At heart he was a man capable of loving and worthy to be loved. His
simple nature was easily touched by distress, and just as easily
imposed upon by those who designed to use him for their own ends. Many
of his quarrels and dislikes were either brought about or fomented by
persons in whom he had placed a mistaken faith. This was notably the
case with regard to the quarrel with Stephen Breuning, his best and
truest friend, to whom, after a separation of years, he turned with an
appeal for pardon that did honour to his heart. The letter accompanied
a miniature of the composer, and ran as follows:
'Beneath this portrait, dear Stephen, may all that has for so
long gone on between us be for ever hidden. I know how I have
torn your heart. For this the emotion that you must certainly
have noticed in me has been sufficient punishment. My feeling
towards you was not malice. No--I should no longer be worthy of
your friendship; it was passionate love for you and myself; but
I doubted you dreadfully, for people came between us who were
unworthy of us both. My portrait has long been intended for
you. I need not tell you that I never meant it for anyone else.
Who could I give it to with my warmest love so well as to you,
true, good, noble Stephen? Forgive me for distressing you. I
have suffered myself as much as you have. It was only when I
had you no longer with me that I first really felt how dear you
are, and always will be, to my heart. Come to my arms once
more, as you used to do.'
Carl, the brother in whose unworthy behalf Beethoven had taken up the
cudgels against his best friend, was dead when this touching appeal
was written, but he had bequeathed to Beethoven a solemn charge which
was destined to bring to him who undertook it in the goodness of his
heart a burden of sorrow and bitterness. Carl had died penniless, and
his boy, who bore the father's name, thenceforth became to his Uncle
Ludwig as his own son. How good, how generous and self-sacrificing
Beethoven was to his nephew is testified by all who have written of
his life. He supplied him freely with money when money was by no means
too plentiful; he strove to satisfy his every need, either fancied or
real; and he lavished upon him a great love and solicitude to the last
day of his life. But Carl showed himself to be utterly unworthy of
this affection. He treated his uncle shamefully, and instead of
endeavouring to repay his kindness by steady perseverance, he was a
disgrace to the family whose name he bore. There is, unfortunately,
only too much reason for believing that Carl's want of affection,
coupled with his dissolute habits, embittered his uncle's existence,
estranged him from his friends, and hurried on his death.
Of Beethoven's tenderness of heart numerous instances are recorded. He
devoted much of his time to arranging concerts for the benefit of the
poor and suffering, and in the midst of his popularity and the heavy
demands upon his time and strength he always found a means of helping
others. When he first came to Vienna to reside, he made the
acquaintance of a musician named Förster, from whom he received
instruction in the art of quartet writing. Beethoven never forgot this
kindly help, and long afterwards, when Förster was living in the upper
part of his house, he gave music-lessons to his friend's little
six-year-old boy. The lessons could only be given before breakfast,
and as Beethoven was an early riser, the boy had to get up in the dark
on those winter mornings and go down to the practice-room. May we not
picture for ourselves the little child seated beside the grave
composer in the dimly-lighted room, striving with chilly fingers to
find the right notes, whilst the master, bending over him, sets him
right with a tenderness which no one else is near to witness?
'I feel as if I had written scarcely more than a few notes,' were the
words used by Beethoven in writing to a friend in 1824, when he was
near the close of his full and eventful life; and they serve to show
how exhaustless was that energy which neither sorrow nor disease had
the power to repress. Still, he yearns to 'bring a few great works
into the world, and then,' he adds, 'like an old child, to end my
earthly course somewhere amongst good people.' These latter years had,
indeed, been very full ones, both of work and anxieties, and the
inroads of disease had been steadily undermining his strength. Yet the
picture which is given to us of the composer when within a few months
of his death is a vivid portrayal of the triumph of mind-force over
physical weakness. He was staying in the country, at the house of his
brother Johann, and the picture of his daily life there is drawn by
the hand of his serving-man. 'At half-past five he was up and at his
table, beating time with hands and feet, singing, humming, and
writing. At half-past seven was the family breakfast, and directly
after it he hurried out of doors, and would saunter about the fields,
calling out, waving his hands, going now very slowly, then very fast,
and then suddenly standing still and writing in a kind of pocket-book.
At half-past twelve he came into the house to dinner, and after dinner
he went to his own room till three or so; then again in the fields
till about sunset, for later than that he might not go out. At
half-past seven was supper, and then he went to his room, wrote till
ten, and so to bed.'
One more picture, and our story ends. Beethoven was lying on his
death-bed when the news was brought to him that Hummel, the musician,
with whom he had been intimate in the old Vienna days, had just
arrived in the city. Many years had elapsed since Beethoven had
severed his friendship with Hummel in a sudden fit of pique, and there
had been no attempt at reconciliation. But now, wasted by disease, and
fast sinking into his grave, there was no room in his heart for aught
but joy at the knowledge that one whom he had formerly liked was so
near him. 'Oh,' he cried, raising himself in bed when he heard the
news--'oh, if he would but call to see me!' No one seems to have
carried the message from the dying man, but it was answered. A few
days later Hummel came, and the old friends were at once in each
other's arms. Hummel, struck by the terrible signs of suffering in
Beethoven's face, broke into bitter weeping. Beethoven tried to calm
him, and, pulling from beneath his pillow a sketch of Haydn's
birthplace which he had that morning received, he cried, 'Look, my
dear Hummel, here is Haydn's birthplace! So great a man born in so
mean a cottage!'
Beethoven died on March 26, 1827, having recently completed his
fifty-sixth year. Two days before his death he received the last
Sacraments of the Church. 'As the evening closed in, at a quarter to
six, there came a sudden storm of hail and snow, covering the ground
and roofs of the Schwarzspanierplatz, and followed by a flash of
lightning and an instant clap of thunder. So great was the crash as to
rouse even the dying man. He opened his eyes, clenched his fist, and
shook it in the air above him. This lasted a few seconds, while the
hail rushed down outside, and then the hand fell, and the great
composer was no more.'[21]
On March 29, at three o'clock in the afternoon, Beethoven was laid to
rest in the Währinger Cemetery, Vienna. The funeral was a very grand
one. Twenty thousand people followed him to his grave, and soldiers
were needed to force a way for the coffin through the densely packed
mass awaiting its arrival at the cemetery gates. Amongst the mourners
was Schubert, the composer, who had visited him on his death-bed, and
who acted as one of the torch-bearers. A choir of men singers and
trombones performed and sang several of the master's compositions, as
the great procession wended its way to the graveside, and Hummel laid
three wreaths of laurel upon the coffin before it was lowered to its
resting-place.
FOOTNOTES:
[16] Mozart had died in December of the previous year.
[17] Schindler, 'Life of Beethoven.'
[18] Moscheles, in Schindler's 'Life of Beethoven.'
[19] Sir G. Grove, 'Dictionary of Music and Musicians.'
[20] One of these sketch-books, filled with his notes, is to be seen in
the Manuscript Room of the British Museum.
[21] Sir G. Grove, 'Dictionary of Music and Musicians.'
BEETHOVEN'S PRINCIPAL COMPOSITIONS
OPERA: Fidelio.
[Produced in its original form in 1805, revised in 1806, and
again in 1814. There are four different overtures: 'Leonore,'
Nos. 1, 2, and 3, in C; No. 4, 'Fidelio,' in E. Published
in 1810 as 'Leonore,' and in 1814 as 'Fidelio.']
Mass in C, Op. 86 (performed in 1807). 1812.
Missa Solennis in D, Op. 123. 1827.
Cantata: The Mount of Olives, Op. 85 (performed in 1803). 1811.
Ballet: The Men of Prometheus, Op. 43. 1801.
Overture and Incidental Music to Goethe's 'Egmont,' Op. 84. 1810.
Overture and Incidental Music to 'The Ruins of Athens,' Op. 113.
1812.
Overture and Incidental Music to 'King Stephen,' Op. 117. 1812.
9 SYMPHONIES:
No. 1 in C, Op. 21. 1800.
No. 2 in D, Op. 36. 1803.
No. 3 in E-flat, Op. 55. The Eroica. 1805.
No. 4 in B-flat, Op. 60. 1807.
No. 5 in C minor, Op. 67. 1808.
No. 6 in F, Op. 68. The Pastoral. 1808.
No. 7 in A, Op. 92. 1813.
No. 8 in F, Op. 93. 1814.
No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125. The Choral. 1824.
Wellington's Victory (Battle of Vittoria), Op. 91 (performed in 1813).
1816.
Overture to Coriolan, Op. 62 (performed in 1807). 1808.
Overture in C (Namensfeier), Op. 115 (performed in 1815). 1825.
Overture in C (Die Weihe des Hauses), Op. 124 (performed in 1822).
1825.
Septet in E-flat for strings and wind, Op. 20. 1802.
Sextet in E-flat for wind instruments, Op. 71. 1810.
Sextet in E-flat for strings and two horns, Op. 81_b_. 1810.
2 String Quintets:
Op. 4 in E-flat. 1797.
Op. 29 in C. 1801.
17 String Quartets:
Op. 18, Nos. 1 to 6 (F, G, D, C minor, A, B-flat). 1801.
Op. 59, Nos. 1 to 3 (F, E minor, C). The Rasonmoffsky. 1808.
Op. 74, in E-flat. The Harfen-quartet. 1810.
Op. 95, in F minor. 1816.
Op. 127, in E-flat. 1826.
Op. 130, in B-flat. }
Op. 131, in C-sharp minor. } The Posthumous Quartets.
Op. 132, in A minor. } 1827.
Op. 135, in F. }
Op. 133, Great Fugue in B-flat. 1827.
5 String Trios:
Op. 3, in E-flat. 1797.
Op. 9, Nos. 1 to 3 (G, D, C minor). 1798.
Op. 8, in D. The Serenade Trio. 1797.
Serenade in D, for flute, violin, and viola, Op. 25. 1802.
Concerto in D, for violin and orchestra, Op. 61. 1806.
2 Romances for violin and orchestra:
Op. 40, in G. 1803.
Op. 50, in F. 1805.
5 Concertos for pianoforte and orchestra:
No. 1 in C, Op. 15. 1801.
No. 2 in B-flat, Op. 19. 1801.
No. 3 in C minor, Op. 37. 1804.
No. 4 in G, Op. 58. 1808.
No. 5 in E-flat, Op. 73. The Emperor. 1811.
Choral Fantasia in C minor, Op. 80. 1811.
Quintet in E-flat, for pianoforte and wind, Op. 16. 1801.
6 Trios for pianoforte, violin, and violoncello:
Op. 1, Nos. 1 to 3 (E-flat, G, C minor). 1795
Op. 70, Nos. 1 and 2 (D, E-flat). 1809.
Op. 97, Grand Trio in B-flat. 1816.
10 Sonatas for pianoforte and violin.
[We must mention the Kreutzer Sonata in A, Op. 47. 1805.]
5 Sonatas for pianoforte and violoncello.
32 Sonatas for pianoforte alone.
[We have only space to mention the Pathetic (in C minor, Op. 13,
1799), the Moonlight (in C-sharp minor, Op. 27, No. 2, 1802), the
Waldstein (in C, Op. 53, 1805), and the Farewell (in E-flat, Op.
81_a_, 1811).]
Andante Favori in F. 1806.
23 sets of Variations.
Scena and Aria, Ah! perfido, Op. 65. 1805.
Adelaide, Op. 46. 1797.
Mignon's Song, 'Kennst du das Land?' Op. 75, No. 1. 1810.
Liederkreis (six Songs), Op. 98. 1816.
60 other Songs.
* * * * *
For a fuller account of Beethoven's life the reader is advised to
consult--
SCHINDLER'S Life of Beethoven (translated by Moscheles). 2
vols. Colburn. 1841.
Beethoven's LETTERS (1790-1826) have been translated by Lady
Wallace. 2 vols. Longmans. 1866.
SCHUBERT
SCHUBERT
If you are ever in the city of Vienna, and bend your steps to the
district called the Lichtenthal, you will there find a thoroughfare,
running north and south, called the Nussdorfer Strasse. This is its
present name, but in former times it was known as 'Auf dem
Himmelpfortgrund'--meaning 'Off the Gate of Heaven'--the
'Himmelpfortgrund' itself being a small street branching off to the
west towards the fortifications. On the right-hand side of the
Nussdorfer Strasse, as you face the outskirts of the city, you will
come upon a house bearing the number 54 (it was formerly numbered 72),
and the curious sign of 'Zum rothen Krebsen' (the Red Crab). But your
attention will at once be drawn to another feature of the house--a
grey marble tablet fixed above the door, with the inscription 'Franz
Schubert's Geburthaus' (the house in which Franz Schubert was born),
in the centre, and on the right a lyre crowned with a star, and on the
left a laurel wreath encircling the date '31 January, 1797.'
Nothing more than this inscribed tablet will be needed to bring home
to your mind the fact that you are actually face to face with the
house in which Schubert, the composer of those beautiful songs, 'The
Erl King,' 'Hark, hark, the Lark,' and 'Sylvia,' first saw the light.
And as you stand before the home of the great song-writer your
thoughts will revert in fancy to the time when, a century ago, there
issued from that doorway the figure of a boy of eleven years of age,
clad in a suit of grey so light as to be almost white, with chubby
face, bright dark eyes, with a sparkle in them that the spectacles
which he wore could not hide, and a head of thick, curly, black hair.
That boy was Franz Schubert, setting out for his examination to be
admitted as a scholar at the Imperial Convict, as the school for
educating the choristers of the Chapel Royal in Vienna was called.
The son of Franz Schubert, a schoolmaster in the Lichtenthal district,
whose character for uprightness and honesty, in addition to his
abilities, had won him the respect and esteem of all who knew him,
little Franz had from the first shown a remarkable fondness for music.
The family were in poor circumstances, the father having sprung from a
peasant stock, and by his own industry and a natural gift for teaching
succeeded in raising himself to his present position, whilst his wife
Elizabeth, in every way a perfect helpmeet for a poor man, was
likewise of humble origin. Franz Schubert had nothing to depend upon
but his schoolmaster's pay, and the family included, besides little
Franz, three boys and a girl. Nevertheless, such encouragement as
could be given to Franz in his love for music was given heartily and
sympathetically, for there could not have been a more devoted family
than his. At the first, however, Franz showed his independence by
making friends with a joiner's apprentice, who used to take him to a
certain pianoforte warehouse in the town, where, to his joy, he was
permitted to play little tunes on one of the instruments. At home
there was only an old, worn-out piano to practise upon, but with the
aid of this and frequent visits to the warehouse the boy managed to
acquire unaided a certain groundwork in music, so that when, at the
age of seven, his father began to give him lessons on the violin he
found that Franz had already made some headway. His elder brothers,
Ignaz and Ferdinand, had been taken in hand by the father at the same
age, and Ignaz, who was twelve years older than Franz, gave his little
brother lessons on the pianoforte.
[Illustration: SCHUBERT.
From photo RISCHGITZ.]
It was soon clear, however, that neither Ignaz nor his father could
keep pace with Franz's abilities--the boy had himself told Ignaz that
he had no further need of his help, and could go on alone--and it was
decided to send him to the choirmaster of the parish, Michael Holzer,
to learn the violin and piano, as well as singing, the organ, and
thorough-bass. Holzer, in turn, was astonished at the boy's powers,
and assured the father that he had never had such a pupil before. 'If
I wish to teach him anything now,' he declared, 'I find that he knows
it already! I can only listen to him in amazement!'
Franz, with all his devotion to music, was a merry-hearted boy, never
so happy as when, in the play-hour, he found himself surrounded by his
schoolfellows, with whom he was first favourite. By the time he had
reached his eleventh year his voice had acquired such power and beauty
of expression as to procure him the chief soprano's place in the choir
of the parish church, where he also played the violin solos as they
occurred in the service. At home he was even then writing little
songs and pieces for the pianoforte--an early promise of what was to
follow. The family, as we have seen, were poor and hardworking, Ignaz
and Ferdinand were helping their father in the school, and it was
evident, therefore, that the talent which Franz undoubtedly possessed
must be turned to good account as soon as possible. The necessary step
to this end was to obtain his admittance to the Convict, in order that
he might be trained for the Imperial Chapel, and in the meanwhile
receive his education free in return for his services.
Accordingly, one morning in the month of October 1808, Franz, attired
in his suit of grey, presented himself for examination by the Court
Capellmeisters and singing-master. A number of boys were to be
examined at the same time, and whilst they were waiting they indulged
themselves in mirth and jokes at the expense of the short,
chubby-faced, spectacled boy clad in grey, 'Hullo, my friend,' cried
one, who towered a good foot above poor Franz's head, 'how did you
leave your father the miller?'--an allusion to Franz's appearance
which was greeted with a burst of laughter from the other boys. A
second preferred a sarcastic inquiry as to the price of flour, whilst
a third desired to know whether Franz expected to get through in such
a garb--sallies which the victim bore with open good humour, the more
so as he felt conscious of his own powers. And, indeed, the laugh was
soon turned against his mockers; for, when he came to be examined, his
singing of the trial-pieces, in addition to his skill in solving the
problems set him, so astonished his examiners that they passed him
through at once, and he was ordered to don the uniform of the imperial
choristers forthwith. With a glow of pride Franz arrayed himself in
his new dress, which, with its edgings of gold lace, he thought
dazzlingly beautiful after his despised suit of grey.
[Illustration: '_They indulged in jokes at the expense of the
spectacled boy._']
Franz's entry into the Convict implied a long separation from home,
but he soon found plenty to occupy his mind and claim his interest.
The school orchestra was a great feature of the new life, in which our
hero, from his home studies, was enabled at once to take a prominent
place. Practice was held daily, and the musicians bent their energies
to mastering the overtures and symphonies of Haydn and Mozart, with
the works of many of the minor masters. Even Beethoven's works were
not considered to be beyond the scope of their powers as time went on.
The work of all others which made the deepest impression on Schubert's
mind at this stage, however, was Mozart's 'G minor Symphony.' 'One can
hear the angels singing in it,' he used to say. But he revelled also
in the overtures to 'Figaro' and the 'Zauberflöte,' and, indeed, the
orchestral music to which he was now introduced opened up to his mind
a vista of never-ending delight.
On the very first day that he took his seat in the orchestra his
clever playing attracted the attention of the leader, a big fellow
named Spaun, who sat immediately in front of him. On turning round to
ascertain who it was that was bringing forth such excellent tone from
his fiddle, and, moreover, playing with such precision, Spaun
discovered it to be 'a small boy in spectacles, named Franz Schubert.'
From that moment big Spaun became little Franz's intimate friend and
counsellor. To him one day Franz, who was characteristically shy of
speaking about himself and his longings, made a blushing admission
that he had already composed a good deal. 'Indeed,' he added, as if in
extenuation, 'indeed, I cannot help it, and I should do it every day,
only I cannot afford to get music-paper.' Spaun grasped the situation
at once, and thenceforth Franz was kept supplied with all the
music-paper he required, a kindness for which he showed his gratitude
by devoting his spare time to composition. In his playing, too, he
made such rapid progress that before long he was taking the first
violin, and on occasions when Ruzicka, the conductor, was not present
he was appointed to lead the orchestra. It was observed by others
besides Ruzicka and Spaun how greatly Schubert's gifts and earnestness
influenced the rest of the players, and tended to increase and
strengthen their taste for good music. His deep sentiment for what was
greatest and best in his art had from the first separated him from his
schoolfellows, and now the magnetism of his genius and earnestness was
drawing them one after another to his side. Franz Schubert had already
become a power in the school.
Visits to the home were only to be made on Sundays and holidays, and
they were events to which he looked forward with the keenest delight.
Performances in which each member could take a share formed the chief
occupation of the family on these occasions. Perhaps Franz had brought
home a quartet of his own writing, and then the father would bring
forth his 'cello, and Ignaz and Ferdinand take first and second
violins, while Franz chose the viola, in order that he might be better
able to judge of the effect, and the work would be played through,
with criticism or approval of its merits at the conclusion. The father
would sometimes play a wrong note; at first Franz would take no
notice, but if the error were repeated he would look up with a smile,
and say gently, 'Herr Vater, something must be wrong there,' and it is
a proof of the rapid progress which he had made in music since the
days of his father's teaching that his judgment in such matters was
never questioned.
[Illustration: '_His clever playing attracted the attention of
the leader._']
By degrees a reverence for Beethoven's genius was making itself felt
in regard to Franz's musical studies. Not long before he joined the
school the orchestra had been invited to give a performance at
Schönbrunn, when Beethoven was present, and Franz had listened with
the deepest interest to his schoolfellows' account of their reception
by the great master. One day, when some of his songs had been sung at
a school performance, Franz turned to his friend Spaun with the
inquiry whether the latter thought it possible that he (Franz) would
ever be able to accomplish anything in the shape of composition. To
which Spaun, in surprise, answered that there could be no doubt in the
matter, since he had already done a great deal. 'Perhaps,' replied
Franz thoughtfully; 'I sometimes have dreams of that sort, but who can
do anything after Beethoven?'
With his passionate love for music dominating his thoughts and
energies, it is not surprising that Schubert should have fallen behind
in his ordinary studies. From the point of view of the authorities the
Convict represented a complete school with a strongly-developed
musical side; but for Schubert it existed merely as a means to an end,
and that end music. This fact was apparent in about a year after he
entered the school, nevertheless his popularity suffered no decrease
thereby, for his backwardness in most of the subjects in which other
boys excelled was overshadowed by his extraordinary progress in the
art which was absorbing him so entirely. And as time went on his
desire for composition increased to such an extent that his kind
friend Spaun must often have been taxed to keep pace with his demand
for music-paper. Franz had already begun with methodical care to place
the date of composition upon every piece which he wrote, and thus we
are enabled to ascertain precisely when he composed his first
pianoforte work of importance; it is a fantasia for four hands,
comprising more than twelve movements, and filling thirty-two
closely-written pages of music-paper, and it bears the date, 'April
8--May 1, 1810.' Following this came his first attempt at
song-writing, in the shape of a long piece for voice and pianoforte,
called 'Hagars Klage' (Hagar's Lament over her dying Son), which also
contains twelve movements, and is remarkable for its frequent
unconnected changes of key. Melancholy ideas were evidently uppermost
in Schubert's mind at this time in connection with music, for the
'Hagar' was followed by another piece of even more lugubrious
character, called 'Leichenfantasie' (Corpse-fantasia), a musical
setting of Schiller's grim poem beginning: