Congress he enjoyed European fame. He took an active part in the
fêtes, princes rendered him homage, and (as he afterwards boasted to
Schindler) he allowed himself to be courted by them. He was carried
away by his sympathy with the War of Independence.[41] In 1813 he
wrote a Symphony on _Wellington's Victory_ and in the beginning of
1814 a martial chorus, _Germany's Rebirth_ (_Germanias Wiedergeburt_).
On November 29th, 1814, he conducted before an audience of kings a
patriotic Cantata, _The Glorious Moment_ (_Der glorreiche Augenblick_),
and on the occasion of the capture of Paris in 1815 he composed a
Chorus, _It is accomplished_ (_Es ist vollbracht_). These occasional
pieces did more to spread his fame than all the rest of his music
together. The engraving by Blasius Hofel from a sketch by the
Frenchman Latronne and the savage-looking cast by Franz Klein in 1812
present a life-like image of Beethoven at the time of the Congress
of Vienna. The dominating characteristic of this leonine face with
its firm set jaws scored with the furrows of anger and trouble, is
determination--a Napoleonic will. One recognises the man who said of
Napoleon after Jena, "How unfortunate that I do not know as much about
warfare as music! I would show myself his master." But his kingdom was
not of this world. "My empire is in the air," he wrote to Franz von
Brunswick.[42]
* * * * *
After this hour of glory comes the saddest and most miserable period.
Vienna had never been sympathetic to Beethoven. Haughty and bold genius
as he was, he could not be at ease in this frivolous city with its
mundane and its mediocre spirit, which Wagner laughed to scorn later
on.[43] He lost no opportunities of going away; and towards 1808
he thought seriously of leaving Austria to go to the court of Jerome
Bonaparte, King of Westphalia.[44] But Vienna had abundant musical
resources; and one must do it justice by saying that there were always
noble _dilettanti_ who felt the grandeur of Beethoven, and who spared
their country the shame of losing him. In 1809, three of the richest
noblemen of Vienna, the Archduke Rudolph, a pupil of Beethoven, Prince
Lobkovitz and Prince Kinsky undertook to pay him annually a pension
of 4,000 florins on the sole condition that he remained in Austria.
"As it is evident," they said, "that a man can only devote himself
entirely to art when he is free from all material care, and that it
is only then that he can produce such sublime works which are the
glory of art, the undersigned have formed a resolution to release
Ludwig van Beethoven from the shadow of need, and thus disperse the
miserable obstacles which are so detrimental to his flights of genius."
Unhappily the results did not come up to the promises. The pension
was always very irregularly paid; soon it ceased altogether. Also
Vienna had very much changed in character after the Congress of 1814.
Society was distracted from art by politics. Musical taste was spoilt
by Italianism, and the fashionable people favoured Rossini, treating
Beethoven as pedantic.[45] Beethoven's friends and protectors went
away or died: Prince Kinsky in 1812, Lichnovsky in 1814, Lobkovitz in
1816. Rasumowsky, for whom he had written the three admirable Quartets,
Opus 59, gave his last concert in February, 1815. In 1815 Beethoven
quarrelled with Stephen von Breuning, the friend of his childhood, the
brother of Eleonore.[46] From this time he was alone.[47] "I have no
friends. I am alone in the world" he wrote in his notebook of 1816.
His deafness became complete.[48] After the autumn of 1815 he
could only communicate with his friends by writing.[49] The oldest
conversation-book is dated 1816.[50] There is a sad story recorded
by Schindler with regard to the representation of _Fidelio_ in 1822.
"Beethoven wanted to conduct the general rehearsal.... From the duet of
the First Act, it was evident that he could hear nothing of what was
going on. He kept back the pace considerably; and whilst the orchestra
followed his beat, the singer hurried the time. There followed general
confusion. The usual leader of the orchestra, Umlauf, suggested a
short rest, without giving any reason; and after exchanging a few
words with the singers, they began again. The same disorder broke out
afresh. Another interval was necessary. The impossibility of continuing
under Beethoven's direction was evident; but how could they make
him understand? No one had the heart to say to him, 'Go away, poor
unfortunate one, you cannot conduct.' Beethoven, uneasy and agitated,
turned from side to side, trying to read the expression of the
different faces, and to understand what the difficulty was: a silence
came over all. Suddenly he called me in his imperious manner. When I
was quite near to him, he handed me his pocket-book, and made signs to
me to write. I put down these words:
'I beg you not to continue; I will explain why at your house.'
With one leap he jumped from the platform, saying to me, 'Let us go
quickly.' He ran straight to his house, went in and threw himself down
on a sofa, covering his face with his hands; he remained like that
until dinner-time. At the table it was impossible to draw a word from
him; he wore an expression of complete despondency and profound grief.
After dinner when I wanted to leave him, he kept me, expressing a
desire not to be left alone. When we separated he asked me to go with
him to his doctor, who had a great reputation for complaints of the
ear. During the whole of my connection with Beethoven I do not know of
any day which can compare with this awful day of November. He had been
smitten to the heart, and until the day of his death, he retained the
impression of this terrible scene."[51]
Two years later, on 7 May, 1824, when conducting the _Choral Symphony_
(or rather, as the programme said, "taking part in the direction of
the concert") he heard nothing at all of the clamour of the audience
applauding him. He did not even suspect it, until one of the singers,
taking him by the hand turned him round; and he suddenly saw the
audience waving their hats and clapping their hands. An English
traveller, Russell, who saw him at the piano about the year 1825, says
that when he wanted to play quietly the notes did not sound and that
it was very moving to follow in silence the emotion animating him
expressed in his face, and in the movements of his fingers. Buried in
himself,[52] and separated from all mankind, his only consolation was
in Nature. "She was his sole confident," says Theresa of Brunswick,
"she was his refuge." Charles Neate, who knew him in 1815, says that he
never saw anyone who loved flowers, clouds and nature so devotedly[53];
he seemed to live in them. "No one on earth can love the country so
much as I," wrote Beethoven. "I love a tree more than a man." When in
Vienna he walked round the ramparts every day. In the country from
daybreak till night he walked alone, without hat, in sunshine or rain.
"Almighty God! In the woods I am happy, happy in the woods, where each
tree speaks through Thee. O God, what splendour! In the forests, on the
hills, it is the calm, the quiet, that helps me."
His unrestfulness of mind found some respite there.[54] He was harassed
by financial cares. He wrote in 1818, "I am almost reduced to beggary,
and I am obliged to pretend that I do not lack necessities"; and at
another time, "The _Sonata Op. 106_ has been written under pressing
circumstances. It is a hard thing to have to work for bread." Spohr
says that often he could not go out on account of his worn-out shoes.
He owed large debts to his publishers and his compositions did not
bring him in anything. The _Mass in D_, published by subscription,
obtained only seven subscribers (of whom not one was a musician).[55]
He received barely thirty or forty ducats for his fine Sonatas,
each one of which cost him three months' work. The Quartets, _Opp._
127, 130, and 132, amongst his profoundest works, which seem to be
written with his very heart-blood, were written for Prince Galitzin,
who neglected to pay for them. Beethoven was worn out with domestic
difficulties, and with endless law suits to obtain the pensions owing
to him or to retain the guardianship of a nephew, the son of his
brother Carl, who died of consumption in 1815.
He had bestowed on this child all the care and devotion with which his
heart overflowed. But he was repaid with cruel suffering. It seemed
that a kind of special fate had taken care to renew ceaselessly and to
accumulate his miseries in order that his genius should not lack for
food. At first he had a dispute over Carl with his mother, who wanted
to take him away. "O, my God," he cried, "my shield and my defence, my
only refuge! Thou readest the depths of my soul and Thou knowest the
griefs that I experience when I have to cause suffering to those who
want to dispute my Carl, my treasure.[56] Hearken unto me, Great Being,
that I know not how to name. Grant the fervent prayer of the most
unhappy of Thy creatures!"
"O God, aid me! Thou wilt not leave me entirely in the hands of
men; because I do not wish to make a covenant with injustice! Hear
the prayer which I make to Thee, that at least for the future I may
live with my Carl!... O cruel fate, implacable destiny! No, no, my
unhappiness will never end!"
Then this nephew, so passionately loved, proved unworthy of the
confidence of his uncle. The correspondence between Beethoven and him
is sad and revolting, like that of Michael Angelo with his brothers,
but more simple and touching.
"Am I to be repaid once again with the most abominable ingratitude?
Ah, well, if the bond must be broken, so be it! All impartial people
who hear of it will hate you. If the compact between us weighs too
heavily, in the name of God, may it be according to His will! I abandon
you to Providence; I have done all that I could; I am ready to appear
before the Supreme Judge!
"Spoilt as you are, that should not make it difficult to teach you to
be simple and true; my heart has suffered so much by your hypocritical
conduct, and it is difficult for me to forget.... God is my witness, I
only long to be a thousand miles from you and from that sorry brother
and from this abominable family.... I shall never more have confidence
in you." And he signed "Unhappily your father--or rather, not your
father." But pardon came almost immediately.
"My dear son! No more of this! Come to my arms. You shall not hear one
harsh word. I will receive you with the same love. We will talk over
what is to be done for your future in a friendly manner. On my word
of honour there will be no reproach. That would do no good. You have
nothing to expect from me but sympathy and the most loving care. Come,
come to the faithful heart of your father. Come immediately you receive
this letter, come to the house." (And on the envelope in French, "If
you do not come, you will surely kill me.")
"Do not deceive me," he begged, "be always my beloved son. What a
horrible discord it would be if you were to be false to me, as many
persons maintain that you already are.... Good-bye, he who has not
given you life but who has certainly preserved it, and who has taken
all possible care with your moral development, with an affection
more than paternal, begs you from the bottom of his heart to follow the
only true path of the good and the just.
Your faithful foster-father."[57]
After having cherished all kinds of dreams for the future of this
nephew, who was not lacking in intelligence and whom he wished to take
up a University career, Beethoven had to consent to make a merchant
of him. But Carl frequented gambling dens and contracted debts. By a
sad phenomenon, more frequent than one believes, the moral grandeur of
his uncle, instead of doing him good, made him worse. It exasperated
him, impelling him to revolt, as he said in those terrible words where
his miserable soul appears so plainly, "I have become worse because
my uncle wished me to do better." He reached such a state that in the
summer of 1826 he shot himself in the head with a pistol. He did not
die from it, but it was Beethoven who just missed dying. He never
recovered from this terrible fright.[58] Carl recovered; he lived to
the end to cause suffering to his uncle, whose death he hastened in no
slight measure. Nor was he with him at the hour of his death. "God has
never abandoned me," wrote Beethoven to his nephew, some years before.
"He will find someone to close my eyes." This was not to be the one
whom he called "his son."[59]
* * * * *
It was from the depth of this abyss that Beethoven undertook to chant
his immortal _Ode to Joy_. It was the plan of his whole life. As early
as 1793, he had thought of it at Bonn.[60] All his life he wished to
celebrate Joy; and to make it the climax of one of his great works. He
was always striving to find the exact form of the Hymn, and the work
where he could place it. He was far from being decided, even in his
_Ninth Symphony_.
Until the very last moment, he was on the point of putting off the
_Ode to Joy_ to a _Tenth_ or _Eleventh Symphony_. One ought to notice
that the _Ninth Symphony_ is not entitled _Choral Symphony_, but as
it is now invariably called, _Symphony with a Final Chorus on the Ode
to Joy_. It narrowly missed having another conclusion. In July, 1823,
Beethoven still thought of giving it an instrumental _finale_, which
he used later on for the quartet Op: 132. Both Czerny and Sonnleithner
say that even after the performance in May, 1824, Beethoven had not
abandoned this idea.
He found great technical difficulties in introducing the Chorus into
the Symphony, as is shown by Beethoven's note-books and his numerous
attempts to make the voices enter at another part of the work and in
a different manner. In the sketches for the second subject of the
_Adagio_[61] he wrote "Perhaps the Chorus could enter conveniently
here." But he could not decide to part from his faithful orchestra.
"When an idea comes to me," he said, "I hear it on an instrument, never
on a voice." So he put back the place for employing voices as late
as possible. At first he wanted to give the instruments not only the
_recitatives_ of the _Finale_[62] but even the Theme of Joy itself.
But we must go still further into the reason of these hesitations and
delays. The explanation is very deep. Continually tormented by grief,
this unfortunate man had always aspired to sing the excellence of Joy;
and from year to year he put off his task, held back ceaselessly by the
whirlwind of his passion and grief. It was only at the very last that
he succeeded. But with what a success!
At the moment when the Theme of Joy appears for the first time, the
orchestra stops abruptly, thus giving a sudden unexpected character
to the entrance of the Song. And this is a true touch; this theme is
rightly divine. Joy descends from heaven enveloped in a supernatural
calm; it soothes the suffering with its cool breath; and the first
impression that it makes, is so tender as it steals into the sorrowing
heart, that a friend of Beethoven has said "One feels inclined to weep,
as one looks into those soft, calm eyes of his." When the Theme passes
first to the voices, it is the Basses who present it first with a
solemn and rather weighty character. But, little, by little, Joy takes
possession of us. It is a real battle, a fight with sorrow. We can
hear the rhythms of marching, the armies moving. In the ardent panting
song of the tenor, in all these quivering pages we can almost feel
the breath of Beethoven himself, the rhythm of his breathing and his
inspired cries as he wandered across the fields, composing the work,
transported by a demoniacal fury, like King Lear in the middle of a
storm. After the war-like joy comes religious Ecstasy. Then follows a
sacred orgy, a very delirium of love. A whole trembling humanity lifts
its arms to the sky, utters powerful outcries, rushes forth towards
this Joy and clasps it to the heart.
This Titanic work overcame the indifference of the public. The
frivolous crowds of Vienna were moved for an instant, but they still
favoured Rossini and his Italian operas. Humiliated and saddened,
Beethoven was on the point of going to live in London and thought of
giving his _Ninth Symphony_ there. A second time, as in 1809, some
noble friends sent him a petition asking that he would not leave the
country. They said "We know that you have written a new composition
of sacred music[63] in which you have expressed sentiments inspired
by your profound faith. The supernatural light which penetrates your
great soul illumines the work. We know besides that the garland of
your inspired symphonies has been increased by an immortal flower....
Your absence during these last years has troubled all those whose eyes
are turned to you.[64] Everyone sadly thought that the man of genius
placed so high amongst living beings remained silent whilst another
kind of foreign art sought to plant itself in our country, causing the
productions of German art to be forgotten.... From you only, the
nation awaits new life, new laurels, and a new reign of truth and
beauty, despite the fashion of the day.... Give us the hope of soon
seeing our desires satisfied. And then the springtime which is coming
will blossom again doubly, thanks to your gifts to us and to the
world!"[65] This noble address shews what power, not only artistic but
also moral, Beethoven exercised over the _élite_ of Germany. The first
word which occurs to his followers who wish to praise his genius is
neither science, nor art; it is _faith_.[66]
Beethoven was deeply moved by these words. He stayed. On May 7th, 1824,
the first performance in Vienna of the _Mass in D_ and the _Ninth
Symphony_ took place. The success was amazing; and his greeting almost
of a seditious character for when Beethoven appeared he was accorded
five rounds of applause; whereas according to the strict etiquette of
the city, it was the custom to give three only for the entrance of the
Royal Family. The police had to put an end to the manifestations. The
Symphony raised frantic enthusiasm. Many wept. Beethoven fainted with
emotion after the concert; he was taken to Schindler's house where
he remained asleep all the night and the following morning, fully
dressed, neither eating nor drinking. The triumph was only fleeting,
however, and the concert brought in nothing for Beethoven. His material
circumstances of life were not changed by it. He found himself poor,
ill,[67] alone but a conquerer[68]: conqueror of the mediocrity
of mankind, conqueror of his destiny, conqueror of his suffering.
"Sacrifice, always sacrifice the trifles of life to art! God is over
all!"
* * * * *
He had then completed the object of his whole life. He had tasted
perfect Joy. Would he be able to rest on this triumph of the soul which
ruled the tempest? Certainly he ought to feel the relief from the days
of his past anguish. Indeed his last quartets are full of strange
forebodings. But it seems that the victory of the _Ninth Symphony_ had
left its glorious traces in its nature. The plans which he had for
the future:[69] the _Tenth_ _Symphony_,[70] the overture on the name
of BACH, the music for Grillparzer's _Melusina_,[71] for Körner's
_Odyssey_ and Goethe's _Faust_,[72] the Biblical oratorio of _Saul and
David_, all shew that he was attracted by the mighty serenity of the
old German masters--Bach and Handel--and more still to the light of the
South--the South of France or Italy, where he hoped to travel.[73]
Dr. Spiker, who saw him in 1826, said that his face had become
smiling and jovial. The same year when Grillparzer spoke to him
for the last time, it was Beethoven who had more energy than the
worn-out poet: "Ah!" said the latter, "if I had a thousandth part of
your strength and determination." Times were hard; the monarchial
reaction oppressed their spirits. "The censors have killed me,"
groaned Grillparzer. "One must go to North America if one wishes to
speak freely." But no power could put a stop to Beethoven's thoughts.
"Words are bound in chains, but, happily, sounds are still free," he
wrote to the poet Kuffner. Beethoven's is the great voice of freedom,
perhaps the only one then of the whole of German thought. He felt it.
Often he spoke of the duty which was imposed on him to act by means
of his art "for poor humanity, for humanity to come, to restore its
courage and to shake off its lassitude and cowardice." "At the present
time," he wrote to his nephew, "there is need for mighty spirits to
lash into action these wretched rebellious human souls." Dr. Müller
said in 1827 that "Beethoven always expressed himself freely on the
subjects of government, the police, the aristocracy, even in public.
The police knew him but they looked on his criticisms and satires as
harmless fancies, and they did not care to interfere with the man whose
genius had such an extraordinary reputation."[74] Thus nothing was
able to break this indomitable will. It seemed now to make sport of
grief. The music written in these last years, in spite of the painful
circumstances under which it was composed,[75] has often quite a new,
ironical character of heroic and joyous disdain. The very last piece
that he finished, the new _Finale_ to the _Quartet, Op. 130_, is very
gay. This was in November 1826, four months before his death. In truth
this gaiety is not of the usual kind; for at times it is the harsh and
spasmodic laughter of which Moscheles speaks; often it is the affecting
smile, the result of suffering conquered. It matters not; he is the
conqueror. He does not believe in death.
It came, however. At the end of November, 1826, he caught a chill
which turned to pleurisy: he was taken ill in Vienna when returning
from a journey undertaken in winter to arrange for the future of his
nephew.[76] He was far from his friends.
He told his nephew to go for a doctor. The wretch forgot his
commission and only remembered two days after. The doctor came too
late and treated Beethoven unskillfully. For three months his iron
constitution fought against the illness. On January 3rd, 1827, he
made his well-loved nephew his chief executor. He thought of his dear
friends on the Rhine; he wrote again to Wegeler: "How I would like
to talk with you! But I am too weak. I can do no more than embrace
you in my heart, you and your Lorchen." Poverty would have made his
last moments more gloomy, had it not been for the generosity of some
English friends. He had become very gentle and very patient.[77] On his
death-bed on February 17th, 1827, after three operations and awaiting
a fourth,[78] he wrote with perfect calmness, "I am patient and I
think that all misfortune brings some blessing with it." This boon
was deliverance--"the end of the comedy," as he said when dying. We
might say rather the end of the _tragedy_.... He died in the climax of
a violent storm, a tempest of snow, heavily punctuated with terrible
thunder claps. A strange hand closed his eyes,[79] March 26th, 1827.
* * * * *
Beloved Beethoven! So many others have praised his artistic grandeur.
But he is easily the first of musicians. He is the most heroic soul
in modern art. He is the grandest and the best friend of those who
suffer and struggle. When we are saddened by worldly miseries, it is he
who comes near to us, as he used to go and play to a mother in grief,
and without uttering a word thus console her by the song of his own
plaintive resignation. And when we are utterly exhausted in the eternal
battle uselessly waged against mediocrity, vice and virtue, it is an
unspeakable boon to find fresh strength in this great ocean-torrent
of strong will and faith. An atmosphere of courage emanates from his
personality, a love of battle,[80] the exultation of a conscious
feeling of the _God within_. It seems that in his constant communion
with nature[81] he had ended by assimilating its deep and mighty
powers. Grillparzer, who admired Beethoven with a kind of awe, said
of him, "He penetrated into regions where art melts away and unites
with the wild and capricious elements." Schumann wrote similarly of
his _Symphony in C minor_: "Every time it is performed it exercises an
unvarying power on us, like natural phenomena which fill us with awe
and amazement every time they occur." And Schindler, his confidential
friend, says, "He possessed the spirit of nature." It is true,
"Beethoven is a force of nature; and this battle of elemental power
against the rest of nature is a spectacle of truly Homeric grandeur."