BEETHOVEN'S LETTERS.
(1790-1826.)
FROM THE COLLECTION OF DR. LUDWIG NOHL.
ALSO HIS
LETTERS TO THE ARCHDUKE RUDOLPH, CARDINAL-ARCHBISHOP
OF OLMÜTZ, K.W., FROM THE COLLECTION OF DR.
LUDWIG RITTER VON KÖCHEL.
TRANSLATED BY
LADY WALLACE.
_WITH A PORTRAIT AND FAC-SIMILE._
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
BOSTON:
OLIVER DITSON & CO., 277 WASHINGTON STREET.
NEW YORK: C.H. DITSON & CO.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Since undertaking the translation of Dr. Ludwig Nohl's valuable edition of
"Beethoven's Letters," an additional collection has been published by Dr.
Ludwig Ritter von Köchel, consisting of many interesting letters addressed
by Beethoven to his illustrious pupil, H.R.H. the Archduke Rudolph,
Cardinal-Archbishop of Olmütz. These I have inserted in chronological
order, and marked with the letter K., in order to distinguish them from the
correspondence edited by Dr. Nohl. I have only omitted a few brief notes,
consisting merely of apologies for non-attendance on the Archduke.
The artistic value of these newly discovered treasures will no doubt be as
highly appreciated in this country as in the great _maestro's_ Father-land.
I must also express my gratitude to Dr. Th.G. v. Karajan, for permitting an
engraving to be made expressly for this work, from an original Beethoven
portrait in his possession, now for the first time given to the public. The
grand and thoughtful countenance forms a fitting introduction to letters so
truly depicting the brilliant, fitful genius of the sublime master, as well
as the touching sadness and gloom pervading his life, which his devotion to
Art alone brightened, through many bitter trials and harassing cares.
The love of Beethoven's music is now become so universal in England, that I
make no doubt his Letters will receive a hearty welcome from all those
whose spirits have been elevated and soothed by the genius of this
illustrious man.
GRACE WALLACE.
AINDERBY HALL, March 28, 1866.
PREFACE
BY DR. LUDWIG NOHL
TO THE
LETTERS OF LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
In accompanying the present edition of the Letters of Ludwig van Beethoven
with a few introductory remarks, I at once acknowledge that the compilation
of these letters has cost me no slight sacrifices. I must also, however,
mention that an unexpected Christmas donation, generously bestowed on me
with a view to further my efforts to promote the science of music, enabled
me to undertake one of the journeys necessary for my purpose, and also to
complete the revision of the Letters and of the press, in the milder air
and repose of a country residence, long since recommended to me for the
restoration of my health, undermined by overwork.
That, in spite of every effort, I have not succeeded in seeing the original
of each letter, or even discovering the place where it exists, may well be
excused, taking into consideration the slender capabilities of an
individual, and the astonishing manner in which Beethoven's Letters are
dispersed all over the world. At the same time, I must state that not only
have the hitherto inaccessible treasures of Anton Schindler's "Beethoven's
Nachlass" been placed at my disposal, but also other letters from private
sources, owing to various happy chances, and the kindness and complaisance
of collectors of autographs. I know better, however, than most
people--being in a position to do so--that in the present work there can be
no pretension to any thing approaching to a complete collection of
Beethoven's Letters. The master, so fond of writing, though he often rather
amusingly accuses himself of being a lazy correspondent, may very probably
have sent forth at least double the amount of the letters here given, and
there is no doubt whatever that a much larger number are still extant in
the originals. The only thing that can be done at this moment, however, is
to make the attempt to bring to light, at all events, the letters that
could be discovered in Germany. The mass of those which I gradually
accumulated, and now offer to the public (with the exception of some
insignificant notes), appeared to me sufficiently numerous and important to
interest the world, and also to form a substantial nucleus for any letters
that may hereafter be discovered. On the other hand, as many of Beethoven's
Letters slumber in foreign lands, especially in the unapproachable cabinets
of curiosities belonging to various close-fisted English collectors, an
entire edition of the correspondence could only be effected by a most
disproportionate outlay of time and expense.
When revising the text of the Letters, it seemed to me needless perpetually
to impair the pleasure of the reader by retaining the mistakes in
orthography; but enough of the style of writing of that day is adhered to,
to prevent its peculiar charm being entirely destroyed. Distorted and
incorrect as Beethoven's mode of expression sometimes is, I have not
presumed to alter his grammar, or rather syntax, in the smallest degree:
who would presume to do so with an individuality which, even amid startling
clumsiness of style, displays those inherent intellectual powers that often
did violence to language as well as to his fellow-men? Cyclopean masses of
rock are here hurled with Cyclopean force; but hard and massive as they
are, the man is not to be envied whose heart is not touched by these
glowing fragments, flung apparently at random right and left, like meteors,
by a mighty intellectual being, however perverse the treatment language may
have received from him.
The great peculiarity, however, in this strange mode of expression is, that
even such incongruous language faithfully reflects the mind of the man
whose nature was of prophetic depth and heroic force; and who that knows
anything of the creative genius of a Beethoven can deny him these
attributes?
The antique dignity pervading the whole man, the ethical contemplation of
life forming the basis of his nature, prevented even a momentary wish on my
part to efface a single word of the oft-recurring expressions so painfully
harsh, bordering on the unaesthetic, and even on the repulsive, provoked by
his wrath against the meanness of men. In the last part of these genuine
documents, we learn with a feeling of sadness, and with almost a tragic
sensation, how low was the standard of moral worth, or rather how great was
the positive unworthiness, of the intimate society surrounding the master,
and with what difficulty he could maintain the purity of the nobler part of
his being in such an atmosphere. The manner, indeed, in which he strives to
do so, fluctuating between explosions of harshness and almost weak
yieldingness, while striving to master the base thoughts and conduct of
these men, though never entirely succeeding in doing so, is often more a
diverting than an offensive spectacle. In my opinion, nevertheless, even
this less pleasing aspect of the Letters ought not to be in the slightest
degree softened (which it has hitherto been, owing to false views of
propriety and morality), for it is no moral deformity here displayed.
Indeed, even when the irritable master has recourse to expressions
repugnant to our sense of conventionality, and which may well be called
harsh and rough, still the wrath that seizes on our hero is a just and
righteous wrath, and we disregard it, just as in Nature, whose grandeur
constantly elevates us above the inevitable stains of an earthly soil. The
coarseness and ill-breeding, which would claim toleration because this
great man now and then showed such feelings, must beware of doing so, being
certain to make shipwreck when coming in contact with the massive rock of
true morality on which, with all his faults and deficiencies, Beethoven's
being was surely grounded. Often, indeed, when absorbed in the
unsophisticated and genuine utterances of this great man, it seems as if
these peculiarities and strange asperities were the results of some
mysterious law of Nature, so that we are inclined to adopt the paradox by
which a wit once described the singular groundwork of our nature,--"The
faults of man are the night in which he rests from his virtues."
Indeed, I think that the lofty morality of such natures is not fully
evident until we are obliged to confess with regret, that even the great
ones of the earth must pay their tribute to humanity, and really do pay it
(which is the distinction between them and base and petty characters),
without being ever entirely hurled from their pedestal of dignity and
virtue. The soul of that man cannot fail to be elevated, who can seize the
real spirit of the scattered pages that a happy chance has preserved for
us. If not fettered by petty feelings, he will quickly surmount the casual
obstacles and stumbling-blocks which the first perusal of these Letters may
seem to present, and quickly feel himself transported at a single stride
into a stream, where a strange roaring and rushing is heard, but above
which loftier tones resound with magic and exciting power. For a peculiar
life breathes in these lines; an under-current runs through their
apparently unconnected import, uniting them as with an electric chain, and
with firmer links than any mere coherence of subjects could have effected.
I experienced this myself, to the most remarkable degree, when I first made
the attempt to arrange, in accordance with their period and substance, the
hundreds of individual pages bearing neither date nor address, and I was
soon convinced that a connecting text (such as Mozart's Letters have, and
ought to have) would be here entirely superfluous, as even the best
biographical commentary would be very dry work, interrupting the electric
current of the whole, and thus destroying its peculiar effect.
And now, what is this spirit which, for an intelligent mind, binds together
these scattered fragments into a whole, and what is its actual power? I
cannot tell; but I feel to this day just as I felt to the innermost depths
of my heart in the days of my youth when I first heard a symphony of
Beethoven's,--that a spirit breathes from it bearing us aloft with giant
power out of the oppressive atmosphere of sense, stirring to its inmost
recesses the heart of man, bringing him to the full consciousness of his
loftier being, and of the undying within him. And even more distinctly than
when a new world was thus disclosed to his youthful feelings is the _man_
fully conscious that not only was this a new world to him, but a new world
of feeling in itself, revealing to the spirit phases of its own, which,
till Beethoven appeared, had never before been fathomed. Call it by what
name you will, when one of the great works of the sublime master is heard,
whether indicative of proud self-consciousness, freedom, spring, love,
storm, or battle, it grasps the soul with singular force, and enlarges the
laboring breast. Whether a man understands music or not, every one who has
a heart beating within his breast will feel with enchantment that here is
concentrated the utmost promised to us by the most imaginative of our
poets, in bright visions of happiness and freedom. Even the only great hero
of action, who in those memorable days is worthy to stand beside the great
master of harmony, having diffused among mankind new and priceless earthly
treasures, sinks in the scale when we compare these with the celestial
treasures of a purified and deeper feeling, and a more free, enlarged, and
sublime view of the world, struggling gradually and distinctly upwards out
of the mere frivolity of an art devoid of words to express itself, and
impressing its stamp on the spirit of the age. They convey, too, the
knowledge of this brightest victory of genuine German intellect to those
for whom the sweet Muse of Music is as a book with seven seals, and reveal,
likewise, a more profound sense of Beethoven's being to many who already,
through the sweet tones they have imbibed, enjoy some dawning conviction of
the master's grandeur, and who now more and more eagerly lend a listening
ear to the intellectual clearly worded strains so skilfully interwoven,
thus soon to arrive at the full and blissful comprehension of those grand
outpourings of the spirit, and finally to add another bright delight to the
enjoyment of those who already know and love Beethoven. All these may be
regarded as the objects I had in view when I undertook to edit his Letters,
which have also bestowed on myself the best recompense of my labors, in the
humble conviction that by this means I may have vividly reawakened in the
remembrance of many the mighty mission which our age is called on to
perform for the development of our race, even in the realm of
harmony,--more especially in our Father-land.
LUDWIG NOHL.
LA TOUR DE PERLZ--LAKE OF GENEVA,
March, 1865.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.
FIRST PART.
LIFE'S JOYS AND SORROWS
1783-1816.
1. To the Elector of Cologne, Frederick Maximilian.
2. To Dr. Schade, Augsburg
3. To the Elector Maximilian Francis
4. To Eleonore von Breuning, Bonn
5. To the Same
6. To Herr Schenk
7. To Dr. Wegeler, Vienna
8. To the Same
9. Lines written in the Album of L. von Breuning
10. To Baron Zmeskall von Domanowecz
11. Ukase to Zmeskall, Schuppanzigh, and Lichnowsky
12. To Pastor Amenda, Courland
13. To the Same
14. To Wegeler
15. To Countess Giulietta Guicciardi
16. To Matthisson
17. To Frau Frank, Vienna
18. To Wegeler
19. To Kapellmeister Hofmeister, Leipzig
20. To the Same
21. To the Same
22. To the Same
23. Dedication to Dr. Schmidt
24. To Ferdinand Ries
25. To Herr Hofmeister, Leipzig
26. To Carl and Johann Beethoven
27. Notice
28. To Ferdinand Ries
29. To Herr Hofmeister, Leipzig
30. Caution
31. To Ries
32. To the Same
33. To the Same
34. To the Same
35. To the Composer Leidesdorf, Vienna
36. To Ries
37. To the Same
38. To the Same
39. To Messrs. Artaria & Co.
40. To Princess Liechtenstein
41. To Herr Meyer
42. Testimonial for C. Czerny
43. To Herr Röckel
44. To Herr Collin, Court Secretary and Poet
45. To Herr Gleichenstein
46. To the Directors of the Court Theatre
47. To Count Franz von Oppersdorf
48. Notice of a Memorial to the Archduke Rudolph, Prince Kinsky,
and Prince Lobkowitz
49. Memorial to the Same
50. To Zmeskall
51. To Ferdinand Ries
52. To Zmeskall
53. To the Same
54. To the Same
55. To the Same
56. To the Same
57. To the Same
58. To the Same
59. To Freiherr von Hammer-Purgstall
60. To the Same
61. To Baroness von Drossdick
62. To Mdlle. de Gerardi
63. To Zmeskall
64. To Wegeler
65. To Zmeskall
66. To Bettina Brentano
67. To the Same
68. To Zmeskall
69. To the Same
70. To the Archduke Rudolph
71. To a Dear Friend
72. To the Dramatic Poet Treitschke
73. To Zmeskall
74. To the Same
75. To the Same
76. To the Same
77. To the Same
78. To the Same
79. To the Same
80. To Kammerprocurator Varenna, Gratz
81. To Zmeskall
82. To the Same
83. To Varenna, Gratz
84. To Zmeskall
85. To Varenna
86. To Archduke Rudolph
87. To the Same
88. To Varenna, Gratz
89. To Joseph Freiherr von Schweiger
90. To Varenna, Gratz
91. Lines written in the Album of Mdme. Auguste Sebald
92. To Archduke Rudolph
93. To Bettina von Arnim
94. To Princess Kinsky
95. To Archduke Rudolph
96. To the Same
97. To the Same
98. To Princess Kinsky
99. To the Same
100. To Zmeskall
101. To Herr Joseph Varenna, Gratz
102. To the Same
103. To Zmeskall
104. To the Same
105. To the Same
106. To the Same
107. To the Same
108. To the Same
109. To the Same
110. To Archduke Rudolph
111. To the Same
112. To the Same
113. To Freiherr Josef von Schweiger
114. To Herr von Baumeister
115. To Zmeskall
116. Letter of Thanks
117. To the Archduke Rudolph
118. To the Same
119. To the Same
120. To Treitschke
121. To the Same
122. To the Same
123. To Count Lichnowsky.
124. To the Same
125. To the Archduke Rudolph
126. To the Same
127. Deposition
128. To Dr. Kauka, Prague.
129. Address and Appeal to London Artists
130. To Dr. Kauka
131. To Count Moritz Lichnowsky
132. To the Archduke Rudolph
133. To the Same
134. To the Same
135. To the Same
136. To the Same
137. To the Same
138. To the Same
139. To the Same
140. To Dr. Kauka
141. To the Same
142. To the Same
143. To the Members of the Landrecht
144. To Baron von Pasqualati
145. To Dr. Kauka
146. To the Archduke Rudolph
SECOND PART.
LIFE'S MISSION.
1815-1822.
147. Music written in Spohr's Album
148. To Dr. Kauka
149. To the Same
150. To the Same
151. To Mr. Salomon, London
152. To the Archduke Rudolph
153. To the Same
154. To the Same
155. To the Same
156. To the Same
157. To the Same
158. To Mr. Birchall, Music Publisher, London
159. To Zmeskall
160. To the Archduke Rudolph
161. To Messrs. Birchall, London
162. To Herr Ries
163. To Zmeskall
164. To Mdlle. Milder-Hauptmann
165. To Ries
166. To Mr. Birchall, London
167. To Czerny
168. To the Same
169. To Ries, London
170. To Giannatasio del Rio, Vienna
171. To the Same
172. To the Same
173. To the Same
174. To Ferdinand Ries, London
175. To the Same
176. Power of Attorney
177. To Ferdinand Ries
178. To Giannatasio del Rio
179. To the Same
180. To the Archduke Rudolph
181. To Mr. Birchall London
182. To the Same
183. To Giannatasio del Rio
184. To the Same
185. To Zmeskall
186. To Dr. Kauka
187. Query
188. To Giannatasio del Rio
189. To the Same
190. To Wegeler
191. To Mr. Birchall, London
192. To Zmeskall
193. To the Archduke Rudolph
194. To Freiherr von Schweiger
195. To Giannatasio del Rio
196. To the Same
197. To the Same
198. To the Same
199. To Herr Tschischka
200. To Mr. Birchall
201. To Zmeskall
202. To Frau von Streicher
203. To the Same
204. To the Same
205. To the Same
206. To the Same
207. To the Archduke Rudolph
208. To Giannatasio del Rio
209. To the Same
210. To the Same
211. To Hofrath von Mosel
212. To S.A. Steiner, Music Publisher, Vienna
213. To the Same
214. To the Same
215. To Zmeskall
FIRST PART.
LIFE'S JOYS AND SORROWS.
1783 TO 1815.
BEETHOVEN'S LETTERS.
PART I.
1.
TO THE ELECTOR OF COLOGNE, FREDERICK MAXIMILIAN.[1]
ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE,--
Music from my fourth year has ever been my favorite pursuit. Thus early
introduced to the sweet Muse, who attuned my soul to pure harmony, I loved
her, and sometimes ventured to think that I was beloved by her in return. I
have now attained my eleventh year, and my Muse often whispered to me in
hours of inspiration,--Try to write down the harmonies in your soul. Only
eleven years old! thought I; does the character of an author befit me? and
what would more mature artists say? I felt some trepidation; but my Muse
willed it--so I obeyed, and wrote.
May I now, therefore, Illustrious Prince, presume to lay the first-fruits
of my juvenile labors at the foot of your throne? and may I hope that you
will condescend to cast an encouraging and kindly glance on them? You will;
for Art and Science have ever found in you a judicious protector and a
generous patron, and rising talent has always prospered under your
fostering and fatherly care. Encouraged by this cheering conviction, I
venture to approach you with these my youthful efforts. Accept them as the
pure offering of childlike reverence, and graciously vouchsafe to regard
with indulgence them and their youthful composer,
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
[Footnote 1: The dedication affixed to this work, "Three Sonatas for the
Piano, dedicated to my illustrious master, Maximilian Friedrich, Archbishop
and Elector of Cologne, by Ludwig van Beethoven in his eleventh year," is
probably not written by the boy himself, but is given here as an amusing
contrast to his subsequent ideas with regard to the homage due to rank.]
2.
TO DR. SCHADE,--AUGSBURG.
Bonn, 1787. Autumn.
MY MOST ESTEEMED FRIEND,--
I can easily imagine what you must think of me, and I cannot deny that you
have too good grounds for an unfavorable opinion. I shall not, however,
attempt to justify myself, until I have explained to you the reasons why my
apologies should be accepted. I must tell you that from the time I left
Augsburg[1] my cheerfulness, as well as my health, began to decline; the
nearer I came to my native city, the more frequent were the letters from my
father, urging me to travel with all possible speed, as my mother's health
was in a most precarious condition. I therefore hurried forwards as fast as
I could, although myself far from well. My longing once more to see my
dying mother overcame every obstacle, and assisted me in surmounting the
greatest difficulties. I found my mother indeed still alive, but in the
most deplorable state; her disease was consumption, and about seven weeks
ago, after much pain and suffering, she died [July 17]. She was indeed a
kind, loving mother to me, and my best friend. Ah! who was happier than I,
when I could still utter the sweet name of mother, and it was heard? But to
whom can I now say it? Only to the silent form resembling her, evoked by
the power of imagination. I have passed very few pleasant hours since my
arrival here, having during the whole time been suffering from asthma,
which may, I fear, eventually turn to consumption; to this is added
melancholy,--almost as great an evil as my malady itself. Imagine yourself
in my place, and then I shall hope to receive your forgiveness for my long
silence. You showed me extreme kindness and friendship by lending me three
Carolins in Augsburg, but I must entreat your indulgence for a time. My
journey cost me a great deal, and I have not the smallest hopes of earning
anything here. Fate is not propitious to me in Bonn. Pardon my intruding on
you so long with my affairs, but all that I have said was necessary for my
own justification.
I do entreat you not to deprive me of your valuable friendship; nothing do
I wish so much as in any degree to become worthy of your regard. I am, with
all esteem, your obedient servant and friend,
L. V. BEETHOVEN,
_Cologne Court Organist._
[Footnote 1: On his return from Vienna, whither Max Franz had sent him for
the further cultivation of his talents.]
3.
TO THE ELECTOR MAXIMILIAN FRANCIS.[1]
1793.
MOST ILLUSTRIOUS AND GRACIOUS PRINCE,--
Some years ago your Highness was pleased to grant a pension to my father,
the Court tenor Van Beethoven, and further graciously to decree that 100 R.
Thalers of his salary should be allotted to me, for the purpose of
maintaining, clothing, and educating my two younger brothers, and also
defraying the debts incurred by our father. It was my intention to present
this decree to your Highness's treasurer, but my father earnestly implored
me to desist from doing so, that he might not be thus publicly proclaimed
incapable himself of supporting his family, adding that he would engage to
pay me the 25 R.T. quarterly, which he punctually did. After his death,
however (in December last), wishing to reap the benefit of your Highness's
gracious boon, by presenting the decree, I was startled to find that my
father had destroyed it.
I therefore, with all dutiful respect, entreat your Highness to renew this
decree, and to order the paymaster of your Highness's treasury to grant me
the last quarter of this benevolent addition to my salary (due the
beginning of February). I have the honor to remain,
Your Highness's most obedient and faithful servant,
LUD. V. BEETHOVEN,
_Court Organist._
[Footnote 1: An electoral decree was issued in compliance with this request
on May 3, 1793.]
4.
TO ELEONORE VON BREUNING,--BONN.
Vienna, Nov. 2, 1793.
MY HIGHLY ESTEEMED ELEONORE, MY DEAREST FRIEND,--
A year of my stay in this capital has nearly elapsed before you receive a
letter from me, and yet the most vivid remembrance of you is ever present
with me. I have often conversed in thought with you and your dear family,
though not always in the happy mood I could have wished, for that fatal
misunderstanding still hovered before me, and my conduct at that time is
now hateful in my sight. But so it was, and how much would I give to have
the power wholly to obliterate from my life a mode of acting so degrading
to myself, and so contrary to the usual tenor of my character!
Many circumstances, indeed, contributed to estrange us, and I suspect that
those tale-bearers who repeated alternately to you and to me our mutual
expressions were the chief obstacles to any good understanding between us.
Each believed that what was said proceeded from deliberate conviction,
whereas it arose only from anger, fanned by others; so we were both
mistaken. Your good and noble disposition, my dear friend, is sufficient
security that you have long since forgiven me. We are told that the best
proof of sincere contrition is to acknowledge our faults; and this is what
I wish to do. Let us now draw a veil over the whole affair, learning one
lesson from it,--that when friends are at variance, it is always better to
employ no mediator, but to communicate directly with each other.
With this you will receive a dedication from me [the variations on "Se vuol
ballare"]. My sole wish is that the work were greater and more worthy of
you. I was applied to here to publish this little work, and I take
advantage of the opportunity, my beloved Eleonore, to give you a proof of
my regard and friendship for yourself, and also a token of my enduring
remembrance of your family. Pray then accept this trifle, and do not forget
that it is offered by a devoted friend. Oh! if it only gives you pleasure,
my wishes will be fulfilled. May it in some degree recall the time when I
passed so many happy hours in your house! Perhaps it may serve to remind
you of me till I return, though this is indeed a distant prospect. Oh! how
we shall then rejoice together, my dear Eleonore! You will, I trust, find
your friend a happier man, all former forbidding, careworn furrows smoothed
away by time and better fortune.
When you see B. Koch [subsequently Countess Belderbusch], pray say that it
is unkind in her never once to have written to me. I wrote to her twice,
and three times to Malchus (afterwards Westphalian Minister of Finance),
but no answer. Tell her that if she does not choose to write herself, I beg
that she will at least urge Malchus to do so. At the close of my letter I
venture to make one more request--I am anxious to be so fortunate as again
to possess an Angola waistcoat knitted by your own hand, my dear friend.
Forgive my indiscreet request; it proceeds from my great love for all that
comes from you; and I may privately admit that a little vanity is connected
with it, namely, that I may say I possess something from the best and most
admired young lady in Bonn. I still have the one you were so good as to
give me in Bonn; but change of fashion has made it look so antiquated, that
I can only treasure it in my wardrobe as your gift, and thus still very
dear to me. You would make me very happy by soon writing me a kind letter.
If mine cause you any pleasure, I promise you to do as you wish, and write
as often as it lies in my power; indeed everything is acceptable to me that
can serve to show you how truly I am your admiring and sincere friend,
L. V. BEETHOVEN.
P.S. The variations are rather difficult to play, especially the shake in
the _Coda_; but do not be alarmed at this, being so contrived that you only
require to play the shake, and leave out the other notes, which also occur
in the violin part. I never would have written it in this way, had I not
occasionally observed that there was a certain individual in Vienna who,
when I extemporized the previous evening, not unfrequently wrote down next
day many of the peculiarities of my music, adopting them as his own [for
instance, the Abbé Gelinek]. Concluding, therefore, that some of these
things would soon appear, I resolved to anticipate this. Another reason
also was to puzzle some of the pianoforte teachers here, many of whom are
my mortal foes; so I wished to revenge myself on them in this way, knowing
that they would occasionally be asked to play the variations, when these
gentlemen would not appear to much advantage.
BEETHOVEN.
5.
TO ELEONORE VON BREUNING,--BONN.
The beautiful neckcloth, embroidered by your own hand, was the greatest
possible surprise to me; yet, welcome as the gift was, it awakened within
me feelings of sadness. Its effect was to recall former days, and to put me
to shame by your noble conduct to me. I, indeed, little thought that you
still considered me worthy of your remembrance.
Oh! if you could have witnessed my emotions yesterday when this incident
occurred, you would not think that I exaggerate in saying that such a token
of your recollection brought tears to my eyes, and made me feel very sad.
Little as I may deserve favor in your eyes, believe me, my dear _friend_,
(let me still call you so,) I have suffered, and still suffer severely from
the privation of your friendship. Never can I forget you and your dear
mother. You were so kind to me that your loss neither can nor will be
easily replaced. I know what I have forfeited, and what you were to me, but
in order to fill up this blank I must recur to scenes equally painful for
you to hear and for me to detail.
As a slight requital of your kind _souvenir_, I take the liberty to send
you some variations, and a Rondo with violin accompaniment. I have a great
deal to do, or I would long since have transcribed the Sonata I promised
you. It is as yet a mere sketch in manuscript, and to copy it would be a
difficult task even for the clever and practised Paraquin [counter-bass in
the Electoral orchestra]. You can have the Rondo copied, and return the
score. What I now send is the only one of my works at all suitable for you;
besides, as you are going to Kerpen [where an uncle of the family lived], I
thought these trifles might cause you pleasure.
Farewell, my friend; for it is impossible for me to give you any other
name. However indifferent I may be to you, believe me, I shall ever
continue to revere you and your mother as I have always done. If I can in
any way contribute to the fulfilment of a wish of yours, do not fail to let
me know, for I have no other means of testifying my gratitude for past
friendship.
I wish you an agreeable journey, and that your dear mother may return
entirely restored to health! Think sometimes of your affectionate friend,
BEETHOVEN.
6.
TO HERR SCHENK.
June, 1794.
DEAR SCHENK,[1]--
I did not know that I was to set off to-day to Eisenstadt. I should like to
have talked to you again. In the mean time rest assured of my gratitude for
your obliging services. I shall endeavor, so far as it lies in my power, to
requite them. I hope soon to see you, and once more to enjoy the pleasure
of your society. Farewell, and do not entirely forget your
BEETHOVEN.
[Footnote 1: Schenk, afterwards celebrated as the composer of the "Dorf
Barbier," was for some time Beethoven's teacher in composition. This note
appears to have been written in June, 1794, and first printed in the
"Freischütz," No. 183, about 1836, at the time of Schenk's death, when his
connection with Beethoven was mentioned.]
7.
TO DR. WEGELER,--VIENNA.[1]
... In what an odious light have you exhibited me to myself! Oh! I
acknowledge it, I do not deserve your friendship. It was no intentional or
deliberate malice that induced me to act towards you as I did, but
inexcusable thoughtlessness alone.
I say no more. I am coming to throw myself into your arms, and to entreat
you to restore me my lost friend; and you will give him back to me, to your
penitent, loving, and ever-grateful
BEETHOVEN.
[Footnote 1: Dr. Wegeler, in answer to my request that he would send me the
entire letter, replied that "the passages omitted in the letter consisted
chiefly in eulogiums of his father, and enthusiastic expressions of
friendship, which did not seem to him to be of any value; but besides this,
the same reasons that induced his father to give only a portion of the
letter were imperative with him also." I do not wish to contest the point
with the possessor of the letter; still I may remark that all the
utterances and letters of a great man belong to the world at large, and
that in a case like the present, the conscientious biographer, who strives
faithfully to portray such a man, is alone entitled to decide what portion
of these communications is fitted for publication, and what is not. Any
considerations of a personal character seem to me very trivial.]
8.
TO DR. WEGELER,--VIENNA.
Vienna, May 1797.
God speed you, my dear friend! I owe you a letter which you shall shortly
have, and my newest music besides, _I am going on well; indeed, I may say
every day better._ Greet those to whom it will give pleasure from me.
Farewell, and do not forget your
BEETHOVEN.
9.
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF LENZ VON BREUNING.
Vienna, Oct. 1, 1797.
Truth for the wise,
Beauty for a feeling heart,
And both for each other.
MY DEAR, GOOD BREUNING,--
Never can I forget the time I passed with you, not only in Bonn, but here.
Continue your friendship towards me, for you shall always find me the same
true friend,
L. V. BEETHOVEN.
10.
TO BARON ZMESKALL VON DOMANOWECZ.
1800.[1]
[Music: Alto, Tenor, Bass clefs, C Major, 4/4 time, Grave.
ALTO. Ba-ron.
TENORE. Ba-ron.
BASSO. Ba-ron. Ba-ron. Ba-ron.]
MY CHEAPEST (NOT DEAREST) BARON,--
Desire the guitar-player to come to me to-day. Amenda (instead of an
_amende_ [fine], which he sometimes deserves for not observing his rests
properly) must persuade this popular guitarist to visit me, and if possible
to come at five o'clock this evening; if not then, at five or six o'clock
to-morrow morning; but he must not waken me if I chance to be still asleep.
_Adieu, mon ami à bon marché._ Perhaps we may meet at the "Swan"?
[Footnote 1: As it appears from the following letters that Amenda was again
at home in 1800, the date of this note is thus ascertained. It is
undoubtedly addressed to Baron Zmeskall von Domanowecz, Royal Court
Secretary, a good violoncello-player, and one of Beethoven's earliest
friends in Vienna. The "guitarist" was probably the celebrated Giuliani,
who lived in Vienna.]
11.
The musical Count is from this day forth _cashiered_ with infamy. The first
violin [Schuppanzigh] ruthlessly transported to _Siberia_. The Baron [see
No. 10] for a whole month _strictly interdicted from asking questions_; no
longer to be so hasty, and to devote himself exclusively to his _ipse
miserum_.[1]
B.
[Footnote 1: Written in gigantic characters in pencil on a large sheet of
paper. The "musical Count" is probably Count Moritz Lichnowsky, brother of
Prince Carl Lichnowsky, in whose house were held those musical performances
in which Beethoven's works were first produced. Even at that time he
behaved in a very dictatorial manner to those gentlemen when his
compositions were badly executed. Thence the name given him by Haydn of
"The Great Mogul."]
12.
TO PASTOR AMENDA,--COURLAND.
Does Amenda think that I can ever forget him, because I do not write? in
fact, never have written to him?--as if the memory of our friends could
only thus be preserved! The _best man I ever knew_ has a thousand times
recurred to my thoughts! Two persons alone once possessed my whole love,
one of whom still lives, and you are now the third. How can my remembrance
of you ever fade? You will shortly receive a long letter about my present
circumstances and all that can interest you. Farewell, beloved, good, and
noble friend! Ever continue your love and friendship towards me, just as I
shall ever be your faithful
BEETHOVEN.
13.
TO PASTOR AMENDA.
1800.
MY DEAR, MY GOOD AMENDA, MY WARM-HEARTED FRIEND,--
I received and read your last letter with deep emotion, and with mingled
pain and pleasure. To what can I compare your fidelity and devotion to me?
Ah! it is indeed delightful that you still continue to love me so well. I
know how to prize you, and to distinguish you from all others; you are not
like my Vienna friends. No! you are one of those whom the soil of my
fatherland is wont to bring forth; how often I wish that you were with me,
for your Beethoven is very unhappy. You must know that one of my most
precious faculties, that of hearing, is become very defective; even while
you were still with me I felt indications of this, though I said nothing;
but it is now much worse. Whether I shall ever be cured remains yet to be
seen; it is supposed to proceed from the state of my digestive organs, but
I am almost entirely recovered in that respect. I hope indeed that my
hearing may improve, but I scarcely think so, for attacks of this kind are
the most incurable of all. How sad my life must now be!--forced to shun all
that is most dear and precious to me, and to live with such miserable
egotists as ----, &c. I can with truth say that of all my friends
Lichnowsky [Prince Carl] is the most genuine. He last year settled 600
florins on me, which, together with the good sale of my works, enables me
to live free from care as to my maintenance. All that I now write I can
dispose of five times over, and be well paid into the bargain. I have been
writing a good deal latterly, and as I hear that you have ordered some
pianos from ----, I will send you some of my compositions in the
packing-case of one of these instruments, by which means they will not cost
you so much.
To my great comfort, a person has returned here with whom I can enjoy the
pleasures of society and disinterested friendship,--one of the friends of
my youth [Stephan von Breuning]. I have often spoken to him of you, and
told him that since I left my fatherland, you are one of those to whom my
heart specially clings. Z. [Zmeskall?] does not seem quite to please him;
he is, and always will be, too weak for true friendship, and I look on him
and ---- as mere instruments on which I play as I please, but never can
they bear noble testimony to my inner and outward energies, or feel true
sympathy with me; I value them only in so far as their services deserve.
Oh! how happy should I now be, had I my full sense of hearing; I would then
hasten to you; whereas, as it is, I must withdraw from everything. My best
years will thus pass away, without effecting what my talents and powers
might have enabled me to perform. How melancholy is the resignation in
which I must take refuge! I had determined to rise superior to all this,
but how is it possible? If in the course of six months my malady be
pronounced incurable then, Amenda! I shall appeal to you to leave all else
and come to me, when I intend to travel (my affliction is less distressing
when playing and composing, and most so in intercourse with others), and
you must be my companion. I have a conviction that good fortune will not
forsake me, for to what may I not at present aspire? Since you were here I
have written everything except operas and church music. You will not, I
know, refuse my petition; you will help your friend to bear his burden and
his calamity. I have also very much perfected my pianoforte playing, and I
hope that a journey of this kind may possibly contribute to your own
success in life, and you would thenceforth always remain with me. I duly
received all your letters, and though I did not reply to them, you were
constantly present with me, and my heart beats as tenderly as ever for you.
I beg you will keep the fact of my deafness a profound secret, and not
confide it to any human being. Write to me frequently; your letters,
however short, console and cheer me; so I shall soon hope to hear from you.
Do not give your quartet to any one [in F, Op. 18, No. 1], as I have
altered it very much, having only now succeeded in writing quartets
properly; this you will at once perceive when you receive it. Now,
farewell, my dear kind friend! If by any chance I can serve you here, I
need not say that you have only to command me.
Your faithful and truly attached
L. V. BEETHOVEN.
14.
TO WEGELER.
Vienna, June 29, 1800.
MY DEAR AND VALUED WEGELER,--
How much I thank you for your remembrance of me, little as I deserve it, or
have sought to deserve it; and yet you are so kind that you allow nothing,
not even my unpardonable neglect, to discourage you, always remaining the
same true, good, and faithful friend. That I can ever forget you or yours,
once so dear and precious to me, do not for a moment believe. There are
times when I find myself longing to see you again, and wishing that I could
go to stay with you. My father-land, that lovely region where I first saw
the light, is still as distinct and beauteous in my eyes as when I quitted
you; in short, I shall esteem the time when I once more see you, and again
greet Father Rhine, as one of the happiest periods of my life. When this
may be I cannot yet tell; but at all events I may say that you shall not
see me again till I have become eminent, not only as an artist, but better
and more perfect as a man; and if the condition of our father-land be then
more prosperous, my art shall be entirely devoted to the benefit of the
poor. Oh, blissful moment!--how happy do I esteem myself that I can
expedite it and bring it to pass!
You desire to know something of my position; well! it is by no means bad.
However incredible it may appear, I must tell you that Lichnowsky has been,
and still is, my warmest friend (slight dissensions occurred occasionally
between us, and yet they only served to strengthen our friendship). He
settled on me last year the sum of 600 florins, for which I am to draw on
him till I can procure some suitable situation. My compositions are very
profitable, and I may really say that I have almost more commissions than
it is possible for me to execute. I can have six or seven publishers or
more for every piece, if I choose; they no longer bargain with me--I
demand, and they pay--so you see this is a very good thing. For instance, I
have a friend in distress, and my purse does not admit of my assisting him
at once; but I have only to sit down and write, and in a short time he is
relieved. I am also become more economical than formerly. If I finally
settle here, I don't doubt I shall be able to secure a particular day every
year for a concert, of which I have already given several. That malicious
demon, however, bad health, has been a stumbling-block in my path; my
hearing during the last three years has become gradually worse. The chief
cause of this infirmity proceeds from the state of my digestive organs,
which, as you know, were formerly bad enough, but have latterly become much
worse, and being constantly afflicted with diarrhoea, has brought on
extreme weakness. Frank [Director of the General Hospital] strove to
restore the tone of my digestion by tonics, and my hearing by oil of
almonds; but alas! these did me no good whatever; my hearing became worse,
and my digestion continued in its former plight. This went on till the
autumn of last year, when I was often reduced to utter despair. Then some
medical _asinus_ recommended me cold baths, but a more judicious doctor the
tepid ones of the Danube, which did wonders for me; my digestion improved,
but my hearing remained the same, or in fact rather got worse. I did indeed
pass a miserable winter; I suffered from most dreadful spasms, and sank
back into my former condition. Thus it went on till about a month ago, when
I consulted Vering [an army surgeon], under the belief that my maladies
required surgical advice; besides, I had every confidence in him. He
succeeded in almost entirely checking the violent diarrhoea, and ordered me
the tepid baths of the Danube, into which I pour some strengthening
mixture. He gave me no medicine, except some digestive pills four days ago,
and a lotion for my ears. I certainly do feel better and stronger, but my
ears are buzzing and ringing perpetually, day and night. I can with truth
say that my life is very wretched; for nearly two years past I have avoided
all society, because I find it impossible to say to people, _I am deaf!_ In
any other profession this might be more tolerable, but in mine such a
condition is truly frightful. Besides, what would my enemies say to
this?--and they are not few in number.
To give you some idea of my extraordinary deafness, I must tell you that in
the theatre I am obliged to lean close up against the orchestra in order to
understand the actors, and when a little way off I hear none of the high
notes of instruments or singers. It is most astonishing that in
conversation some people never seem to observe this; being subject to fits
of absence, they attribute it to that cause. I often can scarcely hear a
person if speaking low; I can distinguish the tones, but not the words, and
yet I feel it intolerable if any one shouts to me. Heaven alone knows how
it is to end! Vering declares that I shall certainly improve, even if I be
not entirely restored. How often have I cursed my existence! Plutarch led
me to resignation. I shall strive if possible to set Fate at defiance,
although there must be moments in my life when I cannot fail to be the most
unhappy of God's creatures. I entreat you to say nothing of my affliction
to any one, not even to Lorchen [see Nos. 4 and 5]. I confide the secret to
you alone, and entreat you some day to correspond with Vering on the
subject. If I continue in the same state, I shall come to you in the
ensuing spring, when you must engage a house for me somewhere in the
country, amid beautiful scenery, and I shall then become a rustic for a
year, which may perhaps effect a change. Resignation!--what a miserable
refuge! and yet it is my sole remaining one. You will forgive my thus
appealing to your kindly sympathies at a time when your own position is sad
enough. Stephan Breuning is here, and we are together almost every day; it
does me so much good to revive old feelings! He has really become a capital
good fellow, not devoid of talent, and his heart, like that of us all,
pretty much in the right place. [See No. 13.]
I have very charming rooms at present, adjoining the Bastei [the ramparts],
and peculiarly valuable to me on account of my health [at Baron
Pasqualati's]. I do really think I shall be able to arrange that Breuning
shall come to me. You shall have your Antiochus [a picture], and plenty of
my music besides--if, indeed, it will not cost you too much. Your love of
art does honestly rejoice me. Only say how it is to be done, and I will
send you all my works, which now amount to a considerable number, and are
daily increasing. I beg you will let me have my grandfather's portrait as
soon as possible by the post, in return for which I send you that of his
grandson, your loving and attached Beethoven. It has been brought out here
by Artaria, who, as well as many other publishers, has often urged this on
me. I intend soon to write to Stoffeln [Christoph von Breuning], and
plainly admonish him about his surly humor. I mean to sound in his ears our
old friendship, and to insist on his promising me not to annoy you further
in your sad circumstances. I will also write to the amiable Lorchen. Never
have I forgotten one of you, my kind friends, though you did not hear from
me; but you know well that writing never was my _forte_, even my best
friends having received no letters from me for years. I live wholly in my
music, and scarcely is one work finished when another is begun; indeed, I
am now often at work on three or four things at the same time. Do write to
me frequently, and I will strive to find time to write to you also. Give my
remembrances to all, especially to the kind Frau Hofräthin [von Breuning],
and say to her that I am still subject to an occasional _raptus_. As for
K----, I am not at all surprised at the change in her: Fortune rolls like a
ball, and does not always stop before the best and noblest. As to Ries
[Court musician in Bonn], to whom pray cordially remember me, I must say
one word. I will write to you more particularly about his son [Ferdinand],
although I believe that he would be more likely to succeed in Paris than in
Vienna, which is already overstocked, and where even those of the highest
merit find it a hard matter to maintain themselves. By next autumn or
winter, I shall be able to see what can be done for him, because then all
the world returns to town. Farewell, my kind, faithful Wegeler! Rest
assured of the love and friendship of your
BEETHOVEN.
15.
TO COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI.[1]
Morning, July 6, 1800.
MY ANGEL! MY ALL! MY SECOND SELF!