lovely days of summer has
vanished. Oh, Providence! vouchsafe to me one more day of pure
happiness! The responsive echo of pure joy has been so long a stranger
to my heart. When, when, O God! shall I again feel it in the temple of
nature and man? Never? Ah! that would be too hard!"
(On the outside.)
"For my brothers Carl and----, to be read and fulfilled after my
death."
Several writers have maintained that the consequences of Beethoven's
deafness are plainly discernible in his compositions; that he lost all
idea of harmonic relations, that his later works are mere incongruous,
erratic fancies, devoid of form and melody, and, in short, compared to
his former productions, what the second part of "Faust" is to the first.
Happily, such ideas--promulgated by theorists of the old school like
Fetis, and dilettanti of the Mozart-Italian school like
Oulibicheff--have now exploded, and the service rendered to Art by
Beethoven's latest works--especially his pianoforte sonatas--is fully
recognised. It is these which have brought the pianoforte to its
present eminence as the most intellectual and ideal of all instruments,
and which, by their depth of thought and loftiness of aim, have raised
an insuperable barrier between the dilettante who trifles with music for
amusement, and the artist who devotes his life to its cultivation as a
God-appointed means of developing the divine in man.
At the same time we come upon passages here and there which Beethoven
would, perhaps, have written otherwise, had his ear, as well as his
mind, been sensitive to their effect.
It is not posterity that has been the loser by Beethoven's deafness; we,
at least, ought to appreciate the "precious jewel" which his adversity
carried within it, and has handed down to us. His contemporaries,
however, had cause to lament, for in a few years it put a stop to all
improvising and playing in public. We read, indeed, of a plan for an
artistic tour with his pupil Ries, when the latter was to make all
arrangements for concert-giving, and to play the pianoforte Concertos
and other works, while Beethoven conducted and improvised--but the
project never came to maturity. It was, in fact, impossible. Beethoven
entirely lost the sensitiveness of touch which had once distinguished
his playing from that of all contemporaries; and, in his efforts to
extract some nourishment for his hungering ear, used to hammer the
pianoforte so unmercifully as generally to break several strings. Nor
could it be obviated by a special instrument constructed for himself,
nor by a sound-conductor invented for him by the ingenious Graff.
A curious feature of his deafness was the gradual manner in which the
auricular nerve decayed; he first lost the power of catching the higher
notes of singers or instruments, as we have seen, while deep, low sounds
were long audible to him; this may account for the prevalence of those
deep-lying tones in almost all his later works, especially the Second
Mass and the Ninth Symphony.
As a natural consequence of his affliction, he soon became unable to
conduct his own orchestral works. This, however, was no great loss, for
he had never possessed either the self-possession or the experience
necessary to wield the _baton_ satisfactorily. Knowing thoroughly as he
did what every instrument had to say, he listened excitedly for each in
detail--without calmly attending to the effect of the whole; at each
_crescendo_ he would rise as if about to fly, gesticulating so rapidly
and energetically that the members of the orchestra (who had enough to
do to follow such new and peculiar music) were often more bewildered
than guided by his directions. At the same time be it distinctly
understood that, however low the performance might fall beneath his
"ideal," however vexatious the mistakes of individual performers might
be, he never lost his temper so far as to act in the manner related by
Ries in his Notices, of which the following is a specimen:--
"Beethoven was present at the first performance of his Fantasia for
pianoforte, orchestra, and chorus. The clarinettist, in a passage where
the beautiful subject of the finale has already entered, made by mistake
a repetition of eight bars. As very few instruments are heard at this
point, the error in the execution was torturing to the ear. Beethoven
rose furiously, turned round, and insulted the musicians in the grossest
manner, and so loudly that it was heard by the whole audience. Then,
resuming his seat, he exclaimed, "From the beginning!" The movement was
recommenced, and this time all went well, and the success was brilliant.
But when the concert was over, the artists recollected only too well the
honourable titles by which Beethoven had publicly addressed them; and,
as if the matter had but that moment occurred, became excessively angry,
and vowed never to play again when Beethoven was in the orchestra, &c.,
&c."
That the clarinettist did make a mistake is true, but that Beethoven
behaved in the outrageous way described was most positively denied by
all who were present on the occasion, including the conductor, Franz
Clement. Where Ries got the story from is difficult to imagine, since he
was himself in St. Petersburg at the time. On the contrary, the members
of the orchestra were all on excellent terms with Beethoven, who prized
their approval far more than that of the general public; and was wont,
when particularly pleased with a performance, to turn round, his face
beaming with delight, and exclaim, "Bravi, tutti!" But woe betide those
who dared to question the effect of the new and somewhat startling
combinations which he introduced! Ries found this out to his cost. At
the unexpected entrance of the horn in the Allegro of the Eroica, he--as
usual, beside his master in the orchestra--exclaimed, "How abominably
wrong!" for which outburst he was nearly rewarded by a box on the ear.
Pianoforte playing, improvisation, and orchestral conducting were given
up one after the other--not suddenly, for Beethoven was resolved to defy
his fate as long as possible,--but henceforth it is with Beethoven the
composer alone that we have to do.
The autumn of 1802 saw him so far restored as to be able to commence his
great work on Napoleon, which, however, on account of many
interruptions, was not finished until the year 1804.
In 1802 he writes thus to his publisher, Hofmeister, who had requested
him to compose a sonata of a revolutionary tendency:--"Are you riding to
the devil in a body, gentlemen, that you propose to me to write _such a
sonata_? At the time of the revolutionary fever it might have done, but
now, when everything is once more in the beaten track, when Bonaparte
has signed the Concordat with the Pope--now such a sonata! If it had
been a _missa pro Sancta Maria a tre voci_, or a _Vesper_, I would
immediately have taken pen in hand and written in ponderous notes a
_Credo in unum_,--but, good heavens! such a sonata in these fresh,
dawning Christian times! Ho! ho! I'll have nothing to do with it!" and
yet at this very time he must have been busy with a work destined to the
honour of the great Disturber of the Peace of Europe. The idea for this
emanated originally from General Bernadotte, the French Ambassador at
Vienna--a great admirer of the composer,--and was in reality warmly
entered into by Beethoven, who, with his red-hot Republicanism and love
for Plato, was an enthusiastic supporter of the First Consul, and
imagined nothing less than that it was Napoleon's intention to remodel
France according to the Platonic method, and inaugurate a golden age of
universal happiness. With the news of the empire came the destruction of
this elysian prospect,--Beethoven in a fury tore to pieces the
title-page of his symphony on which was written simply,--
"BONAPARTE.
"LUIGI V. BEETHOVEN;"
and stamping it under foot, showered a volley of imprecations on the
head of the tyrant who had played so false a game.
No persuasion could induce him at first to publish the work, but after
the lapse of some years this masterpiece of ideal writing was given to
the world under the title of "Sinfonia Eroica per festegiare il
sovvenire d'un grand' uomo." Great man as Napoleon had been in
Beethoven's estimation, he never could think of him otherwise than with
detestation, till the sudden collapse of the Napoleonic idea in 1815,
and the death of its promoter in 1821, changed his wrath into a kind of
grim commiseration, which he showed by remarking that he had "seventeen
years before composed the music suited to this catastrophe!" meaning
the Funeral March in the Eroica.
This, the first great manifesto of the Sovereign of the World of Sound,
was a wonderful advance on the first two symphonies, produced somewhere
about the years 1800-1802. In these he took up the art where Haydn and
Mozart had left it; but, "though he could dally and tarry awhile with
them, he would not remain with them;" his greater earnestness impelled
him on to realms unknown to them, to conquest compared with which theirs
faded into comparative insignificance.
In 1805 Ferdinand Ries left Vienna, after having enjoyed Beethoven's
instruction for five years. He was, in fact, the only one whom Beethoven
recognised as his pupil (with the exception of the Archduke Rudolph),
and to him he entrusted the playing of his concertos, &c., for the first
time, when no longer able to do so himself. The impressions which Ries
has left in his Notices, of Beethoven as an instructor, are like his
other statements, somewhat contradictory. In one place he declares that
during the lessons the master was engaged in composition or some similar
work at one end of the room, while he was playing at the other, and that
he seldom sat down by him for half an hour at a time. Again, he says
that Beethoven took extraordinary pains with him--sometimes extending
the lesson over two hours, and making him repeat ten times--nay,
oftener--any passage with which he was not quite satisfied. Probably the
truth lies between these two extremes. Beethoven, who had no settled
order in his life, could not be expected to be systematic in tuition;
hence the impression of desultoriness left upon the mind of the pupil. A
characteristic anecdote of this period is worth quoting.
"Beethoven," says Ries, "had given me the manuscript of his third
concerto, that I might appear in public with it for the first time as
his pupil; Beethoven conducted and turned over the pages for me. I had
begged him to compose a cadenza for me, but he directed me to write one
myself. He was satisfied with my composition, and altered little; but
one brilliant and very difficult passage, which seemed to him too
hazardous, I was to change. The easier one did not please me, and I
could not make up my mind to play it in public. The critical moment
arrived--Beethoven had seated himself quietly--but when I boldly
attacked the difficult cadence, he gave his chair a violent push. The
cadenza, however, succeeded, and Beethoven was so delighted that he
exclaimed, 'Bravo!' which electrified the audience."
In 1805 Beethoven produced his solitary opera, "Leonora" (afterwards
known as "Fidelio"), amid a series of annoyances and vexations such as
probably no operatic writer, either before or since, has ever had to
contend against. What between troubles arising out of the libretto, the
overture, the singers, the critics, and the theatrical cabals, our poor
Beethoven was well-nigh driven distracted.
The story on which the opera is founded (originally taken from the
French, and so well known as to require no repetition here) is almost
too slight for dramatic purposes, inasmuch as there is but one really
powerful situation--that of the grave scene--in the entire piece, and
the whole interest, therefore, is concentrated on the one figure,
Leonora. What Beethoven has made out of these slender materials; how he
has depicted, in all its intensity and tenderness, that love which he
was doomed never to experience, needs no description from us.
What was Beethoven's object in choosing this theme for his labours? Was
it a foreshadowing of bliss that might be his? or was it the delineation
of a character which, in its earnestness and purity, should be the
reverse of that "Don Juan" of Mozart, of which he once said, "The divine
art ought never to be lowered to the folly of such a scandalous
subject"?
The little byplay and domestic "asides" cost our soaring Beethoven
infinitely more trouble than the most impassioned scenas, and he was
obliged to write the little air of Marcelline, "O, waer' ich schon mit
Dir vereint," no less than thrice before he could attain the requisite
lightness.
The composition of the four "Leonora" overtures is without a parallel in
musical annals. When Beethoven had finished No. 1, in C major, he
consented to its being first tried over by a small orchestra at Prince
Lichnowski's, in the presence of a select number of critics and
connoisseurs, by whom it was condemned as being light and almost flimsy
in structure, and as affording no clue to the contents of the opera. It
was therefore withdrawn, and not published till after the composer's
death.
But may not the light-heartedness which distinguishes this overture have
been intentional on the part of Beethoven? may he not have wished to
represent his heroine before the shadow of grief had fallen upon her, in
the enjoyment of the highest wedded bliss?
Marx takes this view of "Leonora" No. 1, adducing in support of it the
following extract from one of the manuscript books in which Beethoven
was accustomed to hold intercourse with his friends:--
"Aristotle, when he speaks of tragedy, says that the hero ought first to
be represented as living in the greatest happiness and splendour. Thus
we see him in 'Egmont.' When he is in the enjoyment of felicity, Fate
comes and throws a noose over his head from which he is not able to
extricate himself. Courage and Defiance appear upon the scene, and
boldly look Destiny--aye, and death--in the face. Claerchen's fate
interests us, like that of Gretchen in 'Faust,' because she was once so
happy. A tragedy which begins as well as continues gloomily, is
tedious."
"Leonora" No. 2 was condemned on account of the predominance of the wind
instruments, and No. 3 ultimately, because the stringed instruments had
so much to do that precision was out of the question.
When, at length, the composer was satisfied with his creation; when the
singers (pacified by the friendly intervention of Seyfried) had agreed
to give the music as it was written; when all difficulties were
apparently overcome, the unlucky composer's annoyances reached a climax
in the reception accorded to his work by the public.
With great want of judgment (purposely to annoy him, as Beethoven
thought) the opera was produced a few days after the French troops had
entered Vienna; when all his friends and patrons, including Lichnowski,
had sought refuge at their country seats till the storm had blown over;
and the theatre was filled with French officers and soldiers, an
audience utterly incapable of appreciating the master. As might have
been anticipated, the work was coldly received, and, after three
representations, withdrawn. In 1806 it met with the same fate, and not
till 1814 did this, the grandest work of the German school--a work which
has fought its way to every stage in Europe, and has been brought home
to every heart by a Malibran, a Schroeder-Devrient, or a
Tietjens,--obtain a favourable hearing.
During the time the opera was in progress, Beethoven (like Mozart in
producing his "Seraglio") suffered keenly from the jealousy of some of
his opponents, and his brothers took care that every barb should find
its way home to his sensitive mind. Even his friend Stephan Breuning, in
his great desire to help the composer, aggravated the evil by the very
warmth of his partisanship,--and thus, by constant dwelling upon them,
many little slights assumed a disproportionate magnitude, and annoyed
our poor Beethoven intensely.
But enough of darkness and despondency; life now begins, by one of
those sudden and apparently inexplicable changes, to wear a rosier hue
for the composer. Reserving our inquiry into the cause of this, we close
this chapter with the beautiful letter to the poet Matthison, whose
"Adelaide" he had set to music some time previously.
"MOST ESTEEMED FRIEND,--You will receive, together with this, a
composition of mine which has already been printed for several
years, but of which, to my shame, you perhaps know nothing yet.
"I may, perhaps, be able to excuse myself, and to explain why I
dedicated anything to you, which came so warmly from my heart, and
yet did not make you acquainted with it,--by the plea that, at
first, I did not know where you resided, and then my diffidence led
me to think that I had been somewhat hasty in dedicating anything to
you without knowing if it had your approval. And, indeed, even now I
send you the 'Adelaide' with some timidity. You yourself know what
changes a few years produce in an artist who is constantly
progressing; the more one accomplishes in art, the less is one
satisfied with former works.
"My most fervent wish will be realized if you are not altogether
dissatisfied with the music to your heavenly 'Adelaide,' and if you
are incited by it to compose a similar poem soon, and (should my
request not seem too bold) to send it to me forthwith, when I shall
put forth all my strength to approach your lovely poetry in merit.
"Consider the dedication as a mark of my esteem and gratitude for
the exquisite pleasure which your poetry has always afforded, and
will still afford me.
"When playing the 'Adelaide,' remember sometimes
"Your sincere admirer,
"BEETHOVEN."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 16: Surgeon-in-Chief to the army.]
[Footnote 17: Eleanore von Breuning.]
[Footnote 18: Stephan von Breuning.]
[Footnote 19: Probably in the house of Baron Pasqualati.]
[Footnote 20: A painting by Fueger, Director of the Vienna Academy.]
[Footnote 21: Christoph Breuning.]
[Footnote 22: Madame von Breuning.]
[Footnote 23: Franz Ries, the violinist.]
[Footnote 24: Ferdinand, afterwards Beethoven's pupil.]
[Footnote 25: Professor of Medicine at the Academie Josephine, and
author of several works.]
[Footnote 26: Undoubtedly the Countess Julia Guicciardi.]
[Footnote 27: The Breuning family had long been in possession of one of
the most honourable posts in the Teutonic Order, four members had
successively filled the office of Chancellor, and Stephan himself was
afterwards appointed to the government of Mergentheim. He was generally
esteemed, and died a short time after Beethoven.]
[Footnote 28: The omission of the name of Johann van Beethoven from this
document is somewhat unaccountable. It may have been caused through
Beethoven's irritation at his conduct. The original of the Promemoria is
now in the possession of Madame Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt.]
[Footnote 29: Beethoven was at the time in his thirty-second year; but
he never knew precisely his age.]
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