Beethoven made the acquaintance of a generous young nobleman, with
whom he not only became on the most friendly terms, but who both
helped him and encouraged his talents. Count von Waldstein, as the
nobleman was named, called one day on Beethoven in his poor room, and
found the composer, whose works he so much admired, seated before an
old, worn-out piano, on which he was elaborating one of his
compositions. The Count said nothing at the time, but shortly
afterwards Beethoven was astonished and delighted at receiving a fine
new instrument, accompanied by a message from his friend praying his
acceptance of the gift. It went to the Count's heart to observe the
poverty-stricken conditions under which the composer worked. That he
himself should be surrounded by every luxury, whilst the gifted
musician who laboured for his enjoyment was driven to practise all
manner of shifts to maintain himself in food and clothing, seemed
intolerably unjust. Yet Waldstein knew and respected Beethoven too
well to offend his pride by offering presents of money where no
service was required in return; and so he hit upon the harmless device
of helping his poor friend under the pretence that the Elector was
making him an allowance. But though he opened his purse in another's
name, he took care to let Beethoven see into his own heart, in order
that he might there read the sympathy and affection for which,
happily, no cloak was needed.
How deeply Beethoven was moved by this friendship we may understand
when we listen to the grand sonata which, though it was not composed
until some years later, he dedicated to the Count. We want no better
title for this exquisitely beautiful work than that by which it is
known to the world--the 'Waldstein Sonata.' As the grand chords which
follow the opening bars strike the ear it seems as if Beethoven were
speaking to his friend--speaking to him out of the fullness of his
heart, out of his poverty and mean surroundings--and rising by the
strengthening influence of love to a height of eloquence and grandeur
which no spoken words could have attained.
The conditions at home, meanwhile, were growing worse. Carl and
Johann, Beethoven's two younger brothers, of whom no previous mention
has been made, were engaged, the one in studying music, and the other
as apprentice to the Court apothecary, but neither was bringing grist
to the mill. The father had sunk still deeper under the degrading
influence of drink, and his voice was almost ruined by his excesses,
so that it had become increasingly difficult to maintain for the
family even the appearance of respectability. On more than one
occasion Beethoven, in returning home at night, had encountered his
drunken father in the hands of the police, from whose custody he had
succeeded in rescuing him only after much persuasion, and it seemed as
if his discharge from the band must be merely a question of time. The
state of affairs, in fact, could no longer be concealed from the
Elector, who, knowing the circumstances with which Beethoven had to
contend, finally ordered that a portion of the father's salary should
be paid over to Ludwig, in order that the money might be properly
expended for the support of the family.
Meanwhile, at the Court itself great changes had been effected in
regard to the band. With a view to encouraging the growth of operatic
art, the Elector had established a national theatre, and Beethoven was
appointed viola player in the orchestra, in addition to retaining the
post of second organist to the chapel. The numerous performances of
operatic works by the company must have given Beethoven an insight
into what was to him a new branch of his art, from which he did not
fail to profit later on. His work in the band was not increased by the
changes which had been made, and as the Elector was frequently absent
from Bonn, he found ample leisure to pursue his studies in
composition, and to enjoy the intellectual society of his friends.
Four years thus slipped away, until the month of July, 1792, saw the
Bonn musicians preparing to receive a distinguished visitor. Haydn
was to pass through Bonn on his way to Vienna from London, where his
compositions and playing had created a sensation, and the band had
arranged a grand reception in his honour. Beethoven, of course, was
amongst the invited guests on the occasion, and he seized the
opportunity of submitting to the master a cantata which he had lately
composed. Haydn praised the composition highly, and warmly encouraged
Beethoven to go on with his studies--words which sent the young
composer back to his work with glowing cheeks and a determination to
accomplish greater things.
[Illustration: '_Haydn praised the composition highly._']
The commendation of so renowned a master as Haydn must have gone far
towards convincing the Elector that by keeping Beethoven at Bonn he
was burying talent and cramping powers that only required a wider
scope in order to produce great works, and that, therefore, some step
should now be taken to develop his genius. It was with a heart
overflowing with joy and gratitude that Ludwig learnt that the kindly
Max Franz had decided to send him to Vienna, at his own expense, to
take lessons in strict counterpoint from Haydn. Surely this could mean
nothing less than that the days of adversity and struggling with
poverty had closed behind him for ever, and that a future bright with
hope had opened, upon which, though he might not forecast its results,
he could enter with courage and determination. He was now twenty-two,
and his compositions--published and in manuscript--had brought him
such fame and appreciation as the small German town could give to one
born and reared within its narrow sphere. Now, however, the bonds
which hitherto had fettered his genius were to be broken, and, freed
from the restraint of Court duties, he would be able to give full vent
to the powers which he was burning to express.
In November of this year he bade farewell to Bonn and his friends, and
set forth on his journey, though not, we may be sure, without regrets
at parting with such true helpers and sympathisers as Count Waldstein,
the Breunings, and the man to whom he owed so much--Christian Neefe.
With the last named he left these words of thanks: 'Thank you for the
counsel you have so often given me on my progress in my divine art.
Should I ever become a great man you will certainly have assisted in
it.' In an album provided for the purpose his musical brethren
inscribed their farewells, and Waldstein's message ran as follows:
'DEAR BEETHOVEN,
'You are travelling to Vienna in fulfilment of your
long-cherished wish. The genius of Mozart is still weeping and
bewailing the death of her favourite.[16] With the
inexhaustible Haydn she found a refuge, but no occupation, and
is now waiting to leave him and join herself to some one else.
Labour assiduously, and receive Mozart's spirit from the hands
of Haydn.
'Your old friend,
'WALDSTEIN.
'BONN,
'_October 29, 1792._
Little did either Beethoven or his friends imagine that he would never
set foot in Bonn again, but so it was to be. Two years later war had
broken out with France, Bonn was captured by the French Republican
army, and the Elector and his retinue were forced to fly the town.
Those two years had witnessed great strides in the march of
Beethoven's career. He had arrived in Vienna as a comparatively
unknown musician--though not, it is true, without recommendations from
Count Waldstein--but his marvellous command of the pianoforte, and,
more especially, his powers of extemporisation, had electrified his
hearers to such a degree as to secure for him a place in the front
rank of performers of the day. He was a constant visitor at the houses
of the aristocracy, with several members of whom he had become on
terms of intimacy. In the Prince and Princess Karl Lichnowsky he had
found true friends and sincere admirers, who not only welcomed him as
one of the family, but provided apartments for him in their house, and
bestowed upon him an annuity of £60. Many who had heard him play
forthwith engaged him as teacher, and on every hand his genius and
powers were the theme of the hour.
It is hardly to be wondered at that with all this praise and
patronage on the part of the wealthy aristocracy (and it is necessary
to bear in mind that in Vienna at that time the musical profession was
entirely dependent upon the patronage of the nobility), Beethoven
should have encountered considerable hostility from other members of
his profession. For a good deal of the enmity which his success
aroused he himself was no doubt to blame; he took no pains to please
or conciliate, and he showed even more independence towards the rich
and great than towards those of his own rank. The result was that only
those who could afford to overlook his faults for the sake of his
genius--and for the sake of something else which lay beneath his crust
of obstinate pride and openly expressed disregard for rank and
wealth--remained constant to him. Of his obstinacy and self-will
several instances will be given in the course of our story; but it is
necessary at this point to draw attention to the early period at which
this determined force of character began to assert itself. It is an
astonishing fact, and one that demonstrates the extraordinary power of
Beethoven's genius, that in spite of everything that could be urged
against him--his origin, rudeness of manner and speech, refusal to pay
homage to the great--even his youth and the comparative shortness of
the time during which he had been before the public--Beethoven should
have not only won a front place as a performer, but also retained the
sincere regard and respect of men and women belonging to the worthiest
as well as the highest ranks of society.
In the midst of the whirl of work and entertainment into which the
musical life of Vienna had plunged him, Beethoven was constant to
those whom he had left behind him at Bonn. He had not been absent more
than a month before he received news of his father's death. There had
been very little affection in his heart for the parent whose severity
had called forth his childish tears, and whose selfish indulgence had
increased the burden of his mother's existence, nor was Beethoven the
man to pretend what he did not feel. But with the father's death the
allowance which had been paid through Ludwig for the support of the
two sons, Carl and Johann, ceased, and this fact awoke Beethoven to
instant action. He wrote to the Elector begging that the grant might
be continued for his sake, and the request was granted. Later on we
shall see to what extent he carried his affection for at least one of
these brothers.
With the Prince and Princess Lichnowsky Beethoven shortly became, as
we have said, on terms of the greatest intimacy. All Vienna looked to
the house of Lichnowsky for patronage and help wherever art or science
was concerned, and none looked in vain. To Beethoven--young, rough,
and almost untutored in the usages of society, but with his commanding
genius and his equally remarkable personality--the Lichnowskys were
kindness itself. The Princess saw to his comforts, and arranged his
engagements in the same motherly fashion as Madame Breuning had done
after his mother's death, whilst the Prince even went so far in his
consideration for Beethoven's sensitiveness as to direct his servants
to attend to the musician's bell before answering his own. Extreme
sensibility to what he deemed indifference or neglect on the part of
his friends was undoubtedly one of Ludwig's chief weaknesses; but he
resented angrily the Prince's discovery of the fact, and to mark his
displeasure he immediately engaged a servant of his own to wait upon
him. The regularity of the household arrangements at the palace was
another matter which grated against Beethoven's love of Bohemianism;
to be forced to dress for dinner, especially at a set hour of the
day, was to him an abomination not to be suffered. The workings of his
genius were not to be regulated by the clockwork contrivances of
civilised life, and hence he first took to dining out at some tavern,
where he could be at his ease, and finally went altogether into
lodgings. But the Prince and Princess, like the good, sensible people
they were, only smiled at the vagaries of their favourite, and if his
seat at their table was henceforth but too frequently vacant, they
kept for him a warm corner in their hearts; whilst, as for Beethoven
himself, his affection for his kind friends remained as strong as
ever.
Careless as he was with regard both to dress and manners, there was no
trace of either carelessness or haste in his compositions, and he was
most insistent in having the latter performed in exact accordance with
his plans. One night, when his great work 'Leonore' was to be
rehearsed, the third bassoon failed to put in an appearance, and
Beethoven stamped about in a fury, heaping execrations upon the head
of the absent player. Prince Lobkowitz, who was present, and who was
one of Beethoven's chief patrons, laughed heartily at the composer's
outburst, and then tried to calm him by saying: 'Well, well, what does
it matter? You have the first and second bassoons safely here, surely
the third man doesn't count for much.' The rehearsal was at length
allowed to proceed, but Beethoven could not forget that his judgment
had been questioned by the Prince's mocking laughter, and as soon as
the performance had ended and the company had dispersed, he rushed
across the Platz to the gates of the Lobkowitz Palace, and shouted at
the top of his voice: 'Lobkowitzscher Esel! Lobkowitzscher Esel!'
('Ass of a Lobkowitz! Ass of a Lobkowitz!')
Beethoven's temper was of the passionate order that is apt to explode
at the slightest provocation, and when once aroused he seemed to lose
all power of self-control. As one of his greatest friends[17] has
remarked, he needed at his elbow some one who possessed the ability to
give a humorous turn to what was spoken in the heat of the moment, so
as to put them all on good terms with one another again. As it was, he
would say the unkindest things even to his greatest friends, and
afterwards bitterly regret having said them. His manners were rude and
abrupt, but his great genius, combined with the absolute simplicity
and straightforwardness of his character, won him his way everywhere.
A personality so rare as Beethoven's had a charm for those who
worshipped genius, and thus he was forgiven speeches which no one else
in his position would have dared to utter. He manifested complete
indifference with regard to what people said of him or of his
works--only when his honour was in any way impeached did he blaze
forth in his own defence. He hated deception of any kind; in both
heart and action he was as open as the day, and he was quick to resent
a suspicion of deception on the part of others. On one occasion a
hitch occurred with regard to a performance of his works, and he
suddenly suspected three of his friends of having created the obstacle
for their own ends, although they had in reality been working hard to
overcome the difficulty. He accordingly sat down and wrote to each as
follows:
'_To Count Lichnowsky._
'Falsehoods I despise. Visit me no more. There will be no
concert.
'BEETHOVEN.'
'_To Herr Schindler._
'Visit me no more until I send for you. No concert.
'BEETHOVEN.'
'_To Herr Schuppanzigh._
'Visit me no more. I give no concert.
'BEETHOVEN.'
Haydn and Beethoven did not get on well together; there seems to have
been something antagonistic in their natures which prevented anything
approaching to reciprocal feeling between them. Beethoven from the
first considered that he had a grievance against his master in the
fact that he did not make sufficient progress, owing to Haydn's being
so much occupied with his own work. This dissatisfaction led to his
seeking guidance in other quarters; but for about a year after his
arrival in Vienna he refrained from doing this openly, until Haydn's
departure for England gave him the opportunity of changing masters.
Thereafter he took lessons every day of the week from several of the
best musicians in the city both in playing and composition.
Albrechtsberger was the famous contrapuntist of his day, and Beethoven
derived much from his teaching; he does not appear to have impressed
his master, however, with a high opinion of his powers, for the old
man advised one of his pupils to have nothing to do with the young man
from Bonn. 'He has learnt nothing,' Albrechtsberger added, 'and will
never do anything in decent style.' This was in allusion to
Beethoven's wilfulness in persistently transgressing certain
established rules of composition. The old teacher failed to see that
Beethoven's refusal to be bound by hard-and-fast rules arose, not from
mere caprice, but from the force of a genius which would not submit to
be trammelled by any kind of artificial limitations. The wisdom of
Beethoven is, however, shown by the fact that he wrote out his
exercises with the most scrupulous care, and in exact accordance with
what were regarded as the laws of composition, for his genius, great
and original as it was, would not presume upon ignorance.
But who could resist the young player when he seated himself at the
pianoforte and began one of those wonderful improvisations about which
so much has been written, but of the effect of which we can only
faintly judge by the fact that the hearers were held spellbound until
the finish? Who amongst that audience, gathered from the best and most
critical followers and lovers of the art that Vienna contained, gave a
thought to how many rules had been broken, or were likely to be
broken, by the player, or, indeed, had room for any other thought but
one of admiration for the music which was filling their ears and
charming their senses? 'His improvisation was most brilliant and
striking,' wrote Karl Czerny, the player and composer, and pupil of
Beethoven; 'in whatever company he might chance to be he knew how to
produce such an effect upon every hearer that frequently not an eye
remained dry, while many would break out into loud sobs; for there was
something wonderful in his expression, in addition to the beauty and
originality of his ideas, and his spirited style of rendering them.'
Ferdinand Ries, another of his pupils, has declared that no other
artist that he ever heard could approach Beethoven in extemporisation.
'The wealth of ideas which forced themselves on him, the caprices to
which he surrendered himself, the variety of treatment, the
difficulties, were inexhaustible,' And it must be borne in mind that
in respect to this art Beethoven was brought into competition with
several older and undoubtedly brilliant performers of the day, who,
until he came amongst them, had swayed their respective circles of
admirers.
Yet, strangely enough, the emotion aroused in his hearers seemed to
find no response in Beethoven himself. Frequently when he discovered
how deeply he had moved his audience he would burst into roars of
laughter; at other times the sight of their emotion stirred him up to
angry resentment, and he would shout, 'We artists don't want tears, we
want applause!' That a player should open his soul in his music and
then abuse his audience for their inability to suppress the feelings
which he had aroused appears strange indeed. But the caprice and
wilfulness which marked his public playing are shown equally in his
relations with people in everyday life. What may have been his true
feelings is concealed--it is only the mask which is seen; and the mask
was so constantly worn that it no doubt deceived many. Every now and
again, however, we get a glimpse of his true nature in his intercourse
with those who knew him best. Irritable to a degree, and occasionally
outrageous as his conduct appears to have been, it needed but the
touch of another's grief to draw from him the golden thread of
sympathy. On one occasion he offended the susceptibilities of the
company assembled in one of the most fashionable drawing-rooms of
Vienna by using his hostess's snuffers as a toothpick! Yet, later on,
when that household was plunged into mourning by the loss of a beloved
child, and visitors were denied, it was Beethoven to whom the bereaved
mother opened her doors, and to whom she turned for sympathy.
It is much to be regretted that the nobility of nature which was
really and truly Beethoven's attribute should have been so constantly
overshadowed and dominated by something else which, without being a
superior force, seemed by a strange perversity to be always to the
fore. Whilst, however, we would wish to give to every instance of his
goodness of heart its fullest weight, it would be useless, as well as
wrong, to endeavour to hide the fact that his conduct, even towards
those who desired to be his friends, and to whom he owed obligations
for acts of sympathy and kindness, frequently admitted of no excuse.
His anger, though sharp, was short, and left no sting behind; but his
unjust suspicions and scornful treatment of men whose confidence he
had won by his genius and force of character, were the cause of sorrow
and suffering to those whom he attacked, as well as of remorse to
himself, whereby his whole life was embittered, and his better nature
warped to ignoble ends.
The good people of Vienna must, indeed, have been somewhat at a loss
how to take the genius who had thus burst into their midst and laid
them under captivity. Attempts at conciliation were more often than
not frustrated by his variable temperament; for though none was apter
than Beethoven to take offence, there was no one quicker to resent any
effort at mediation by a third party, on whose unfortunate head it was
only too likely that the irate composer would empty the vials of his
wrath. Nevertheless, his erratic behaviour did not sensibly lessen the
circle of his admirers or diminish the popularity which his fame had
brought him. Many of the fashionable ladies of Vienna came to him for
lessons instead of requiring his attendance at their houses; but such
condescension made no difference to the man who held that mind and
character alone were the qualifications by which men and women were to
be weighed in the social balance. If, therefore, the young ladies
talked or showed inattention during their lessons, he became furious,
and would tear up the music and scatter it over the floor. His rage,
indeed, seems to have been quite ungovernable at times. On one
occasion he was playing a duet with his pupil Ries when his ear caught
some fragments of a conversation which a young nobleman was carrying
on with a lady at the further end of the room. Instantly he jumped up
from the piano in a rage, and, taking Ries's hands off the keyboard,
he bellowed, 'I play no longer for such hogs!' nor could either
apologies or entreaties induce him to resume the performance.
It was often a matter of some difficulty to get him to play,
especially when he was not in the humour. On such occasions he would
preface the performance by striking the keys with the palm of his
hand, or draw his finger along the keyboard from end to end, roaring
with laughter, and in other ways behave like a spoiled child. He would
not bear being pressed beyond a certain point. Once, it is related, he
was asked to play before strangers at the country-house of one of his
rich patrons, and flatly refused to comply; whereupon the host
jokingly threatened that, if he would not play, he should be confined
as a prisoner in the house. Beethoven on this jumped up and ran out of
the mansion, and though it was night, he walked three miles to the
next town, and thence posted to Vienna. The next day a bust of this
patron which stood on Beethoven's bookcase fell to the ground, and was
shattered to pieces![18]
His views as to the superiority of mind and character over everything
else were certainly borne out by his actions. One day, when he was
walking with the poet Goethe near Uplitz, the Imperial family were
observed to be approaching. Goethe at once stood aside and removed his
hat, at the same time plucking his friend by the sleeve, to remind
him that they were in the presence of royalty. Beethoven, however,
seemed to regard this as a fitting opportunity for illustrating his
views on the independence of art, for, shaking off the hand that
detained him, he buttoned up his coat in a determined manner, planted
his hat firmly on his head, and, folding his arms behind him, marched
straight into the ranks of the Imperial party! If Goethe felt dismayed
at his friend's lack of respect, he must have been astonished to note
the result; for the Archduke Rodolph not only made way for Beethoven
to pass, but removed his hat, whilst the Empress was the first to bow
to him.