THE ETERNAL FEMININE
If that beauty of Shiraz would take my heart in hand, I would give
for her dark mole Samarkand and Bokhara.
--HAFIZ.
In Beethoven's time, Vienna was the gayest capital in Europe, the Paris
of the world. The population was 300,000, every nationality in Europe
being represented. It was cosmopolitan in the widest sense. The Germans
of course predominated; then there were Hungarians, Italians, Sclavs,
Sczechs, Magyars, Poles and Turks. The Italian element was particularly
strong, and these southern and eastern races with their tendency toward
art in any form, and the particular bias of the Italians toward music
had an important influence on the Germans, modifying their seriousness.
The theatres were splendidly equipped and there were at least four large
orchestras. Concerts for the general public were not common, the
orchestras being required for operatic performances in private houses,
which were splendidly given, as well as for state balls and other
functions. The chief business of the well-to-do (and Vienna was a rich
city), was to gratify a love for music. The cultivated class lived a
life of elegant leisure, music being its alpha and omega. As already
stated, it was an established custom with the wealthy to maintain a
small orchestra, consisting of four or five pieces for the performance
of chamber-music in their homes. Prince Karl Lichnowsky gave concerts
every Friday evening, frequently taking a part in the orchestra. Regular
weekly concerts were given by Baron von Swieten, Prince Lobkowitz, Count
Rasoumowsky and many others. It is stated that at this period there were
ten private theatres in Vienna, each with its complement of actors. It
was a common occurrence to give operettas at these private
theatres,--the ordinary parts being taken by amateurs.
How could they, we naturally ask, get an audience, when so many
performances were in progress, and how could the people get around to so
many places? The answer is: these performances were given daily,
including Sunday, and at all hours of the day, some concerts being given
as early as six o'clock in the morning. It was indeed a "golden age for
Beethoven," as Schindler remarks. Thayer gives a list of twenty-one
great houses open to Beethoven, nine of which belonged to princes. The
young musician was often the guest of honor at the various musical
functions given by these people, and received much attention from
illustrious persons who were attracted to him by the force of his
character as well as his genius. Not in any degree a society man, rough
in exterior and careless of appearance, he was sought after by the most
exclusive of Vienna society.
That a man of such force and originality, such independence, should have
won the lifelong friendship of those of his own sex, goes without
saying. His very scorn for the conventions and refinements of life, the
manliness which was reflected in his every act, in the tones of his
voice and the expression of his face, all this, united to such talents,
would be sure to win the enthusiastic admiration of his fellow-men. But
that the beautiful society women of the capital should have been
attracted to a man so uncouth may at first sight seem surprising, until
we consider that he attracted them in spite of these drawbacks and on
account of other qualities, such as his sensibility, his earnestness and
devotion to his art, and the wealth of his emotional and intellectual
nature. He thoroughly enjoyed standing so well socially with these
ladies, who in family connections were above him, but who were willing
to sit at his feet in homage to his genius. Beginning with hero worship
on the part of these devotees, the sentiment usually developed into the
more intimate relation of friendship or love. The "Ewig Weibliche"
appears constantly in his music and was always in his life. He formed
many romantic attachments which may not always have been Platonic, but
they were always pure. Beethoven had as chivalrous a regard for women as
had any knight of the middle ages.
Among those with whom he became intimate are the Baroness Ertmann, the
Countess Erdödy, the sisters of the Count of Brunswick and many others.
It is interesting to note the affectionate familiarity which these
ladies permitted him. Taking into account the extreme sensibility of the
artistic temperament and the sentimental character of the Germans, it is
still surprising to meet with a letter to the Countess Erdödy, which he
begins: "Liebe, liebe, liebe, liebe, liebe Gräfin" ("Dear, dear, dear,
dear, dear Countess"), although the letter itself is simple enough and
ends: "Ihr wahrer Freund und Verehrer." He begins another letter to this
lady in a strain courtly and dignified, in marked contrast to the
excessive warmth of the previous example: "Alles Gute und Schöne meiner
lieben, verehrten, mir theure Freundin, von ihrem wahren und verehrenden
Freund." The Countess Erdödy, who is described as being witty,
cultivated and beautiful, exercised a very strong fascination on the
susceptible heart of our master, and on her side, she seems to have been
powerfully drawn to him. The friendship lasted many years. Music, the
bond that united them, sanctified their intimacy and kept it always on a
high level. Beethoven lived at her house for a time. He used to allude
to her as his father confessor. Madame Erdödy erected in honor of
Beethoven, in the park of one of her seats in Hungary, a temple, the
entrance to which is decorated with a characteristic inscription
expressing her homage to the great composer. Later in life she was
banished and died in Munich.
The Baroness Ertmann was also a good friend to Beethoven. He called on
her frequently and her ability to interpret his works acceptably must
have cemented the friendship between them. Others with whom he came in
contact were the Countess Babette de Keglivics (Princess Odeschalchi),
and Julia Guicciardi, who became the Countess Gallenberg, and to whom he
dedicated the Sonata Fantasia, which is called the language of
resignation.
These people on the whole were quite democratic in their relations
toward artists. There was a very elaborate ceremonial at court, but
elsewhere, cultivated people met on common ground. Ries relates an
incident illustrating the cameraderie existing between Beethoven and the
aristocratic ladies of his circle. In this instance. Princess
Lichnowsky, who was a Countess Thun, and connected with some of the best
families in Europe, was the central figure. One evening at Count
Browne's, Ries was asked to play a sonata with which he was not
familiar. Ries preferring to play something else, begged to be excused
from playing this particular one. The company was obdurate, however, and
finally appealed to Beethoven, knowing that he, if any one, could carry
the point. Beethoven turned to Ries and asked him to play it, saying: "I
am sure you will not play it so badly that you would not want me to hear
it," whereupon Ries complied, Beethoven turning the leaves for him. He
made a break in the bass part, at which Beethoven tapped him on the head
with his finger, whether to discipline him or only in play does not
appear. Later in the evening Beethoven played a sonata (opus 21),
entirely new, with which he himself was not very familiar. Princess
Lichnowsky, who had observed Beethoven's act in disciplining Ries
earlier in the evening, stationed herself back of Beethoven's chair,
while Ries turned the pages. When Beethoven made a mistake similar to
that of Ries, the Princess playfully hit him several taps on the head
with her hand, saying: "If the scholar is punished for making a slight
mistake, the master should not escape, when making a graver one," at
which all laughed, Beethoven taking the lead. Then he began again and
fairly outdid himself, particularly in the Adagio, in which the mistake
occurred.
The virtuosity of some of the Viennese of the period was marvellous.
Allusion has been made to the ability of the professional musicians, but
the amateur performers were in many cases equally proficient. It is
related that Beethoven's friend, Marie Bigot, played the Appassionata
Sonata at sight from the manuscript for the delectation of some friends.
Madame Bigot was the wife of the librarian of Count Rasoumowsky and
evidently took a prominent part in these entertainments. Sight-reading
before a critical audience is surely a difficult enough task under the
most favoring conditions; how much more so from the manuscript, with its
excisions and corrections and general indistinctness! It was, however,
an every-day matter especially in chamber-music. Hümmel is reported as
saying: "In Vienna there are a hundred ladies who can play the piano
better than I." Another musician, writing from Vienna in 1820, said: "In
every house there is a good instrument; at one, a banker's, there are
five."
On one occasion, some one laid before Beethoven a quartet in manuscript
which had just been composed. The band essayed it, of course at sight,
not one of the party having seen the manuscript before. The cellist got
out in the first movement. Beethoven got up, and while he kept on
playing his own part, sang the cellist's part. When this was commented
on, he remarked that the bass part _had_ to be this way if the composer
understood his business. The composer in this instance was Förster, his
old teacher.
On another occasion, Beethoven played at sight a new and difficult
composition which had been brought him. The composer told him that he
(Beethoven), had played the Presto so fast that it would have been
impossible to see the single notes. "That is not necessary," Beethoven
replied. "If you read rapidly, many misprints may occur; you do not heed
them, if you only know the language." Wagner in his life of Beethoven
says: "The power of the musician is not to be appreciated otherwise than
through the idea of magic." It would seem so in very fact. Consider the
million combinations of which the brain has to take cognizance while
doing so comparatively simple a thing as transposing. Not to play the
particular notes which are indicated on the staff, but some others, one
or two steps higher or lower; to play four or five at a stroke, as in
piano, and to do it quickly, sixty or eighty or a hundred in a
minute,--this is almost like magic, but it is nothing to what Beethoven
frequently did in music. At a public concert at which he played, he
asked his friend Seyfried, a distinguished composer and all-round
musician, to turn the leaves for him of a new concerto written for the
occasion. "But that was easier said than done," said Seyfried who told
the story. "I saw nothing but blank leaves with a few utterly
incomprehensible Egyptian hieroglyphics which served him as guides, for
he played nearly the whole of the solo part from memory, not having had
time to write it out in full; he always gave me a sign, when he was at
the end of one of these unintelligible passages." Seyfried, thorough
musician that he was, understood the difficulties of the position for
Beethoven, and was so apprehensive of turning a page at the wrong time,
that his nervousness was observed by the master, who afterward rallied
him about it. Extempore playing is not to be compared with this, as the
concerto was written for strings and piano, Beethoven taking the piano
part.
The three quartets, opus 59, known as the Rasoumowsky Quartets, to which
a passing reference has been made, take their name from having been
dedicated to Count Rasoumowsky, who was the Russian ambassador. The
Count had married a sister of the Princess Lichnowsky and was a
cultivated man whose greatest delight was music. He lived in great state
in a palace, then on the outskirts of Vienna, now used as the Geological
Institute. He was closely identified with the musical life of Vienna,
and shortly after these quartets appeared, formed a string quartet of
distinguished musicians, which he maintained for many years, taking the
part of second violin himself. It is almost needless to state that
Beethoven's work took precedence in the repertoire.
The first of the three quartets, the one in F, has an Adagio movement on
which Beethoven inscribed in the sketch-book, "Eine Trauerweide oder
Akazienbaum aufs Grab meines Bruders." [A weeping willow or acacia tree
over my brother's grave.] Beethoven had indeed lost an infant brother
twenty-three years before this event, but it is not likely that he was
thus tardily commemorating him. His brother Kaspar Karl was married the
day before this quartet was begun and it is probably a humorous allusion
to that circumstance. But if his brother's marriage was an occasion for
humor at the beginning, it lapsed afterward into the sternest tragedy in
its effect on the master's life, as will be seen further on in these
pages.
These quartets are monuments to Beethoven's genius and are classed among
the best examples of chamber-music. The Adagio of the second one was
thought out by Beethoven one night while contemplating the stars.
Somewhat of the infinite calm and serenity of his mood is imparted to
it. The incident is related by Czerny to whom it was related by
Beethoven himself. The quartets were generally disliked and condemned by
musicians when first produced. Cherubini said that they made him sneeze.
Others said that Beethoven was music-mad, that they could not be called
music, that they were too difficult, unintelligible, and so on. That was
close onto a century ago, and they are still unintelligible to some, but
we now know that this is not the fault of the quartets as was so naively
assumed at that time. The condemnation of them by the performers has a
show of reason in it as they taxed their capacity too severely. Wagner
had the same thing to contend with for the same reason.
After the withdrawal of Fidelio, noted in the last chapter, and with the
advent of summer, Beethoven left Vienna on a visit to Count Brunswick,
at his seat in Hungary. The Count was a man of exceptional intellectual
ability, who had the greatest reverence and admiration for Beethoven's
genius. Beethoven was also on excellent terms with the Count's sisters,
and later became engaged to one of them, the Countess Therese. It is
well known that the Countess Therese exercised a powerful fascination
over him, but so did many another of the gifted Vienna ladies in the
course of his life.
So vast a quantity of work was accomplished by the master during this
summer, that it is likely the proximity of these friends only served to
stimulate his genius. The Appassionata Sonata was worked over, the
Rasoumowsky Quartets were finished, as well as the Fourth Symphony,
besides lesser works, so that he could not have spent much time in
social intercourse. He was in the period of his greatest productivity;
the creative instinct was strong in him and impelled him onward in his
work to the exclusion of other desires. Even friendship had to give way
in great measure to the passion for creating which had become a
necessity of his existence.
That the life was a tranquil and contented one may be inferred by the
character of the Fourth Symphony. Beethoven loved country life, and
surrounded as he was by his friends, whose first thought was for him, he
had everything to make him satisfied. The serenity which speaks to us
through the Fourth Symphony is something for which the world should ever
be grateful. Our highest happiness often comes to us through the frame
of mind superinduced by external influences. This symphony is a song of
joy, ecstatic in its pure exuberance of spirits; again, it is a
benediction that breathes into our minds somewhat of its own spirit of
calm and content. The storm and stress of life is forgotten; all is
holiday humor. We are in the midst of a Shakespearian comedy, with its
alternations of humor and sentiment, its joyous atmosphere, its idyllic
simplicity; the forest of Arden has come to us. It was written to
celebrate his engagement to the Countess Therese. In it he is inspired
by the very genius of happiness. It is as if, having obtained his
heart's desire, he invites us to partake with him the joy that the gods
have provided.
But it is only for once, as if to emphasize the fact that happiness is
not the object of existence and is not even our right primarily. He
gives few instances in which the element of pain or sadness does not
enter to some extent. His works abound in psychological suggestion;
they illustrate every phase of life. The philosophic import of the
Fourth Symphony is plain. He demonstrates the rarity of pure unalloyed
happiness in actual life by the few examples in his compositions in
which it reigns supreme. Joy enters incidentally into most of his works.
Often it dominates them. He recognized it as part of the scheme of life,
but it is usually qualified by other conditions and is only attained
through persistent effort; it is never our portion until earned. It does
not come unsought like pain and suffering. The Fourth Symphony is
lighter than the "Eroica" which preceded it, or the C minor which comes
next. The language of joy is always more or less superficial. The
tragedies of life have to be told in stronger language, since they go
deeper. Happiness is negative, pain positive. The comedies of
Shakespeare, in which the note is usually buoyant and felicitous, do not
stir us as do the tragedies.
Beethoven's visit at Count Brunswick's continued throughout the summer
of 1806. He left the Brunswicks in October, but instead of returning to
Vienna as was his wont in the autumn, he turned his face toward Silesia,
on a visit to Prince Lichnowsky who had an estate there. But the idyllic
life left behind at Count Brunswick's was not to be repeated here. His
stay was destined to be short owing to a violent quarrel between the
Prince and him, which caused an estrangement lasting some years. The
circumstances leading up to it can be briefly narrated. When Beethoven
arrived at the castle of Prince Lichnowsky, he found other guests there,
uninvited but not unexpected, consisting of French officers who had been
quartered on the Prince. Napoleon had overrun Germany, and was master
wherever he went. Beethoven's rage against him for making himself
Emperor had not abated; his dislike extended to the officers as well,
and he was not there long before hostilities began in good earnest. It
all came about from a desire on the part of the officers that Beethoven
play for them. He had the penetration to know that he was regarded
simply as a curiosity, that he was called on because no better
entertainment was available. Had there been a juggler or a ballet-dancer
on hand, these latter might have been preferred. At dinner, a
staff-officer had asked him quite innocently if he could play the cello,
to which no answer was given; the frown on Beethoven's face, however,
boded ill for the evening's festivities. It had been announced that he
would play for them, and they expected it as a matter of course.
In the nature of things it could not be expected that these men would be
able to appreciate Beethoven, or understand much of his art. His
reverence for it was great; he felt that it would be a degradation, in a
sense, to play for them under the circumstances, and refused. The
Prince, with the amiable desire of pleasing his guests, urged the
matter, but Beethoven continued obdurate; upon which he told him,
probably by way of a joke, that he must either comply or that he would
be confined in the castle as a prisoner of war for disobeying orders.
This persistence so enraged him that, although it was night, he left the
castle without the Prince's knowledge, and walked three miles to
Trappau, the nearest post-town. He remained here overnight, and, while
waiting for the post-chaise, wrote the following letter to Prince
Lichnowsky:
"Prince! what you are you owe to chance and birth. What I am, I am
through myself. There has been, and will yet be thousands of princes,
but there is only one Beethoven."[A]
[A] Frimmel's Beethoven.
It was raining when he left the castle, and the manuscript of the
Appassionata Sonata, hastily packed, became water-soaked and blurred; it
bears the marks of that night's journey to the present day.
Some difficulty was experienced in procuring his passport for Vienna. It
could readily have been obtained by having recourse to Prince
Lichnowsky, but Beethoven would not permit this. The matter was finally
arranged, and he proceeded on his journey. He nursed his wrath all the
way, and on reaching his quarters in Vienna, his first act was to smash
a bust of the Prince which stood on a bookcase.
Although a reconciliation was effected later, the old cordial relations
were never restored. There were times when the Prince called on
Beethoven and was not received, when the latter was not in the mood for
seeing him. Through his wilfulness, Beethoven lost the annuity which the
Prince had settled on him on his coming to Vienna. The initiative in
this matter was probably taken by Beethoven himself, as may be inferred
from a letter he writes to a friend two years later: "My circumstances
are improving without having recourse to people who treat their friends
insultingly."
The winter of 1806-7 was a period of great activity for Beethoven,
although a felon on his finger must have stopped all work for a while.
Some important works were published, notably the Eroica Symphony and
the Appassionata Sonata. Along with acceptances came commissions, so
that his finances appear to have been in a flourishing condition for the
time.
Beethoven's engagement to the Countess Brunswick was entered into with
the consent of her brother. Count Brunswick, who was the only one
permitted to share the secret. Every precaution was taken to prevent a
knowledge of it coming to the ears of Therese's mother, who would not
for a moment have listened to an argument leading to a possible union of
her daughter with the poor musician.
That Beethoven had marriage in mind is evident from the fact that he
once got so far as to write to Bonn for a copy of his baptismal
certificate as a necessary preliminary. He wrote in his note-book on the
subject as follows: "Oh God! Let me attain her who is destined to be
mine and who shall strengthen me in virtue." But it never got any
further. The secrecy so strictly enjoined, must have been specially
unpleasant to a man of Beethoven's temperament. The opposition that was
sure to be developed on the part of the Countess's family may have
reverted on his sense of pride to such an extent as to lead him to
sacrifice his love to it. He always had his work to fall back on. In the
end, his art took precedence of all other considerations; while it
permitted friendship, the serenity of which might aid him in his
life-work, it excluded love, which might become a rival. His concept of
life was to live simply, to entertain no project which would in any way
divert his mind from his work. No mere desires of self were to be
considered.
The Countess Therese never married, but occupied herself with
philanthropic work on reaching middle-age. She founded a home for little
children in Vienna, the first of its kind in Austria; her own means not
being sufficient to maintain it, she enlisted the support of powerful
friends from the Empress down, in its behalf. She died in 1861, aged 83.