the other Vienna instruments, and at Beethoven’s wish and advice
given his instruments greater resonance and elasticity, so that
the virtuoso who plays with strength and significance may have
the instrument in better command for sustained and expressive
tones. He has thereby given his instruments a larger and more
varied character, so that they must give greater satisfaction than
the others to all virtuosi who seek something more than mere easy
brilliancy in their style of playing.
This shows us Beethoven in a new character--that of an improver of the
pianoforte. The “young Stein” mentioned by Ries, was Nanette’s brother
Carl Friedrich, who followed his sister to Vienna in 1804.
One of Beethoven’s characteristic notes to Zmeskall, not dated, but
belonging in these years, adds another name to the long list which
proves that, however unpopular the composer may have been with his
brother musicians, he possessed qualities and tastes that endeared him
to the best class of rising young men in the learned professions:
The Jahn brothers are as little attractive to me as to you. But
they have so pestered me, and finally referred me to you as one of
their visitors, that at the last I consented. Come then in God’s
name, it may be I will call for you at Zizius’s, if not, come there
direct, so that I may not be left there without the company of
human beings. We will let our commissions wait until you are better
able to look after them. If you cannot, come to the Swan to-day
where I shall surely go.
Dr. Johann Zizius, of Bohemia (born January 7, 1772), appears at the
early age of 28, in the Staats-Schematismus for 1800, as professor
of political science to the R. I. Staff of Guards; three years
later he has the same professorship in the Theresianum, which he
retained to his death in 1824, filling also in his later years the
chair of constitutional law in the University. Dr. Sonnleithner made
his acquaintance about 1820. In his very valuable and interesting
“Musikalische Skizzen aus Alt-Wien” (“Recensionen,” 1863), he describes
Zizius in a way which shows him to have been a man after Beethoven’s
own heart until his increasing infirmity excluded him in great measure
from mixed society.
The attraction of Beethoven’s personal character for young persons of
more than ordinary genius and culture has been already noted. Another
illustration of this was Julius Franz Borgias Schneller, born (1777) at
Strasburg, educated at Freiberg in the Breisgau, and just now (1805)
professor of history in the Lyceum at Linz on the Danube. Driven into
exile because of his active resistance to the French, he had made his
way to Vienna, where his fine qualities of head and heart made him a
welcome guest in literary circles and gained him the affection of the
young writers of the capital. In 1803, he received his appointment at
Linz, whence, three years later, he was advanced to the same position
in the new university at Gratz. Perhaps the most beloved of his friends
was Gleichenstein.
[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND HIS PREDECESSORS]
We pass to the notices of Ries, Czerny and others, which record
divers characteristic anecdotes and personal traits of the master,
not susceptible of exact chronological arrangement but which belong
to this period. “Of all composers,” says Ries (“Notizen,” p. 84),
“Beethoven valued most highly Mozart and Handel, then S. Bach.
Whenever I found him with music in his hand or lying on his desk it
was surely compositions of these heroes. Haydn seldom escaped without
a few sly thrusts.” Compare this with what Jahn heard from Czerny:
“Once Beethoven saw at my house the scores of six quartets by Mozart.
He opened the fifth, in A, and said: ‘That’s a work! that’s where
Mozart said to the world: Behold what I might have done for you if
the time were here!‘” And, touching Handel: “Graun’s ‘Tod Jesu’ was
unknown to Beethoven. My father brought the score to him, which he
played through ~a vista~ in a masterly manner. When he came to a place
where Graun had written a twofold ending to be left to the choice of
the performer, he said: ‘The man must have had the gripes not to be
able to say which ending is the better!’ At the end he said that the
fugues were passable, the rest ordinary. Then he picked up Handel’s
‘Messiah’ with the words: ‘Here is a different fellow!’ and played
the most interesting numbers and called our attention to several
resemblances to Haydn’s ‘Creation,’ etc.” “Once,” says Ries (p. 100),
“when after a lesson we were talking about fugue themes, I sitting
at the pianoforte and he beside me, I played the first fugue theme
from Graun’s ‘Tod Jesu’; he began to play it after me with his left
hand, then brought in the right and developed it for perhaps half an
hour. I am still unable to understand how he could have endured the
uncomfortable position so long. His enthusiasm made him insensible to
external impressions.” In another place (p. 87) he relates: “During a
walk I mentioned to Beethoven two pure fifth progressions which sound
striking and beautiful in his C minor Quartet (Op. 18). He did not know
them and denied that they were fifths. It being his habit always to
carry ruled paper with him, I asked him for a sheet and wrote down the
passage in all four voices; seeing that I was right he said: ‘~Well,
and who has forbidden them?~’ Not knowing how to take the question, I
had him repeat it several times until I finally answered in amazement:
‘But they are first principles!’ The question was repeated again,
whereupon I answered: ‘Marpurg, Kirnberger, Fux, etc., etc., all
theoreticians!‘--‘And I allow them ~thus~!’ was his answer.”[43]
We quote again from Ries (p. 106):
I recall only two instances in which Beethoven told me to add a few
notes to his composition: once in the theme of the rondo of the
‘Sonate Pathétique’ (Op. 13), and again in the theme of the rondo
of his first Concerto in C major, where he gave me some passages
in double notes to make it more brilliant. He played this last
rondo, in fact, with an expression peculiar to himself. In general
he played his own compositions very freakishly, holding firmly to
the measure, however, as a rule and occasionally, but not often,
hurrying the tempo. At times he would hold the tempo back in his
~crescendo~ with ~ritardando~, which made a very beautiful and
highly striking effect. In playing he would give a passage now in
the right hand, now in the left, a lovely and absolutely inimitable
expression; but he very seldom added notes or ornaments.... (p.
100). He played his own compositions very unwillingly. Once he
was making serious preparations for a long trip which we were to
make together, on which I was to arrange the concerts and play his
concertos as well as other compositions. He was to conduct and
improvise.
[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN’S IMPROVISATIONS]
And now something more on the subject of Beethoven’s improvisations.
Says Ries: “This last was certainly the most extraordinary
(performance) any one was ever privileged to listen to, especially when
he was in good humor or excited. Not a single artist of all that I have
heard ever reached the plane in this respect which Beethoven occupied.
The wealth of ideas which crowded in upon him, the moods to which he
surrendered himself, the variety of treatment, the difficulties which
offered themselves or were introduced by him, were inexhaustible.” And
Czerny:
Beethoven’s improvisation (with which he created the greatest
sensation in the first years of his sojourn in Vienna and even
caused Mozart to wonder) was of the most varied kind, whether he
was treating themes chosen by himself or set for him by others.
1. In the first-movement form or the final rondo of a sonata,
when he regularly closed the first section and introduced a
second melody in a related key, etc., but in the second section
gave himself freely to all manner of treatment of the motivi. In
Allegros the work was enlivened by bravura passages which were
mostly more difficult than those to be found in his compositions.
2. In the free-variation form, about like his Choral Fantasia, Op.
80, or the choral finale of his Ninth Symphony, both of which give
a faithful illustration of his improvisations in this form.
3. In the mixed genre, where, in the potpourri style, one thought
follows upon another, as in his solo Fantasia, Op. 77. Often a few
tones would suffice to enable him to improvise an entire piece (as,
for instance, the Finale of the third Sonata, D major, of Op. 10).
Nobody equalled him in the rapidity of his scales, double trills,
skips, etc.--not even Hummel. His bearing while playing was
masterfully quiet, noble and beautiful, without the slightest
grimace (only bent forward low, as his deafness grew upon him); his
fingers were very powerful, not long, and broadened at the tips by
much playing, for he told me very often indeed that he generally
had to practise until after midnight in his youth.
In teaching he laid great stress on a correct position of the
fingers (after the school of Emanuel Bach, which he used in
teaching me); he could scarcely span a tenth. He made frequent
use of the pedals, much more frequent than is indicated in his
works. His playing of the scores of Handel and Gluck and the fugues
of Seb. Bach was unique, in that in the former he introduced a
full-voicedness and a spirit which gave these works a new shape.
He was also the greatest ~a vista~ player of his time (even in
score-reading); he scanned every new and unfamiliar composition
like a divination and his judgment was always correct, but,
especially in his younger years, very keen, biting, unsparing. Much
that the world admired then and still admires he saw in an entirely
different light from the lofty point of view of his genius.
Extraordinary as his playing was when he improvised, it was
frequently less successful when he played his printed compositions,
for, as he never had patience or time to practise, the result would
generally depend on accident or his mood; and as his playing,
like his compositions, was far ahead of his time, the pianofortes
of the period (until 1810), still extremely weak and imperfect,
could not endure his gigantic style of performance. Hence it was
that Hummel’s purling, brilliant style, well calculated to suit
the manner of the time, was much more comprehensible and pleasing
to the public. But Beethoven’s performance of slow and sustained
passages produced an almost magical effect upon every listener and,
so far as I know, was never surpassed.
[Sidenote: CHARACTERISTICS OF THE COMPOSER]
Pass we to certain minor characteristic traits which Ries has recorded
of his master:
Beethoven recalled his youth, and his Bonn friends, with great
pleasure, although his memory told of hard times, on the whole. Of
his mother, in particular, he spoke with love and feeling, calling
her often an honest, good-hearted woman. He spoke but little and
unwillingly of his father, who was most to blame for the family
misery, but a single hard word against him uttered by another would
anger him. On the whole he was a thoroughly good and kind man, on
whom his moods and impetuousness played shabby tricks. He would
have forgiven anybody, no matter how grievously he had injured
him or whatever wrong he had done him, if he had found him in an
unfortunate position. (“Notizen,” p. 122.)
Beethoven was often extremely violent. One day we were eating our
noonday meal at the Swan inn; the waiter brought him the wrong
dish. Scarcely had Beethoven spoken a few words about the matter,
which the waiter answered in a manner not altogether modest, when
Beethoven seized the dish (it was a mess of lungs with plenty of
gravy) and threw it at the waiter’s head. The poor fellow had an
armful of other dishes (an adeptness which Viennese waiters possess
in a high degree) and could not help himself; the gravy ran down
his face. He and Beethoven screamed and vituperated while all the
other guests roared with laughter. Finally, Beethoven himself was
overcome with the comicalness of the situation, as the waiter
who wanted to scold could not, because he was kept busy licking
from his chops the gravy that ran down his face, making the most
ridiculous grimaces the while. It was a picture worthy of Hogarth.
(“Notizen,” p. 121.)
Beethoven knew scarcely anything about money, because of which
he had frequent quarrels; since he was always mistrustful, and
frequently thought himself cheated when it was not the case. Easily
excited, he called people cheats, for which in the case of waiters
he had to make good with tips. At length his peculiarities and
absentmindedness became known in the inns which he frequented most
often and he was permitted to go his way, even when he went without
paying his bill. (“Notizen,” p. 122.)
Beethoven had taken lessons on the violin even after he reached
Vienna from Krumpholz and frequently when I was there we played his
Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violin together. But it was really a
horrible music; for in his enthusiastic zeal he never heard when he
began a passage with bad fingering.
In his behavior Beethoven was awkward and helpless; his uncouth
movements were often destitute of all grace. He seldom took
anything into his hands without dropping and breaking it. Thus he
frequently knocked his ink-well into the pianoforte which stood
near by the side of his writing-table. No piece of furniture
was safe from him, least of all a costly piece. Everything was
overturned, soiled and destroyed. It is hard to comprehend how he
accomplished so much as to be able to shave himself, even leaving
out of consideration the number of cuts on his cheeks. He could
never learn to dance in time. (“Notizen,” p. 119.)
Beethoven attached no value to his manuscripts; after they were
printed they lay for the greater part in an anteroom or on the
floor among other pieces of music. I often put his music to
rights; but whenever he hunted something, everything was thrown
into confusion again. I might at that time have carried away the
original manuscripts of all his printed pieces; and if I had asked
him for them he would unquestionably have given them to me without
a thought. (“Notizen,” p. 113.)
Beethoven felt the loss of Ries very sensibly; but it was in part
supplied by young Röckel, to whom he took a great liking. Inviting
him to call, he told him he would give special orders to his servant
to admit him at all times, even in the morning when busy. It was
agreed that, when Röckel was admitted, if he found Beethoven very
much occupied he should pass through the room into the bed-chamber
beyond--both rooms overlooked the Glacis from the fourth story of the
Pasqualati house on the Mölker Bastei--and there await him a reasonable
time; if the composer came not, Röckel should quietly pass out again.
It happened one morning upon his first visit, that Röckel found at the
street door a carriage with a lady in it; and, on reaching the fourth
storey, there, at Beethoven’s door, was Prince Lichnowsky in a dispute
with the servant about being admitted. The man declared he dared not
admit anybody, as his master was busy and had given express orders
not to admit any person whatever. Röckel, however, having the entrée,
informed Beethoven that Lichnowsky was outside. Though in ill humor, he
could no longer refuse to see him. The Prince and his wife had come to
take Beethoven out for an airing; and he finally consented, but, as he
entered the carriage, Röckel noticed that his face was still cloudy.
That Beethoven and Ignatz von Seyfried were brought much together
in these years, the reader already knows. Their acquaintance during
thirty years--which, for at least half of the time, was really the
“friendly relationship” which Seyfried names it--was, he says, “never
weakened, never disturbed by even the smallest quarrel--not that we
were both always of a mind, or could be, but we always spoke freely and
frankly to each other, without reserve, according to our convictions,
without conceitedly trying to force upon one another our opinions as
infallible.”
Besides, Beethoven was much too straightforward, open and tolerant
to give offence to another by disapprobation, or contradiction;
he was wont to laugh heartily at what did not please him and I
confidently believe that I may safely say that in all his life he
never, at least not consciously, made an enemy; only those to whom
his peculiarities were unknown were unable quite to understand
how to get along with him; I am speaking here of an earlier time,
before the misfortune of deafness had come upon him; if, on the
contrary, Beethoven sometimes carried things to an extreme in his
rude honesty in the case of many, mostly those who had imposed
themselves upon him as protectors, the fault lay only in this,
that the honest German always carried his heart on his tongue and
understood everything better than how to flatter; also because,
conscious of his own merit, he would never permit himself to be
made the plaything of the vain whims of the Mæcenases who were
eager to boast of their association with the name and fame of the
celebrated master. And so he was misunderstood only by those who
had not the patience to get acquainted with the apparent eccentric.
When he composed “Fidelio,” the oratorio “Christus am Ölberg,” the
symphonies in E-flat, C minor and F, the Pianoforte Concertos in C
minor and G major, and the Violin Concerto in D, we were living in
the same house[44] and (since we were each carrying on a bachelor’s
apartment) we dined at the same restaurant and chatted away many an
unforgettable hour in the confidential intimacy of colleagues, for
Beethoven was then merry, ready for any jest, happy, full of life,
witty and not seldom satirical. No physical ill had then afflicted
him [?]; no loss of the sense which is peculiarly indispensable to
the musician had darkened his life; only weak eyes had remained
with him as the results of the smallpox with which he had been
afflicted in his childhood, and these compelled him even in his
early youth to resort to concave, very strong (highly magnifying)
spectacles.[45]
He had me play the pieces mentioned, recognized throughout the
musical world as masterpieces, and, without giving me time to
think, demanded to know my opinion of them; I was permitted to give
it without restraint, without fearing that I should offend any
artistic conceit--a fault which was utterly foreign to his nature.
The above is from “Cäcilia,” Vol. IX, 218, 219. In the so-called
“Studien” (appendix) are other reminiscences, which form an admirable
supplement to it. Those which belong to the years 1800-1805 follow:
Our master could not be presented as a model in respect of
conducting, and the orchestra always had to have a care in
order not to be led astray by its mentor; for he had ears only
for his composition and was ceaselessly occupied by manifold
gesticulations to indicate the desired expression. He used to
suggest a ~diminuendo~ by crouching down more and more, and at a
~pianissimo~ he would almost creep under the desk. When the volume
of sound grew he rose up also as if out of a stage-trap, and with
the entrance of the power of the band he would stand upon the
tips of his toes almost as big as a giant, and waving his arms,
seemed about to soar upwards to the skies. Everything about him was
active, not a bit of his organism idle, and the man was comparable
to a ~perpetuum mobile~. He did not belong to those capricious
composers whom no orchestra in the world can satisfy. At times,
indeed, he was altogether too considerate and did not even repeat
passages which went badly at the rehearsal: “It will go better
next time,” he would say. He was very particular about expression,
the delicate nuances, the equable distribution of light and shade
as well as an effective ~tempo rubato~, and without betraying
vexation, would discuss them with the individual players. When he
then observed that the players would enter into his intentions and
play together with increasing ardor, inspired by the magical power
of his creations, his face would be transfigured with joy, all his
features beamed pleasure and satisfaction, a pleased smile would
play around his lips and a thundering “Bravi tutti!” reward the
successful achievement. It was the first and loftiest triumphal
moment for the genius, compared with which, as he confessed, the
tempestuous applause of a receptive audience was as nothing. When
playing at first sight, there were frequent pauses for the purpose
of correcting the parts and then the thread would be broken; but he
was patient even then; but when things went to pieces, particularly
in the scherzos of his symphonies at a sudden and unexpected change
of rhythm, he would shout with laughter and say he had expected
nothing else, but was reckoning on it from the beginning; he was
almost childishly glad that he had been successful in “unhorsing
such excellent riders.”
[Sidenote: DEAFNESS AND DISORDERLINESS]
Before Beethoven was afflicted with his organic ailment, he
attended the opera frequently and with enjoyment, especially the
admirable and flourishing Theater-an-der-Wien, perhaps, also, for
convenience’ sake, since he had scarcely to do more than to step
from his room into the parterre. There he was fascinated more
especially by the creations of Cherubini and Méhul, which at that
time were just beginning to stir up the enthusiasm of all Vienna.
There he would plant himself hard against the orchestra rail and,
dumb as a dunce, remain till the last stroke of the bows. This was
the only sign, however, that the art work had interested him; if,
on the contrary, the piece did not please him he would turn on his
heel at the first fall of the curtain and take himself away. It
was, in fact, difficult, yes, utterly impossible to tell from his
features whether or not he was pleased or displeased; he was always
the same, apparently cold, and just as reserved in his judgments
concerning his companions in art; his mind was at work ceaselessly,
but the physical shell was like soulless marble. Strangely enough,
on the other hand, hearing wretched music was a treat to him
which he proclaimed by a peal of laughter. Everybody who knew him
intimately knew that in this art he was a virtuoso, but it was a
pity that those who were near him were seldom able to fathom the
cause of such explosions, since he often laughed at his most secret
thoughts and conceits without giving an accounting of them.
He was never found on the street without a small note-book in which
he was wont to record his passing ideas. Whenever conversation
turned on the subject he would parody Joan of Arc’s words: “I dare
not come without my banner!”--and he adhered to his self-given rule
with unparalleled tenacity; although otherwise a truly admirable
disorder prevailed in his household. Books and music were scattered
in every corner; here the remnants of a cold luncheon; here sealed
or half-emptied bottles; here upon a stand the hurried sketches of
a quartet; here the remains of a déjeuner; there on the pianoforte,
on scribbled paper the material for a glorious symphony still
slumbering in embryo; here a proof-sheet awaiting salvation;
friendly and business letters covering the floor; between the
windows a respectable loaf of strachino, ~ad latus~ a considerable
ruin of a genuine Veronese salami--yet despite this varied mess our
master had a habit, quite contrary to the reality, of proclaiming
his accuracy and love of order on all occasions with Ciceronian
eloquence. Only when it became necessary to spend days, hours,
sometimes weeks, in finding something necessary and all efforts
remained fruitless, did he adopt a different tone, and the innocent
were made to bear the blame. “Yes, yes,” was the complaint, “that’s
a misfortune! Nothing is permitted to remain where I put it;
everything is moved about; everything is done to vex me; O men,
men!” But his servants knew the good-natured grumbler; let him
growl to his heart’s content, and--in a few minutes all would be
forgotten, until another occasion brought with it a renewal of the
scene.
He often made merry over his illegible handwriting and excused
himself by saying: “Life is too short to paint letters or notes;
and prettier notes would scarcely help me out of needs.”[46]
The whole forenoon, from the first ray of light till the meal hour,
was devoted to mechanical labor, i. e., to transcribing; the rest
of the day was given to thought and the ordering of ideas. Hardly
had he put the last bit in his mouth before he began his customary
promenade, unless he had some other excursion ~in petto~; that is
to say, he hurried in double-quick time several times around the
city, as if urged on by a goad; and this, let the weather be what
it might.
And his hearing--how was it with that?
A question not to be answered to full satisfaction. It is clear that
the “Notizen” of Wegeler and Ries, the Biography (first editions) of
Schindler, and especially the papers from Beethoven’s own hand printed
in those volumes, have given currency to a very exaggerated idea of the
progress of his infirmity. On the other hand, Seyfried as evidently
errs in the other direction; and yet Carl Czerny, both in his published
and manuscripts notices, goes even farther. For instance, he writes to
Jahn: “Although he had suffered from pains in his ears and the like
ever since 1800, he still heard speech and music perfectly well until
nearly 1812,” and adds in confirmation: “As late as the years 1811-1812
I studied things with him and he corrected with great care, as well
as ten years before.” This, however, proves nothing, as Beethoven
performed feats of this kind still more remarkable down to the last
year of his life. Beethoven’s Lamentation, the testament of 1802, is
one extreme, the statements of Seyfried and Czerny the other; the truth
lies somewhere between.
[Sidenote: NEGLECT OF MEDICAL TREATMENT]
In June, 1801, Beethoven is “obliged to lean down to the orchestral
rail to hear a drama.” The next summer he cannot hear a flute or
pipe to which Ries calls his attention. In 1804, as Doležalek tells
Jahn, “in the rehearsals to the ‘Eroica’ he did not always hear the
wind-instruments distinctly and missed them when they were playing.”
The evil was then making, if slow, still sure progress. “In those
years,” says Schindler, “there was a priest named Pater Weiss in the
Metropolitan Church of St. Stephen who occupied himself with healing
the deaf and had accomplished many fortunate cures. He was not a
mere empiricist, but was familiar with the physiology of the ear; he
effected his cures with simple remedies, and enjoyed a wide fame among
the people, and also the respect of medical practitioners. With the
consent of his physician our terrified tone-poet had also entrusted
his case to the priest.” Precisely when this was, is unknown; it could
not, however, have been until after Dr. Schmidt’s treatment had proved
hopeless. The so-called Fischoff Manuscript, evidently on the authority
of Zmeskall himself, gives a more particular account than Schindler
of Pater Weiss’s experience with his new patient. “Herr v. Zmeskall
with great difficulty persuaded Beethoven to go there with him. At
first he followed the advice of the physician; but as he had to go
to him every day in order to have a fluid dropped into his ear, this
grew unpleasant, the more since, in his impatience, he felt little or
no improvement; and he remained away. The physician, questioned by
Zmeskall, told him the facts, and Zmeskall begged him to accommodate
himself to the self-willed invalid, and consult his convenience. The
priest, honestly desirous to help Beethoven, went to his lodgings,
but his efforts were in vain, inasmuch as Beethoven in a few days
refused him entrance, and thus neglected possible help or at least an
amelioration of his condition.”
Probably the evil was of such a nature that, with all the resources
of our present medical science, it could hardly have been impeded,
much less arrested. This is poor consolation, but the best we have.
The sufferer now resigned himself to his fate. On a page of twenty-one
leaves of sketches to the Rasoumowsky Quartets, Op. 59, stands written
in pencil--if correctly deciphered--these words from his hand:
Even as you have plunged into the whirlpool of society, you will
find it possible to compose ~operas~ in spite of social obstacles.
Let your deafness no longer remain a secret--not even in art!
FOOTNOTES:
[39] See the “Grenzboten,” April 3, 1857.
[40] ~Young Wilding~: “Oh how they [the women] melt at the Gothic names
of General Swapinbach, Count Rousoumoffsky, Prince Montecuculi and
Marshal Fustinburgh.” (“The Liar.”)
[41] In June, 1906, Dr. Kalischer published two short notes written
by Beethoven to Bigot. They are without date. The first explains
Beethoven’s departure from Bigot’s house on the occasion of a visit as
due to a sudden attack of fever; the second, accompanying some music,
reads as follows: “I intended to visit you last night, but recalled in
time that you are not at home on Saturdays--and I discover that I must
~visit you very often~ or ~not at all~--I do not yet know which shall
be my choice, but I almost believe the latter--because by so doing I
shall evade all compulsion of having to come to you.”
[42] Here Dr. Riemann has introduced into the text: “The serious
interest which Beethoven felt for Therese could be questioned or
ignored by the biographers so long as certain letters of Gleichenstein
were accepted as belonging to the year 1807, which we must certainly
now assign to the spring of 1810, a time when Therese had passed her
18th year and may have been 20 since (if the record of her age at her
death is correct) she may have been born in 1791, so that, in view
moreover of the Italian origin of her family, it was scarcely apposite
to speak of her as ‘half a child’ in 1810.”
[43] ~Quid licet Jovi non licet bovi~; the maxim ought to be repeated
every time this familiar story is told. Moreover, those who repeat
Beethoven’s remark oftenest always omit a very significant word in it:
“Und so erlaube ich sie!” i. e., “When used in the manner illustrated
in the measure in question, I allow them.” Beethoven gave no general
license.
[44] Seyfried’s memory has here in part played him false.
[45] Another slight mistake. Schindler was in possession of Beethoven’s
glasses and they were by no means “very strong.”
[46] One of Beethoven’s puns, the point of which is lost in the
translation: “Schönere ~Noten~ brächten mich schwerlich aus den
~Nöthen~.”
Chapter VI
Princes as Theatrical Directors--Disappointed
Expectations--Subscription Concerts at Prince Lobkowitz’s--The
Symphony in B-flat--The “Coriolan” Overture--Contract with
Clementi--The Mass in C--The Year 1807.
A controversy for the possession of the two Court Theatres and that
An-der-Wien involved certain legal questions which, in September,
1806, were decided by the proper tribunal against the old directors,
who were thus at the end of the year compelled to retire. Peter,
Baron von Braun, closed his twelve years’ administration with a
circular letter addressed to his recent subordinates, dated December
28, in which, after bidding them an affectionate adieu, he said:
“With imperial consent I have turned over the vice-direction of the
Royal Imperial Court Theatre to a company composed of the following
cavaliers: the Princes Lobkowitz, Schwarzenberg and Esterhazy and the
Counts Esterhazy, Lodron, Ferdinand Palffy, Stephen Zichy and Niklas
Esterhazy.”
[Sidenote: PLANS TO KEEP BEETHOVEN IN VIENNA]
Beethoven naturally saw in this change a most hopeful prospect of an
improvement in his own theatrical fortunes, and immediately, acting on
a hint from Lobkowitz, addressed to the new directors a petition and
proposals for a permanent engagement, with a fixed salary, in their
service. The document was as follows:
To the Worshipful R. I. Theatre Direction:
The undersigned flatters himself that during his past sojourn in
Vienna he has won some favor with not only the high nobility but
also the general public, and has secured an honorable acceptance of
his works at home and abroad.
Nevertheless, he has been obliged to struggle with difficulties
of all kinds and has not yet been able to establish himself here
in a position which would enable him to fulfil his desire to live
wholly for art, to develop his talents to a still higher degree
of perfection, which must be the goal of every true artist, and
to make certain for the future the fortuitous advantages of the
present.
Inasmuch as the undersigned has always striven less for a
livelihood than for the interests of art, the ennoblement of
taste and the uplifting of his genius toward higher ideals and
perfection, it necessarily happens that he often was compelled to
sacrifice profit and advantage to the Muse. Yet works of this kind
won for him a reputation in foreign lands which assures him of a
favorable reception in a number of considerable cities and a lot
commensurate with his talents and opportunities.
But in spite of this the undersigned cannot deny that the many
years during which he has lived here and the favor and approval
which he has enjoyed from high and low have aroused in him a wish
wholly to fulfil the expectations which he has been fortunate
enough to awaken; and let him say also, the patriotism of a German
has made this place more estimable and desirable than any other.
He can, therefore, not forbear before deciding to leave the city
so dear to him, to follow the suggestion kindly made to him by His
Serene Highness the ruling Prince Lobkowitz, who intimated that a
Worshipful Direction was not disinclined under proper conditions to
engage the undersigned for the service of the theatre under their
management and to ensure his further sojourn here by offering him
the means of a permanent livelihood favorable to the exercise of
his talent.
Inasmuch as this intimation is in perfect accord with the desires
of the undersigned, he takes the liberty to submit an expression
of his willingness as well as the following stipulations for the
favorable consideration of the Worshipful Direction:
1. He promises and contracts to compose every year at least one
grand opera, to be selected jointly by the Worshipful Direction and
the undersigned; in return he asks a fixed remuneration of 2400
florins per annum and the gross receipts of the third performance
of each of such operas.
2. He agrees to deliver gratis each year a small operetta,
divertissement, choruses or occasional pieces according to the
wishes or needs of the Worshipful Direction, but hopes that the
Worshipful Direction will not hesitate in return for such works to
give him one day in each year for a benefit concert in the theatre
building.
If one reflects what an expenditure of capacity and time is
required for the making of an opera to the absolute exclusion of
every other intellectual occupation, and further, that in cities
where the author and his family have a share in the receipts at
every performance, a single successful work may make the fortune of
an author; and still further how small a compensation, owing to the
monetary condition and high prices for necessaries which prevail
here, is at the command of a local artist to whom foreign lands
are open, the above conditions can certainly not be thought to be
excessive or unreasonable.
But whether or not the Worshipful Direction confirms and accepts
this offer, the undersigned appends the request that he be given
a day for a musical concert in one of the theatre buildings;
for, in case the proposition is accepted, the undersigned will
at once require his time and powers for the composition of the
opera and therefore be unable to use them for his profit in
another direction. In the event of a declination of the present
offer, moreover, since the permission for a concert granted last
year could not be utilized because of various obstacles which
intervened, the undersigned would look upon the fulfilment of last
year’s promise as a highest sign of the great favor heretofore
enjoyed by him, and he requests that in the first case the day be
set on the Feast of the Annunciation, in the second on one of the
approaching Christmas holidays.
Ludwig van Beethoven, m. p.
Vienna, 1807.
Neither of these requests was granted directly; one of them only
indirectly. Nor is it known that any formal written reply was conveyed
to the petitioner. The cause of this has been strangely suggested
to lie in an old grudge--the very existence of which is a mere
conjecture--cherished against Beethoven by Count Palffy, director of
the German Drama. But it is quite needless to go so far for a reason.
The composer’s well-known increasing infirmity of hearing, his habits
of procrastination, and above all his inability, so often proved, to
keep the peace with orchestra and singers--all this was too well known
to the new directors, whatever may have been their own personal wishes,
to justify the risk of attaching him permanently to an institution for
the success of which they were responsible to the Emperor. It is very
evident, that they temporized with him. His petition must have been
presented at the very beginning of the year; otherwise the grant of a
theatre for a concert at the Feast of the Annunciation (March 25) would
have been useless, for want of time to make the necessary preparations;
and an allusion to the “princely rabble” in a letter written in May,
proves that no answer had then been given him; and a reference to the
matter by the correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” near the end
of the year shows that at least none had then been made public. So
far as is known, the Directors chose to let the matter drop quietly
and gave him none; nor did they revive “Fidelio”--for which abundant
reasons suggest themselves. But they gave Beethoven ample proof that no
motives of personal animosity, no lack of admiration for his talents or
appreciation of his genius, governed their decision. Prince Esterhazy
ordered the composition of a mass, and immediate preparations were
made for the performance of his orchestral works “in a very select
circle that contributed a very considerable sum for the benefit of
the composer,” as a writer in the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” remarks. These
performances took place in March “at the house of Prince L.” according
to the “Journal des Luxus.”
[Sidenote: THE SYMPHONY IN B-FLAT]
Was “Prince L.” Lobkowitz or Lichnowsky? The details above given point
decisively to the former. It is true that the paroxysm of wrath, in
which Beethoven had so unceremoniously parted from Lichnowsky in
the Autumn, had so far subsided that he now granted the Prince the
use of his new manuscript overture; but the contemporary notice,
from which this fact is derived, is in such terms as of itself to
preclude the idea that this performance of it was in one of the two
subscription concerts. In these subscription concerts three new works
were performed: the Fourth Symphony,[47] in B-flat major, the Fourth
Pf. Concerto, in G major, and the “Coriolan” Overture. About the
latter something is to be said. The manuscript bears the composer’s
own date, 1807. Collin’s tragedy was originally performed November
24, 1802, with “between-acts music” arranged by Abbé Stadler from
Mozart’s “Idomeneus.” The next year Lange assumed the leading part with
a success of which he justly boasts in his autobiography, and played
it so often down to March 5, 1805, as to make the work thoroughly
familiar to the theatre-going public. From that date to the end of
October, 1809 (how much longer we have no means at hand of knowing),
it was played but once--namely, on April 24, 1807. The overture was
assuredly not written for that one exceptional performance; for, if
so, it would not have been played in March in two different concerts.
Nor was it played, April 24th, in the theatre; if it had been, the
correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung,” writing after its public
performance in the Liebhaber Concerts near the end of the year, could
not have spoken of it as “a ~new~ overture.” It is, therefore, obvious
that this work was composed for these subscription concerts. Beethoven
had at this time written but three overtures--two to “Fidelio” (one of
which was laid aside), and that to “Prometheus,” which had long ceased
to be a novelty. He needed a new one. Collin’s tragedy was thoroughly
well known and offered a subject splendidly suited to his genius. An
overture to it was a compliment to his influential friend, the author,
and, if successful, would be a new proof of his talent for dramatic
composition--certainly, an important consideration just then, pending
his application for a permanent engagement at the theatre. How nobly
the character of ~Coriolanus~ is mirrored in Beethoven’s music is well
enough known; but the admirable adaptation of the overture to the
play is duly appreciated by those only, who have read Collin’s almost
forgotten work.
The year 1807 was one of the years of Beethoven’s life distinguished
by the grandeur and extent of his compositions; and it was probably
more to avoid interruption in his labor than on account of ill health,
that early in April he removed to Baden. A letter (to Herr von Troxler)
in which occur these words: “I am coming to Vienna. I wish very much
that you would go with me on Tuesday to Clementi, as I can make myself
better understood to foreigners with my notes than by my speech,” seems
to introduce a matter of business which called him to the city for a
few days.
[Sidenote: CLEMENTI SECURES A CONTRACT]
Clementi, called to Rome by the death of his brother, had arrived in
Vienna on his way thither, and embraced the opportunity to acquire
the exclusive right of publication in England of various works of
Beethoven, whose great reputation, the rapidly growing taste for his
music, and the great difficulty of obtaining continental publications
in those days of “Napoleonic ideas,” combined to render such a right in
that country one of considerable value. Clementi reported the results
of the negotiations with Beethoven in a letter to his partner, F. W.
Collard, with whom he had been associated in business for five years,
which J. S. Shedlock made public in the “Athenæum” of London on August
1, 1902. It runs as follows:
Messrs. Clementi and Co., No. 26 Cheapside, London.
Vienna, April 22d, 1807.
Dear Collard:
By a little management and without committing myself, I have at
last made a complete conquest of the ~haughty beauty~, Beethoven,
who first began at public places to grin and coquet with me, which
of course I took care not to discourage; then slid into familiar
chat, till meeting him by chance one day in the street--“Where do
you lodge?” says he; “I have not seen you this ~long~ while!”--upon
which I gave him my address. Two days after I found on my table
his card brought by himself, from the maid’s description of his
lovely form. This will do, thought I. Three days after that he
calls again, and finds me at home. Conceive then the mutual ecstasy
of such a meeting! I took pretty good care to improve it to our
~house’s~ advantage, therefore, as soon as decency would allow,
after praising very handsomely some of his compositions: “Are you
engaged with any publisher in London?”--“No” says he. “Suppose,
then, that you prefer ~me~?”--“With all my heart.” “Done. What have
you ready?”--“I’ll bring you a list.” In short I agree with him to
take in MSS. three quartets, a symphony, an overture and a concerto
for the violin, which is beautiful, and which, at my request he
will adapt for the pianoforte with and without additional keys; and
a concerto for the pianoforte, for ~all~ which we are to pay him
two hundred pounds sterling. The property, however, is only for the
British Dominions. To-day sets off a courier for London through
Russia, and he will bring over to you two or three of the mentioned
articles.
Remember that the violin concerto he will adapt himself and send it
as soon as he can.
The quartets, etc., you may get Cramer or some other very clever
fellow to adapt for the Piano-forte. The symphony and the overture
are wonderfully fine so that I think I have made a very good
bargain. What do you think? I have likewise engaged him to compose
two sonatas and a fantasia for the Piano-forte which he is to
deliver to our house for sixty pounds sterling (mind I have treated
for Pounds, not Guineas). In short he has promised to treat with no
one but me for the British Dominions.
In proportion as you receive his compositions you are to remit him
the money; that is, he considers the whole as consisting of six
articles, viz: three ~quartets~, symphony, overture, Piano-forte
concerto, violin concerto, and the adaptation of the said concerto,
for which he is to receive £200.
For three articles you’ll remit £100 and so on in proportion. The
agreement says also that as soon as you receive the compositions,
you are to pay into the hands of Messrs. E. W. and E. Lee, the
stated sum, who are to authorize Messrs. J. G. Schuller and Comp.
in Vienna to pay to Mr. van Beethoven, the value of the said sum,
according to the course of exchange, and the said Messrs. Schuller
and Co. are to reimburse themselves on Messrs. R. W. and E. Lee.
On account of the impediments by war, etc., I begged Beethoven to
allow us 4 months (after the setting of his MSS.) to publish in.
He said he would write to your house in French ~stating the time~,
for of course he sends them likewise to Paris, etc., etc., and they
must appear on the same day. You are also by agreement to send
Beethoven by a ~convenient~ opportunity, two sets of each of the
new compositions you print of his.... Mr. van Beethoven says, you
may publish the 3 articles he sends by ~this courier~ on the 1st of
September, next.[48]
The closing of the contract with Clementi had been preceded by
negotiations with Breitkopf and Härtel for the same compositions. On
the same day that Clementi wrote to Collard he also wrote a letter
to the Leipsic publishers in which he said that he had purchased
the right of publication for the British Dominions in consequence of
their letter of January 20th, in which they had said that because of
the war they had declined Beethoven’s proposition. He also promised
to ask Beethoven to treat with them for the German rights. (This fact
is already known to the readers from the letters written by Beethoven
to Breitkopf and Härtel dated September 3 and November 18, 1806.)
Count Gleichenstein witnessed the signing of the contract (which is in
French), the substance of which is as follows:
Beethoven grants Clementi the manuscripts of the works afterwards
enumerated, with the right to publish them in Great Britain, but
reserving the rights for other countries. The works are: three
Quartets, one Symphony (“the fourth that he has composed”), the
Overture to “Coriolan,” a Concerto for Violin and the arrangement
of the same for Pianoforte “with additional notes.”
Clementi is to pay for these works the equivalent of £200 in
Viennese funds at Schuller and Co.’s as soon as the arrival of the
manuscripts is reported from London. If Beethoven cannot deliver
all the compositions at once he is to be paid only in proportion.
Beethoven engages to sell these works in Germany, France or
elsewhere only on condition that they shall not be published until
four months after they have been despatched to England. In the case
of the Violin Concerto, the Symphony and the Overture, which have
just been sent off, not until September 1, 1807. Beethoven also
agrees to compose on the same terms, within a time not fixed, and
at his own convenience, three Sonatas or two Sonatas and a Fantasia
for Pianoforte with or without accompaniment, as he chooses, for
which he is to be paid £60. Clementi engages to send Beethoven two
copies of each work. The contract is executed in duplicate and
signed at Vienna, April 20, 1807, by Clementi and Beethoven.[49]
The quartets, in parts, had been lent to Count Franz Brunswick and were
still in Hungary, which gave occasion to one of Beethoven’s peculiarly
whimsical and humorous epistles:
[Sidenote: THE FAMOUS LOVE-LETTER AGAIN]
To Count Franz von Brunswick:
Dear, dear B! I have only to say to you that I came to a right
satisfactory arrangement with Clementi. I shall receive 200 pounds
Sterling--and besides I am privileged to sell the same works in
Germany and France. He has also offered me other commissions--so
that I am enabled to hope through them to achieve the dignity of a
true artist while still young. ~I need, dear B,~ the QUARTETS. I
have already asked your sister to write to you about them, it takes
too long to copy them from my score--therefore make haste and send
them direct to me by LETTER POST. You shall have them back in 4 or
5 days at the latest. I beg you urgently for them, since otherwise
I might lose a great deal.
If you can arrange it that the Hungarians want me to come for a few
concerts, do it--you may have me for 200 florins in gold--then I
will bring my opera along. I will not get along with the princely
rabble.
Whenever WE (several) (~amici~) drink your wine, we drink you, i.
e., we drink your health. Farewell--hurry--hurry--hurry and send me
the quartets--otherwise you may embarrass me greatly.
Schuppanzigh has married--it is said with ONE ~very like him~. What
a family????
Kiss your sister Therese, tell her I fear I shall become great
without the help of a monument reared by her. Send me to-morrow the
quartets--quar-tets--t-e-t-s.
Your friend Beethoven.[50]
If an English publisher could afford to pay so high a price for the
manuscripts of a German composer, why not a French one? So Beethoven
reasoned, and, Bonn being then French, he wrote to Simrock proposing a
contract like that made with Clementi. The letter, which was dictated
and signed by Beethoven but written by another, expresses a desire to
sell six new works to a publishing house in France, one in England and
one in Vienna simultaneously, with the understanding that they are to
appear only after a certain date. They are a symphony, an overture for
Collin’s “Coriolan,” a violin concerto, 3 quartets, 1 concerto for
the pianoforte, the violin concerto arranged for pianoforte “avec des
notes additionelles.” The price, “very cheap,” is to be 1200 florins,
Augsburg current. As regards the day of publication, he thinks he can
fix the first of September of that year for the first three, and the
first of October for the second three.
Simrock answered that owing to unfavorable circumstances due to the
war, all he could offer, in his “lean condition,” was 1600 livres. He
also proposed that in case Beethoven found his offer fair, he should
send the works without delay to Breuning. Simrock would at once pay
Breuning 300 livres in cash and give him a bill of exchange for 1300
livres, payable in two years, provided nobody reprinted any of his
works in France, he taking all measures to protect his property under
the laws.
A series of letters written from Baden and bearing dates in June
and July, addressed to Gleichenstein, are of no special interest or
importance except as they, when read together, establish beyond cavil
that Beethoven made no journey to any distant watering-place during
the time which they cover. By proving this they have a powerful
bearing on the vexed question touching the true date of Beethoven’s
famous love-letter supposed by Schindler to have been addressed to
the young Countess Guicciardi. That it was written in 1806 or 1807
was long since made certain; and it was only in a mistaken deference
to Beethoven’s “Evening, Monday, July 6”--which, if correct, would be
decisive in favor of the latter year--that the letter was not inserted
in its proper place as belonging to the year 1806. That this deference
~was~ a mistake, and that Beethoven should have written “July 7,” is
made certain by Simrock’s letter, which, by determining the dates
of the notes to Gleichenstein, affords positive evidence that the
composer passed the months of June and July, 1807, in Baden. A cursory
examination of the composer’s correspondence brings to light other
similar mistakes. There is a letter to Breitkopf and Härtel with this
date, “Wednesday, November 2, 1809”--Wednesday was the 1st; a letter
to Countess Erdödy has “29 February, 1815”--in that year February
had but 28 days; and a letter to Zmeskall is dated “Wednesday, July
3rd, 1817”--July 3rd that year falling on a Thursday. Referring the
reader to what has appeared in a previous chapter, for the letter and
a complete discussion of the question of its date, it need only be
added here, that it was, beyond a doubt, written from some Hungarian
watering-place (as Schindler says), where Beethoven tarried for a time
after his visit to Brunswick and before that to Prince Lichnowsky. This
fact being established, it follows, as a necessary consequence, that
it was not written to Julia Guicciardi--already nearly three years the
wife of Gallenberg--nor to Therese Malfatti--then a girl but thirteen
or at most fourteen years--nor, in short, to any person whose name
has ever been given by biographer or novelist as among the objects
of Beethoven’s fleeting passions. Thus we are led to the obvious and
rational conclusion, that a mutual appreciation had grown up between
the composer and some lady not yet known; that there were obstacles to
marriage just now insuperable, but not of such a nature as to forbid
the expectation of conquering them in the future; and that--in 1807
as in 1806--they were happy in their love and looking forward with
hope.[51]
The following letter to Prince Esterhazy, dated July 26, belongs to
the same period and refers to the composition of the Mass in C:
Most Serene, most Gracious Prince!
Having been told that you, my Prince, have asked concerning the
mass which you commissioned me to write for you, I take the
liberty, my Serene Prince, to inform you that you shall receive the
same at the latest by the 20th of the month of August--which will
leave plenty of time to have it performed on the name-day of her
Serene Highness, the Princess--an extraordinarily favorable offer
which I received from London when I had the misfortune to make a
failure of my benefit at the theatre, which made me grasp the need
with joy, retarded the completion of the mass, much as I wished,
Serene Prince, to appear with it before you, and to this was added
an illness of the head, which at first permitted me to work not at
all and now but little; since everything is so eagerly interpreted
against me, I inclose a letter from my physician--may I add that
I shall give the mass into your hands with great fear since you,
Serene Highness, are accustomed to have the inimitable masterpieces
of the great Haydn performed for you.
[Sidenote: COMPOSITION OF THE MASS IN C]
At the end of July, Beethoven removed from Baden to Heiligenstadt,
devoting his time there to the C minor Symphony and the Mass in C. One
of Czerny’s notes relates to the mass:
Once when he (Beethoven) was walking in the country with the
Countess Erdödy and other ladies, they heard some village musicians
and laughed at some false notes which they played, especially
the violoncellist, who, fumbling for the C major chord, produced
something like the following:
[Illustration]
Beethoven used this figure for the “Credo” of his first mass, which
he chanced to be composing at the time.
The name-day of Princess Esterhazy, ~née~ Princess Marie von
Liechtenstein, for which Beethoven promises in the letter above given
to have the Mass ready, was the 8th of September. In the years when
this date did not fall upon a Sunday it was the custom at Eisenstadt to
celebrate it on the first Sunday following. In 1807 the 8th fell on a
Tuesday and the first performance of Beethoven’s Mass, therefore, took
place on the 13th. Haydn, as Pohl informs us, had written his masses
for this day and had gone to Eisenstadt from Vienna to conduct their
performance. So Beethoven now; who seems to have had his troubles with
the singers here as in Vienna, if one may found such an opinion upon
an energetic note of Prince Esterhazy copied and printed by Pohl. In
this note, which is dated September 12, 1807, the Prince calls upon
his vice-chapelmaster, Johann Fuchs, to explain why the singers in his
employ were not always on hand at his musical affairs. He had heard
on that day with displeasure that at the rehearsal of Beethoven’s
Mass only one of the five contraltos was present, and he stringently
commanded all the singers and instrumentalists in his service to be on
hand at the performance of the mass on the following day.
[Sidenote: ILL FEELING BETWEEN BEETHOVEN AND HUMMEL]
The Mass was produced on the next day--the 13th. “It was the custom at
this court,” says Schindler,
that after the religious service the local as well as foreign
musical notabilities met in the chambers of the Prince for the
purpose of conversing with him about the works which had been
performed. When Beethoven entered the room, the Prince turned
to him with the question: “But, my dear Beethoven, what is this
that you have done again?” The impression made by this singular
question, which was probably followed by other critical remarks,
was the more painful on our artist because he saw the chapelmaster
standing near the Prince laugh. Thinking that he was being
ridiculed, nothing could keep him at the place where his work had
been so misunderstood and besides, as he thought, where a brother
in art had rejoiced over his discomfiture. He left Eisenstadt the
same day.
The laughing chapelmaster was J. N. Hummel, who had been called to
the post in 1804 in place of Haydn, recently pensioned because of his
infirmities, due to old age. Schindler continues:
Thence dates the falling-out with Hummel, between whom and
Beethoven there never existed a real intimate friendship.
Unfortunately they never came to an explanation which might have
disclosed that the unlucky laugh was not directed at Beethoven,
but at the singular manner in which the Prince had criticized the
mass (in which there is still much that might be complained of).
But there were other things which fed the hate of Beethoven. One of
these was that the two had an inclination for the same girl; the
other, the tendency which Hummel had first introduced not only in
pianoforte playing but also composition.... Not until the last days
of Beethoven, ~post tot discrimina rerum~, was the cloud which had
settled between the two artists dispelled.
In the earlier editions of his book, Schindler gives a still gloomier
tinge to the story:
His hatred of Hummel because of this (the laugh after the mass) was
so deeply rooted that I know of no second one like it in his entire
history. After the lapse of 14 years he told me the story with a
bitterness as if it had happened the day before. But this dark
cloud was dissipated by the strength of his spirit, and this would
have happened much earlier had Hummel approached him in a friendly
manner instead of always holding himself aloof.
That Schindler heard Beethoven speak of the occurrence in Eisenstadt,
fourteen years thereafter, with “great bitterness” is not to be
doubted; but this does not prove the existence of so lasting and deep
a hatred towards Hummel as is asserted. That he was dissatisfied
with Hummel’s later course as pianist and composer is most probable,
and hardly needs Schindler’s testimony; but it is not so with other
statements of his; and facts have come to light since his book appeared
(1840) which he could not well have known, but which leave little doubt
that he was greatly mistaken in his view of the relations between
the two men. That something very like an “intimate friendship” ~had~
characterized their intercourse, the reader already knows; and that,
three or four years later, they were again friendly, if not intimate,
will in due time appear. As to the girl whom both loved, but who
favored Hummel, if Schindler refers to the sister of Röckel--afterwards
the wife of Hummel--it is known from Röckel himself that there is
nothing in the story. If, on the other hand, he had in mind a ludicrous
anecdote--not quite fit to be printed--the “wife of a citizen,” who
plays the third rôle in the comedy, was not of such a character as to
cause any lasting ill blood between the rivals for her passing favor.
In short, while we accept the Eisenstadt anecdote, as being originally
derived from Beethoven himself, we must view all that Schindler adds in
connection with it with a certain amount of distrust and doubt--if not
reject it altogether--as a new illustration of his proneness to accept
without examination old impressions for established facts.
This year is remarkable not only in Beethoven’s life, but in the
history of music, as that in which was completed the C minor Symphony.
This wondrous work was no sudden inspiration. Themes for the Allegro,
Andante and Scherzo are found in sketchbooks belonging, at the very
latest, to the years 1800 and 1801. There are studies also preserved,
which show that Beethoven wrought upon it while engaged on “Fidelio”
and the Pianoforte Concerto in G--that is, in 1804-6, when, as
before noted, he laid it aside for the composition of the fourth, in
B-flat major. That is all that is known of the rise and progress of
this famous symphony, except that it was completed this year in the
composer’s favorite haunts about Heiligenstadt.[52]
In the “Journal des Luxus” of January, 1808, there appeared a letter
in which it was stated that “Beethoven’s opera ‘Fidelio,’ which
despite all contradictory reports has extraordinary beauties, is to
be performed in Prague in the near future with a new overture.” The
composer was also said to have “already begun a second mass.” Of this
mass we hear nothing more, but there was a foundation of fact in the
other item of news. Guardasoni had for some time kept alive the Italian
opera in Prague, only because his contract required it. It had sunk
so low in the esteem of the public, that performances were actually
given to audiences of less than twenty persons in the parterre--the
boxes and galleries being empty in proportion. That manager died early
in 1806, and the Bohemian States immediately raised Carl Liebich from
his position of stage-manager of the German drama to that of General
Director, with instructions to dismiss the Italian and engage a German
operatic company. Such a change required time; and not until April
24th, 1807, did the Italians make their last appearance, selecting for
the occasion Mozart’s “Clemenza di Tito”--originally composed for that
stage. On the 2d of May the new German opera opened with Cherubini’s
“Faniska.”
Beethoven, in view of his relations to the Bohemian nobles, naturally
expected, and seems to have had the promise, that his “Fidelio”
should be brought out there as well as its rival, and, as Seyfried
expresses it, “planned a new and less difficult overture for the Prague
theatre.” This was the composition published in 1832 with the title:
“Overture in C, composed in the year 1805, for the opera ‘Leonore’ by
Ludwig van Beethoven”--an erroneous date, which continued current
and unchallenged for nearly forty years. Schindler’s story--that it
was tried at Prince Lichnowsky’s and laid aside as inadequate to the
subject--was therefore based on misinformation; but that it was played
either at Lichnowsky’s or Lobkowitz’s is very probable, and, if so,
it may well have made but a tame and feeble impression on auditors
who had heard the glorious “Leonore” Overture the year before. A
tragical and lamentable consequence of establishing the true date of
Op. 138--of the discovery that the supposed No. I is really No. III
of the “Leonore-Fidelio” overtures--is this; that so much eloquent
dissertation on the astonishing development of Beethoven’s powers as
exhibited in his progress from No. I to No. III, has lost its basis,
and all the fine writing on this topic is, at a blow, made ridiculous
and absurd! As to the performance of “Fidelio” at Prague, Beethoven was
disappointed. It was not given. Another paragraph from the “Journal
des Luxus, etc.” (November, 1806) gives the only satisfactory notice,
known to us, of the origin of one of Beethoven’s minor but well-known
compositions.
[Sidenote: “IN QUESTA TOMBA OSCURA”]
A bit of musical pleasantry (says the journal last mentioned)
recently gave rise to a competition amongst a number of famous
composers. Countess Rzewuska[53] improvised an aria at the
pianoforte; the poet Carpani at once improvised a text for it. He
imagined a lover who had died of grief because of the indifference
of his ladylove; she, repenting of her hard-heartedness, bedews the
grave; and now the shade calls to her:
In questa tomba oscura
Lasciami riposar;
Quando viveva, ingrata,
Dovevi a me pensar.
Lascia che l’ombra ignude
Godansi pace almen,
E non bagnar mie ceneri
D’inutile velen.
These words have been set by Paër, Salieri, Weigl, Zingarelli,
Cherubini, Asioli and other great masters and amateurs. Zingarelli
alone provided ten compositions of them; in all about fifty have
been collected and the poet purposes to give them to the public in
a volume.
The number of the compositions was increased to sixty-three, and they
were published in 1808, the last (No. 63) being by Beethoven. This was
by no means considered the best at the time, although it alone now
survives.
[Sidenote: THE PUBLICATIONS OF THE YEAR 1807]
Though disappointed in December, as he had been in March, in the hope
of obtaining the use of a theatre for a concert, Beethoven was not
thereby prevented from coming prominently before the public as composer
and director. It was on this wise: The want of better opportunities
to hear good symphony music well performed, than Schuppanzigh’s
Concerts--which were also confined to the summer months--and the
occasional hastily arranged “Academies” of composers and virtuosos,
afforded, induced a number of music-lovers early in the winter to
form an institute under the modest title: “Concert of Music-Lovers”
(~Liebhaber-Concert~). Says the “Wiener Vaterländische Blätter” of May
27, 1808: “An orchestra was organized, whose members were chosen from
the best of the local music-lovers (dilettanti). A few wind-instruments
only--French horns, trumpets, etc., were drafted from the Vienna
theatres.... The audiences were composed exclusively of the nobility of
the town and foreigners of note, and among these classes the preference
was given to the cognoscenti and amateurs.” The hall “zur Mehlgrube,”
which was first engaged, proved to be too small, and the concerts were
transferred to the hall of the University, where “in twenty meetings
symphonies, overtures, concertos and vocal pieces were performed
zealously and affectionately and received with general approval.”
“Banker Häring was a director in the earlier concerts but gave way to
Clement ‘because of disagreements.’” The works of Beethoven reported as
having been performed in these concerts, are the Symphony in D (in the
first concert), the overture to “Prometheus” in November, the “Eroica”
Symphony and “Coriolan” Overture in December, and about New Year the
Fourth Symphony in B-flat, which also on the 15th of November had been
played in the Burgtheater at a concert for the public charities. Most,
if not all of these works were directed by their composer. The works
ascertained as belonging to this year are: (1) The transcription of the
Violin Concerto for Pianoforte, made (as Clementi’s letter to Collard
says) at Clementi’s request; (2) the overture to “Coriolan”; (3) the
Mass in C;[54] (4) the so-called “Leonore” Overture, No. 1, published
as Op. 138; (5) the Symphony in C minor; (6) the Arietta, “In questa
tomba.” The original publications of the year were few, viz., (1)
“LIV^{e} Sonata” for Pianoforte, Op. 57, dedicated to Count Brunswick,
advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of February 18, by the Kunst- und
Industrie-Comptoir; (2) Thirty-two Variations in C minor, advertised
by the same firm on April 29; (3) Concerto concertant for Pianoforte,
Violin and Violoncello, Op. 56, dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz,
advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” on July 1.
The following advertisements are evidence of the great and increasing
popularity of Beethoven’s name: On March 21, Traeg announces 12
Écossaises and 12 Waltzes for two violins and bass (2 flutes, 2 horns
~ad lib.~); also for pianoforte; other works are being arranged; on
April 20, the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir announces an arrangement of
the “Eroica” Symphony for pianoforte, violin, viola and violoncello;
on May 27 (Artaria), a Sonata for Pianoforte and Violoncello, Op. 64,
transcribed from Op. 3; on June 13 (Traeg), the Symphony in D major
arranged by Ries as a Quintet with double-bass, flute, 2 horns ~ad
lib.~; on September 12 (the Chemical Printing Works), a Polonaise, Op.
8, for two violins and for violin and guitar.
FOOTNOTES:
[47] The genesis of the fourth symphony, in B-flat, Op. 60, is but
imperfectly known. Nottebohm’s studies of the sketchbooks, which are so
frequently helpful, fail us utterly here. The autograph score bears the
inscription, “Sinfonia 4^{ta}, 1806, L. v. Bthvn.” Having been played
in March, 1807, at one of the two subscription concerts at Lobkowitz’s,
it was, of course, finished at that time. Beethoven referred to it in
his letter to Breitkopf and Härtel from Grätz on September 3, 1806.
This is not convincing proof that it was all ready at the time, but
certainly that it was well under way. On November 18 he wrote to the
same firm that he could not then give them the promised symphony,
because a gentleman of quality had purchased its use for six months.
It is within the bounds of possibility that this reference was to the
symphony in C minor, the sketches for which date back at least to 1805,
though it was not completed till March, 1808, at the earliest. It would
seem that work on the C minor symphony was laid aside in favor of the
fourth, which was either written or sketched in the late summer and
fall of 1806, and completed in Vienna in time for the performance in
March, 1807.
The symphony is dedicated to Count Oppersdorff, a Silesian nobleman.
The castle of the Counts Oppersdorff lies near the town of Ober-Glogau,
which in early times was under their rule. Count Franz von Oppersdorff,
who died in Berlin in 1818, was a zealous lover of music who maintained
in his castle an orchestra which he strove to keep complete in point
of numbers by requiring all the officials in his employ to be able to
play upon an orchestral instrument. Partly through bonds of blood and
marriage, partly through those of friendship, the family of Oppersdorff
was related to many of the noble families of Austria--Lobkowitz,
Lichnowsky, etc. The castle of Lichnowsky at Grätz, near Troppau,
was scarcely a day’s journey from Ober-Glogau. Thus it happened that
Prince Lichnowsky, in company with Beethoven, paid a visit to Count
Oppersdorff at his castle, on which occasion the orchestra played the
Second Symphony. This, as the evidence indicates, was in the fall of
1806.
[48] Dr. Riemann, who introduced this letter in the body of the text
of this biography, preceded it with the following observations on the
significance of the transaction between Beethoven and Clementi: “This
business plays an extraordinarily important rôle in the next three
years of Beethoven’s life (until the spring of 1810). The publication
of its details has made portions of the account in the first edition
of this work wholly untenable, since those portions were based on
the assumption that the conclusion of the contract with Clementi had
been followed also by the prompt payment of the honorarium (in 1807),
whereas, as a matter of fact, the payment was delayed for three years,
as has been plainly shown by the correspondence between Clementi and
Collard. Clementi, it would seem, spent the eight years following 1802,
when he went to St. Petersburg with Field, till 1810, entirely on the
Continent (in St. Petersburg, Berlin, Leipsic, Rome) and sojourned
several times in Vienna. We know from Ries’s account that he did not
come into contact with Beethoven during his extended stay in 1804, but
we also know that as early as the fall of 1804, he tried to secure the
right of publishing Beethoven’s works in England.”
[49] This is given from Jahn’s copy, to which is appended the following
note: “Titles of the 6 works with changed dedications: 3 quartets,
the name Rasoumowsky changed in Beethoven’s handwriting to ~à son
Altesse le Prince Charles de Lichnowsky~. The name of Frau von Breuning
stricken out of the dedication of the arrangement of the Concerto.
The Pianoforte Concerto originally dedicated with a German title to
Archduke Rudolph, then with a French title ~à son ami Gleichenstein~.”
None of these changes was made; the “six works” came out with the
dedications originally intended.
[50] This letter (to which allusion has been made in the chapter
devoted to Beethoven’s love-affairs) was first printed from the
original owned by Count Géza von Brunswick in the “Blätter für
Theater und Musik” (No. 34). If the date, “May 11, 1806,” was written
by Beethoven and is not an error by a copyist, it provides another
instance of the composer’s irresponsibility in dating his letters; for
the reference to the contract with Clementi is irrefutable evidence
that it was written in 1807. Beethoven’s remark about getting great
without the help of a monument reared by Therese von Brunswick is
evidently an allusion to the fact that the Countess erected a monument
to her father in the grounds of the family-seat in Hungary, and might
properly enough be cited, together with the commissioned kiss, as proof
of the intimacy between the Brunswicks and Beethoven. Had there been
talk of another family monument at Martonvásár? Beethoven’s remark
might easily be thus interpreted. The sister whom he had asked to
write about the quartets was doubtless Josephine, Countess von Deym.
The sportive remark about Schuppanzigh’s marriage with one like him is
explained by the fact that the violinist was of Falstaffian proportions.
[51] The Editor of the English edition feels it to be his duty to
permit Thayer to reiterate his argument in favor of the year 1807,
as that in which the love-letter was written, notwithstanding Dr.
Riemann’s curt rejection of it in the German edition. The question is
still an open one.
[52] Nottebohm concludes from a study of the sketches that the Symphony
in C minor was completed in March, 1808, and the “Pastoral” Symphony
later, though the two were sketched during the same period, in part,
and there is a remote possibility that the latter, which was written
down with unusual speed, was finished as soon as the former. In support
of this theory is the circumstance that at the concert on December 22,
1808, at which both were produced, the “Pastoral” was numbered 5 and
the C minor 6. Both symphonies were offered to Breitkopf and Härtel in
June, 1808, and bought by the firm in September. In the letter offering
them Beethoven observed the present numbering. A stipulation in the
letter that the symphonies should not be published until six months
after June 1, suggests the probability that the right to perform them
in private had been sold to Prince Lobkowitz and Count Rasoumowsky, to
whom in common the works are dedicated.
[53] Query: The same whom in 1812 Count Ferd. Waldstein married?
[54] On June 8, 1808, Beethoven offered the Mass in C to Breitkopf
and Härtel, along with the fifth and sixth symphonies and the sonata
for pianoforte and violoncello, Op. 69, for 900 florins. He wrote: “I
do not like to say anything about my mass or myself, but I believe
I have treated the text as it has seldom been treated.” The answer
of Breitkopf and Härtel is not of record, but to the offer which it
contained, Beethoven replied on July 16 with a letter in which he
offered the mass, two symphonies, the sonata for ’cello and two other
pianoforte sonatas (or in place of these, “probably” another symphony)
for 700 florins. Then he says: “You see that I give more and take
less--but that is the limit; ~you must take the mass, or I cannot give
you the other works~--for I am considering honor and not profit merely.
‘There is no demand for church music,’ you say, and you are right, if
the music comes from mere thorough-bassists, but if you will only have
the mass performed once you will see if there will not be music-lovers
who will want it.... I will guarantee its success in any event.” In
a third letter, without date, which throws light on the well-nigh
insuperable difficulties experienced by a famous composer a century
or so ago in securing the publication of a large ecclesiastical work,
Beethoven says: “To the repeated proposal made by you through Wagener,
I reply that I am ready ~to relieve you of everything concerning the
mass--I make you a present of it, you need not pay even the cost of
copying~, firmly convinced that if you once have it performed in your
winter concerts at Leipsic you will surely provide it with a German
text and publish it.... The reason for my having wished to bind you to
publish this mass is ~in the first place and chiefly because it is dear
to my heart~ and in spite of the coldness of our age to such works.” A
later letter (of date April 5, 1809) to Breitkopf and Härtel shows that
the gift of the mass was not accepted. Beethoven changed its dedication
several times. On October 5, 1810, he wrote to Breitkopf and Härtel
that it was dedicated to Zmeskall; on October 9, 1811, he gives notice
that a change in the dedication would have to be made because “the
woman is now married and the name must be changed; let the matter rest,
therefore, write to me when you will publish it and then the work’s
saint will doubtless be found.” Eventually the “saint” proved to be
Prince Kinsky.
Chapter VII
The Year 1808--Beethoven’s Brother Johann--Plans for New
Operas--The “Pastoral Symphony” and “Choral Fantasia”--A Call to
Cassel--Appreciation in Vienna.
[Sidenote: SLANDERS AGAINST JOHANN VAN BEETHOVEN]
The history of the year 1808 must be preceded by the following letter
to Gleichenstein:
Dear good Gleichenstein:
Please be so kind as to give this to the copyist to-morrow--it
concerns the symphony as you see--in case he is not through
with the quartet to-morrow, take it away and deliver it at the
Industriecomptoir.... You may say to my brother that I shall
certainly not write to him again. I know the cause, it is this,
because he has lent me money and spent some on my account he is
already concerned, I know my brothers, since I cannot yet pay
it back to him, and the other probably who is filled with the
spirit of revenge against me and him too--it were best if I were
to collect the whole 1500 florins (from the Industriecomptoir)
and pay him with it, then the matter will be at an end--heaven
forefend that I should be obliged to receive benefactions from my
brothers.[55]
Beethoven.
Of all the known letters of Beethoven, perhaps no one is so much to
be regretted as this, written near the end of 1807, just when the
contracts with the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir, and Simrock--he had
received nothing as yet on the Clementi contract--made his pecuniary
resources abundant, doubtless increased by a handsome honorarium out of
the receipts of the Liebhaber Concerts. True, the letter was intended
for Gleichenstein’s eye alone; still it is sad to know that even in a
moment of spleen or anger and in the privacy of intimate friendship,
the great master could so far forget his own dignity, and write thus
abusively of his brother Johann, whose claim was just and whose future
career was dependent upon its payment at this time.
The case, in few words, was this:--Eleonore Ordley, sole heir of
her sister, Theresia Tiller, was, in the autumn of 1807, seeking a
purchaser for the house and “registered apothecary shop” which, until
1872, still existed directly between the market-place and the bridge at
Linz on the Danube, and was willing to dispose of them on such terms of
payment, as to render it possible even for Johann van Beethoven with
his slender means to become their owner. “I know my brothers,” writes
Beethoven. His brothers also knew him; and Johann had every reason to
fear that if he did not secure his debt now when his brother’s means
were abundant, he might at the crisis of his negotiation find himself
penniless. His demand was too just to be resisted and Gleichenstein
evidently drew the money from the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir and
paid it; for on the 13th of March, 1808, the contract of sale was
signed at Vienna. By the terms of the contract which fixed the price
at 25,000 florins, the vendee agreed to assume incumbrances on the
property amounting to 12,600 florins, pay 10,400 florins in cash and 5%
interest on 2,000 florins to the vendor during her life, and to be in
Linz and take possession of the property on or before March 20, i. e.,
within a week after the signing of the contract.
The expenses incurred in the negotiations, in his journey to Linz,
and in taking possession, left the indigent purchaser barely funds
sufficient to make his first payment and ratify the contract; in fact,
he had only 300 florins left. The profits of his shop and the rents
of his house were so small, that Johann was almost at his wit’s end
how to meet his next engagements. He sold the iron gratings of the
windows--but they produced too little to carry him through. It was a
comical piece of good luck for him that the jars and pots upon his
shelves were of pure, solid English tin--a metal which Napoleon’s
non-intercourse decrees fulminated against England had just then raised
enormously in price. The cunning apothecary sold his tin, furnished
his shop with earthenware, and met his payments with the profits of
the transaction. But it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good; the
reverses of the Austrian arms in April, 1809, opened the road for the
French armies to Linz, and gave Apothecary Beethoven an opportunity
to make large contracts for the supply of medicines to the enemy’s
commissariat, which not only relieved him in his present necessities
but laid the foundation for his subsequent moderate fortune.
This concise record of facts effectually disposes of the current
errors, which are, first: that about 1802-3 Beethoven established
his brother in Linz as apothecary, advancing to him the necessary
capital; second: that, through his personal influence, he obtained
for Johann profitable contracts with the Austrian Commissariat for
medicines--which contracts were the basis of his subsequent prosperity;
third: that consequently, in obtaining monies from his brother,
Beethoven was only sharing in the profits on capital furnished by
himself; and, fourth: that hence, Johann’s urgent request for payment
in 1807 was an exhibition of vile selfishness and base ingratitude! All
this is the exact reverse of the truth.
No other performances of Beethoven’s works at the Liebhaber Concerts,
than those before enumerated, are reported; perhaps none were given,
for reasons indicated in a letter from Stephan von Breuning to Wegeler,
written in March, 1808: “Beethoven came near losing a finger by a
~Panaritium~ [felon], but he is again in good health. He escaped a
great misfortune, which, added to his deafness, would have completely
ruined his good humor, which, as it is, is of rare occurrence.”
The series of concerts closed with the famous one of March 27th, at
which in honor of Haydn, whose 76th birthday fell on the 31st, his
“Creation” with Carpani’s Italian text was given. It is pleasant to
know that Beethoven was one of those who, “with members of the high
nobility,” stood at the door of the hall of the university to receive
the venerable guest on his arrival there in Prince Esterhazy’s coach,
and who accompanied him as “sitting in an armchair he was carried,
lifted high, and on his entrance into the hall was received with the
sound of trumpets and drums by the numerous gathering and greeted with
joyous shouts of ‘Long live Haydn!’”
Some pains have been taken in other chapters to show that the want of
taste and appreciation so often alleged for the works of Beethoven
at Vienna is a mistake. On the contrary, generally in the concerts
of those years, whenever an orchestra equal to the task was engaged,
few as his published orchestral compositions then were, they are as
often to be found on the programmes as those of Mozart or even Haydn;
none were more likely to fill the house. Thus, immediately after the
close of the Liebhaber Concerts, Sebastian Meier’s annual benefit
in the Theater-an-der-Wien opened with the “Sinfonia Eroica.” This
was on Monday evening, April 11. Two days after (13th) the Charity
Institute’s Concert in the Burg Theatre offered a programme of six
numbers; No. 1 was Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony in B-flat; No. 5, one
of his Pianoforte Concertos, played by Friedrich Stein; and No. 6, the
“Coriolan” Overture--all directed by the composer; and, at a benefit
concert in May, in the Augartensaal, occurred the first known public
performance of the Triple Concerto, Op. 56.
[Sidenote: RUST’S MEETINGS WITH THE COMPOSER]
The once famous musical wonder-child, Wilhelm Rust, of Dessau, at
the time a young man of some twenty-two years, had come to Vienna in
1807, and was now supporting himself by giving “children instructions
in reading and elementary natural science.” In a letter to his “best
sister, Jette,” dated Haking (a village near Vienna), July 9, 1808, he
wrote of Beethoven.
You want much to hear something about Beethoven; unfortunately
I must say first of all that it has not been possible for me
to get intimately acquainted with him. What else I know I will
tell you now: He is as original and singular as a man as are his
compositions. On the other hand he is also very childlike and
certainly very sincere. He is a great lover of truth and in this
goes too far very often; for he never flatters and therefore
makes many enemies. A good fellow played for him, and when he was
finished Beethoven said to him: “You will have to play a long
time before you will realize that you can do nothing.” I do not
know whether you heard that I also played for him. He praised my
playing, particularly in the Bach fugue, and said: “You play that
well,” which is much for him. Still he could not omit calling my
attention to two mistakes. In a Scherzo I had not played the notes
crisply enough and at another time I had struck one note twice
instead of binding it. He must be unable to endure the French;
for once when Prince Lichnowsky had some French guests, he asked
Beethoven, who was also with him, to play for them as they had
requested; but he refused and said he would not play for Frenchmen.
In consequence he and Lichnowsky had a falling out.[56]
Once I met him at a restaurant where he sat with a few
acquaintances. He berated Vienna soundly and the decay of its
music. In this he is certainly right, and I was glad to hear his
judgment, which confirmed mine. Last winter I frequently attended
the Liebhaber Concerts, the first of which under Beethoven’s
direction were very beautiful; but after he retired they became so
poor that there was not one in which something was not bungled....
It is very possible that Beethoven will leave Vienna; at any rate
he has frequently spoken of doing so and said: “They are forcing
me to it.” He also asked me once how the orchestras were in the
North. You wanted to know if any new sonatas by him have been
published. His last works were symphonies and he is now writing an
opera, which is the reason why I cannot go to him any more. Last
year he composed a piece which I have not heard and an overture
“Coriolan” which is extraordinarily beautiful. Perhaps you have had
an opportunity to hear it in Berlin. The theme and variations in C
minor which you refer to I also have; it is very beautiful, etc.
In December Rust, writing to his brother Carl, was obliged to correct
what he had said about Beethoven’s new opera; “All new products which
have appeared here are more or less mediocre except those of Beethoven.
I think I have written you that he has not yet begun his new opera. I
have not yet heard his first opera; it has not been performed since I
have been here.” These last sentences of Rust remind us of the once
current notion that disgust and disappointment at the (assumed) failure
of “Fidelio” prevented Beethoven from ever undertaking the composition
of another opera. The error was long since exploded, and, indeed,
amply refuted by his proposition to the “princely theatre rabble” for
a permanent engagement. It is now universally known how earnestly
Beethoven all his life long sought a satisfactory text for an opera
or an oratorio; his friends always knew it; and his essays in vocal
composition had, in spite of the critics, so favorably impressed them
and the dramatic writers of the day, that all were eager to serve him.
Thus Schindler writes to Gleichenstein from Gratz, on March 19, 1807:
“Speak at once to our friend Beethoven and particularly with the worthy
Breuning, and learn if Beethoven has a mind to set a comic opera to
music. I have read it, and found it varied in situation, beautiful in
diction.” Nothing came of this.
A somewhat more promising offer came from another quarter, but also
without result. The celebrated Orientalist, Hammer-Purgstall, had just
returned from the East to Vienna. Although but thirty-three years of
age, he was already famous, and his translations and other writings
were the talk of the day. An autograph note by Beethoven without
address or date, preserved in the Petter Collection, was evidently
written to him:
Almost put to shame by your courtesy and kindness in communicating
your still unknown literary treasures in manuscript, I thank
you heartily while returning the opera texts; overwhelmed in my
artistic calling it is impossible for me just now to go into
details about the Indian opera particularly, as soon as time
permits I shall visit you in order to discuss this subject as well
as the oratorio, “The Deluge,” with you.
No oratorio on the subject of the deluge appears in the catalogue of
Hammer-Purgstall’s works.[57]
[Sidenote: AN OPERATIC “MACBETH” IN CONTEMPLATION]
The new directors of the theatres began their operatic performances at
the Kärnthnerthor January 1 and 2, and at the Burg January 4, 1807,
with Gluck’s “Iphigenia in Tauris.” It was new to Collin and awakened
in his mind new ideas of the ancient tragedy, which he determined to
embody in a text for a musical drama in oratorio form. According to his
biographer, Laban, he projected one on the Liberation of Jerusalem,
to offer to Beethoven for setting; but it was never finished. Another
essay in the field of musical drama was a “Macbeth,” after Shakespeare,
also left unfinished in the middle of the second act, “because it
threatened to become too gloomy.” He carried to completion a grand
opera libretto, “Bradamante,” for which he had an unusual predilection.
It also was offered to Beethoven, but “seemed too venturesome” to him
in respect of its use of the supernatural; there were probably other
reasons why it did not appeal to him. “And so it happened that although
at a later period Beethoven wanted to undertake its composition, Collin
gave the book to Reichardt, who set it to music during his sojourn in
Vienna in 1808.”
A writer in Cotta’s “Morgenblatt” remarks: “The clever Beethoven
has a notion to compose Goethe’s ‘Faust’ as soon as he has found
somebody who will adapt it for the stage for him.” Nottebohm (“Zweite
Beethoveniana,” p. 225 ~et seq.~) says that the first act of Collin’s
“Macbeth” was printed in 1809 and must have been written in 1808 at the
latest. He also prints a sketch showing that Beethoven had begun its
composition. The “Macbeth” project therefore preceded the negotiations
about “Bradamante.” Collin’s opera begins, like Shakespeare’s, with
the witches’ scene, and the sketch referred to is preceded by the
directions: “Overture Macbeth falls immediately into the chorus of
witches.”[58]
The consequence of Beethoven’s fastidiousness and indecision was that
on removing again to Heiligenstadt for the summer, he had no text for a
vocal composition and devoted his time and energies to an instrumental
composition--the “Sinfonia Pastorale.”
Those who think programme music for the orchestra is a recent
invention, and they who suppose the “Pastoral” Symphony to be an
original attempt to portray nature in music, are alike mistaken. It was
never so much the ambition of Beethoven to invent new forms of musical
works, as to surpass his contemporaries in the use of those already
existing. There were few great battles in those stormy years, that
were not fought over again by orchestras, military bands, organs and
pianofortes; and pages might be filled with a catalogue of programme
music, long since dead, buried and forgotten.
A remark of Ries, confirmed by other testimony, as well as by the form
and substance of many of his master’s works, if already quoted, will
bear repetition: “Beethoven in composing his pieces often thought
of a particular thing, although he frequently laughed at musical
paintings and scolded particularly about trivialities of this sort.
Haydn’s ‘Creation’ and ‘The Seasons’ were frequently ridiculed, though
Beethoven never failed to recognize Haydn’s high deserts,” etc. But
Beethoven himself did not disdain occasionally to introduce imitations
into his works. The difference between him and others in this regard
was this: they undertook to give musical imitations of things
essentially unmusical--he never.
On a bright, sunny day in April, 1823, Beethoven took Schindler for a
long ramble through the scenes in which he had composed his Fifth and
Sixth symphonies. Schindler writes:
After we had looked at the bath-house and its adjacent garden
at Heiligenstadt and he had given expression to many agreeable
recollections touching his creations, we continued our walk towards
the Kahlenberg in the direction past Grinzing [?]. Passing through
the pleasant meadow-valley between Heiligenstadt and the latter
village,[59] which is traversed by a gently murmuring brook which
hurries down from a near-by mountain and is bordered with high
elms, Beethoven repeatedly stopped and let his glances roam, full
of happiness, over the glorious landscape. Then seating himself on
the turf and leaning against an elm, Beethoven asked me if there
were any yellowhammers to be heard in the trees around us. But
all was still. He then said: “Here I composed the ‘Scene by the
Brook’ and the yellowhammers up there, the quails, nightingales
and cuckoos round about, composed with me.” To my question why he
had not also put the yellowhammers into the scene, he drew out his
sketchbook and wrote:
[Illustration]
“That’s the composer up there,” he remarked, “hasn’t she a more
important rôle to play than the others? ~They~ are meant only for
a joke.” And really the entrance of this figure in G major gives
the tone-picture a new charm. Speaking now of the whole work and
its parts, Beethoven said that the melody of this variation from
the species of the yellowhammers was pretty plainly imitated in the
scale written down in Andante rhythm and the same pitch.[60] As a
reason for not having mentioned this fellow-composer he said that
had he printed the name it would only have served to increase the
number of ill-natured interpretations of the movement which has
made the introduction of the work difficult not only in Vienna but
also in other places. Not infrequently the symphony, because of
its second movement, had been declared to be child’s play. In some
places it shared the fate of the “Eroica.”
[Sidenote: JOKES IN THE “PASTORAL SYMPHONY”]
Equally interesting, valuable and grateful is Schindler’s account of
the origin of Beethoven’s “Merrymaking of the Countryfolk” in this
symphony. Somewhat curtailed it is this:
There are facts to tell us of how particular was the interest
which Beethoven took in Austrian dance-music. Until his arrival
in Vienna (1792), according to his own statement, he had not
become acquainted with any folkmusic except that of the mountains,
with its strange and peculiar rhythms. How much attention he
afterwards bestowed on dance-music is proved by the catalogue of
his works. He even made essays in Austrian dance-music, but the
players refused to grant Austrian citizenship to these efforts.
The last effort dates from 1819 and, strangely enough, falls in
the middle of his work on the “Missa Solemnis.” In the tavern “To
the Three Ravens” in the ~vordern Brühl~ near Mödling there had
played a band of seven men. This band was one of the first that
gave the young musician from the Rhine an opportunity to hear the
national tunes of his new home in an unadulterated form. Beethoven
made the acquaintance of the musicians and composed several sets
of ~Ländler~ and other dances for them. In the year mentioned
(1819), he had again complied with the wishes of the band. I was
present when the new opus was handed to the leader of the company.
The master in high good humor remarked that he had so arranged
the dances that one musician after the other might put down his
instrument at intervals and take a rest, or even a nap. After the
leader had gone away full of joy because of the present of the
famous composer, Beethoven asked me if I had not observed how
village musicians often played in their sleep, occasionally letting
their instruments fall and remaining entirely quiet, then awaking
with a start, throwing in a few vigorous blows or strokes at a
venture, but generally in the right key, and then falling asleep
again; he had tried to copy these poor people in his “Pastoral”
symphony. Now, reader, take up the score and see the arrangement
on pages 106, 107, 108 and 109. Note the stereotyped accompaniment
figure of the two violins on page 105 and the following; note
the sleep-drunken second bassoon[61] with his repetition of a
few tones, while contra-bass, violoncello and viola keep quiet;
on page 108 we see the viola wake up and apparently awaken the
violoncello--and the second horn also sounds three notes, but
at once sinks into silence again. At length contra-bass and the
two bassoons gather themselves together for a new effort and the
clarinet has time to take a rest. Moreover, the Allegro in 2-4 time
on page 110 is based in form and character on the old-time Austrian
dances. There were dances in which 3-4 time gave way suddenly
to 2-4. As late as the third decade of the nineteenth century I
myself saw such dances executed in forest villages only a few hours
distant from the metropolis--Laab, Kaltenleutgeben and Gaden.
The subject of Beethoven’s imitations, even in play, are therefore
musical, not incongruous; and in ~his~ “Portrait musical de la Nature”
are so suggestive as to aid and intensify the “expression of feelings,”
which was his professed aim.
[Sidenote: COUNT OPPERSDORFF AND THE FOURTH SYMPHONY]
Beethoven wrote to Count Oppersdorff on November 1:
You will view me in a false light, but necessity compelled me to
sell the symphony which was written for you and also another to
someone else--but be assured that you shall soon receive the one
intended for you soon.... I live right under Prince Lichnowsky, in
case you ever make me a visit in Vienna, at Countess Erdödy’s. My
circumstances are improving--~without the help of persons who wish
to treat their friends with a threshing~. I have also been called
to be Chapelmaster to the King of Westphalia, and it is easily
possible that I shall accept the call.
Such an apology for not having dedicated the promised Symphony to
Oppersdorff, and the promise soon to supply its place with another,
are ample testimony that the relations between the composer and that
nobleman were of a character well worth the trouble of investigation by
any one who has the opportunity to make it. Whatever information can be
obtained upon this matter will be new.[62]
The allusion in the above letter to Lichnowsky’s lodging renders it
certain that the Prince had made no recent change. Now Carl Czerny
writes to Ferdinand Luib (May 28, 1852): “About 1804, he (Beethoven)
already lived on the Mölkerbastei in the vicinity of Prince Lichnowsky,
who lived in the house (now demolished) over the Schottenthor.
In the years 1806-7-8-9, he certainly lived on the Mölkerbastei
with Pasqualati, and, as I believe, for a time hard by. It is thus
ascertained, that, on returning from Heiligenstadt at the close of
the summer, 1808, Beethoven left the rooms which he had now occupied
for four years, for others in the house (now demolished) over the
Schottenthor.” In his words: “persons who wish to treat their friends
with a threshing,” he doubtless refers to Lichnowsky. Now, it is
hardly conceivable that he should have taken up his abode in the very
house in part occupied by the Prince, unless at the time they had
been, ostensibly at least, on amicable terms. It has been seen that
the old quarrel of 1806 was so far made up, as to admit of the loan by
the composer to Lichnowsky of the “Coriolan” overture in manuscript.
There must have been, therefore, some new and very recent outbreak
between them. But here again, doubtless through the good offices of the
motherly Princess Christine, all difficulties between them were soon
adjusted.
The circumstance that the composer’s new apartments were in the lodging
of Count Peter Erdödy strongly suggests the probability that his great
intimacy with the Countess dates from the time when he became her near
neighbor upon his moving into the Pasqualati house four years before.
The close of the letter to Oppersdorff contains the earliest discovered
allusion to one of the most singular events in Beethoven’s life. In
the autumn of 1807, Jerome Bonaparte, the Corsican lawyer’s youngest
son, who had spent his boyhood and youth mostly at sea, and had not
yet completed his 23d year, found himself at Cassel, bearing the
pompous title of “King of Westphalia.” What could have induced this
half-educated, frivolous, prodigal and effeminate young satrap and
sybarite to sanction an invitation to his court of the composer
most distinguished since Handel for his masculine vigor and manly
independence in his art, is one of those small mysteries which seem
impenetrable. The precise time when, and by what agency this call was
communicated to Beethoven are alike unknown; we only know that before
the first of November, 1808, “Beethoven received the same through the
High Chamberlain of the King of Westphalia, Count Truchsess-Waldburg,
that it was to the office of first Chapelmaster”; and that it led
to events, which will be noticed hereafter. The lists of “Arrivals
in Vienna” during this season contain the names of several old and
new friends of Beethoven, the dates of whose arrival avail in some
instances to correct certain current errors. The following seem worth
copying:
June 1, Joseph Linke, musician, from Breslau; June 23, Count von
Brunswick, comes from Pressburg; July 2, Dominik Dragonetti,
musician, from Venice [London], comes from Trieste; July 10,
Alexander Macco, painter of Anspach, comes from Munich; July 11,
Count Rasoumowsky, comes from Carlsbad; August 27, Herr Ferdinand
Ries, musical composer of Bonn; Nov. 24, Joh. Fried. Reichardt,
Chapelmaster of Hesse-Cassel.
[Sidenote: FOUNDING OF THE RASOUMOWSKY QUARTET]
In the carefully considered “Übersicht des gegenwärtigen Zustandes
der Tonkunst in Wien” of the “Vaterländische Blätter” for May 27 and
31, 1808, it is noted that the violinists Anton Wranitzky and Herr
Volta are “in the service of Prince Lobkowitz; Herr Schlesinger in
that of the Graf Erdödy; Herr Schmidgen of Count Armadé; Breimann of
Esterhazy”; and the like of various performers on other instruments.
But no such note follows the name of Schuppanzigh, “who is particularly
distinguished among quartet players and probably stands alone as a
performer of Beethoven’s compositions.” Nor do the names of Weiss and
Linke appear in the article. This of itself is perhaps enough to expose
the mistake as to the time when the famous Rasoumowsky Quartet was
founded, and to correct the erroneous conclusions drawn from it. But
the date of Linke’s arrival in Vienna is proof positive.
Rasoumowsky lived in his new palace on the Donau Canal, into which he
had very recently removed from the Wallzeil and in which he had put
his domestic establishment on a footing of great splendor. It suited
his taste to have the first string quartet of Europe in his service.
His own skill rendered him amply competent to play the second violin,
which he usually did; but the young Mayseder, or some other of the
first violinists of the city, was ever ready to take his part when
required. Three permanent engagements only were, therefore, necessary,
and these now, in late summer or early autumn, 1808, were made. To
Schuppanzigh--then the first of quartet players, but still without any
permanent engagement--was given the appointment for life of ~violino
primo~, and to him was entrusted the selection of the others. He
recommended Weiss for the viola, whom Rasoumowsky accepted and to whom,
for himself and family, he granted a suitable lodging in one of the
houses connected with the palace.
Schuppanzigh had been so favorably impressed with the talents and
skill of Linke as to secure him the place of violoncellist. He was a
young man of 25 years--slightly deformed in person--an orphan from his
childhood.
As before stated, Förster was the Count’s instructor in musical
theory, the accomplished Bigot was librarian and his talented wife
pianist. These were the years (1808-1815) when, says Seyfried, “as
is known Beethoven was, as it were, cock of the walk in the princely
establishment; everything that he composed was rehearsed hot from the
griddle and performed to the nicety of a hair, according to his ideas,
just as he wanted it and not otherwise, with affectionate interest,
obedience and devotion such as could spring only from such ardent
admirers of his lofty genius, and with a penetration into the most
secret intentions of the composer and the most perfect comprehension
of his intellectual tendencies; so that these quartet players achieved
that universal celebrity concerning which there was but one voice in
the art-world.”
The date of Dragonetti’s arrival in Vienna, on this, his second visit,
disposes of an English tradition, that Beethoven wrote the famous
contrabass passage in the Scherzo of the C minor Symphony expressly for
him. The story contains doubtless so much of truth as this: that it
was the display of the possibilities of that instrument, made by its
greatest master, which induced Beethoven to venture the introduction
into that symphony of what has so often proved a stumbling-block and
rock of offence to contrabassists of no common and ordinary skill.
But a new topic demands our attention. Beethoven in his later years, in
moments of spleen and ill humor, gave utterance both in conversation
and in writing to expressions, which have since served as the basis
of bitter diatribes against the Vienna public. Czerny--than whom no
man could be better informed on the subject of the master’s actual
position--takes occasion in his notes for Jahn to remark:
It has repeatedly been said in foreign lands that Beethoven was
not respected in Vienna and was suppressed. The truth is that
already as a youth he received all manner of support from our high
aristocracy and enjoyed as much care and respect as ever fell to
the lot of a young artist.... Later, too, when he estranged many
by his hypochondria, nothing was charged against his often very
striking peculiarities; hence his predilection for Vienna, and it
is doubtful if he would have been left so undisturbed in any other
country. It is true that as an artist he had to fight cabals, but
the public was innocent in this. He was always marvelled at and
respected as an extraordinary being and his greatness was suspected
even by those who did not understand him. Whether or not to be rich
rested with him, but he was not made for domestic order.
[Sidenote: THE COURT THEATRES CHANGE MANAGERS]
Upon the correctness of these statements, in so far as they relate to
Beethoven’s last years, the reader will have ample means of judging
hereafter; he knows, that Czerny is right, up to the present date.
Indeed, this month of November, to which the letter to Oppersdorff has
brought us, affords him excellent confirmation. For, as in the spring
so now in autumn, it is Beethoven’s popularity that must insure success
to the Grand Concert for the public charities; it is his name that is
known to be more attractive to the Vienna public than any other, save
that of the venerable Haydn; and as Haydn’s oratorios are the staple
productions at the great charity concerts of vocal music in the Burg
theatre, so the younger master’s symphonies, concertos and overtures
form the most alluring programmes for the instrumental “Academies”
in the other theatres--at all events, in 1808, this was the opinion
of Joseph Hartl. Beethoven’s “princely rabble” had, after a year’s
experience and pecuniary losses, turned over the direction of the
theatre to Government Councillor, now Court Councillor, Joseph Hartl.
It was not so much for his love of art, as for the great reputation
which his administrative talents had gained him, that Hartl was called
to assume the labors of directing the three theatres, then sunk “into
the most embarrassing conditions”--a call which he accepted. For three
years he administered them wisely, and with all the success possible in
the troubled state of the public business and finances.
A supervisor of the public charities, who at the same time controlled
the theatres, he was of course able to secure the highest talent for
benevolent concerts on terms advantageous to all parties concerned; and
thus it came about, that at the concert for public charities in the
Theater-an-der-Wien on the evening of Leopold’s day, Tuesday, November
15th, Beethoven conducted one of his symphonies, the “Coriolan”
Overture, and a pianoforte concerto--perhaps he played the solo of the
last; but the want of any detailed report of the concert leaves the
point in doubt. Which of the symphonies and concertos were performed on
this occasion is not recorded; it is only known that they were not new.
In return for Beethoven’s noble contribution of his works and personal
services to the charity concerts of April 17 and November 15, Hartl
gave him the free use of the Theater-an-der-Wien for an ~Akademie~,
thus advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of December 17.
MUSICAL ACADEMY.
On Thursday, December 22, Ludwig van Beethoven will have the honor
to give a musical academy in the R. I. Priv. Theater-an-der-Wien.
All the pieces are of his composition, entirely new, and not
yet heard in public.... First Part: 1, A Symphony, entitled: “A
Recollection of Country Life,” in F major (No. 5). 2, Aria. 3, 3
Hymns with Latin text, composed in the church style with chorus and
solos. 4, Pianoforte Concerto played by himself.
Second Part. 1, Grand Symphony in C minor (No. 6). 2, Holy, with
Latin text composed in the church style with chorus and solos. 3,
Fantasia for Pianoforte alone. 4, Fantasia for the Pianoforte which
ends with the gradual entrance of the entire orchestra and the
introduction of choruses as a finale.
Boxes and reserved seats are to be had in the Krugerstrasse No.
1074, first storey. Beginning at half past six o’clock.
The importance of the works produced on this occasion, the whimsical
occurrences that are related as having taken place, and the somewhat
conflicting statements of persons present, justify an effort to sift
the evidence and get at the truth, even at the risk of being tedious.
It is unfortunate that the concert of November 15 was so completely
forgotten by all whose contemporary notices or later reminiscences are
now the only sources of information; for it is certain that, either in
the rehearsals or at the public performance, something happened which
caused a very serious misunderstanding and breach between Beethoven and
the orchestra; but even this is sufficient to remove some difficulties
otherwise insuperable. Ries records in the “Notizen” (p. 84) that a
scene is said once to have happened in which the orchestra compelled
the composer to realize his injustice “and in all seriousness insisted
that he should not conduct. In consequence, at the rehearsal, Beethoven
had to remain in an anteroom, and it was a long time before the quarrel
was settled.” Such a quarrel did arise at the time of the November
concert. In Spohr’s Autobiography is a story of Beethoven’s first
sweeping off the candles at the piano and then knocking down a choir
boy deputed to hold one of them, by his too energetic motions at this
concert, the two incidents setting the audience into a “bacchanalian
jubilation” of laughter. It is absolutely certain, however, that
nothing of the kind occurred at the concert itself, and that the story
has its only foundation in Spohr’s fancy.
Compare now these statements by Ries and Spohr with citations from
notes of a conversation with Röckel: “Beethoven had made the orchestra
of the Theater-an-der-Wien so angry with him that only the leaders,
Seyfried, Clement, etc., would have anything to do with him, and it was
only after much persuasion and upon condition that Beethoven should not
be in the room during the rehearsals, that the rank and file consented
to play. During the rehearsals, in the large room back of the theatre,
Beethoven walked up and down in an anteroom, and often Röckel with him.
After a movement Seyfried would come to him for criticisms.” Röckel
believed the story (i. e., if told of a rehearsal) of Beethoven in his
zeal having knocked the candles off the pianoforte, and he himself saw
the boys, one on each side, holding candles for him.
But the concert-giver’s troubles were not ended even by his yielding to
the demands of the orchestra. A solo singer was to be found and vocal
pieces to be selected. In a note to Röckel Beethoven wrote: “... in the
matter of the vocal pieces I think that we ought to have one of the
women singers who will sing for us, sing an aria first--then we will
make two numbers out of the Mass, but with German text, find out who
can do this for us. It need not be a masterpiece, provided it suits the
Mass well.” And again: “Be clever in regard to Milder--say to her only
that to-day you are begging her in my name not to sing anywhere else,
to-morrow I will come in person to kiss the hem of her garment--but do
not forget Marconi....”
Milder was to sing the aria “Ah, perfido! spergiuro,” said Röckel,
and accepted the invitation at once. But an unlucky quarrel provoked
by Beethoven resulted in her refusal. After other attempts, Röckel
engaged Fräulein Kilitzky, Schuppanzigh’s sister-in-law. Being a young
and inexperienced singer, her friends wrought her up to such a point
that when Beethoven led her upon the stage and left her, stage fright
overcame her and she made wretched work of the aria. Reichardt in a
letter describes the ~Akademie~:
I accepted the kind offer of Prince Lobkowitz to let me sit in his
box with hearty thanks. There we endured, in the bitterest cold,
too, from half past six, to half past ten, and made the experience
that it is easy to get too much of a good thing and still more of
a loud. Nevertheless, I could no more leave the box before the
end than could the exceedingly good-natured and delicate Prince,
for the box was in the first balcony near the stage, so that the
orchestra and Beethoven conducting it in the middle below us,
were near at hand; thus many a failure in the performance vexed
our patience in the highest degree.... Singers and orchestra
were composed of heterogeneous elements, and it had been found
impossible to get a single full rehearsal for all the pieces to be
performed, all filled with the greatest difficulties.
[Sidenote: PRODUCTION OF THE CHORAL FANTASIA]
Such a programme, exclusive of the Choral Fantasia, was certainly an
ample provision for an evening’s entertainment of the most insatiably
musical enthusiast; nor could a grander termination of the concert be
desired than the Finale of the C minor Symphony; but to defer that work
until the close was to incur the risk of endangering its effect by
presenting it to an audience too weary for the close attention needful
on first hearing to its fair comprehension and appreciation. This
Beethoven felt, and so, says Czerny,
there came to him shortly before the idea of writing a brilliant
piece for this concert. He chose a song which he had composed
many years before,[63] planned the variations, the chorus, etc.,
and the poet Kuffner was called upon to write the words in a
hurry according to Beethoven’s hints. Thus originated the Choral
Fantasia, Op. 80. It was finished so late that it could scarcely be
sufficiently rehearsed. Beethoven related this in my presence in
order to explain why, at the concert, he had had it repeated. “Some
of the instruments had counted wrong in the rests,” he said; “if I
had let them play a few measures more the most horrible dissonances
would have resulted. I had to make an interruption.”
The particulars of this scene, in which Reichardt suffered so, are more
or less circumstantially related by Ries, Seyfried, Czerny, Moscheles
and Doležalek. Their statements when compared are not inconsistent
and supplement each other, except as to Ries, whose memory evidently
exaggerated what really occurred. Substantially they are as follows:
Seyfried (Appendix to “Beethoven’s Studien,” p. 15): When the
master brought out his orchestral Fantasia with choruses, he
arranged with me at the somewhat hurried rehearsal, with wet
voice-parts as usual, that the second variation should be played
without the repeat. In the evening, however, absorbed in his
creation, he forgot all about the instructions which he had given,
repeated the first part while the orchestra accompanied the second,
which sounded not altogether edifying. A trifle too late, the
Concertmaster, Unrath, noticed the mistake, looked in surprise at
his lost companions, stopped playing and called out drily: “Again!”
A little displeased, the violinist Anton Wranitsky asked “With
repeats?” “Yes,” came the answer, and now the thing went straight
as a string.
The “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” reported: The wind-instruments varied the
theme which Beethoven had previously played on the pianoforte. The
turn came to the oboes. The clarinets, if I am not mistaken, make a
mistake in the count and enter at once. A curious mixture of tones
results. Beethoven jumps up, tries to silence the clarinets, but
does not succeed until he has called out quite loudly and rather
ill-temperedly: “Stop, stop! That will not do! Again--again!”
Czerny: In the Pianoforte with chorus he called out at the mistake:
“Wrong, badly played, wrong, again!” Several musicians wanted to go
away.
Doležalek: He jumped up, ran to the desks and pointed out the place.
Moscheles: I remember having been present at the performance
in question, seated in a corner of the gallery, in the
Theater-an-der-Wien. During the last movement of the Fantasia
I perceived that, like a run-away carriage going down-hill, an
overturn was inevitable. Almost immediately after it was, that
I saw Beethoven give the signal for stopping. His voice was
not heard; but he had probably given directions where to begin
again, and after a moment’s respectful silence on the part of the
audience, the orchestra recommenced and the performance proceeded
without further mistakes or stoppage. To those who are acquainted
with the work, it may be interesting to know the precise point at
which the mistake occurred. It was in the passage where for several
pages every three bars make up a triple rhythm.
Seyfried says further: At first he could not understand that he
had in a manner humiliated the musicians. He thought it was a duty
to correct an error that had been made and that the audience was
entitled to hear everything properly played, for its money. But he
readily and heartily begged the pardon of the orchestra for the
humiliation to which he had subjected it, and was honest enough to
spread the story himself and assume all responsibility for his own
absence of mind.
The pecuniary results of this concert to Beethoven are not known.
[Sidenote: THE FOURTH PIANOFORTE CONCERTO]
One of the two December concerts for the Widows and Orphans Fund was
on the 22d, the same evening as Beethoven’s; the other on the next.
The vocal work selected was, in compliment to the venerable Haydn, his
“Ritorno di Tobia,” first performed in these concerts thirty-three
years before. Being too short to fill out the evening, it was preceded,
on the 22d, by an orchestral fantasia of Neukomm--on the 23d by a
pianoforte concerto of Beethoven. Ries says
that Beethoven asked him to play his fourth Concerto in G, giving
him only five days in which to learn it. Thinking the time too
short, Ries asked permission to play the C minor Concerto instead.
Beethoven in a rage went to young Stein, who was wise enough to
accept the offer; but as he could not prepare the Concerto in time,
he begged Beethoven, on the day before the concert, as Ries had
done, for permission to play the C minor Concerto. Beethoven had to
acquiesce. Whether the fault was the theatre’s, the orchestra’s, or
the player’s, says Ries, the Concerto made no effect. Beethoven was
very angry.