CHAPTER XVIII. The Year 1818--Gift of a Pianoforte

from John Broadwood--The Composer Takes Personal

Charge of His Nephew--His Unfitness as Foster-father

and Guardian--Abandonment of His Projected Visit

to London--The Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde’s

Oratorio--The Nephew and a Mother’s Legal Struggle

for Possession of Her Son--The Case Reviewed--The

Predicate “van” and Beethoven’s Nobility--Archduke

Rudolph Becomes Archbishop of Olmütz--Work on the

Mass in D, Ninth Symphony and Grand Trio in B-flat 390

Chapter I

The Year 1803--Cherubini’s Operas in Vienna--Beethoven’s Engagement

at the Theater-an-der-Wien--“Christus am Ölberg” again--Bridgetower

and the “Kreutzer” Sonata---Negotiations with Thomson--New

Friends--Mähler’s Portrait of Beethoven.

Kotzebue, after a year of activity in Vienna as Alxinger’s successor in

the direction, under the banker Baron von Braun, of the Court Theatre,

then a year of exile in Siberia (1800), whence he was recalled by that

semi-maniac Paul, who was moved thereto by the delight which the little

drama “Der Leibkutscher Peters III.” had given him--then a short time

in Jena, where his antagonism to Goethe broke out into an open quarrel,

established himself in Berlin. There he began, with Garlieb Merkel

(1802), the publication of a polemical literary journal called the

“Freymüthige,” Goethe, the Schlegels and their party being the objects

of their polemics. Spazier’s “Zeitung für die Elegante Welt” (Leipsic)

was its leading opponent, until the establishment of a new literary

journal at Jena.

At the beginning of 1803, Kotzebue was again in Vienna on his way to

Italy. Some citations from the “Freymüthige” of this time have an

especial value, as coming, beyond a doubt, from his pen. His position

in society, his knowledge from experience of theatrical affairs

in Vienna, his personal acquaintance with Beethoven and the other

persons mentioned, all combine to enable him to speak with authority.

An article in No. 58 (April 12) on the “Amusements of the Viennese

after Carnival,” gives a peep into the salon-life of the capital, and

introduces to us divers matters of so much interest, as to excuse the

want of novelty in certain parts.

... Amateur concerts at which unconstrained pleasure prevails are

frequent. The beginning is usually made with a quartet by Haydn or

Mozart; then follows, let us say, an air by Salieri or Paër, then

a pianoforte piece with or without another instrument ~obbligato~,

and the concert closes as a rule with a chorus or something of

the kind from a favorite opera. The most excellent pianoforte

pieces that won admiration during the last carnival were a new

quintet[1] by Beethoven, clever, serious, full of deep significance

and character, but occasionally a little too glaring, here and

there ~Odensprünge~ in the manner of this master; then a quartet by

Anton Eberl, dedicated to the Empress, lighter in character, full

of fine yet profound invention, originality, fire and strength,

brilliant and imposing. Of all the musical compositions which have

appeared of late these are certainly two of the best. Beethoven has

for a short time past been engaged, at a considerable salary, by

the Theater-an-der-Wien, and will soon produce at that playhouse

an oratorio of his composition entitled “Christus am Ölberg.”

Amongst the artists on the violin the most notable are Clement,

Schuppanzigh (who gives the concerts in the Augarten in the summer)

and Luigi Tomasini. Clement (Director of the orchestra an-der-Wien)

is an admirable concert player; Schuppanzigh performs quartets

very agreeably. Good dilettanti are Eppinger, Molitor and others.

Great artists on the pianoforte are Beethofen [~sic~], Hummel,

Madame Auernhammer and others. The famous Abbé Vogler is also here

at present, and plays fugues in particular with great precision,

although his rather heavy touch betrays the organist. Among the

amateurs Baroness Ertmann plays with amazing precision, clearness

and delicacy, and Fräulein Kurzbeck touches the keys with high

intelligence and deep feeling. Mesdames von Frank and Natorp,

formerly Gerardi and Sessi, are excellent singers.

A few words may be added to this picture from other sources. Salieri’s

duties being now confined to the sacred music of the Imperial Chapel,

Süssmayr being far gone in the consumption of which he died on Sept.

16 (of this year--1803), Conti retaining but the name of orchestral

director (he too died the next year), Liechtenstein and Weigl were now

the conductors of the Imperial Opera; Henneberg and Seyfried held the

same position under Schikaneder, as in the old house, so now in the new.

Schuppanzigh’s summer concerts in the Augarten, and Salieri’s Widows

and Orphans concerts at Christmas and in Holy Week, were still the

only regular public ones. Vogler had come from Prague in December, and

Paër, who had removed to Dresden at Easter, 1802, was again in Vienna

to produce his cantata “Das Heilige Grab,” at the Widows and Orphans

Concert. It was a period of dearth at Vienna in operatic composition.

At the Court Theatre Liechtenstein had failed disastrously; Weigl had

not been able to follow up the success of his “Corsär,” and several

years more elapsed before he obtained a permanent name in musical

annals by his “Schweizerfamilie.” Salieri’s style had become too

familiar to all Vienna longer to possess the charms of freshness

and novelty. In the Theater-an-der-Wien, Teyber, Henneberg, Seyfried

and others composed to order and executed their work satisfactorily

enough--indeed, sometimes with decided, though fleeting, success. But

no new work, for some time past, composed to the order of either of

these theatres, had possessed such qualities as to secure a brilliant

and prolonged existence. From another source, however, a new, fresh and

powerful musical sensation had been experienced during the past year at

both: and in this wise:

[Sidenote: CHERUBINI’S OPERAS IN VIENNA]

Schikaneder produced, on the 23rd of March, a new opera which had

been very favorably received at Paris, called “Lodoiska,” the music

composed “by a certain Cherubini.” The applause gained by this opera

induced the Court Theatre to send for the score of another opera

by the same composer, and prepare it for production on the 14th of

August, under the title “Die Tage der Gefahr.” Schikaneder, with

his usual shrewdness, meantime was secretly rehearsing the same

work, of which Seyfried in the beginning of July had made the then

long journey to Munich to obtain a copy, and on the 13th--one day

in advance of the rival stage--the musical public was surprised and

amused to see “announced on the bill-board of the Wiener Theater the

new opera ‘Graf Armand, oder Die zwei unvergessliche Tage.’” In the

adaptation and performance of the work, each house had its points of

superiority and of inferiority; on the whole, there was little to

choose between them; the result in both was splendid. The rivalry

between the two stages became very spirited. The Court Theatre selected

from the new composer’s other works the “Medea,” and brought it out

November 6. Schikaneder followed, December 18, with “Der Bernardsberg”

(“Elise”), “sadly mutilated.” Twenty years later Beethoven attested

the ineffaceable impression which Cherubini’s music had made upon him.

While the music of the new master was thus attracting and delighting

crowded audiences at both theatres, the wealthy and enterprising Baron

Braun went to Paris and entered into negotiations with Cherubini, which

resulted in his engagement to compose one or more operas for the Vienna

stage. Besides this “a large number of new theatrical representations

from Paris” were expected (in August, 1802) upon the Court stage.

“Baron Braun, who is expected to return from Paris, is bringing the

most excellent ballets and operas with him, all of which will be

performed here most carefully according to the taste of the French.”

Thus the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung.”

These facts bring us to the most valuable and interesting notice

contained in the article from the “Freymüthige”--the earliest record of

Beethoven’s engagement as composer for the Theater-an-der-Wien.

Zitterbarth, the merchant with whose money the new edifice had

been built and put in successful operation, “who had no knowledge

of theatrical matters outside of the spoken drama,” left the stage

direction entirely in the hands of Schikaneder. In the department

of opera that director had a most valuable assistant in Sebastian

Meier--the second husband of Mozart’s sister-in-law, Mme. Hofer, the

original ~Queen of Night~--a man described by Castelli as a moderately

gifted bass singer, but a very good actor, and of the noblest and

most refined taste in vocal music, opera as well as oratorio; to whom

the praise is due of having induced Schikaneder to bring out so many

of the finest new French works, those of Cherubini included. It is

probable, therefore, that, just now, when Baron von Braun was reported

to have secured Cherubini for his theatre, and it became necessary

to discover some new means of keeping up a successful competition,

Meier’s advice may have had no small weight with Schikaneder. Defeat

was certain unless the operas, attractive mainly from their scenery and

grotesque humor, founded upon the “Thousand and One Nights” and their

thousand and one imitations, and set to trivial and commonplace tunes,

should give place to others of a higher order, quickened by music more

serious, dignified and significant.

Whether Abbé Georg Joseph Vogler was really a great and profound

musician, as C. M. von Weber, Gänsbacher and Meyerbeer held him to

be, or a charlatan, was a matter much disputed in those days, as the

same question in relation to certain living composers is in ours.

Whatever the truth was, by his polemical writings, his extraordinary

self-laudation, his high tone at the courts whither he had been called,

his monster concerts, and his almost unperformable works, he had made

himself an object of profound curiosity, to say the least. Moreover,

his music for the drama “Hermann von Staufen, oder das Vehmgericht,”

performed October 3, 1801, at the Theater-an-der-Wien (if the same as

in “Hermann von Unna,” as it doubtless was), was well fitted to awaken

confidence in his talents. His appearance in Vienna just now was,

therefore, a piece of good fortune for Schikaneder, who immediately

engaged him for his theatre.

[Sidenote: ENGAGED TO COMPOSE AN OPERA]

Whether Beethoven had talents for operatic composition, no one

could yet know; but his works had already spread to Paris, London,

Edinburgh, and had gained him the fame of being the greatest living

instrumental composer--Father Haydn of course excepted--and this much

might be accepted as certain: viz., that his name alone, like Vogler’s,

would secure the theatre from pecuniary loss in the production of ~one~

work; and, perhaps--who could foretell?--he might develop powers in

this new field which would raise him to the level of even Cherubini! He

was personally known to Schikaneder, having played in the old theatre,

and his “Prometheus” music was a success at the Court Theatre. So he,

too, was engaged. The correspondent of the “Zeitung für die Elegante

Welt” positively states, under date of June 29th: “Beethoven is

composing an opera by Schikaneder.” There is nothing very improbable in

this, though circumstances intervened which prevented the execution of

such a project. Still the fact remains, that Schikaneder--that strange

compound of wit and absurdity; of poetic instinct and grotesque humor;

of shrewd and profitable enterprise and lavish prodigality; who lived

like a prince and died like a pauper--has connected his name honorably

with both Mozart and Beethoven.

These plain and obvious facts have been so misrepresented as to

make it appear that this engagement of Beethoven was a grand stroke

of policy conceived and executed by Baron von Braun, who, at the

Theater-an-der-Wien (“newly built and to be opened in 1804”), had

suddenly become aware of a genius and talent, to which, notwithstanding

the “Prometheus” music, at the Imperial Opera, he had been oblivious

during the preceding ten years! The date of the transaction is a

sufficient confutation of this; as also of the notion that the success

of the “Christus am Ölberg” led to his engagement. On the contrary,

it was his engagement that enabled Beethoven to obtain the use of the

Theater-an-der-Wien to produce that work in a concert to which we now

come.

The “Wiener Zeitung” of Saturday, March 26 and Wednesday, March 30,

1803, contained the following

NOTICE

On the 5th (not the 4th) of April, Herr Ludwig van Beethoven will

produce a new oratorio set to music by him, “Christus am Ölberg,”

in the R. I. privil. Theater-an-der-Wien. The other pieces also to

be performed will be announced on the large bill-board.

Beethoven must have felt no small confidence in the power of his name

to awaken the curiosity and interest of the musical public, for he

doubled the prices of the first chairs, tripled those of the reserved

and demanded 12 ducats (instead of 4 florins) for each box. But it was

his first public appearance as a dramatic vocal composer, and on his

posters he had several days before announced with much pomp that all

the works would be of his composition. The result, however, answered

his expectations, “for the concert yielded him 1800 florins.”

The works actually performed were the first and second Symphonies,

the Pianoforte Concerto in C minor and “Christus am Ölberg”; some

others, according to Ries, were intended, but, owing to the length

of the concert, which began at the early hour of six, were omitted

in the performance. As no copy of the printed programme has been

discovered, there is no means of deciding what these pieces were;

but the “Adelaide,” the ~Scena et Aria~ “Ah, perfido!” and the trio

“Tremate, empj, tremate,” suggest themselves, as vocal pieces well

fitted to break the monotony of such a mass of orchestral music.

It seems strange--knowing as we do Beethoven’s vast talent for

improvisation--that no extempore performance is reported.

“The symphonies and concertos,” says Seyfried, “which Beethoven

produced for the first time (1803 and 1808) for his benefit at the

Theater-an-der-Wien, the oratorio, and the opera, I rehearsed according

to his instructions with the singers, conducted all the orchestral

rehearsals and personally conducted the performance.”[2]

The final general rehearsal was held in the theatre on the day of

performance, Tuesday, April 5. On that morning, as was often the

case when Beethoven needed assistance in his labors, young Ries was

called to him early--about 5 o’clock. “I found him in bed,” says Ries,

“writing on separate sheets of paper. To my question what it was he

answered, ‘Trombones.’ At the concert the trombone parts were played

from these sheets. Had the copyist forgotten to copy these parts?

Were they an afterthought? I was too young at the time to observe the

artistic interest of the incident; but probably the trombones were an

afterthought, as Beethoven might as easily have had the ~uncopied parts

as the copied~.” The correspondent of the “Zeitung für die Elegante

Welt” renders a probable solution of Ries’s doubt easy. He found the

music to the “Christus” to be “on the whole good, and there are a few

admirable passages, an air of the ~Seraph~ with trombone accompaniment

in particular being of admirable effect.” Beethoven had probably found

the aria “Erzittre, Erde” to fail of its intended effect, and added

the trombone on the morning of the final rehearsal, to be retained or

not as should prove advisable upon trial.[3] Ries continues:

[Sidenote: PRODUCTION OF “THE MOUNT OF OLIVES”]

The rehearsal began at 8 o’clock in the morning. It was a terrible

rehearsal, and at half after 2 everybody was exhausted and more

or less dissatisfied. Prince Karl Lichnowsky, who attended the

rehearsal from the beginning, had sent for bread and butter, cold

meat and wine in large baskets. He pleasantly asked all to help

themselves and this was done with both hands, the result being that

good nature was restored again. Then the Prince requested that the

oratorio be rehearsed once more from the beginning, so that it

might go well in the evening and Beethoven’s first work in this

genre be worthily presented. And so the rehearsal began again.

Seyfried in the article above quoted gives a reminiscence of this

concert:

At the performance of the Concerto he asked me to turn the pages

for him; but--heaven help me!--that was easier said than done. I

saw almost nothing but empty leaves; at the most on one page or

the other a few Egyptian hieroglyphs wholly unintelligible to me

scribbled down to serve as clues for him; for he played nearly all

of the solo part from memory, since, as was so often the case, he

had not had time to put it all on paper.[4] He gave me a secret

glance whenever he was at the end of one of the invisible passages

and my scarcely concealable anxiety not to miss the decisive moment

amused him greatly and he laughed heartily at the jovial supper

which we ate afterwards.

The impression made on reading the few contemporary notices of this

concert is that the new works produced were, on the whole, coldly

received. The short report (by Kotzebue?) in the “Freymüthige” said:

Even our doughty Beethofen, whose oratorio “Christus am Ölberg”

was performed for the first time at surburban Theater-an-der-Wien,

was not altogether fortunate, and despite the efforts of his many

admirers was unable to achieve really marked approbation. True,

the two symphonies and single passages in the oratorio were voted

very beautiful, but the work in its entirety was too long, too

artificial in structure and lacking expressiveness, especially in

the vocal parts. The text, by F. X. Huber, seemed to have been as

superficially written as the music. But the concert brought 1800

florins to Beethofen and he, as well as Abbé Vogler, has been

engaged for the theatre. He is to write one opera, Vogler three;

for this they are to receive 10 per cent. of the receipts at the

first ten performances, besides free lodgings.

The writer in the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” alone speaks of

the “Christus” as having been received with “extraordinary approval.”

Three months afterwards another correspondent flatly contradicts this:

“In the interest of truth,” he writes, “I am obliged to contradict

a report in the ‘Musikalische Zeitung’; Beethoven’s cantata did not

please.” To this Schindler remarks: “Even the composer agreed with

this to this extent--that in later years he unhesitatingly declared

that it had been a mistake to treat the part of ~Christ~ in the modern

vocal style. The abandonment of the work after the first performance,

as well as its tardy appearance in print (about 1810), permit us to

conclude that the author was not particularly satisfied with the manner

in which he had solved the problem, and that he probably made material

changes in the music.” The “Wiener Zeitung” of July 30, 1803, gives

all the comment necessary on the “abandonment” and probable changes in

the work, by announcing that “the favorable reception” of the oratorio

had induced the Society of Amateur Concerts to resolve to repeat it on

August 4. Moreover, Sebastian Meier’s concert of March 27, 1804, opened

with the second Symphony of Beethoven and closed with “Christus am

Ölberg,” being its fourth performance in one year.[5]

A few days after this public appearance we have a sight of Beethoven

again in private life. Dr. Joh. Th. Helm, the famous physician and

professor in Prague, then a young man just of the composer’s age (he

was born December 11, 1770), accompanied Count Prichnowsky on a visit

to Vienna. On the morning of the 16th of April these two gentlemen

met Beethoven in the street, who, knowing the Count, invited them to

Schuppanzigh’s, “where some of his pianoforte sonatas which Kleinhals

had transcribed as string quartets were to be rehearsed. We met,”

writes Held, in his manuscript autobiography (the citations were

communicated to this work by Dr. Edmund Schebek of Prague)

a number of the best musicians gathered together, such as the

violinists Krumbholz, Möser (of Berlin), the mulatto Bridgethauer,

who in London had been in the service of the then Prince of

Wales, also a Herr Schreiber and the 12 years’ old[6] Kraft who

played second. Even then Beethoven’s muse transported me to

higher regions, and the desire of all of these artists to have

our musical director Wenzel Praupner in Vienna confirmed me in

my opinion of the excellence of his conducting. Since then I have

often met Beethoven at concerts. His piquant conceits modified the

gloominess, I might say the lugubriousness, of his countenance. His

criticisms were very keen, as I learned most clearly at concerts of

the harpist Nadermann of Saxony and Mara, who was already getting

along in years.

[Sidenote: BRIDGETOWER AND THE “KREUTZER SONATA”]

The “Bridgethauer,” mentioned by Held--whose incorrect writing of the

name conveys to the German its correct pronunciation--was the “American

ship captain who associated much with Beethoven” mentioned by Schindler

and his copyists.

George Augustus Polgreen Bridgetower--a bright mulatto then 24 years

old, son of an African father and German or Polish mother, an applauded

public violinist in London at the age of ten years, and long in the

service, as musician, of the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV--was

never in America and knew as much probably of a ship and the science of

navigation as ordinary shipmasters do of the violin and the mysteries

of musical counterpoint. In 1802 he obtained leave of absence to visit

his mother in Dresden and to use the waters of Teplitz and Carlsbad,

which leave was prolonged that he might spend a few months in Vienna.

His playing in public and private at Dresden had secured him such

favorable letters of introduction as gained him a most brilliant

reception in the highest musical circles of the Austrian capital, where

he arrived a few days before Held met him at Schuppanzigh’s. Beethoven,

to whom he was introduced by Prince Lichnowsky, readily gave him aid

in a public concert. The date of the concert has not been determined

precisely; it was probably on May 24th. It has an interest on account

of Beethoven’s connection with it; for the day of the concert was the

date of the completion and performance of the “Kreutzer” Sonata.

The famous Sonata in A minor, Op. 47, with concertante violin,

dedicated to Rudolph Kreutzer in Paris [says Ries on page 82 of the

“Notizen”], was originally composed by Beethoven for Bridgetower,

an English artist. Here things did not go much better (Ries is

referring to the tardiness of the composition of the horn sonata

which Beethoven wrote for Punto), although a large part of the

first Allegro was ready at an early date. Bridgetower pressed

him greatly because the date of his concert had been set and he

wanted to study his part. One morning Beethoven summoned me at

half after 4 o’clock and said: “Copy the violin part of the first

Allegro quickly.” (His ordinary copyist was otherwise engaged.)

The pianoforte part was noted down only here and there in parts.

Bridgetower had to play the marvellously beautiful theme and

variations in F from Beethoven’s manuscript at the concert in the

Augarten at 8 o’clock in the morning because there was no time to

copy it. The final Allegro, however, was beautifully written,

since it originally belonged to the Sonata in A major (Op. 30),

which is dedicated to Czar Alexander. In its place Beethoven,

thinking it too brilliant for the A major Sonata, put the

variations which now form the finale.[7]

Bridgetower was thoughtful enough to leave in his copy of the Sonata a

note upon that first performance of it, as follows:

Relative to Beethoven’s Op. 47.

When I accompanied him in this Sonata-Concertante at Wien, at the

repetition of the first part of the Presto, I imitated the flight,

at the 18th bar, of the pianoforte of this movement thus:

[Illustration: 1^{ma} volta

2^{da} volta]

He jumped up, embraced me, saying: “Noch einmal, mein lieber

Bursch!” (“Once again, my dear boy!”) Then he held the open pedal

during this flight, the chord of C as at the ninth bar.

Beethoven’s expression in the Andante was so chaste, which always

characterized the performance of all his ~slow movements~, that it

was unanimously hailed to be repeated twice.

George Polgreen Bridgetower.

[Sidenote: THE CAREER OF BRIDGETOWER]

Bridgetower was mentioned in a letter from Beethoven to Baron von

Wetzlar, in this language, under date May 18:

Although we have never addressed each other I do not hesitate

to recommend to you the bearer, Mr. Brishdower, a very capable

virtuoso who has a complete command of his instrument.

Besides his concertos he plays quartets admirably. I greatly

wish that you make him known to others. He has commended himself

favorably to Lobkowitz and Fries and all other eminent lovers (of

music).

I think it would be not at all a bad idea if you were to take him

for an evening to Therese Schönfeld, where I know many friends

assemble and at your house. I know that you will thank me for

having made you acquainted with him.

Bridgetower, when advanced in years, talking with Mr. Thirlwall about

Beethoven, told him that at the time the Sonata, Op. 47, was composed,

he and the composer were constant companions, and that the first copy

bore a dedication to him; but before he departed from Vienna they had a

quarrel about a girl, and Beethoven then dedicated the work to Rudolph

Kreutzer.[8]

[Sidenote: SUMMER LODGINGS AT DÖBLING]

When Beethoven removed from the house “am Peter” to the theatre

building, he took his brother Karl (Kaspar) to live with him,[9] as

twenty years later he gave a room to his ~factotum~ Schindler. This

change of lodgings took place, according to Seyfried, before the

concert of April 5--which is confirmed by the brother’s new address

being contained in the “Staats-Schematismus” for 1803--that annual

publication being usually ready for distribution in April.[10] At the

beginning of the warm season Beethoven, as was his annual custom,

appears to have passed some weeks in Baden to refresh himself and

revive his energies after the irregular, exciting and fatiguing city

life of the winter, before retiring to the summer lodgings, whose

position he describes in a note to Ries (“Notizen,” p. 128) as “in

Oberdöbling No. 4, the street to the left where you go down the

mountain to Heiligenstadt.”

The Herrengasse is still “die Strasse links” at the extremity of the

village, as it was then; but the multiplication of houses and the

change in their numbers render it uncertain which in those days bore

the number 4. At all events it had, in 1803, gardens, vineyards or

green fields both in front and rear. True, it was half an hour’s walk

farther than from Heiligenstadt to the scenes in which he had composed

the second Symphony, the preceding summer; but, to compensate for this,

it was so much nearer the city--was in the more immediate vicinity

of that arm of the Danube called the “Canal”--and almost under its

windows was the gorge of the Krottenbach, which separates Döbling from

Heiligenstadt, and which, as it extends inland from the river, spreads

into a fine vale, then very solitary and still very beautiful. This

was the house, this the summer, and these the scenes, in which the

composer wrought out the conceptions that during the past five years

had been assuming form and consistency in his mind, to which Bernadotte

may have given the original impulse, and which we know as the “Heroic

Symphony.”[11]

Let us turn to Stephan von Breuning and a new friend or two. Archduke

Karl, by a commission dated January 9, 1801, had been made Chief

of the “Staats- und Konferenzial-Departement für das Kriegs- und

Marine-Wesen,” and retained the position still, notwithstanding his

assumption of the functions of Hoch- und Deutsch-Meister. He undertook

to introduce a wide-reaching reform at the War Department, which

demanded an increase in the number of Secretaries and scriveners.

Stephan von Breuning is the second in the list of five appointed in

1804, Ignatz von Gleichenstein the fifth. It is believed, that the

Archduke had discovered the fine business talents, the zeal in the

discharge of duty and the perfect trustworthiness of Breuning at the

Teutonic House, and that at his special invitation the young man this

year exchanged the service of the Order for that of the State. There

is abundant evidence, that the young Rhinelanders then in Vienna were

bound to each other by more than the usual ties: most of them were

fugitives from French tyranny, and liable to conscription if found in

the places of their birth, though this was not the case with Breuning.

There was, in addition to the ordinary feeling of nationality, a common

sense of exile to unite them. Between Breuning and Gleichenstein

therefore--two amiable and talented young men thus thrown into daily

intercourse--an immediate and warm friendship would naturally spring

up; and an introduction of the latter to Breuning’s friend Beethoven

would inevitably follow, in case they had not known each other in the

old Bonn days.

[Sidenote: ASSOCIATION WITH W. J. MÄHLER]

Another young Rhinelander, to whom Beethoven became much attached,

and who returned the kindness with warm affection for him personally

and a boundless admiration for his genius, became known to the

composer also just at this time. Willibrord Joseph Mähler, a native of

Coblentz--who died in 1860, at the age of 82 years, as pensioned Court

Secretary--was a man of remarkably varied artistic talents, by which,

however, since he cultivated them only as a dilettante and without

confining himself to any one art, he achieved no great distinction.

He wrote respectable poetry and set it to correct and not unpleasing

music; sang well enough to be recorded in Boeckh’s “Merkwürdigkeiten

der Haupt- und Residenz-Stadt Wien” (1823) as “amateur singer,” and

painted sufficiently well to be named, on another page of Boeckh,

“amateur portrait painter.” He painted that portrait of the composer,

about 1804-5, which is still in possession of the Beethoven family, and

a second 1814-15--(Mr. Mähler could not recall the precise date)--once

owned by Prof. Karajan. Several of the portraits now in possession of

the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna are from his pencil; but

two or three of the very best specimens of his skill have been sold to

a gentleman in Boston, U.S.A.[12]

Soon after Beethoven returned from his summer lodgings to his apartment

in the theatre building, Mähler, who had then recently arrived in

Vienna, was taken by Breuning thither to be introduced. They found

him busily at work finishing the “Heroic Symphony.” After some

conversation, at the desire of Mähler to hear him play, Beethoven,

instead of beginning an extempore performance, gave his visitors the

finale of the new Symphony; but at its close, without a pause, he

continued in free fantasia for ~two hours~, “during all which time,”

said Mr. Mähler to the present writer, “there was not a measure which

was faulty, or which did not sound original.” He added, that one

circumstance attracted his particular notice; viz.: “that Beethoven

played with his hands so very still; wonderful as his execution was,

there was no tossing of them to and fro, up and down; they seemed to

glide right and left over the keys, the fingers alone doing the work.”

To Mr. Mähler, as to most others who have recorded their impressions of

Beethoven’s improvisations, they were the ~non plus ultra~ of the art.

There was, however, be it noted in passing, a class of good musicians,

small in number and exceptional in taste, who, precisely at this time,

had discovered a rival to Beethoven, in this his own special field.

Thus Gänsbacher writes, as cited by Frölich in his “Biographie Voglers”:

Sonnleithner gave a musical soirée in honor of Vogler and invited

Beethoven among others. Vogler improvised at the pianoforte on a

theme given to him by Beethoven, 4-1/2 measures long, first an

Adagio and then fugued. Vogler then gave Beethoven a theme of

three measures (the scale of C major, ~alla breve~). Beethoven’s

excellent pianoforte playing, combined with an abundance of the

most beautiful thoughts, surprised me beyond measure, but could

not stir up the enthusiasm in me which had been inspired by

Vogler’s learned playing, which was beyond parallel in respect of

its harmonic and contrapuntal treatment.

An undated note of Beethoven, to Mähler, which belongs to a somewhat

later period--since its date is not ascertainable nor of much

importance--may be inserted here, as an introduction to Mr. Mähler’s

remarks upon the portrait to which it refers:

I beg of you to return my portrait to me as soon as you have made

sufficient use of it--if you need it longer I beg of you at least

to make haste--I have promised the portrait to a lady, a stranger

who saw it here, that she may hang it in her room during her stay

of several weeks. Who can withstand such charming importunities, as

a matter of course a portion of the lovely favors ~which I shall

thus garner~ will also fall to ~you~.

To the question what picture is here referred to, Mr. Mähler replied

in substance: “It was a portrait, which I painted soon after coming

to Vienna, in which Beethoven is represented, at nearly full length,

sitting; the left hand rests upon a lyre, the right is extended, as

if, in a moment of musical enthusiasm, he was beating time; in the

background is a temple of Apollo. Oh! If I could but know what became

of the picture!”

“What!” was the answer, to the great satisfaction of the old gentleman,

“the picture is hanging at this moment in the home of Madame van

Beethoven, widow, in the Josephstadt, and I have a copy of it.”[13]

The extended right hand--though, like the rest of the picture, not very

artistically executed--was evidently painted with care. It is rather

broad for the length, is muscular and nervous, as the hand of a great

pianist necessarily grows through much practice; but, on the whole, is

neatly formed and well proportioned. Anatomically, it corresponds so

perfectly with all the authentic descriptions of Beethoven’s person,

that this alone proves it to have been copied from nature and not drawn

after the painter’s fancy. Whoever saw a long, delicate hand with

fingers exquisitely tapering, like Mendelssohn’s, joined to the short

stout muscular figure of a Beethoven or a Schubert?

A few of Beethoven’s letters belonging to this period must be

introduced here. The first, dated September 22, 1803, addressed to

Hoffmeister, is as follows:

Herewith I declare all the works concerning which you have written

to me to be your property; the list of them will be copied again

and sent to you signed by me as your confessed property. I also

agree to the price, 50 ducats. Does this satisfy you?

Perhaps I may be able to send you instead of the variations for

violin and violoncello ~a set of variations for four hands~ on a

song of mine with which you will also have to print the poem by

Goethe, as I wrote these variations in an album as a souvenir and

consider them better than the others; are you content?

The ~transcriptions~ are not by me, but I revised them and improved

them in part, therefore do not come along with an announcement that

I had arranged them, because if you do you will lie, and, I haven’t

either time or patience for such work. Are you agreed?

Now farewell, I can wish you only large success, and I would

willingly give you everything as a gift if it were possible for

me thus to get through the world, but--consider, everything about

me has an official appointment and knows what he has to live on,

but, good God, where at the Imperial Court is there a place for a

~parvum talentum com ego~?

[Sidenote: CORRESPONDENCE WITH GEORGE THOMSON]

In this year began the correspondence with Thomson. George Thomson,

a Scotch gentleman (born March 4, 1757, at Limekilns, Dunfermline,

died at Leith, February 18, 1851), distinguished himself by tastes and

acquirements which led to his appointment, when still a young man,

as “Secretary to the Board of Trustees for the Encouragement of Arts

and Manufactures in Scotland”--a Board established at the time of the

Union of the Kingdoms, 1707 (not the Crowns, 1603), of England and

Scotland--an office from which he retired upon a full pension after

a service of fifty years. He was, especially, a promoter of all good

music and an earnest reviver of ancient Scotch melody. As one means

of improving the public taste and at the same time of giving currency

to Scotch national airs, he had published sonatas with such melodies

for themes, composed for him by Pleyel in Paris, and Koželuch in

Vienna---two instrumental composers enjoying then a European reputation

now difficult to appreciate. The fame of the new composer at Vienna

having now reached Edinburgh, Thomson applied to him for works of

a like character. Only the signature of the reply seems to be in

Beethoven’s hand:

A Monsieur

George Thomson, Nr. 28 York Place

Edinburgh. North Britain

Vienna le 5. 8^{bre} 1803.

Monsieur!

J’ai reçu avec bien de plaisir votre lettre du 20 Juillet. Entrant

volontiers dans vos propositions je dois vous declarer que je suis

prêt de composer pour vous six sonates telles que vous les desirez

y introduisant même les airs ecossais d’une manière laquelle la

nation Ecossaise trouvera la plus favorable et le plus d’accord

avec le genie de ses chansons. Quant au honoraire je crois que

trois cent ducats pour six sonates ne sera pas trop, vu qu’en

Allemagne on me donne autant pour pareil nombre de sonates même

sans accompagnement.

Je vous previens en même tems que vous devez accelerer votre

declaration, par ce qu’on me propose tant d’engagements qu’après

quelque tems je ne saurois peutêtre aussitôt satisfaire à vos

demandes.--Je vous prie de me pardonner, que cette reponse est si

retardée ce qui n’a été causée que par mon sejour à la campagne et

plusieurs occupations tres pressantes.--Aimant de preference les

airs eccossais je me plairai particulierement dans la composition

de vos sonates, et j’ose avancer que si nos interêts s’accorderront

sur le honoraire, vous serez parfaitement contenté.

Agréez les assurances de mon estime distingué.

Louis van Beethoven.

Mr. Thomson’s endorsement of this letter is this:

50 D. 1803. Louis van Beethoven, Vienna, demands 300 ducats for

composing six Sonatas for me. Replied 8th Nov. that I would give no

more than 150, taking 3 of the Sonatas when ready and the other 3

in six months after; giving him leave to publish in Germany on his

own account, the day after publication in London.

The sonatas were never composed. Not long afterwards, on October

22, Beethoven, enraged at efforts to reprint his works, issued the

following characteristic fulmination in large type, filling an entire

page of the journal:

WARNING.

Herr Carl Zulehner, a reprinter at Mayence, has announced an

edition of all my works for pianoforte and string instruments. I

hold it to be my duty hereby publicly to inform all friends of

music that I have not the slightest part in this edition. I should

not have offered to make a collection of my works, a proceeding

which I hold to be premature at the best, without first consulting

with the publishers and caring for the correctness which is wanting

in some of the individual publications. Moreover, I wish to call

attention to the fact that the illicit edition in question can

never be complete, inasmuch as some new works will soon appear

in Paris, which Herr Zulehner, as a French subject, will not be

permitted to reprint. I shall soon make full announcement of a

collection of my works to be made under my supervision and after a

severe revision.[14]

[Sidenote: MEISSNER’S ORATORIO TEXT REJECTED]

Alexander Macco, the painter, after executing a portrait of the Queen

of Prussia, in 1801, which caused much discussion in the public press

but secured to him a pension of 100 thalers, went from Berlin to

Dresden, Prague, and, in the summer of 1802, to Vienna. Here he became

a great admirer of Beethoven, both as man and artist, and claimed

and enjoyed so much of his society as the state of his mind and body

would allow him to grant to any stranger. Macco remained but a few

months here and then returned to Prague, whence he wrote the next year

offering to Beethoven for composition an oratorio text by Prof. A. G.

Meissner--a name just then well known in musical circles because of

the publication of the first volume of the biography of Kapellmeister

Naumann. If Meissner had not removed from Prague to Fulda in 1805, and

if Europe had remained at peace, perhaps Beethoven might, two or three

years later, have availed himself of the offer; just now he felt bound

to decline it, which he did in a letter dated November 2, 1803. In it

he said:

I am sorry, too, that I could not be oftener with you in Vienna,

but there are periods in human life which have to be overcome

and often they are not looked upon from the right point of view,

it appears that as a great artist you are not wholly unfamiliar

with such, and so--I have not, as I observe, lost your good will,

of which fact I am glad because I esteem you highly and wish

that I might have such an artist ~in my profession~ to associate

with. Meissner’s proposal is very welcome, nothing could be more

desirable than to receive such a poem from him, who is so highly

honored as a writer and who understands musical poetry better than

any other German author, but at present it is impossible for me to

write this oratorio because I am just ~beginning my opera~ which,

together with the performance, may occupy me ~till Easter~--if

Meissner is not in a hurry to publish his poem I should be glad

if he were to leave the composition of it to me, and if the poem

is not completed I wish he would not hurry it, since before or

after Easter I would come to Prague and let him hear some of my

compositions, which would make him more familiar with my manner of

writing, and either--inspire him further--or perhaps, make him stop

altogether, etc.

Was, then, the correspondent of the “Zeitung für die Elegante Welt”

right? Had Beethoven really received one of Schikaneder’s heroic texts?

This much is certain: that in the words “because I am just beginning

my opera,” no reference is made to the “Leonore” (“Fidelio”). They may

only express his expectation of beginning such a work immediately;

or they may refer to one already begun, of which a fragment has

been preserved. In Rubric II of the sale catalogue of Beethoven’s

manuscripts and music, No. 67, is a “vocal piece with orchestra,

complete, but not entirely orchestrated.” It is an operatic trio[15];

the dramatis personæ are ~Porus~, ~Volivia~, ~Sartagones~; the

handwriting is that of this part of the composer’s life; and the music

is the basis of the subsequent grand duet in “Fidelio,” “O namenlose

Freude.” The temptation is strong to believe that Schikaneder had

given Beethoven another “Alexander,” the scenes laid in India--a

supplement to that with which his new theatre had been opened two years

before. However this was, circumstances occurred, which prevented its

completion, or indeed the composition by Beethoven of any text prepared

by Schikaneder.

The compositions which may safely be dated 1803, are few in

comparison with those of 1802. The works published in the course

of the year were the two Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. 31, Nos. 1 and

2 (in Nägeli’s “Répertoire des Clavecinistes”); the three Violin

Sonatas, Op. 30 (Industrie-Comptoir); the two sets of Variations,

Op. 34 and 35 (Breitkopf and Härtel); the seven Bagatelles, Op. 33

(Industrie-Comptoir); the Romanza in G for Violin, Op. 40 (Hoffmeister

and Kühnel); the arrangement for Pianoforte and Flute (or Violin)

Op. 41 of the Serenade (Op. 25), which was not made by Beethoven but

examined by him and “corrected in parts” (Hoffmeister and Kühnel);

the two Preludes for Pianoforte, Op. 39 (Hoffmeister and Kühnel); two

songs, “La Partenza” and “Ich liebe dich” (Traeg); a song, “Das Glück

der Freundschaft,” Op. 88 (Löschenkerl in Vienna and Simrock in Bonn),

of which Nottebohm found a sketch amongst the sketches for the “Eroica”

Symphony in the book used in 1803 and which, therefore, though it may

have been an early work, was probably rewritten in 1803; and the six

Sacred Songs by Gellert, dedicated to Count Browne (Artaria). The two

great works of the year were the “Kreutzer” Sonata for Violin and the

“Sinfonia Eroica.” The title of the former, “Sonata per il Pianoforte

ed un Violino obligato in uno stilo (~stile~) molto concertante quasi

come d’un Concerto,” is found on the inner side of the last sheet of

the sketchbook of 1803 described by Nottebohm. Beethoven wrote the

word “brillante” after “stilo” but scratched it out. It is obvious

that he wished to emphasize the difference between this Sonata and its

predecessors. Simrock’s tardiness in publishing the Sonata annoyed

Beethoven. He became impatient and wrote to the publisher as follows,

under date of October 4, 1804:

[Sidenote: KREUTZER AND HIS SONATA]

Dear, best Herr Simrock, I have been waiting with longing for the

Sonata which I gave you--but in vain--please write me what the

condition of affairs is concerning it--whether or not you accepted

it from me merely as food for moths--or do you wish to obtain a

special Imperial ~privilegium~ in connection with it?--well it

seems to me that might have been accomplished long ago.--Where in

hiding is this slow devil--who is to drive out the sonata--you are

generally the quick devil, are known as Faust once was as being in

league with the imp of darkness and for this reason you are ~loved~

by your ~comrades~; but again--where in hiding is your devil--or

what kind of a devil is it that sits on my sonata and with whom

~you~ have a misunderstanding?--Hurry, then, and tell me when I

shall see the sonata given to the light of day--when you have told

me the date I will at once send a little note to Kreutzer, which

you will please be kind enough to enclose when you send a copy (as

you in any event will send your copies to Paris or even, perhaps,

have them printed there)--~this Kreutzer is a dear, good fellow~

who during his stay here[16] gave me much pleasure. I prefer his

unassuming manner and unaffectedness to all the ~Extérieur~ or

~intérieur~ of all the virtuosi--as the sonata is written for a

thoroughly capable violinist, the dedication to him is all the

more appropriate--although we correspond with each other (i. e.,

a letter from me once a year)--I hope he will not have learned

anything about it....

As a proof of the growing appreciation of Beethoven in foreign lands it

may be remarked here that in the summer of 1803 he received an Erard

pianoforte as a gift from the celebrated Parisian maker. The instrument

belongs to the museum at Linz and used to bear an inscription, on the

authority of Beethoven’s brother Johann, that it was given to the

composer by the city of Paris in 1804. The archives of the Erard firm

show, however, that on the 18th of Thermidor, in the XIth year of the

Republic (1803), Sébastien Erard made a present of “un piano forme

clavecin” to Ludwig van Beethoven in Vienna.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Probably the Quintet for Pianoforte and Wind-Instruments, Op. 16,

published in March, 1801.

[2] “Cäcilia.” IX, p. 219.

[3] The English editor of this biography found trombone parts written

out by Beethoven among Mr. Thayer’s posthumous papers; they belonged

to the Trio in the Scherzo of the Ninth Symphony, and Beethoven’s

instructions to the copyist where to introduce them in the score

plainly showed that they were an afterthought.

[4] It was not the case this time, for the manuscript of this Concerto

bears in the composer’s hand the date “1800.”

[5] In a Conversation Book from the year 1825, Holz writes that till

then “Christus am Ölberg” had always drawn full houses, but that the

court official in charge of musical affairs (~Hofmusikgraf~) had not

allowed further performances to be given.

[6] Anton Kraft was 14-1/2 years old at the time.

[7] The following observation on the sonata by Czerny is also

interesting: “In the Sonata written for Bridgetower and dedicated to

Kreutzer, Op. 47 (of which the first movement was composed in four

days and the other two [?] added from a sonata already completed), the

concluding passage

[Illustration]

is said to be borrowed from a piece of Kreutzer’s already in print. I

had this assurance immediately after the publication of the Beethoven

Sonata from a French musician (1805). It would be worth while to

investigate the matter. Perhaps therein lies the reason of its

dedication.” And further: “Bridgetower was a mulatto and played very

extravagantly; when he played the sonata with Beethoven it was laughed

at.”

[8] Letters and other documents, some of which were placed in Mr.

Thayer’s hands by Samuel Appleby, Esq., relative to Bridgetower, are

printed in an appendix to Vol. II of the first German edition of

this biography and as foot-notes and otherwise in Vol. III. What is

essential in the memoranda and documents can be put into a much smaller

compass. The subscription for the concert amounted to 1140 florins and

the list was headed by the English envoy. Bridgetower’s father was

known in England as the “Abyssinian Prince,” and Mr. Thayer speculates

whether the title was genuine or but a sobriquet given to him suggested

by Dr. Johnson’s “Rasselas”; but it will appear presently that he was

called an “African Prince,” not an Abyssinian; how his father got to

Biala in Poland, where Bridgetower was born, or whether his mother was

a German or a Pole, remains a mystery which has not yet been cleared

up. The first memorandum of information in Mr. Thayer’s collection was

in the shape of an excerpt from a communication from London written by

Abt Vogler and printed in Bossler’s “Musikalische Correspondenz” on

July 7, 1790. Abt Vogler’s letter bears date London, June 6, 1790; in

it he said:

“Last Wednesday, June 2nd, I attended a concert here in Hanover Square

where two young heroes contested with each other on the violin and

all music-lovers and cognoscenti found most agreeable entertainment

for three hours. The two played concertos alternately and both won

the warmest applause. The quartet, however, which was played by young

virtuosi whose combined ages did not reach 40 years, by virtue of a

fine, cheerful, witty and yet harmonious performance exceeded all the

expectations that experienced players could gratify. The first violin

was played by Clement of Vienna, eight and one-half, the second by

Bridgetower of Africa, ten years of age.”

The Prince of Wales, afterwards King George IV, took the youth into his

service as first violinist in the Pavilion at Brighton. The next piece

of information which reached Thayer told of Bridgetower’s first concert

in Dresden on July 24, 1802. A second concert was given on March 18,

1803, at which a brother of the violinist, who played the violoncello,

took part. A letter from Friedrich Lindemann, a member of the Prince of

Wales’s orchestra, dated January 14, 1803, contained the information

that a letter of Bridgetower’s forwarded to Brighton by a certain

“Billy” Cole had been placed in the hands of the Prince, who read it at

once, appeared to be highly satisfied, and granted the writer’s request

to be permitted to go to Vienna. Thayer did not learn the dates of

Bridgetower’s birth or death, but Dr. Riemann in his revision of the

second Volume says that he died “between 1840 and 1850.” This is an

error.

In the May number for 1908 of “The Musical Times” (London) Mr. F. G.

Edwards printed the results of an investigation into Bridgetower’s

life, and provided some new and definite information from a collection

of letters and documents in the possession of Arthur F. Hill,

F.S.A. From this article it appears that Bridgetower was a pupil of

Barthélemon, Giornovichi, Thomas Attwood and--as he claimed--Haydn.

If he really was a pupil of Haydn, he must, as Mr. Edwards pointed

out, have been in the neighborhood of Vienna before he had completed

his tenth year. To this the present writer adds that if he had been

a pupil of Haydn’s the latter would not have omitted his name in the

list of names which he made of the London musicians on his first visit

to the English metropolis, for he included “Clement ~petit~,” who was

then between ten and eleven years old. (See, “Music and Manners in

the Classical Period,” by H. E. Krehbiel, p. 77.) He made his first

public appearance in Paris at a Concert Spirituel on April 13, 1789.

In the announcement of this concert he was described as “Mr. Georges

Bridgetower, né aux colonies anglaises, âgé de 9 ans.” (Yet his

passport issued by the police authorities, gives Biala in Poland as his

birthplace.) A concert for his benefit was given on May 27, 1789, at

the Salle du Panthéon. Soon thereafter he crossed the channel and, if

his father is to be believed, he played for the first time in England

before George III and his court at Windsor Castle. Next he appears at

Bath, the “Morning Post” of November 25, 1789, reporting “Amongst those

added to the Sunday promenade were the African Prince in the Turkish

attire. The son of this African Prince has been celebrated as a very

accomplished musician.” The same newspaper, on December 8, a fortnight

later, tells of a concert given on the Saturday morning immediately

preceding the publication which was “more crowded and splendid than has

ever been known at this place, upwards of 550 people being present.

Rauzzini was enraptured, and declared that he had never heard such

execution before, even from his friend La Motte, who was, he thought,

much inferior to this wonderful boy. The father was in the gallery, and

so affected by the applause bestowed on his son, that tears of pleasure

and gratitude flowed in profusion.”

It would seem as if the modern methods of advertising musical artists

is far behind the old in the impudent display of charlantanry. The

plain “Georges” of the first Paris concert, the later George Polgreen,

in the announcement of his first concert in Bath becomes George

Augustus Frederick. Why? The Christian name of the Prince of Wales was

George Augustus Frederick. In this announcement he is described as “a

youth of Ten Years old, Pupil of the celebrated HAYDN.” The newspapers

were amiable or gullible, or both.

The lad played a concerto between “the 2d and 3d Acts” of “The Messiah”

at a performance of Handel’s oratorio given for the benefit of Rauzzini

on Christmas eve of the same year. He gave a concert in Bristol on

December 18, 1789, leading the band “with the coolness and spirit

of a Cramer to the astonishment and delight of all present,” and on

New Year’s day, 1790. Next he went to London, where, at Drury Lane

Theatre on February 19, 1790, he played a solo at a performance of

“The Messiah.” Referring to the Lenten concerts of that year, Parke

says in his “Musical Memoirs”: “Concertos were performed on the oboe

by me and on the violin for the first time by Master Bridgetower, son

of an African Prince, who was attended by his father habited in the

costume of his country.” The concert described by Abt Vogler was under

the patronage of the Prince of Wales. At the Handel Commemoration of

1791 in Westminster Abbey, Bridgetower and Hummel, in scarlet coats,

sat on either side of Joah Bates at the organ and pulled out the stops

for him. He played in the orchestra at the Haydn-Salomon concerts in

1791, at several of the Lenten concerts in the King’s Theatre in 1792,

and on May 28 he performed a concerto by Viotti at Mr. Barthélemon’s

concert, the announcement stating that “Dr. Haydn will preside at the

pianoforte.” (Haydn’s note-book contains no mention of the concert,

which would in likelihood have been the case had Bridgetower ever been

his pupil.) He was plainly on terms of intimacy with such musicians as

Viotti, François Cramer, Attwood, and later of Samuel Wesley, who wrote

of him in a tone of enthusiastic appreciation.

In 1802, being then in the Prince of Wales’s band at Brighton, he

obtained leave, as Thayer notes, to visit Dresden and take the baths

at Teplitz and Carlsbad; eventually, too, as we have seen, to visit

Vienna. The passport issued to him in Vienna for his return to London

described him as “a musician, native of Poland, aged 24 years, medium

height, clean shaven, dark brown hair, brown eyes and straight, rather

broad nose.” He seems to have become a resident of London and to have

continued in favor with musical and other notables for a considerable

space, for Dr. Crotch asks his aid in securing the patronage of the

Prince Regent for a concert.

He received the degree of Bachelor of Music, on presentation of the

usual exercise, from the University of Cambridge in 1811. There follow

some years during which his life remains obscure, but in which he lived

on the Continent. He was in Rome in 1825 and 1827; back in London in

1843, when Vincent Novello sent him a letter which he signed “your

much obliged old pupil and professional admirer.” John Ella met him in

Vienna in 1845, but he was again in London in 1846, and there he died,

apparently friendless and in poverty, on February 29, 1860. In the

registry of his death, discovered by Mr. Edwards, his age is set down

as 78 years; but he must have been eighty if he was nine when he played

at the first concert in Paris in 1789. He was born either in 1779 or

1780. He published some pianoforte studies in 1812 under the title

“Diatonica Armonica” which, with a few other printed pieces, are to be

found in the British Museum. A ballad entitled “Henry,” which was “Sung

by Miss Feron and dedicated with permission to Her Royal Highness the

Princess of Wales,” was evidently composed in 1810.

[9] “Hr. Karl v. Beethoven lives auf-der-Wien 26.”

“Staats-Schematismus,” 1803, p. 150; and ~ibid.~ 1804, p. 154. “Hr.

Ludwig van Beethofen, auf-der-Wien 26.”--See “Auskunftsbuch,” 1804,

p. 204. “An-der-Wien, No. 26. Bartolomä Zitterbarth, K. K. Prin.

Schauspielhaus.”--See “Vollständiges Verzeichniss aller ... der

numerirten Häuser, deren Eigenthümer,” etc., etc., Wien, 1804, p. 133.

[10] A letter printed in 1909 by Leopold Schmidt in his collection

from the archives of the Simrock firm, confirms the change of lodgings

to the theatre and also brother Karl’s activity as correspondent

and arranger. In it he offers a grand Sonata for violin, to appear

simultaneously in London, Leipsic, Vienna and Bonn, for 30 florins;

a grand Symphony for 400 florins. When the “Kreutzer” Sonata was

published (it was announced by Träg on May 18, 1805) Karl acknowledged

the receipt of a copy in a letter to Simrock, adding that all the other

publishers sent six copies of the works printed by them and asking for

the remaining five. Simrock took him to task rather sharply for what

he considered a piece of presumption, in a letter which he enclosed to

Ferdinand Ries with the statement that he might read it if he wanted

to. “I bought the Sonata of Louis van Beethoven,” says the indignant

publisher, “and in his letter concerning it there is not a word about

giving him six copies in addition to the fees--a matter important

enough to have been mentioned; I was under the impression that Louis

van Beethoven composed his own works; what I am certain of is that

I have fully complied with all the conditions of the contract and

am indebted to nobody.” In the note to Ries he calls Karl’s conduct

“impertinent and deserving of a harsher treatment, for Herr Karl seems

to me incorrigible.”

[11] Thayer considered the “first street to the left” to be the

Herrengasse. J. Böck (Gnadenau) argued in “Die Musik.” Vol. II, No.

6, that the house in which the “Eroica” was composed was the present

Hauptstrasse No. 92 of Döbling and bore the old No. 4 of the Hofzeile.

In 1890 the owner of the house and the Männergesangsverein of Döbling

placed a tablet on the “Eroica” house, whose occupants “were still in

possession of a tradition concerning Beethoven’s occupation of it.” So

says Dr. Riemann.

[12] Th. von Frimmel discusses the Beethoven portraits in his “Neue

Beethoveniana,” p. 189 ~et seq.~, and “Beethoven-Studien,” Vol. II

(1905).

[13] A copy of this portrait which belonged to Thayer is now in the

possession of Mrs. Jabez Fox, and is presented in photogravure as

frontispiece to the present volume.

[14] The publication of a complete edition of his composition

frequently occupied the mind of Beethoven. In 1806 Breitkopf and Härtel

tried to get all of Beethoven’s works for publication by them; it is

likely that similar efforts on the part of Viennese publishers date

back as far as 1803. Later the plan plays a rôle in the correspondence

with Probst and Simrock. As late as 1824 it was urged by Andreas

Streicher. It has already been said that Beethoven at an early date

desired to make an arrangement with a publisher by which he might be

relieved of anxiety about monetary matters. He wanted to give all his

compositions to one publisher, who should pay him a fixed salary.

[15] Nottebohm, “Skizzenbuch, etc., 1803,” p. 56, says “quartet.”

[16] Kreutzer came to Vienna with Bernadotte in 1789.

Chapter II

The Year 1804--The “Sinfonia Eroica”--Beethoven and Breuning--The

“Waldstein” Sonata--Sonnleithner, Treitschke and Gaveaux--“Fidelio”

Begun--Beethoven’s Popularity.

During the winter 1803-04 negotiations were in progress the result of

which put an end for the present to Beethoven’s operatic aspirations.

Let Treitschke, a personal actor in the scenes, explain:[17]

On February 24, 1801, the first performance of “Die Zauberflöte”

took place in the Royal Imperial Court Theatre beside the

Kärnthnerthor. Orchestra and chorus as well as the representatives

of ~Sarastro~ (Weinmüller), the ~Queen of Night~ (Mme.

Rosenbaum), ~Pamina~ (Demoiselle Saal) and the ~Moor~ (Lippert)

were much better than before. It remained throughout the year

the only admired German opera. The loss of large receipts and

the circumstance that many readings were changed, the dialogue

shortened and the name of the author omitted from all mention,

angered S. (Schikaneder) greatly. He did not hesitate to give free

vent to his gall, and to parody some of the vulnerable passages

in the performance. Thus the change of costume accompanying the

metamorphosis of the old woman into ~Papagena~ seldom succeeded.

Schikaneder, when he repeated the opera at his theatre, sent a

couple of tailors on to the stage who slowly accomplished the

disrobing, etc. These incidents would be trifles had they not been

followed by such significant consequences; for from that time dated

the hatred and jealousy which existed between the German operas

of the two theatres, which alternately persecuted every novelty

and ended in Baron von Braun, then manager of the Court Theatre,

purchasing the Theater-an-der-Wien in 1804, by which act everything

came under the staff of a single shepherd but never became a single

flock.

Zitterbarth had, some months before, purchased of Schikaneder all his

rights in the property, paying him 100,000 florins for the privilegium

alone; and, therefore, being absolute master, “had permitted a

dicker down to the sum of 1,060,000 florins Vienna standard....

The contract was signed on February 11th and on the 16th the

Theater-an-der-Wien under the new arrangement was opened with Méhul’s

opera ‘Ariodante.’”[18]

Zitterbarth had retained Schikaneder as director; but now Baron Braun

dismissed him, and the Secretary of the Court Theatres, Joseph von

Sonnleithner, for the present acted in that capacity.

The sale of the theatre made void the contracts with Vogler and

Beethoven, except as to the first of Vogler’s three operas, “Samori”

(text by Huber), which being ready was put in rehearsal and produced

May 7th.

It was no time for Baron Braun, with three theatres on his hands, to

make new contracts with composers, until the reins were fairly in his

grasp, and the affairs of the new purchase brought into order and in

condition to work smoothly; nor was there any necessity of haste;

the repertory was so well supplied, that the list of new pieces for

the year reached the number of forty-three, of which eighteen were

operas or ~Singspiele~. So Beethoven, who had already occupied the

free lodgings in the theatre building for the year which his contract

with Zitterbarth and Schikaneder granted him, was compelled to move.

Stephan von Breuning even then lived in the house in which in 1827 he

died. It was the large pile of building belonging to the Esterhazy

estates, known as “das rothe Haus,” which stood at a right angle to

the Schwarzspanier house and church, and fronted upon the open space

where now stands the new Votiv-Kirche. Here also Beethoven now took

apartments.[19]

It is worth noting, that this was the year--October, 1803 to October,

1804--of C. M. von Weber’s first visit to Vienna, and of his studies

under Vogler. He was then but eighteen years old and “the delicate

little man” made no very favorable impression upon Beethoven. But at

a later period, when Weber’s noble dramatic talent became developed

and known, no former prejudice prevented the great symphonist’s due

appreciation and hearty acknowledgment of it.

[Sidenote: CLEMENTI COMES TO VIENNA]

Among the noted strangers who came to Vienna this spring was Clementi.

“He sent word to Beethoven that he would like to see him.” “Clementi

will wait a long time before Beethoven goes to him,” was the reply.

Thus Czerny.

When he came (says Ries) Beethoven wanted to go to him at once, but

his brother put it into his head that Clementi ought to make the

first visit. Though much older Clementi would probably have done

so had not gossip begun to concern itself with the matter. Thus it

came about that Clementi was in Vienna a long time without knowing

Beethoven except by sight. Often we dined at the same table in the

Swan, Clementi with his pupil Klengel and Beethoven with me; all

knew each other but no one spoke to the other, or confined himself

to a greeting. The two pupils had to imitate their masters, because

they feared they would otherwise lose their lessons. This would

surely have been the case with me because there was no possibility

of a middle-way with Beethoven. (“Notizen,” p. 101.)

[Sidenote: THE “EROICA” AND NAPOLEON]

Early in the Spring a fair copy of the “Sinfonia Eroica” had been

made to be forwarded to Paris through the French embassy, as Moritz

Lichnowsky informed Schindler.

In this symphony (says Ries) Beethoven had Buonaparte in his mind,

but as he was when he was First Consul. Beethoven esteemed him

greatly at the time and likened him to the greatest Roman consuls.

I as well as several of his more intimate friends saw a copy of

the score lying upon his table, with the word “Buonaparte” at the

extreme top of the title-page and at the extreme bottom “Luigi van

Beethoven,” but not another word. Whether, and with what the space

between was to be filled out, I do not know. I was the first to

bring him the intelligence that Buonaparte had proclaimed himself

emperor, whereupon he flew into a rage and cried out: “Is then he,

too, nothing more than an ordinary human being? Now he, too, will

trample on all the rights of man and indulge only his ambition. He

will exalt himself above all others, become a tyrant!” Beethoven

went to the table, took hold of the title-page by the top, tore it

in two and threw it on the floor. The first page was rewritten and

only then did the symphony receive the title: “Sinfonia eroica.”

There can be no mistake in this; for Count Moritz Lichnowsky, who

happened to be with Beethoven when Ries brought the offensive news,

described the scene to Schindler years before the publication of the

“Notizen,”

The Acts of the French Tribunate and Senate, which elevated the

First Consul to the dignity of Emperor, are dated May 3, 4, and 17.

Napoleon’s assumption of the crown occurred on the 18th and the

solemn proclamation was issued on the 20th. Even in those days,

news of so important an event would not have required ten days to

reach Vienna. At the very latest, then, a fair copy of the “Sinfonia

Eroica,” was complete early in May, 1804. That it was a copy, the

two credible witnesses, Ries and Lichnowsky, attest. Beethoven’s

own score--purchased at the sale in 1827, for 3 fl. 10 kr., Vienna

standard (less than 3-1/2 francs), by the Vienna composer Hr. Joseph

Dessauer--could not have been the one referred to above. It is, from

beginning to end, disfigured by erasures and corrections, and the

title-page could never have answered to Ries’ description. It is this:

(At the top:) N. B. 1. Cues for the other instruments are to be

written into the first violin part.

~Sinfonia Grande~

[Here two words are erased]

___

804 im August

del Sigr

Louis van Beethoven

Sinfonie 3 Op. 55

(At the bottom:) N. B. 2. The third horn is so written that it

can be played by by [~sic~] a ~primario~ as

well as a ~secundario~.

A note to the funeral march, is evidently a direction to the copyist,

as are the remarks on the title-page:

N. B. The notes in the bass which have stems upwards are for the

violoncellos, those downward for the bass-viol.

One of the two words erased from the title was “Bonaparte”; and just

under his own name Beethoven wrote with a lead pencil in large letters,

nearly obliterated but still legible, “Composed on Bonaparte.”

It is confidently submitted, therefore, that all the traditions derived

from Czerny, Dr. Bertolini and whomsoever, that the opening Allegro

is a description of a naval battle, and that the ~Marcia funebre~

was written in commemoration of Nelson or Gen. Abercrombie,[20] are

mistakes, and that Schindler is correct; and again, that the date “804

im August,” is not that of the composition of the Symphony. It is

written with a different ink, darker than the rest of the title, and

may have been inserted long afterwards, Beethoven’s memory playing him

false. The two “violin adagios with orchestral accompaniment” offered

by Kaspar van Beethoven to André in November, 1802, cannot well be

anything but the two Romances, yet that in G, Op. 40, bears the date

1803. Perhaps Kaspar wrote before it was complete. But what can be

said to this? It is perfectly well known that Op. 124 was performed

on October 3, 1822; yet the copy sent to Stumpff in London bore this

title: “Overture by Ludwig van Beethoven, composed for the opening

of the Josephstadt Theatre, towards the end of September, 1823, and

performed for the first time on October 3, 1824, Op. 124.” That the

“804 im August” may be an error, is at all events possible, if not

established as such. “Afterwards,” continues Ries, “Prince Lobkowitz

bought this composition for several years’ [?] use, and it was

performed several times in his palace.”

There is “an anecdote told by a person who enjoyed Beethoven’s

society,”[21] in Schmidt’s “Wiener Musik-Zeitung” (1843, p. 28),

according to which, as may readily be believed, this work, then so

difficult, new, original, strange in its effects and of such unusual

length, did not please. Some time after this humiliating failure

Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia paid a visit to the same cavalier

(Lobkowitz) in his countryseat.... To give him a surprise, the new

and, of course, to him utterly unknown symphony, was played to the

Prince, who “listened to it with tense attention which grew with

every movement.” At the close he proved his admiration by requesting

the favor of an immediate repetition; and, after an hour’s pause, as

his stay was too limited to admit of another concert, a second. “The

impression made by the music was general and its lofty contents were

now recognized.”

To those who have had occasion to study the character of Louis

Ferdinand as a man and a musician, and who know that at the precise

time here indicated he was really upon a journey that took him near

certain estates of Prince Lobkowitz, there is nothing improbable in

the anecdote. ~If~ it be true, and the occurrence really took place at

Raudnitz or some other “countryseat” of the Prince’s, the rehearsals

and first performances of the Symphony at Vienna had occurred, weeks,

perhaps months, before “804 im August.” However this be, Ries was

present at the first rehearsal and incurred the danger of receiving a

box on the ear from his master.

In the first Allegro occurs a wicked whim (~böse Laune~) of

Beethoven’s for the horn; in the second part, several measures

before the theme recurs in its entirety, Beethoven has the horn

suggest it at a place where the two violins are still holding a

second chord. To one unfamiliar with the score this must always

sound as if the horn player had made a miscount and entered at the

wrong place. At the first rehearsal of the symphony, which was

horrible, but at which the horn player made his entry correctly,

I stood beside Beethoven, and, thinking that a blunder had been

made I said: “Can’t the damned hornist count?--it sounds infamously

false!” I think I came pretty close to receiving a box on the

ear. Beethoven did not forgive the slip for a long time. (P. 79,

“Notizen.”)

It was bad economy for two young, single men, each to have and pay

for a complete suite of apartments in the same house, especially for

two who were connected by so many ties of friendship as Breuning and

Beethoven. Either lodging contained ample room for both; and Beethoven

therefore very soon gave up his and moved into the other. Breuning

had his own housekeeper and cook and they also usually dined together

at home. This arrangement had hardly been effected when Beethoven was

seized with a severe sickness, which when conquered still left him the

victim of an obstinate intermittent fever.

[Sidenote: A QUARREL WITH VON BREUNING]

Every language has its proverbs to the effect that he who serves not

himself is ill served. So Beethoven discovered, when it was too late,

that due notice had not been given to the agent of Esterhazy, and that

he was bound for the rent of the apartments previously occupied. The

question, who was in fault, came up one day at dinner in the beginning

of July, and ended in a sudden quarrel in which Beethoven became so

angry as to leave the table and the house and retire to Baden with the

determination to sacrifice the rent here and pay for another lodging,

rather than remain under the same roof with Breuning. “Breuning,”

says Ries, “a hot-head like Beethoven, grew so enraged at Beethoven’s

conduct because the incident occurred in the presence of his brother.”

It is clear, however, that he soon became cool and instantly did his

best to prevent the momentary breach from becoming permanent, by

writing--as may be gathered from Beethoven’s allusions to it--a manly,

sensible and friendly invitation to forgive and forget. But Beethoven,

worn with illness, his nerves unstrung, made restless, unhappy,

petulant by his increasing deafness, was for a time obstinate. His

wrath must run its course. It found vent in the following letters to

Ries, and then the paroxysm soon passed.

The first of the letters was written in the beginning of 1804,

Dear Ries: Since Breuning did not scruple by his conduct to present

my character to you and the landlord as that of a miserable,

beggarly, contemptible fellow I single you out first to give my

answer to Breuning by word of mouth. Only to the one and first

point of his letter which I answer only in order to vindicate my

character in your eyes. Say to him, then, that it never occurred

to me to reproach him because of the tardiness of the notice, and

that, if Breuning was really to blame for it, my desire to live

amicably with all the world is much too precious and dear to me

that I should give pain to one of my friends for a few hundreds

and more. You know yourself that altogether jocularly I accused

you of being to blame that the notice did not arrive on time. I am

sure that you will remember this; I had forgotten all about the

matter. Now my brother began at the table and said that he believed

it was Breuning’s fault; I denied it at once and said that you

were to blame. It appears to me that was plain enough to show that

I did not hold him to blame. Thereupon Breuning jumped up like a

madman and said he would call up the landlord. This conduct in the

presence of all the persons with whom I associate made me lose my

self-control; I also jumped up, upset my chair, went away and did

not return. This behavior induced Breuning to put me in such a

light before you and the house-steward, and to write me a letter

also which I have answered only with silence. I have nothing more

to say to Breuning. His mode of thought and action in regard to me

proves that there never ought to have been a friendly relationship

between him and me and such certainly will not exist in the future.

I have told you all this because your statements degraded all my

habits of thinking and acting. I know that if you had known the

facts you would certainly not have made them, and this satisfies me.

Now I beg of you, dear Ries! immediately on receipt of this letter

go to my brother, the apothecary, and tell him that I shall leave

Baden in a few days and that he must engage the lodgings in Döbling

immediately you have informed him. I was near to coming to-day;

I am tired of being here, it revolts me. Urge him for heaven’s

sake to rent the lodgings at once because I want to get into them

immediately. Tell it to him and do not show him any part of what

is written on the other page; I want to show him from all possible

points of view that I am not so small-minded as he and wrote to him

only after this (Breuning’s) letter, although my resolution to end

our friendship is and will remain firm.

Your friend

Beethoven.

Not long thereafter there followed a second letter, which Ries gives as

follows:

Baden, July 14, 1804.

If you, dear Ries, are able to find better quarters I shall be

glad. I want them on a large quiet square or on the ramparts....

I will take care to be at the rehearsal on Wednesday. It is not

pleasant to me that it is at Schuppanzigh’s. He ought to be

grateful if my humiliations make him thinner. Farewell, dear Ries!

We are having bad weather here and I am not safe from people; I

must flee in order to be alone.

[Sidenote: END OF A FRIENDSHIP THREATENED]

From a third letter, dated “Baden, July 24, 1804,” Ries prints the

following excerpt:

... No doubt you were surprised at the Breuning affair; believe

me, dear (friend), my eruption was only the outburst consequent on

many unpleasant encounters between us before. I have the talent in

many cases to conceal my sensitiveness and repress it; but if I am

irritated at a time when I am more susceptible than usual to anger,

I burst out more violently than anybody else. Breuning certainly

has excellent qualities, but he thinks he is free from all faults

and his greatest ones are those which he thinks he sees in others.

He has a spirit of pettiness which I have despised since childhood.

My judgment almost predicted the course which affairs would take

with Breuning, since our modes of thinking, acting and feeling

are so different, but I thought these difficulties might also be

overcome;--experience has refuted me. And now, no more friendship!

I have found only two friends in the world with whom I have never

had a misunderstanding, but what men! One is dead, the other still

lives. Although we have not heard from each other in nearly six

years I know that I occupy the first place in his heart as he

does in mine. The foundation of friendship demands the greatest

similarity between the hearts and souls of men. I ask no more than

that you read the letter which I wrote to Breuning and his letter

to me. No, he shall never again hold the place in my heart which

once he occupied. He who can think a friend capable of such base

thoughts and be guilty of such base conduct towards him is not

worth my friendship.

The reader knows too well the character of Breuning to be prejudiced

against him by all these harsh expressions written by Beethoven in a

fit of choler of which he heartily repented and “brought forth fruits

meet for repentance.” But, as Ries says, “these letters together

with their consequences are too beautiful a testimony to Beethoven’s

character to be omitted here,” the more so as they introduce, by the

allusions in them, certain matters of more or less interest from the

“Notizen” of Ries. Thus Ries writes:

One evening I came to Baden to continue my lessons. There I found

a handsome young woman sitting on the sofa with him. Thinking

that I might be intruding I wanted to go at once, but Beethoven

detained me and said: “Play for the time being.” He and the lady

remained seated behind me. I had already played for a long time

when Beethoven suddenly called out: “~Ries, play some love music~”;

a little later, “~Something melancholy!~” then, “~Something

passionate!~” etc.

From what I heard I could come to the conclusion that in some

manner he must have offended the lady and was trying to make

amends by an exhibition of good humor. At last he jumped up

and shouted: “Why, all those things are by me!” I had played

nothing but movements from his works, connecting them with short

transition-phrases, which seemed to please him. The lady soon went

away and to my great amazement Beethoven did not know who she was.

I learned that she had come in shortly before me in order to make

Beethoven’s acquaintance. We followed her in order to discover her

lodgings and later her station. We saw her from a distance (it

was moonlight),[22] but suddenly she disappeared. Chatting on all

manner of topics we walked for an hour and a half in the beautiful

valley adjoining. On going, however, Beethoven said: “I must find

out who she is and you must help me.” A long time afterward I met

her in Vienna and discovered that she was the mistress of a foreign

prince. I reported the intelligence to Beethoven, but never heard

anything more about her either from him or anybody else.

The rehearsal at Schuppanzigh’s on “Wednesday” (18th) mentioned in

the letter of July 14th, was for the benefit of Ries, who was to play

in the first of the second series of the regular Augarten Thursday

concerts which took place the next day (19th) or, perhaps, the 26th.

Ries says on page 113 of the “Notizen”:

Beethoven had given me his beautiful Concerto in C minor (Op. 37)

in manuscript so that I might make my first public appearance ~as

his pupil~ with it; and I am the only one who ever appeared as such

while Beethoven was alive.... Beethoven himself conducted, but

he only turned the pages and never, perhaps, was a concerto more

beautifully accompanied. We had two large rehearsals. I had asked

Beethoven to write a cadenza for me, but he refused and told me to

write one myself and he would correct it. Beethoven was satisfied

with my composition and made few changes; but there was an

extremely brilliant and very difficult passage in it, which, though

he liked it, seemed to him too venturesome, wherefore he told me to

write another in its place. A week before the concert he wanted to

hear the cadenza again. I played it and floundered in the passage;

he again, this time a little ill-naturedly, told me to change it. I

did so, but the new passage did not satisfy me; I therefore studied

the other, and zealously, but was not quite sure of it. When the

cadenza was reached in the public concert Beethoven quietly sat

down. I could not persuade myself to choose the easier one. When

I boldly began the more difficult one, Beethoven violently jerked

his chair; but the cadenza went through all right and Beethoven was

so delighted that he shouted “Bravo!” loudly. This electrified the

entire audience and at once gave me a standing among the artists.

Afterward, while expressing his satisfaction he added: “But all the

same you are willful! If you had made a slip in the passage I would

never have given you another lesson.”

A little farther on in his book Ries writes (p. 115):

The pianoforte part of the C minor Concerto was ~never completely

written out~ in the score; Beethoven wrote it down on separate

sheets of paper expressly for me.

This confirms Seyfried, as quoted on a preceding page.

“Not on my life would I have believed that I could be so lazy as I am

here. If it is followed by an outburst of industry, something worth

while may be accomplished,” Beethoven wrote at the end of his letter

of July 24. He was right. His brother Johann secured for him the

lodging at Döbling where he passed the rest of the summer, and where

the two Sonatas Op. 53 and 54, certainly “something worth while,” were

composed. In one of the long walks, previously described by Ries,

in which we went so far astray that we did not get back to Döbling,

where Beethoven lived, until nearly 8 o’clock, he had been all the

time humming and sometimes howling, always up and down, without

singing any definite notes. In answer to my question what it

was he said: “A theme for the last movement of the sonata has

occurred to me.” When we entered the room he ran to the pianoforte

without taking off his hat. I took a seat in a corner and he soon

forgot all about me. Now he stormed for at least an hour with the

beautiful finale of the sonata. Finally he got up, was surprised

still to see me and said: “I cannot give you a lesson to-day, I

must do some more work.”

[Sidenote: THE F MINOR SONATA, OP. 57]

The Sonata in question was that in F minor, Op. 57. Ries had in the

meantime fulfilled Beethoven’s wish for a new lodging on the ramparts,

by engaging for him one on the Mölkerbastei three or four houses only

from Prince Lichnowsky in the Pasqualati house--“from the fourth

storey of which there was a beautiful view,” namely, over the broad

Glacis, the northwestern suburb of the city and the mountains in the

distance. “He moved out of this several times,” says Ries, “but always

returned to it, so that, as I afterwards heard, Baron Pasqualati was

good-natured enough to say: ‘The lodging will not be rented; Beethoven

will come back.’” To what extent Ries was correctly informed in this

we will not now conjecture. The lessons of Förster’s little boy had

been interrupted so long as his teacher dwelt in the distant theatre

buildings; they were now renewed, the first being particularly

impressed upon his memory by a severe reproof from Beethoven for

ascending the four lofty flights of stairs too rapidly, and entering

out of breath: “Youngster, you will ruin your lungs if you are not more

careful,” said he in substance.

The two new Sonatas were finished and were now made known to

Beethoven’s intimates. In the one in C major, Op. 53, there was a

long Andante. A friend of Beethoven’s said to him that the Sonata was

too long, for which he was terribly taken to task by the composer.

But after quiet reflection Beethoven was convinced of the correctness

of the criticism. The Andante was therefore excluded and its place

supplied by the interesting Introduction to the Rondo which it now has.

A year after the publication of the Sonata it also appeared separately.

In these particulars Ries is confirmed by Czerny, who adds: “Because

of its popularity (for Beethoven played it frequently in society) he

gave it the title ‘Andante favori.’ I am the more sure of this since

Beethoven sent me the proof together with the manuscript for revision.”

The arrangement for string quartet may have been made much later,

probably by Ries (?).

This Andante (Ries continues) has left a painful memory in me. When

Beethoven played it for the first time to our friend Krumpholtz and

me, it delighted us greatly and we teased him until he repeated it.

Passing the door of Prince Lichnowsky’s house (by the Schottenthor)

on my way home I went in to tell the Prince of the new and glorious

composition of Beethoven’s, and was persuaded to play it as well

as I could remember it. Recalling more and more of it the Prince

urged me to repeat it. In this way it happened that the Prince also

learned a portion of the piece. To give Beethoven a surprise the

Prince went to him the next day and said that he too had composed

something which was not at all bad. In spite of Beethoven’s remark

that he did not want to hear it the Prince sat down and to the

amazement of the composer played a goodly portion of the Andante.

Beethoven was greatly angered, and this was the reason why I ~never

again heard Beethoven play~.

Prince Louis Ferdinand, now on his way into Italy, made a short stay

at Vienna, renewing his acquaintance with Beethoven; but of their

intercourse few particulars are known. Ries relates (“Notizen,” p.

111), that an old countess gave a little musical entertainment “to

which, naturally, Beethoven was invited. When the company sat down to

supper, plates for the high nobility only were placed at the Prince’s

table--none for Beethoven. He flew into a rage, made a few ugly

remarks, took his hat and went away. A few days later Prince Louis gave

a dinner to which some members of the first company, including the old

countess, were invited. When they sat down to table the old countess

was placed on one side of the Prince, Beethoven on the other, a mark of

distinction which Beethoven always referred to with pleasure.”

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND BREUNING RECONCILED]

The Pianoforte Concerto in C minor was then in the hands of the

engraver; upon its publication in November, Prince Louis Ferdinand’s

name appeared upon the title. Concerning the compositions of the

Prince, Beethoven remarked: “Now and then there are pretty bits in

them”--so said Czerny. Before this time Beethoven and Breuning “met

each other by accident and a complete reconciliation took place

and every inimical resolve of Beethoven’s, despite their vigorous

expression in the two letters, was wholly forgotten.”--(Ries.)

And not this alone; he “laid his peace offering on the altar of

reconciliation.” It was the best picture of himself which exists from

those years, a beautiful miniature painted upon ivory by Hornemann,

still in the possession of Breuning’s heirs. With it he sent the

following letter:

Let us bury behind this picture forever, my dear Steffen, all

that for a time has ~passed between us~. I know that I broke your

heart. The feelings within me which you must have noticed have

sufficiently punished me for that. It was not ~wickedness~ that

I felt towards you; no, if that were so I should never again be

worthy of your friendship; passion on ~your part~ and ~on mine~;

but mistrust of you arose in me; men came between us who are not

worthy of ~you~ and ~me~. My portrait was long ago intended for

you; you know that I always intended it for somebody. To whom could

I give it with so warm a heart as to you, faithful, good, noble

Steffen! Forgive me if I have pained you; I suffered no less. When

I no longer saw you near me I felt for the first time how dear to

~my~ heart you are and always will be.

Surely you will come to my arms again as in past days.

Nor was the reconciliation on Breuning’s part less perfect. On the 13th

of November he writes to Wegeler and, to excuse his long silence, says:

He who has been my friend from youth is often largely to blame that

I am compelled to neglect the absent ones. You cannot conceive,

my dear Wegeler, what an indescribable, I might say, fearful

effect the gradual loss of hearing has had upon him. Think of the

feeling of being unhappy in one of such violent temperament; in

addition reservedness, mistrust, often towards his best friends,

in many things want of decision! For the greater part, with only

an occasional exception when he gives free vent to his feelings on

the spur of the moment, intercourse with him is a real exertion,

at which one can scarcely trust to oneself. From May until the

beginning of this month we lived in the same house, and at the

outset I took him into my rooms. He had scarcely come before he

became severely, almost dangerously ill, and this was followed

by an intermittent fever. Worry and the care of him used me

rather severely. Now he is completely well again. He lives on the

Ramparts, I in one of the newly-built houses of Prince Esterhazy in

front of the Alstercaserne, and as I am keeping house he eats with

me every day.

Not a word about the quarrel! Not a word to intimate that Beethoven had

not occupied his rooms with him until at the usual time for changing

lodgings he had crossed the Glacis to Pasqualati’s house; not a word of

complaint--nothing but deepest pity and heartiest sympathy.

In December the famous Munich oboist Ramm was in Vienna and took part

with Beethoven in one of Prince Lobkowitz’s private concerts. Beethoven

directed the performance of the “Sinfonia Eroica” and in the second

part of the first Allegro, “where the music is pursued for so many

measures in half-notes against the beat,” he, as Ries says, threw the

orchestra into such confusion that a new beginning had to be made.

On the same evening he played his Quintet for Pianoforte and

Wind-instruments with Ramm as oboist. In the last Allegro there

are several holds before the theme is resumed. At one of these

Beethoven suddenly began to improvise, took the Rondo for a theme

and entertained himself and the others for a considerable time,

but not the other players. They were displeased and Ramm even

very angry. It was really very comical to see them, momentarily

expecting the performance to be resumed, put their instruments

to their mouths only to put them down again. At length Beethoven

was satisfied and dropped into the Rondo. The whole company was

transported with delight.

Turn we again to the Theater-an-der-Wien, for a new contract has been

made with Beethoven, by which his operatic aspirations and hopes are

again awakened, with a better prospect of their gratification. At the

end of August Sonnleithner retired from the direction and Baron Braun

took the extraordinary step of reinstating his former rival and enemy,

Schikaneder--a remarkable proof of the Baron’s high opinion of his tact

and skill in the difficult business of management.

When one calls to mind the extraordinary praises which have been

bestowed upon Baron Braun for his supposed patronage of Beethoven,

it is worth noting, as a coincidence if nothing more, that now when

Schikaneder finds himself in a strait for novelty and new attractions

for his stage, the project of appealing to Beethoven’s genius is

revived.

Before proceeding, a word upon Sonnleithner and Treitschke may be

permitted.

[Sidenote: SONNLEITHNER AND TREITSCHKE]

The eldest son, born 1765, of Christoph Sonnleithner, Doctor of Laws

and Dean of the Juridical Faculty at Vienna, Joseph Ferdinand by

name, was educated to his father’s profession, and early rose to the

positions of Circuit Commissioner and Royal Imperial Court Scrivener

(~Kreis-Kommissär und K. K. Hof-Concipist~). All the Sonnleithners,

from Dr. Christoph down to the excellent and beloved representative of

the family, Leopold, his grandson who died in 1878, have stood in the

front ranks of musical dilettanti, as composers, singers, instrumental

performers and writers on topics pertaining to the art. Joseph

Ferdinand was no exception. He gave his attention particularly to

musical and theatrical literature, edited the Court Theatre Calendars,

1794-5, so highly lauded by Gerber, and prepared himself by appropriate

studies to carry out Forkel’s plan of a “History of Music in Examples,”

which was to reach the great extent of 50 volumes, folio. To this end

he spent nearly three years, 1798-1802, in an extensive tour through

northern Europe making collections of rare, old music. Upon his return

to Vienna, resigning this project again into the hands of Forkel, he

became one of the earliest partners, if not one of the founders, of the

publishing house known as the “Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir” (Bureau

d’Arts et d’Industrie), of which Schreyvogel was the recognized head.

The latter had been appointed Secretary of the Court Theatre in 1802,

but resigned, and, on February 14, 1804, Sonnleithner “was appointed,

and on this account was most honorably retired from his former post

as Court Scrivener.” On what grounds he has been called an “actor”

(~Schauspieler~) is unknown.

One of his colleagues in the various offices of the Court Theatres

was Georg Friedrich Treitschke, born in 1776, a native of Leipsic,

who came to the Court Theatre in 1800 as an actor, but whose talents

and fine character raised him in the course of the next two years to

the position of poet and stage-manager of the German Court Opera,

a post which he still and for many years continued to hold. He was

therefore now (1804) in close business relations with Baron Braun and

Sonnleithner; and, until some proof be adduced of lapse of memory--for

his known probity forbids all suspicion of intentional or careless

misrepresentation--his statements in regard to them may be accepted

with perfect confidence.

Treitschke wrote thus in the “Orpheus” of 1841 (p. 258):

At the end of 1804 Baron von Braun, the new owner of the Royal

Imperial priv. Theater-an-der-Wien, commissioned Ludwig van

Beethoven, then in the full strength of youth, to write an opera

for that playhouse. Because of his oratorio, “Christus am Ölberg,”

it was believed that the master might do as much for dramatic music

as he had done for instrumental. Besides his honorarium[23] he was

offered free lodgings in the theatre buildings. Joseph Sonnleithner

undertook to provide the text, and chose the French book, “L’Amour

conjugal,” although it had already been set by Gaveaux and to

Italian words as “Leonora” by Paër, but had been translated from

both dramatizations into German. Beethoven had no fear of his

predecessors and went to work with eager delight, so that the opera

was nearly finished by the middle of 1805.[24]

Such is Treitschke’s simple and compendious statement of the facts; a

statement which has been affirmed to contain “manifold errors,” yet, in

truth, not a single point in it can be controverted.

In Paris, at the close of the 18th century, Shakespeare’s “being taken

by the insolent foe and redemption thence” was by far the most popular

subject for the stage. Doubtless so many facts stranger than fiction

in recent narratives of escape from dungeon and guillotine, rendered

doubly fascinating by beautiful exhibitions of disinterested affection,

exalted generosity and heroic self-sacrifice, were not without their

effect upon public taste. Certain it is that no other class of subjects

is so numerously represented in the French drama of that precise period

as this. “Les deux Journées” by J. N. Bouilly stands confessedly at

its head. In Beethoven’s opinion in 1823, this and “La Vestale” were

the two best texts then ever written. Two years before the “Deux

Journées”--that is, on February 19th, 1798--the same poet had produced

another of that class of texts, which, if less abounding in pleasing

and exciting scenes, still contained one supreme moment that cannot

readily find its like. This was “Léonore, ou l’Amour conjugal”; the

seventeenth and last in Fétis’ list of Pierre Gaveaux’s thirty-five

operas and operettas.

[Sidenote: THE FRENCH ORIGINAL OF “FIDELIO”]

Gaveaux was a singer at the Théâtre Feydeau in Paris--a man of no great

musical science, but gifted with a natural talent for melody and for

pleasing though not always correct instrumentation, which secured the

suffrages of the Feydeau audience for nearly all the long list of his

productions. These were mostly short pieces in one act, in which he

wrote the principal tenor part for himself. His “Le petit Matelot”

(1794), as “Der kleine Matrose,” became immediately popular throughout

Germany; Rellstab at Berlin published a pianoforte arrangement of it

in 1798; and it so endured the fluctuations in public taste as still

to be performed at Frankfort-on-the-Main in 1846. This was followed by

his “L’Amour filial,” and others, so that, in short, whatever faults

the critics found in his music, he was one of those French composers,

to whose productions the managers of German opera houses ever had an

eye. As the “Léonore” was published in score soon after its production,

the names of its authors, Bouilly and Gaveaux, as well as its success

at the Théâtre Feydeau, ensured its becoming known in Germany, and, but

for the use of its subject by Paër, it might perhaps have been simply

translated and performed with the original music. Rewritten in Italian,

it was one of the first texts put into Paër’s hands after his removal

to Dresden, and was produced on the 3d of October, as the opening piece

of the winter season 1804-5.

The first performance was another triumph for Paër, who, satisfied with

it, departed for Vienna next day on his way to Italy. It requires no

great sagacity to perceive, on the one hand, that the Directors of the

Imperial Italian Opera--on whose stage at the least eleven of Paër’s

works had been given, several of them originally written for it--would

not fail to secure a copy of the new composition; and, on the other,

that the composer would seek the fame and profit of its reproduction

there.[25] Jahn in his preface to Beethoven’s “Leonore” has discussed

the great inferiority of the Dresden Italian text to the original;

its defects would be equally apparent to Sonnleithner; and this

consideration, with perhaps later news from Dresden, would convince him

that the performance of Paër’s composition at Vienna would be at best a

doubtful venture.[26]

[Sidenote: POPULARITY OF BEETHOVEN’S MUSIC]

At this point, when the first of the solo sonatas written for the

enlarged pianoforte (Op. 53) is ready for the press; when the

Pianoforte Concerto in C minor has just been published; the “Sinfonia

Eroica,” with its daring novelties of ideas and construction is

awaiting public performance, and the composer has entered the lists to

compete with Cherubini in another form of the art--here seems to be the

fitting place for a few notes upon the degree of popularity, and the

extent of circulation, to which his previous compositions had already

attained.

We have not written very lucidly, if it be not sufficiently clear that,

at Vienna, the works of no other of the younger generation of composers

had so ready and extensive a sale as Beethoven’s, notwithstanding their

most attractive qualities to many, were repellent to others. That was

a question of taste. But in these last weeks of 1804, a proof of their

general popularity was in preparation by Schreyvogel and Rizzi, which,

so far as the present writer has examined the German periodical press

from 1790 to 1830, is without a parallel. It was a complete classified

catalogue of the “Works of Herrn Ludwig van Beethoven,” published as an

advertisement, January 30, 1805, in the “Wiener Zeitung,” announcing

them as “to be had at the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir at Vienna in

the Kohlmarkt, No. 269.”

At the end of 1796--a few sets of Variations excepted--only the first

three of Beethoven’s ~opera~ had appeared. Four years afterwards the

first publishing houses of Leipsic contend with those of Vienna for his

manuscripts, notwithstanding the worse than contemptuous treatment of

his works by the newly founded musical journal.

In January, 1801, at Breslau “the pianoforte players gladly venture

upon Beethoven and spare neither time nor pains to conquer his

difficulties.” In June, Beethoven has “more commissions, almost, than

it was possible to fill” from the publishers--he “demands and they

pay.” In 1802, Nägeli of Zürich, passing all the older composers by,

applies to him for sonatas with which to introduce to the public his

costly enterprise of the “Répertoire des Clavecinistes.” In 1803,

although Simrock, of Bonn, had a branch house at Paris, and printed

editions of his townsman’s more important works for circulation in

France, Zulehner of Mayence finds the demand for them sufficient to

warrant the announcement of a complete and uniform edition of the

“Works for Pianoforte and String Instruments.” In May of the same

year the “Correspondence des Amateurs-Musiciens” informs us that at

Paris a part of the pianoforte virtuosos play only Haydn, Mozart and

Beethoven, and spite of the difficulties offered by their works there

are “quelquefois des Amateurs qui croient les jouer”; and, soon after

this, an application comes to Beethoven from distant Scotland for half

a dozen sonatas, on Scotch themes.[27]

The first two Concertos for Pianoforte and Orchestra, published in

1801, are reported to have been played in public within two years

at Berlin and Frankfort-on-the-Main; the third, advertised in

November, 1804, was produced the next month at Berlin. The first

Symphony had hardly left Hoffmeister’s press, when it was added to

the repertory of the Gewandhaus Concert, at Leipsic, and during the

three following years was repeatedly performed at Berlin, Breslau,

Frankfort-on-the-Main, Dresden, Brunswick and Munich; the second,

advertised in March, 1804, was the opening symphony of Schick and

Bohrer’s (Berlin) concerts in the Autumn. The “Prometheus” overture was

played in the same concerts, December 2, 1803--ten days earlier than

the oldest discovered advertisement of its publication. The instant

popularity of the Septet in all its forms is well known.

A public performance of the Horn Sonata, March 20, 1803, at the concert

of Dulon, the blind flute player, is worth noting, because the pianist

was “young Bär”--Meyerbeer.

In our day and generation, to offer so meagre a list of public

productions as a proof of popularity in the case of a new author of

orchestral works, would be ridiculous. In the multiplication of musical

journals and the greatly extended interest taken in musical news

wherever an orchestra exists equal to the performance of a symphony,

there is also someone to report its doings. This is as it should be.

Then, except in the larger capitals, this was rarely so. Hence the few

notes above, compiled from the correspondence of the single musical

journal of the time, are more than suggestive--they are proof--of many

an unrecorded production of the works they name. But more noteworthy

than the statistics given by the various correspondents, is this: that,

whatever praises they bestow upon the concertos and symphonies of

others, they rank Beethoven alone with Haydn and Mozart; and this they

do, even before the publication of the third Concerto and the Second

Symphony.

Beethoven, then, though almost unknown personally beyond the limits

of a few Austrian cities--unaided by apostles to preach his gospel,

owing nothing to journalist or pamphleteer, disdaining, in fact, all

the arts by which dazzling but mediocre talent pushes itself into

notoriety--had, in the short space of eight years, by simple force of

his genius as manifested in his published works, placed himself at the

head of all writers for the pianoforte, and in public estimation risen

to the level of the two greatest of orchestral composers. The unknown

student that entered Vienna in 1792, is now in 1804 a recognized

member of the great triumvirate, to whose names in 1870, in spite of

all the polemics of preachers of a new gospel, the world still persists

in giving the place of highest honor in the roll of instrumental

composers. Then, as now--now, as then--they are Haydn, Mozart and

Beethoven.

The lists of the ascertained compositions and publications for the year

1804 are surprisingly short; but as no really sufficient reason for the

fact can be given, none shall be attempted.[28] The former are only the

two Sonatas, Op. 53 and Op. 54, and the “Andante favori”; but the final

revision of the “Sinfonia Eroica” probably was made at the beginning of

the year.

The publications were these:

1--Second Symphony, D major, Op. 36, dedicated to Prince Carl

Lichnowsky, advertised by the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir,

Vienna, March 10.

The arrangement of this Symphony for pianoforte, violin and

violoncello, which was published by the same firm in 1806, is

indirectly claimed by Ries as his work, notwithstanding the title

bears the words “par l’auteur même.” Czerny confirms Ries in these

terms: “The arrangement of the second Symphony as a Pianoforte Trio

was made by Ries; Beethoven gave it to me for correction of certain

things with which he was dissatisfied.”

2--Song with pianoforte accompaniment: “Der Wachtelschlag,”

advertised with the preceding.

3--VII Variations on “God save the King,” for Pf., advertised with

the preceding.

4--III Marches for Pf., four hands. Op. 45, dedicated to Princess

Esterhazy, advertised with the preceding.

5--V Variations for Pf., on “Rule Britannia,” advertised by the

same, June 20th.

6--Sonata in E-flat major, Op. 31, No. 3, published by Nägeli in

his “Répertoire des Clavecinistes,” Cat. II.

FOOTNOTES:

[17] “Orpheus,” 1841, p. 248.

[18] Allg. Mus. Zeit. XXIV, p. 320.

[19] But Ries says that Beethoven hired these lodgings besides those in

the theatre.

[20] See, in the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” III, a criticism of “Nelson’s Great

Seabattle,” for pianoforte, violin and violoncello by Ferd. Kauer.

Years afterward this piece may have been confounded with the Symphony

in Dr. Bertolini’s memory. From Otto Jahn’s papers we learn that Dr.

Bertolini told him that the first idea of the “Sinfonia eroica” was

suggested to Beethoven by Bonaparte’s expedition to Egypt (May, 1798);

and the rumor of Nelson’s death at the battle of Aboukir (June 22),

at which Nelson was wounded in the head, was the cause of the funeral

march. Czerny wrote: “According to Beethoven’s long-time friend, Dr.

Bertolini, the first idea of the ‘Sinfonia eroica’ was suggested by

the death of the English general Abercrombie; hence the naval (not

land-military) character of the theme and the entire first movement.”

Music of a naval character to celebrate the death of an army officer!

Czerny seems to have been at least temporarily weak either in history

or logic.

[21] Dr. Schmidt is of opinion that this anecdote was contributed to

his journal by Hieronymus Payer, certainly good authority.

[22] “Full moon, July 22,” almanac of 1804.

[23] This honorarium was a share in the receipts.

[24] In the second (German) edition of Thayer’s “Life,” etc., Dr.

Riemann amends this statement in the text as follows: These statements

of Treitschke’s prove to be inaccurate, inasmuch as it has definitively

been determined that Beethoven began work on “Leonore” before Paër’s

opera had been produced in Dresden, i. e., October 3, 1804. This is

proved by the discovery of sketches for the early numbers of the opera

among sketches for the “Eroica” symphony, and is confirmed by Ries.

The latter says: “When he composed ‘Leonore’ he had free lodgings for

a year in the Wiedener Theatre; but as these opened on the courtyard

they were not agreeable to him. He therefore hired, ~at the same time~,

quarters in the Rothes Haus on the Alserkaserne.” “Now,” Nottebohm

continues, “Beethoven lived in the Theater-an-der-Wien in May, 1803,

and later in the Rothes Haus in the spring of 1804.” Consequently he

must have worked on the opera ~before~ the spring of 1804. Nottebohm

assumes that between the abandonment of work on Schikaneder’s text

and the beginning of work on “Leonore” there could not be more than

a quarter of a year. It is very probable that Beethoven dropped

work on Schikaneder’s text when the latter’s activity as director

came to an end on February 11, 1804; but it does not follow that he

may not already have approached the setting of Bouilly’s text, as

translated into German by Sonnleithner, who now undertook the work

of administration. At any rate it is an error to assert that the

commission to compose the book was not offered to him until the fall

of 1804. Indeed, the question is whether or not Beethoven’s occupancy

of lodgings in the theatre was interrupted at all. It ought also to be

borne in mind that in view of his relations with Baron von Braun and

Sonnleithner, Beethoven may have known before the conclusion of the

contract that Schikaneder’s direction was to be terminated--reasons

enough for believing that there is nothing improbable in the theory

that the composer began work on “Leonore” before the end of 1803.

[25] Dr. Riemann here inserts: “If this was not the case the

explanation lies in the fact that the attention of Sonnleithner, who

had to provide texts for both Beethoven and Cherubini, had previously

been directed to the ‘Léonore’ of Bouilly and Gaveaux, and Beethoven

had already begun work on it.”

[26] It was not until February 8, 1809, that Paër’s opera was performed

in Vienna, long after Beethoven had withdrawn his opera and when Baron

von Braun was no longer Intendant. The story to which Ferdinand Hiller

gave currency about the production of Paër’s opera and the attendance

of Beethoven upon it in company with the composer must be rejected for

chronological reasons. (Riemann.)

[27] In September, 1804, Muzio Clementi, who was not only a fine

musician but also a clever business man, made an arrangement with

Breitkopf and Härtel, by which he secured all the compositions which

Beethoven might bring that firm, for England at one-half the honorarium

paid to the composer. (See an article by Max Unger in “The Monthly

Record,” Nov.-Dec., 1908.)

[28] Nottebohm’s researches (~cf.~ “Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 416 ~et

seq.~) show that Beethoven sketched all the movements of the Triple

Concerto, Op. 56, in 1804; that the beginning of the work on the

“Waldstein” Sonata. Op. 53, dates back to 1803, or at the latest the

early part of 1804; sketches for Op. 54 are missing, but the three

numbers of Op. 57 are so fully represented among the opera sketches

that Schindler’s statement that the so-called “Appassionata” Sonata was

composed at Count Brunswick’s in 1806 is to be understood as referring

only to its definitive working out and the making of a fair copy; the

date of the performance of “Leonore” (“Fidelio”), taken in connection

with a revision of the air in E major, show that the “Leonore”

sketchbook, between which and the book of 1803 there seems to have been

another, of which no trace has been found, may have extended to the

beginning of 1805.

Chapter III

The Year 1805--First Public Performance of the “Heroic

Symphony”--The Opera “Leonore,” or “Fidelio”--A Study of the

Sketchbook--The Singers and the Production.

The life of an author or composer, when absorbed in the study of a

great work, falls into a routine of daily labor that presents few

salient points to the biographer. Thus it was with Beethoven during

the first two-thirds of the year 1805. What has been preserved of his

correspondence is very little in quantity and of slight value. Ries

was away with Lichnowsky in Silesia during all the warm season, and,

very soon after his return, was forced to depart again from Vienna

for Bonn; hence the “Notizen” fail us in perhaps the most interesting

period of the young man’s four years of pupilage under Beethoven--that

of the composition of “Leonore,” or “Fidelio.” The history of the year

is, in the main, the history of that work; and unfortunately a very

unsatisfactory one. Not to break the thread of the story hereafter, the

few events of the first half of the year unconnected with it, shall

first be disposed of.

Schuppanzigh had discovered and taught a boy of great genius for the

violin, Joseph Mayseder by name (born October 16, 1789), who was

already, in his sixteenth year, the subject of eulogistic notices

in the public press. With this youth as second, Schreiber, “in the

service of Prince Lobkowitz,” for the viola, and the elder Kraft,

violoncellist, Schuppanzigh during the winter 1804-5 gave quartets “in

a private house in the Heiligenkreuzerhof, the listeners paying five

florins in advance for four performances.” Up to the end of April the

quartets given were by Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Eberl, Romberg, with

“occasionally larger pieces. Of the latter great pleasure was given by

the beautiful Beethoven Sextet in E-flat, a composition which shines

resplendent by reason of its lively melodies, unconstrained harmonies,

and a wealth of new and surprising ideas.” So it is reported in the

“Allg. Mus. Zeit.,” VII, 535, of the Sextet for wind-instruments, which

afterwards received the opus number 71, but was composed “in 1796 at

the latest,” says Nottebohm, and, not improbably in its original form,

in Bonn.

It was to the discredit of Vienna, where instrumental performers

of rare ability so abounded, that for several years regular public

orchestral concerts, save those at the Augarten in summer, had been

abandoned. Sensible of this, the bankers Würth and Fellner during

the winter of 1803-4 “had gathered together on all Sunday mornings a

select company (nearly all dilettanti) for concerts restricted for the

greater part to pieces for full orchestra, such as symphonies (among

them Beethoven’s First and Second), overtures, concertos, which they

played in really admirable style.” There were also “some overtures by

a certain Count Gallenberg” who “imitated, or rather copied, Mozart

and Cherubini so slavishly, following them even in the details of keys

and modulations so faithfully, that it was easy to tell the titles of

the overtures over whose lasts his had been made with the greatest

certainty.” Thus the correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” (VI, 467).

In these concerts Clement of the Theater-an-der-Wien was director.

They were renewed the present winter, and new performances of

Beethoven’s first two Symphonies, and the Concerto in C minor (Op.

37)--pianoforte part by Ries[29]--prepare the way for the production

of “an entirely new symphony”--“a long composition extremely difficult

of performance, in reality, a tremendously expanded, daring and wild

fantasia”; wanting “nothing in the way of startling and beautiful

passages, in which the energetic and talented composer must be

recognized; but often it loses itself in lawlessness”; the writer

“belongs to Herr van Beethoven’s sincerest admirers, but in this

composition he must confess that he finds too much that is glaring and

bizarre, which makes a survey too difficult; and the principle of unity

is almost wholly lost sight of.” It was the “Sinfonia Eroica”--its

first semi-public production. Its first really public performance

was in the Theater-an-der-Wien, on Sunday evening, April 7th, where

it began the second part of a concert given for his own benefit by

Clement. The programme announces it thus: “A new grand symphony in

D-sharp by Herrn Ludwig van Beethoven, dedicated to his Serene Highness

Prince Lobkowitz. The composer has kindly consented to conduct the

work.”

[Sidenote: PUBLIC PERFORMANCE OF THE “EROICA”]

Czerny remembered, and told Jahn, that on this occasion “somebody

in the gallery cried out: ‘I’ll give another kreutzer if the thing

will but stop!’” This is the key-note to the strain in which the

Symphony was criticized in communications to the press, that are now

among the curiosities of musical literature. The correspondent of the

“Freymüthige” divided the audience into three parties.