FOOTNOTES:

"My good Friends,—Herewith each will receive his part, and must with it promise allegiance, and pledge himself in all honour to do his very best to distinguish himself, and to vie with the others in zeal."Every one who wishes to take part in the affair must sign this paper."(Here follow the four signatures.)

"Every one who wishes to take part in the affair must sign this paper."

(Here follow the four signatures.)

On one occasion a new pianoforte quartet by Förster, a well-known composer of the day, was in progress of rehearsal. The violoncellist was suddenlycalled out, when Beethoven, who was at the pianoforte, instantly began to sing the missing part in addition to going on with his own, which he read for the first time.

The Prince, astonished, asked him how he could sing music with which he was not acquainted. Beethoven smiled and replied, "The bassmusthave been so, otherwise the author could have known nothing whatever of composition." On the Prince remarking further, that Beethoven had taken thePrestoso quickly that it was impossible for him to have seen the notes, he answered, "That is not at all necessary. A multitude of faults in the printing do not signify. If you only know the language, you don't see them or pay any heed to them."

To show the good understanding between Beethoven and the Princess Christiane, we give the following anecdote here, although it properly belongs to a later period.

One evening, Ries, while still Beethoven's pupil, in performing a sonata before a large company, played a wrong note, on which the master tapped him on the head with one finger by way of reminder. Beethoven next took his seat at the pianoforte, and the Princess (who always felt for the weak, and had observed that Ries was rather vexed by the occurrence) stationed herself behind the composer. Beethoven played the beginning of one of his own compositions rather carelessly, as he was often wont to do in commencing, when the Princess seized her opportunity, and giving him several well-directed blows, said: "When a pupilis punished with one finger for having failed in a single note, the master deserves to be punished with the whole hand for graver faults!" "Everybody began to laugh," adds Ries, "and Beethoven the first. He recommenced, and played admirably."

In the year 1793, the first of that unparalleled series of works which ended only in 1827 with Beethoven's death—the three Trios for pianoforte, violin, and 'cello, Op. I.,—was publicly performed; that is to say, before a large and brilliant assembly in the Lichnowski Palace. The result was most gratifying, alike to the composer and to his friends—Beethoven was at once recognised as the successor of Mozart. One incident alone detracted from the happiness of the young author. Haydn, who was present, while warmly praising the two first trios, strongly recommended that the last, in C minor, should not be published.

Beethoven's suspicion, already on the alert, was fairly roused by this apparently well-meaning advice. Why should that particular trio be kept back? He himself thought it the best and most original of the three, and as such it is now generally regarded.

It offered, however, such a contrast to his own simple style of trio-writing, that Haydn was, perhaps, honest in stating as his reason for advocating its non-publication that he did not believe the public would understand it. Beethoven, however, was strengthened by this occurrence in his conviction that Haydn "did not mean well by him;" and, though he deferred to the criticism at the time (probably more out of regard to Lichnowski's representations) a bitter feeling towards his former master rankled in his heart. This did not prevent his dedicating the three Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. II., to Haydn. The dedication, however, was a mere mark of appreciation, not of the man, but of his works, a compliment from one artist to the other—not a grateful recognition of the master by the pupil. In fact, when Haydn wished him to inscribe on the title-page, "Pupil of Haydn," he flatly refused, saying that he "had never learned anything from him!"

We have said that he deferred to Haydn's criticism, but he went beyond it. If the C minor trio was not to be published, neither should the other two. So the unlucky works were thrust back into his portfolio, where they lay for two years, during which the irate composer paved the way for their proper reception by publishing an immense number of bagatelles, especially variations on different themes, which have no great value beyond that attached to them as studies in the development of Beethoven's genius.

Although evincing more ingenuity and variety than the themes treated by Mozart in the same way, they are often found unequal to the latter in clearness.[14]Beethoven seems to have had a lingering partiality for this style of writing. After having abandoned it, we find it adopted again in the Thirty-two Variations Sérieuses on an original theme, which were written after he had more than established his success in the Sonata form; and, so anxious was he to have themwell understood and rendered, that he made Ries, when studying them with him, repeat the last no fewer than seventeen times before he was satisfied with the effect; "though," adds Ries rather naïvely, "I thought I played it as well as Beethoven himself!"

The growth of the Thirty-three Variations, Op. 120, we must leave to Schindler to relate:—

"In the villa of Hetzendorf, Beethoven wrote the Thirty-three Variations on a Waltz by Diabelli, a work which delighted him uncommonly. At first there were only to be six or seven variations, for which modest number Diabelli had offered him eighty ducats (the price he received for almost each of his later Sonatas). But when he set to work, there sprang into life first ten, then twenty, then twenty-five—and still he could not stop. When Diabelli heard of the twenty-five variations, he was greatly concerned lest the work should be too large, but was at last obliged to accept for his eighty ducats, notseven, butthree and thirty variations." The following story is a proof of the ease with which he invented variations. Being one evening in a box with a lady during a performance of "La Molinare," she lamented to him that she had once possessed a number of variations on the air "Nel cor non più mi sento," which she had lost. Next morning she received "Sei variazioni perdute per la—ritrovate per Luigi v. Beethoven."

The year 1795 brought with it two events: one the arrival of his brothers in Vienna; the other his first appearance in public as a virtuoso. Hitherto his performances had been confined to the LichnowskiPalace, and other private houses, and public curiosity had long been whetted by the various rumours which flew about concerning him. At length it was to be gratified, on the occasion of the Annual Concert for the Widows and Orphans of Musicians. The direction of this was usually entrusted to Salieri, who held thebâtonat the Italian Opera-house, and his programme for the year 1795 consisted of an operetta, composed by one of his pupils, and a Pianoforte Concerto in C major by another, Herr Louis van Beethoven.

Wegeler relates that two days before the date fixed for the event the Concerto was not yet finished, and there did not seem much probability of its being ready in time, as Beethoven was suffering much from attacks of colic, to which he was often subject. Wegeler, from his medical knowledge, was able to render a little assistance, and so the work progressed, Beethoven writing as fast as he could, and handing over each sheet as it was finished to four copyists who were in attendance in the antechamber. Next day, at the rehearsal, the pianoforte was found to have been tuned half a tone lower than the other instruments; when Beethoven, to save time, played the whole Concerto through in the key of C sharp!

Seyfried tells us that when Beethoven asked him to turn over the leaves of several of his concertos for him while playing in public, he found nothing but a sheet of paper with here and there a bar filled in, or a mass of notes unintelligible to any one but the composer. Jahn describes Mozart as doing thesame, but what a difference is there between his concertos and—say,the Emperor!

The year 1796 was marked by a slight variation; Beethoven made a short journey to Prague and Berlin, the only occasion, with the exception of his visit to the Baths, on which he ever left Vienna or its neighbourhood. In both cities he met with a flattering reception. In Berlin he played his two sonatas for pianoforte and 'cello, Op. 5, before Frederick William II., who presented him with a snuff-box filled with Friedrichs-d'or; "not an ordinary snuff-box," as Beethoven was wont to remark with grim satisfaction, "but one similar to those given to ambassadors!"

Here, also, he unwittingly incurred the enmity of the pianist Himmel. The latter had begged Beethoven for an improvisation, with which request our musician complied, and then asked Himmel to favour him in return. Nothing loath, Himmel seated himself at the pianoforte and began a succession of smooth running passages and arpeggios, skilfully linked together. Beethoven listened for a while in silence, imagining this to be the prelude, but as it seemed to "go on for ever," he said with some impatience, "Pray do begin now!" Himmel, however had already exhausted his imagination and finished his (quasi) improvisation.

No better fate awaited others who opposed themselves to Beethoven as improvisatori, not excepting the celebrated pianists Woelfl and Steibelt. That the former could ever have been seriously regardedas the rival of Beethoven is scarcely credible to us. Such was the case, however, and as with Gluck and Picini in Paris, and Handel and Buononcini in London (connected with which Swift's well-knownjeu-d'espritwill occur to every amateur), so it was with Beethoven and Woelfl in Vienna. Each had his allies, and party spirit ran so high that Beethoven, although devoid of any feeling of rivalry, accepted a challenge to improvise. The meeting took place at the villa of Baron von Wetzlar, Woelfl's patron; the pianofortes were placed side by side, and the two artists played and improvised by turns.

Inspired by the ardour of contest, each seemed to surpass himself; never had Woelfl's technical skill seemed greater; never had the wealth of Beethoven's ideas shone out more resplendently. Some of Woelfl's stoutest adherents contended that he had gained the day in a technical point of view, and this may, perhaps, have been the case, since his immense hand, which enabled him to grasp tenths with the same ease as octaves, undoubtedly gave him an advantage. His sonata, "Non plus ultra," gives us an idea of his execution.

Beethoven, on the other hand, never cared to make a display of mere dash and brilliancy; technicalities were always subordinated by him to idea and feeling.

The gift of improvisation must have been his to an extent unparalleled either before or since. His wealth of idea, certainty of form, and poetry of expression, combined to produce an effect very different from that achieved by ordinary extempore players,who in general, as we have seen in the case of Himmel, mistook the art of preluding for that of improvising. Only one conversant with that language of music to which Beethoven often alluded, could venture, without preparation, to speak to any purpose in it.

A circumstance that contributed to his success was hispower of abstraction, which, in common with all deep thinkers, he possessed in a remarkable degree. With the first few bars of the given Thema, the scene before his eyes, the daylight, the bystanders, all vanished; and Beethoven was as fully immersed in the solitude of his own thoughts as though he had been suddenly transported to some desert island, with penguins and sea-gulls for listeners.

Ries gives a curious instance of this utter disregard of all outward things, in the story of the great master's commencing one day, while giving him a lesson, to play with the left hand the first fugue from Graun's "Tod Jesu." Gradually the right hand was added, and regardless of his awkward position, the fugue developed in all conceivable manners for the space of half an hour, when he suddenly awoke to discover that his pupil was still in his place before the pianoforte.

In 1800 a more formidable rival appeared at Vienna in the person of Steibelt. Having conceived a great idea of his own powers from the flattery of his Parisian admirers, Steibelt came to the capital sure of conquest, and did not even consider it necessary to visit the opponent so far beneath him. They met accidentally at the house of Count Fries, "where," says Ferdinand Ries, "Beethoven played for the first time[15]his Trio in B flat major for piano; clarionet, and 'cello, Op. 11, in which there is not much room for display. Steibelt heard it with a kind of condescension, paid Beethoven several compliments, and believed himself sure of victory. He played a quintet of his own composition, and then improvised, and produced a great sensation by his free use oftremolo, which was at that time something quite new. To ask Beethoven to play again was not to be thought of. Eight days after there was again a concert at Count Fries'. Steibelt played another quintet with great success; he had besides, as might be easily perceived,studieda brilliant improvisation, and chosen for a subject the theme on which the finale of Beethoven's trio was built. This disgusted the admirers of Beethoven, and displeased the latter also. It was his turn to seat himself at the pianoforte and to improvises. He placed himself at the instrument with his ordinary air—I might say, rather ill-humouredly, and as if pushed there. In passing, he seized the violoncello part of Steibelt's quintet, placed it upside down on the desk (was this designedly?), and drummed out with one finger the theme of the first few bars.

"Then, impelled by his insulted and excited feelings, he improvised in such a manner that Steibeltquitted the room before Beethoven had ceased. He would never meet him again, and, when invited anywhere, always stipulated that Beethoven should not be present."

But enough of such anecdotes! Triumphs which would have been glory to others were nothing to him. Let us pass on and see the master in the great struggle which prefaced the real commencement of life's work, and was continued without intermission until the victory was won.

FOOTNOTES:[14]Marx, vol. i., p. 66.[15]This is evidently an error. The Trio had been published in 1798.—Thayer, Vol. II., p. 101.

[14]Marx, vol. i., p. 66.

[15]This is evidently an error. The Trio had been published in 1798.—Thayer, Vol. II., p. 101.

CONFLICT.

Deafness and its Consequences—His Brothers' Influence—Letters to Wegeler—"Mount of Olives"—Beethoven's Will—Beethoven as an Instructor—a Conductor—Sinfonia Eroica—"Leonora" ("Fidelio")—"Adelaïde."

uffering and genius! apparently so far apart, in reality so near!

The bitter cry of Milton,—

"Dark, dark, dark, amidst the blaze of noon!"

has gone up from many a thousand hearts to the eternal throne; but who may presume to fathom the dispensations of a mysterious providence? or to question that wisdom which gives to every earthborn soul the necessary discipline for immortality? Let us rather wonder and adore, and—

"Know how sublime a thing it isTo suffer andbe strong."

We left our young musician in the full flush of success, in apparently vigorous health, caressed andflattered by princes, without a rival as a virtuoso, and fast leaving all competitors behind him as a composer, when suddenly a cloud appears, the brightness is overcast, and darkness comes on apace.Beethoven became deaf.

For three years he had had premonitory fears, which were too sadly realized in the year 1801.

The loss of hearing is deprivation enough in ordinary cases; but to a young man of excitable artist temperament, and a musician! it seemed for a while worse than the loss of life itself. Our Beethoven writes thus to Wegeler:—

"If I had not read somewhere that man must not of his own free will depart this life, I should long ere this have been no more, and that through my own act."

From this despair he was mercifully rescued. The strong, secret voice within, impelling Beethoven onwards and upwards to that aim which he "felt, but could not describe," spoke now in more stirring accents and with more thrilling emphasis amid the profound silence and desolation of his nature.

He "was not disobedient" to the heavenly call; the triumph of mind was achieved; and from the dark prison-house the noblest strains the world has ever heard escaped to wake responsive echoes in the hearts of all who have felt and suffered.

But this victory was not gained without leaving behind it evident tokens of the struggle; distrust, suspicion, irritability, those constant attendants on deafness, haunted Beethoven day and night, poisoning his happiness, and casting their shadow over his childlike, benevolent disposition. Stephan Breuning writes thus of the alteration in his friend in a letter dated the 13th of November, 1806:—"You cannot realize the indescribable impression made upon Beethoven by the loss of his hearing. Imagine, with his excitable temperament, the feeling of unhappiness, added to reserve, distrust of his best friends, and indecision in many things. In general, intercourse with him is a positive exertion, in which it is impossible to feel entirely at one's ease; the occasions on which his old true nature shows itself are few indeed."

Schindler, also his friend and biographer, describes him as being "like a child, devoid of all experience, suddenly cast upon this earth from some ideal world; like a ball, tossed from one hand to another; consequently, at the mercy of other people. And," he adds, "so Beethoven remained throughout his whole life."

These evils were increased by the presence of his brothers, Carl and Johann (the "evil principles" of his life, as Schindler calls them), who now began to exercise an almost unlimited influence over him. These men seem to have been totally incapable of appreciating the true character or work of Ludwig; they only saw that he was making money rapidly (and, as they thought, easily), and determined to take advantage of it. To this end they resolved to obtain entire possession of him, and began by endeavouring to alienate as far as possible Beethoven'sfriends, misrepresenting to him all that occurred, and fanning every little spark of anger into a flame.

Their efforts partially succeeded; our unhappy composer, absorbed in his own creations, overwhelmed by his misfortune, and intensely irritable, was but too ready to believe all the world in league against him, and would have shut the door against his best friends. Prince Lichnowski alone had still some weight with him, and when once persuaded that he had acted unjustly, nothing could exceed Beethoven's contrition and desire to make amends to those he had wounded.

But he would never lay any blame upon his brothers, and even when their duplicity and falseness had been clearly pointed out to him, he would still continue to defend them strenuously, refusing to look upon their conduct in any but the most favourable light, and adding, "After all, they are my brothers."

It may easily be believed how, with dispositions such as those of Carl and Johann, this mistaken lenity and brotherly feeling confirmed them in their course. It was they who generally made all arrangements with the music publishers, and through their instrumentality many minor pieces were given to the world which the composer had produced in Bonn, and kept back from publication as unworthy of his name.

Such a consideration, however, had no weight with the two; money they wanted, and were resolved to get at all hazards. Once only did Beethoven comeinto collision with them regarding this, when he discovered that Carl had, without his knowledge, sold a copyright which had been promised to another person.

Carl held a situation in the National Bank of Austria, and Johann had been established by Beethoven as an apothecary. In a very short time, however, the latter became so wealthy (how?) as to be able to exchange the pestle and mortar for the state of a country gentleman. Of this he was so immoderately proud, that one New Year's day he sent in to his brother a card, on which was written,—

"Johann van Beethoven, Land Proprietor."

The composer, who was at table when it was brought to him, laughed heartily, and writing on the other side,—

"Ludwig van Beethoven, Brain Proprietor,"

sent it back to him.

The following letters to Wegeler display, more fully than we can describe, Beethoven's condition during the first few years of his calamity:—

"Vienna, 29th June, (1801.)"My dear good Wegeler,—How much I thank you for your remembrance of me! I have deserved it, and sought to deserve it, so little; and yet you are so good, and will not allow yourself to be discouraged even by my unpardonable neglect—you are always the same true, good, worthy friend. ThatI could ever forget you or yours, who were once so dear and precious to me, do not believe; there are moments in which I long for you, and wish that it were in my power to spend some time with you. My fatherland, the lovely spot in which I first saw the light, is as distinct and beautiful before my eyes now as when I first left you. In short, I shall consider it one of the happiest events of my life when I am able to see you, and to greet our Father Rhine again. When this will be I cannot positively say. So much I will tell you—you shall not see me again until I have become really great—not as an artist only, but a better and more perfect man: and if the prosperity of my country be once more re-established, my art shall be devoted solely to the relief of the poor. Oh blissful moment! how happy do I consider myself in being able to procure thee—to create thee!"You want to know something about my position? Well, after all it is not so bad. Lichnowski is still, and always has been, my warmest friend, however incredible it may appear to you. (Of course there were little misunderstandings between us; but did they not serve rather to cement our friendship?) Since last year he has settled on me a pension of six hundred guldens, which I am to draw until I find an appointment suited to me. I make a great deal by my compositions; indeed, I may say that there are more demands upon me than I can execute. For every one of my works I have at least six or seven publishers, and could have more if I wished. They do not drive bargains with me now: I demand, andthey pay. You see this is a very good thing. If, for instance, I see a friend in difficulty, and am not in funds to help him immediately, I have only to sit down and write, and in a short time he is relieved. I am also more economical than I used to be. If I remain here permanently, I shall certainly contrive to reserve one day in every year for a grand concert, of which I have already given several. That malicious demon, bad health, has cast a stumblingblock in my path—for the last three years my hearing has gradually become weaker. The original cause of this defect is the state of my digestive organs, which, as you know, was formerly bad enough, but has now become much worse, for I have been constantly troubled with diarrhœa, which has induced extreme weakness. Frank tried to restore the tone to my constitution by strengthening medicines, and to my hearing by oil of almonds, butprosit!with no good effect; my hearing grew worse, and my digestion remained in the same state. This lasted till the autumn of last year, and I was often in despair. Then one medicalasinusrecommended cold bathing for my complaint; another, a little more sensible, the ordinary tepid Danube bath. This worked wonders; my digestion became better, but my deafness continued as bad as ever, or grew worse. Last winter I was truly miserable, suffering so dreadfully from colic that I fell completely back again into my former state, in which I continued till about four weeks ago, when I went to consult Vering;[16]partlybecause I think my complaint requires surgical treatment, and partly also because I have always had confidence in him. He succeeded in almost entirely arresting the violent diarrhœa. He ordered me the tepid Danube bath, into which I pour every time a phial of some strengthening mixture; but he gave me no medicine at all, except four days ago some digestive pills and a lotion for the ears. I must say I find myself much stronger and better for this treatment, but the buzzing and ringing in my ears continues day and night."I may say that I pass my life wretchedly; for nearly two years I have avoided all society, because I cannot possibly say to people, 'I am deaf!' If I were in any other profession it would not so much signify, but for a musician it is a really frightful condition. Besides, what would my enemies say to it?—and they are not few!"To give you an idea of this extraordinary deafness, I must tell you that in the theatre I am obliged to lean forward quite close to the orchestra in order to understand the actors. The high tones of the instruments and voices I do not hear if I am a little way off. In conversation it is surprising that there are some people who do not observe it—they attribute it to the absent fits which I often have. Many a time I can with difficulty distinguish the tones, but not the words, of any person who speaks in a low voice; and yet, directly any one begins to shout, it is unendurable to me. What is to be the result of all this, the good God alone knows. Vering says thatmy condition will certainly improve, though I may not be perfectly restored. I have often already—cursed my existence. Plutarch has led me to resignation. I am resolved, if possible, to defy my fate, although there should be moments in my life when I shall be the most unhappy of all God's creatures."I beg of you not to mention my state to any one, not even to Lorchen;[17]I only confide it as a secret to you. I should like much if you would correspond some day with Vering about it. Should my affliction continue, I shall come next spring to you. You shall hire a house for me in some lovely spot in the country, and there I shall become a peasant for six months. Perhaps that might bring about a change. Resignation! what a miserable refuge! and yet the only one left to me!"You must forgive me for adding the burden of these friendly cares to your troubles, already gloomy enough. Steffen Breuning[18]is now here, and we are almost every day together; it does me so much good to call up the old feelings. He has become really a capital fellow, who knows something, and has his heart pretty much in the right place, like us all."I have very pleasant rooms now close to the Ramparts,[19]which is doubly advantageous for my health. I think I shall be able to manage so that Breuning may come to me.

"Vienna, 29th June, (1801.)

"My dear good Wegeler,—How much I thank you for your remembrance of me! I have deserved it, and sought to deserve it, so little; and yet you are so good, and will not allow yourself to be discouraged even by my unpardonable neglect—you are always the same true, good, worthy friend. ThatI could ever forget you or yours, who were once so dear and precious to me, do not believe; there are moments in which I long for you, and wish that it were in my power to spend some time with you. My fatherland, the lovely spot in which I first saw the light, is as distinct and beautiful before my eyes now as when I first left you. In short, I shall consider it one of the happiest events of my life when I am able to see you, and to greet our Father Rhine again. When this will be I cannot positively say. So much I will tell you—you shall not see me again until I have become really great—not as an artist only, but a better and more perfect man: and if the prosperity of my country be once more re-established, my art shall be devoted solely to the relief of the poor. Oh blissful moment! how happy do I consider myself in being able to procure thee—to create thee!

"You want to know something about my position? Well, after all it is not so bad. Lichnowski is still, and always has been, my warmest friend, however incredible it may appear to you. (Of course there were little misunderstandings between us; but did they not serve rather to cement our friendship?) Since last year he has settled on me a pension of six hundred guldens, which I am to draw until I find an appointment suited to me. I make a great deal by my compositions; indeed, I may say that there are more demands upon me than I can execute. For every one of my works I have at least six or seven publishers, and could have more if I wished. They do not drive bargains with me now: I demand, andthey pay. You see this is a very good thing. If, for instance, I see a friend in difficulty, and am not in funds to help him immediately, I have only to sit down and write, and in a short time he is relieved. I am also more economical than I used to be. If I remain here permanently, I shall certainly contrive to reserve one day in every year for a grand concert, of which I have already given several. That malicious demon, bad health, has cast a stumblingblock in my path—for the last three years my hearing has gradually become weaker. The original cause of this defect is the state of my digestive organs, which, as you know, was formerly bad enough, but has now become much worse, for I have been constantly troubled with diarrhœa, which has induced extreme weakness. Frank tried to restore the tone to my constitution by strengthening medicines, and to my hearing by oil of almonds, butprosit!with no good effect; my hearing grew worse, and my digestion remained in the same state. This lasted till the autumn of last year, and I was often in despair. Then one medicalasinusrecommended cold bathing for my complaint; another, a little more sensible, the ordinary tepid Danube bath. This worked wonders; my digestion became better, but my deafness continued as bad as ever, or grew worse. Last winter I was truly miserable, suffering so dreadfully from colic that I fell completely back again into my former state, in which I continued till about four weeks ago, when I went to consult Vering;[16]partlybecause I think my complaint requires surgical treatment, and partly also because I have always had confidence in him. He succeeded in almost entirely arresting the violent diarrhœa. He ordered me the tepid Danube bath, into which I pour every time a phial of some strengthening mixture; but he gave me no medicine at all, except four days ago some digestive pills and a lotion for the ears. I must say I find myself much stronger and better for this treatment, but the buzzing and ringing in my ears continues day and night.

"I may say that I pass my life wretchedly; for nearly two years I have avoided all society, because I cannot possibly say to people, 'I am deaf!' If I were in any other profession it would not so much signify, but for a musician it is a really frightful condition. Besides, what would my enemies say to it?—and they are not few!

"To give you an idea of this extraordinary deafness, I must tell you that in the theatre I am obliged to lean forward quite close to the orchestra in order to understand the actors. The high tones of the instruments and voices I do not hear if I am a little way off. In conversation it is surprising that there are some people who do not observe it—they attribute it to the absent fits which I often have. Many a time I can with difficulty distinguish the tones, but not the words, of any person who speaks in a low voice; and yet, directly any one begins to shout, it is unendurable to me. What is to be the result of all this, the good God alone knows. Vering says thatmy condition will certainly improve, though I may not be perfectly restored. I have often already—cursed my existence. Plutarch has led me to resignation. I am resolved, if possible, to defy my fate, although there should be moments in my life when I shall be the most unhappy of all God's creatures.

"I beg of you not to mention my state to any one, not even to Lorchen;[17]I only confide it as a secret to you. I should like much if you would correspond some day with Vering about it. Should my affliction continue, I shall come next spring to you. You shall hire a house for me in some lovely spot in the country, and there I shall become a peasant for six months. Perhaps that might bring about a change. Resignation! what a miserable refuge! and yet the only one left to me!

"You must forgive me for adding the burden of these friendly cares to your troubles, already gloomy enough. Steffen Breuning[18]is now here, and we are almost every day together; it does me so much good to call up the old feelings. He has become really a capital fellow, who knows something, and has his heart pretty much in the right place, like us all.

"I have very pleasant rooms now close to the Ramparts,[19]which is doubly advantageous for my health. I think I shall be able to manage so that Breuning may come to me.

"Your Antiochus[20]you shall have, together with plenty of music from me,—that is, if you do not fear its costing you too much. Honestly, your love of art rejoices me greatly. Only let me know how to set about it, and I shall send you all my works, which now amount to a pretty number, and are daily added to."Instead of the portrait of my grandfather (which I beg you to send me as soon as possible with the mail), I send you that of his grandson, your ever loving and affectionate Beethoven. It has been brought out here by Artaria, who, as well as other publishers, has often begged me for it. I shall write next to Stoffeln[21], and read him a lecture about his peevish temper. I shall sound our old friendship well in his ears, and get him to promise sacredly not to annoy you again in your present sad position."Never have I forgotten one of you, my dear, good friends, although I may not have written often to you; but writing, as you know, was never myforté; even my best friends have not heard from me for years. I live only in my music; and, no sooner is one thing completed, than another is begun. In fact, as at present, I am often engaged on three or four compositions at one time."Write me now frequently; I shall make a point of finding time to write you occasionally. Give my kind regards to all, especially to the good Frau Hofräthin[22], and tell her that even now I sometimes have a 'raptus.'

"Instead of the portrait of my grandfather (which I beg you to send me as soon as possible with the mail), I send you that of his grandson, your ever loving and affectionate Beethoven. It has been brought out here by Artaria, who, as well as other publishers, has often begged me for it. I shall write next to Stoffeln[21], and read him a lecture about his peevish temper. I shall sound our old friendship well in his ears, and get him to promise sacredly not to annoy you again in your present sad position.

"Never have I forgotten one of you, my dear, good friends, although I may not have written often to you; but writing, as you know, was never myforté; even my best friends have not heard from me for years. I live only in my music; and, no sooner is one thing completed, than another is begun. In fact, as at present, I am often engaged on three or four compositions at one time.

"Write me now frequently; I shall make a point of finding time to write you occasionally. Give my kind regards to all, especially to the good Frau Hofräthin[22], and tell her that even now I sometimes have a 'raptus.'

"With regard to K——, I am not at all surprised at the change. Fortune rolls on like a ball; and naturally, therefore, does not always stop at what is noblest and best. One word for Ries,[23]to whom remember me cordially. With regard to his son,[24]I shall write you more particularly, but I believe that Paris offers a better field for his exertions than Vienna, which is so overstocked that even people of the greatest merit find it a hard matter to maintain themselves. By autumn or winter I shall see what I can do for him, for then everybody will have returned to town."Farewell, my good, faithful Wegeler. Rest assured of the love and friendship of your"Beethoven."

"Farewell, my good, faithful Wegeler. Rest assured of the love and friendship of your

"Beethoven."

Vienna, November, 16th, 1801."My dear Wegeler,—For this fresh proof of your solicitude about me, I must thank you the more, that I deserve it so little. You want to know how I am progressing, and what remedies I use; however unwilling I am in general to refer to this subject, I do so with the least reluctance to you."For several months past, Vering has ordered me to apply blisters constantly to both arms, made of a certain kind of bark, which you doubtless know. This is a most disagreeable remedy, inasmuch as(without taking the pain into consideration) I am deprived of the free use of my arms for a few days, until the blisters have drawn sufficiently. It is true, and I cannot deny it, that the buzzing and ringing are somewhat less than formerly, especially in the left ear, that in which my malady first commenced—but my hearing is certainly not a whit better. I dare not say positively that it has not rather grown worse."My digestion is better, especially after using the tepid baths, when I feel tolerably well for eight or ten days. Tonics I very seldom take, but follow your advice now with regard to the herb-plasters. Plunge baths Vering will not hear of. On the whole, I am not at all pleased with him; he has far too little solicitude or indulgence for a malady such as mine; if I did not go to him, and this I cannot do without great difficulty, I should never see him. What do you think of Schmidt?[25]I am unwilling to make a change, but it seems to me that Vering is too much of a practitioner to gain fresh ideas by reading. With regard to this, Schmidt appears a very different sort of man, and might also, perhaps, not be quite so negligent of my case."I hear wonders of galvanism—what say you to it? A medical man told me that he had known a deaf and dumb child whose hearing was fully restored by it (in Berlin), and also a man who, afterhaving been deaf for seven years, recovered his hearing. They tell me that your friend Schmidt is making experiments on the subject."I lead a somewhat more agreeable life now that I mingle more with other people. You can hardly realize what a miserable, desolate life mine has been for the last two years. Like a ghost did my deafness haunt me everywhere, till I fled society, and must have appeared a misanthrope—yet this is so little my character."This change has been brought about by a lovely and fascinating girl,[26]who loves me, and whom I love. After the lapse of two years I have again enjoyed some blissful moments, and now for the first time I feel that marriage can bestow happiness; but, alas! she is not in the same rank of life as myself; and at present, certainly I could not marry: I must first bestir myself actively. Were it not for my deafness, I would long ago have travelled half round the world, and I must do it yet. For me there is no greater pleasure than to follow and promote my art. Do not believe that I could be happy with you. What would there be, indeed, to make me happier? Even your solicitude would pain me; every moment I should read sympathy on your faces, and should find myself only the more wretched."Those lovely scenes of my Fatherland, what part had I in them? Nothing but the hope of a better future, which would have been mine, were it not forthis affliction! Oh! once free from this, I would span the world! My youth, I feel it, is only beginning; have I not always been a sickly creature? For some time past my bodily strength has been increasing more than ever, and my mental power as well. Every day I approach nearer the goal which I feel, but cannot describe. Only in this can your Beethoven live. No rest for me! I know of none other than Sleep, and sorry enough I am to be obliged to give up more time to it than formerly. Let me be only half delivered from this malady, and then—a more perfect, mature man—I shall come to you, and renew the old feelings of friendship."You shall see me as happy as I am destined to be here below,—not unhappy. No, that I could not bear. I will grasp Fate by the throat, it shall not utterly crush me. Oh! it is so glorious to live one's life a thousand times! For a quiet life, I feel it, I am no longer made."Pray do write me as soon as possible. Persuade Steffen to decide upon seeking an appointment somewhere from the Teutonic Order.[27]His position here is too fatiguing for his health, and besides, he leads such an isolated life, that I do not see how he is ever to get on. You know how things are here. I will not positively say that society would lessen his depression, but we cannot persuade him to join in it at all. A short time ago I had some music in my house, but our friend Steffen stayed away. Advise him to be more calm and composed. I have already tried all my powers on him,—without this he can never be either happy or in good health. Tell me in your next letter if there is any objection to my sending you my music, even though there should be a quantity of it. What you don't require, you can sell, and thus get back what you paid for carriage,—and my portrait into the bargain."Say all that is kind and obliging to Lorchen, as well as to her mamma and Christoph. Have you still a little love for me? Be convinced of the love as well as of the friendship of"YourBeethoven."

Vienna, November, 16th, 1801.

"My dear Wegeler,—For this fresh proof of your solicitude about me, I must thank you the more, that I deserve it so little. You want to know how I am progressing, and what remedies I use; however unwilling I am in general to refer to this subject, I do so with the least reluctance to you.

"For several months past, Vering has ordered me to apply blisters constantly to both arms, made of a certain kind of bark, which you doubtless know. This is a most disagreeable remedy, inasmuch as(without taking the pain into consideration) I am deprived of the free use of my arms for a few days, until the blisters have drawn sufficiently. It is true, and I cannot deny it, that the buzzing and ringing are somewhat less than formerly, especially in the left ear, that in which my malady first commenced—but my hearing is certainly not a whit better. I dare not say positively that it has not rather grown worse.

"My digestion is better, especially after using the tepid baths, when I feel tolerably well for eight or ten days. Tonics I very seldom take, but follow your advice now with regard to the herb-plasters. Plunge baths Vering will not hear of. On the whole, I am not at all pleased with him; he has far too little solicitude or indulgence for a malady such as mine; if I did not go to him, and this I cannot do without great difficulty, I should never see him. What do you think of Schmidt?[25]I am unwilling to make a change, but it seems to me that Vering is too much of a practitioner to gain fresh ideas by reading. With regard to this, Schmidt appears a very different sort of man, and might also, perhaps, not be quite so negligent of my case.

"I hear wonders of galvanism—what say you to it? A medical man told me that he had known a deaf and dumb child whose hearing was fully restored by it (in Berlin), and also a man who, afterhaving been deaf for seven years, recovered his hearing. They tell me that your friend Schmidt is making experiments on the subject.

"I lead a somewhat more agreeable life now that I mingle more with other people. You can hardly realize what a miserable, desolate life mine has been for the last two years. Like a ghost did my deafness haunt me everywhere, till I fled society, and must have appeared a misanthrope—yet this is so little my character.

"This change has been brought about by a lovely and fascinating girl,[26]who loves me, and whom I love. After the lapse of two years I have again enjoyed some blissful moments, and now for the first time I feel that marriage can bestow happiness; but, alas! she is not in the same rank of life as myself; and at present, certainly I could not marry: I must first bestir myself actively. Were it not for my deafness, I would long ago have travelled half round the world, and I must do it yet. For me there is no greater pleasure than to follow and promote my art. Do not believe that I could be happy with you. What would there be, indeed, to make me happier? Even your solicitude would pain me; every moment I should read sympathy on your faces, and should find myself only the more wretched.

"Those lovely scenes of my Fatherland, what part had I in them? Nothing but the hope of a better future, which would have been mine, were it not forthis affliction! Oh! once free from this, I would span the world! My youth, I feel it, is only beginning; have I not always been a sickly creature? For some time past my bodily strength has been increasing more than ever, and my mental power as well. Every day I approach nearer the goal which I feel, but cannot describe. Only in this can your Beethoven live. No rest for me! I know of none other than Sleep, and sorry enough I am to be obliged to give up more time to it than formerly. Let me be only half delivered from this malady, and then—a more perfect, mature man—I shall come to you, and renew the old feelings of friendship.

"You shall see me as happy as I am destined to be here below,—not unhappy. No, that I could not bear. I will grasp Fate by the throat, it shall not utterly crush me. Oh! it is so glorious to live one's life a thousand times! For a quiet life, I feel it, I am no longer made.

"Pray do write me as soon as possible. Persuade Steffen to decide upon seeking an appointment somewhere from the Teutonic Order.[27]His position here is too fatiguing for his health, and besides, he leads such an isolated life, that I do not see how he is ever to get on. You know how things are here. I will not positively say that society would lessen his depression, but we cannot persuade him to join in it at all. A short time ago I had some music in my house, but our friend Steffen stayed away. Advise him to be more calm and composed. I have already tried all my powers on him,—without this he can never be either happy or in good health. Tell me in your next letter if there is any objection to my sending you my music, even though there should be a quantity of it. What you don't require, you can sell, and thus get back what you paid for carriage,—and my portrait into the bargain.

"Say all that is kind and obliging to Lorchen, as well as to her mamma and Christoph. Have you still a little love for me? Be convinced of the love as well as of the friendship of

"YourBeethoven."

The year 1800 found Beethoven already busy with his "Mount of Olives," which, however, was not produced till 1803. This, the master's first and last attempt at oratorio writing, "is a striking instance of the insufficiency of even the highest powers to accomplish that to which the special call has not been given. It was impossible for Beethoven to feel himself so inspired by his task as the composer of a time when the mind of the people was almost exclusively occupied by religious convictions; the man of the revolutionary period could not see or think out a Christ like that of Bach and Handel before him. Even the pure spring, out of which we Protestants of the eighteenthand nineteenth centuries draw our ideas of Christ—the Bible—flowed not for him; his Christ must first be poetically made for him. And how? The poet had no other aim but that of making verses for a composer; the latter no other motive than the ordinary creative impulse prompting him to try his powers in a different and important sphere. The result on both sides could not, therefore, be other thanPhrases, although the better of the two proceeded from the composer, and that composer was Beethoven. To conceal or palliate this would be derogatory to the reverence which we all owe to Beethoven,—he stands too high to be in need of extenuation."

So far Marx; but in addition to the miserable libretto (which imparted unreality, artificiality, to the whole work, and especially gave to the part of the Saviour a theatrical air which Beethoven afterwards deplored) many peculiarities of the oratorio—with all deference to the able critic just quoted—may be traced to the period in which it was composed. The very choice of subject reveals the convulsion that was taking place in Beethoven'svolcanicnature. It is a question whether Beethoven would ever have asserted his sovereignty in this branch of composition; it may be, as Marx hints, that the peculiar tone of thought and feeling necessary to the successful treatment of sacred subjects was wanting in him; but there can be no doubt that had the master's attention been devoted to the subject in happier days, when his tempest-tossed natures had attained to some degree of peace and serenity,the result would have been very different. Let him who would see Beethoven as adevotionalwriter, turn to his Gellert songs, which breathe the very depths of true religious feeling.

The greater part of the oratorio, and also of "Fidelio," was composed at Hetzendorf, a pretty little village near the imperial summer palace of Schönbrunn. Here Beethoven passed several summers in the greatest retirement—wandering all day long, from early dawn to nightfall, amid the leafy glades of the park. His favourite seat was between two immense boughs of an old oak, which branched out from the parent stem about two feet from the ground. This memorable tree, endeared to Beethoven as the birthplace of many a thought, was afterwards visited by him, in Schindler's company, in 1823.

In 1802 a gleam of hope dawned upon the sufferer; his deafness was for a time cured by the skilful treatment of Dr. Schmidt (to whom, out of gratitude, he dedicated his Septet arranged as a Trio), by whose advice he went for the summer to the village of Heiligenstadt, in the hope that the calm, sweet influence of nature, to which he was at all times most sensitive, might act beneficially upon his troubled mind.

This spot—thisconsecrated town—must always be an object of veneration to those who cherish the name of Beethoven, for here it was that he wrote his remarkable will, or promemoria, a document which excites our warmest sympathy, revealing, as it does, the depths of that great heart.

"To my Brothers, Carl and —— Beethoven.[28]—O ye who consider or represent me as unfriendly, morose, and misanthropical, how unjust are you to me! you know not the secret cause of what appears thus to you."My heart and mind have been from childhood given up to the tender feeling of benevolence, and I have ever been disposed to accomplish something great. But only consider that for six years I have been afflicted by a wretched calamity, which was aggravated by unskilful physicians—deceived from year to year by the hope of amendment—now forced, at length, to the contemplation of alingering disease(the cure of which will, perhaps, last for years, if indeed it be not an impossibility)."Born with a passionate, lively temperament, keenly susceptible to the pleasures of society, I was obliged at an early age to isolate myself, and to pass my life in loneliness."When I at times endeavoured to surmount all this, oh, how rudely was I thrust back again by the experience—the doubly painful experience—of my defective hearing! and yet it was impossible for me to say to people, Speak louder, shout; for I am deaf! Alas! how could I proclaim the weakness of a sense which ought to have been with me in a higher degreethan with others—a sense which I once possessed in the greatest perfection—and to an extent which few of my profession enjoy, or ever have enjoyed! Oh, this I cannot do! Forgive me, therefore, when you see me turn away where I would gladly mingle with you. My misfortune is doubly painful to me, inasmuch as it causes me to be misunderstood. For me there can be no relaxation in human society, no refined conversations, no mutual outpourings of thought. Like an exile must I live. Whenever I come near strangers, I am seized with a feverish anxiety from my dread of being exposed to the risk of betraying my condition."Thus it has been with me during these last six months which I have spent in the country. The orders of my sensible physician, to spare my hearing as much as possible, were quite in accordance with my present disposition; although often, overcome by my longing for society, I have been tempted into it. But what humiliation, when any one by my side heard from afar a flute, and I heardnothing, or when any one heardthe shepherd singing, and I again heardnothing!"Such occurrences brought me nigh to despair; but little was wanting, and I should myself have put an end to my existence.Art—art alone—held me back! Ah! it seemed impossible for me to quit the world before I had done all that I felt myself destined to accomplish. And so I prolonged this miserable life; a life so truly wretched that a sudden change is sufficient to throw me from the happiest condition into the worst."Patience!it would seem that I must now choose her for my guide! I have done so. I trust that my resolve to persevere will remain firm, until it shall please the inexorable Fates to cut the thread of life. Perhaps I may get better; perhaps not. I am prepared. Compelled to be a philosopher in my twenty-eighth year![29]This is not easy—for the artist harder than for any one else. O God! Thou lookest down upon my heart, Thou seest that love to man and beneficent feelings have their abode in it!"O ye who may one day read this, reflect that you did me injustice, and let the unhappy be consoled by finding one like himself, who, in defiance of all natural obstacles, has done all that lay in his power to be received into the ranks of worthy artists and men."My brothers, Carl and——, as soon as I am dead, if Professor Schmidt be still alive, beg him in my name to describe my disease, and then add these pages to the history of my malady, that at least, so far as possible, the world may be reconciled to me after my death."I also hereby declare you both heirs of my little fortune (if so it may be called). Divide it honestly, bear with and help one another. What you did against me I have, as you know, long since forgiven. I thank you in particular, brother Carl, for the attachment which you have shown me of late. My wish is,that your life may be happier, and more free from care, than mine has been. RecommendVirtueto your children; it is she alone, and not money, that can confer happiness. I speak from experience; for it was Virtue who raised me when in distress. I have to thank her, in addition to my art, that I did not put an end to my life through suicide. Farewell, and love one another! I thank all my friends, especially Prince Lichnowski and Professor Schmidt. I should like the instruments of Prince L. to be preserved by one of you; but let no dispute arise between you on this account. As soon as you perceive that it will be more to your advantage, you have only to sell them. How shall I rejoice, if even in the grave I can serve you!"Thus has it happened:—with joy I hasten to meet Death. Should he come before I have had opportunity to develop all my artistic powers, he will have come too soon, notwithstanding my hard fate, and I shall wish that he had tarried a little longer; but even then I shall be content, for he will set me free from a state of endless suffering. Come when thou wilt—I go courageously to meet thee!"Farewell, and do not quite forget me even in death. I have deserved this of you, since in my life I often thought of you, and wished to make you happy."So be it!"Ludwig van Beethoven."Heiligenstadt, 6th October, 1802.""Heiligenstadt, 10th October, 1802."Thus I bid farewell to thee, mournfully enough. Even the dearest hope that I brought hither with me, the hope of being to a certain degree restored, has utterly forsaken me. As the leaves of autumn fall and wither, so has my hope faded. Almost as I came do I depart; even the lofty courage which inspired me during the lovely days of summer has vanished. Oh, Providence! vouchsafe to me one more day of pure happiness! The responsive echo of pure joy has been so long a stranger to my heart. When, when, O God! shall I again feel it in the temple of nature and man? Never? Ah! that would be too hard!"(On the outside.)"For my brothers Carl and——, to be read and fulfilled after my death."

"My heart and mind have been from childhood given up to the tender feeling of benevolence, and I have ever been disposed to accomplish something great. But only consider that for six years I have been afflicted by a wretched calamity, which was aggravated by unskilful physicians—deceived from year to year by the hope of amendment—now forced, at length, to the contemplation of alingering disease(the cure of which will, perhaps, last for years, if indeed it be not an impossibility).

"Born with a passionate, lively temperament, keenly susceptible to the pleasures of society, I was obliged at an early age to isolate myself, and to pass my life in loneliness.

"When I at times endeavoured to surmount all this, oh, how rudely was I thrust back again by the experience—the doubly painful experience—of my defective hearing! and yet it was impossible for me to say to people, Speak louder, shout; for I am deaf! Alas! how could I proclaim the weakness of a sense which ought to have been with me in a higher degreethan with others—a sense which I once possessed in the greatest perfection—and to an extent which few of my profession enjoy, or ever have enjoyed! Oh, this I cannot do! Forgive me, therefore, when you see me turn away where I would gladly mingle with you. My misfortune is doubly painful to me, inasmuch as it causes me to be misunderstood. For me there can be no relaxation in human society, no refined conversations, no mutual outpourings of thought. Like an exile must I live. Whenever I come near strangers, I am seized with a feverish anxiety from my dread of being exposed to the risk of betraying my condition.

"Thus it has been with me during these last six months which I have spent in the country. The orders of my sensible physician, to spare my hearing as much as possible, were quite in accordance with my present disposition; although often, overcome by my longing for society, I have been tempted into it. But what humiliation, when any one by my side heard from afar a flute, and I heardnothing, or when any one heardthe shepherd singing, and I again heardnothing!

"Such occurrences brought me nigh to despair; but little was wanting, and I should myself have put an end to my existence.Art—art alone—held me back! Ah! it seemed impossible for me to quit the world before I had done all that I felt myself destined to accomplish. And so I prolonged this miserable life; a life so truly wretched that a sudden change is sufficient to throw me from the happiest condition into the worst.

"Patience!it would seem that I must now choose her for my guide! I have done so. I trust that my resolve to persevere will remain firm, until it shall please the inexorable Fates to cut the thread of life. Perhaps I may get better; perhaps not. I am prepared. Compelled to be a philosopher in my twenty-eighth year![29]This is not easy—for the artist harder than for any one else. O God! Thou lookest down upon my heart, Thou seest that love to man and beneficent feelings have their abode in it!

"O ye who may one day read this, reflect that you did me injustice, and let the unhappy be consoled by finding one like himself, who, in defiance of all natural obstacles, has done all that lay in his power to be received into the ranks of worthy artists and men.

"My brothers, Carl and——, as soon as I am dead, if Professor Schmidt be still alive, beg him in my name to describe my disease, and then add these pages to the history of my malady, that at least, so far as possible, the world may be reconciled to me after my death.

"I also hereby declare you both heirs of my little fortune (if so it may be called). Divide it honestly, bear with and help one another. What you did against me I have, as you know, long since forgiven. I thank you in particular, brother Carl, for the attachment which you have shown me of late. My wish is,that your life may be happier, and more free from care, than mine has been. RecommendVirtueto your children; it is she alone, and not money, that can confer happiness. I speak from experience; for it was Virtue who raised me when in distress. I have to thank her, in addition to my art, that I did not put an end to my life through suicide. Farewell, and love one another! I thank all my friends, especially Prince Lichnowski and Professor Schmidt. I should like the instruments of Prince L. to be preserved by one of you; but let no dispute arise between you on this account. As soon as you perceive that it will be more to your advantage, you have only to sell them. How shall I rejoice, if even in the grave I can serve you!

"Thus has it happened:—with joy I hasten to meet Death. Should he come before I have had opportunity to develop all my artistic powers, he will have come too soon, notwithstanding my hard fate, and I shall wish that he had tarried a little longer; but even then I shall be content, for he will set me free from a state of endless suffering. Come when thou wilt—I go courageously to meet thee!

"Farewell, and do not quite forget me even in death. I have deserved this of you, since in my life I often thought of you, and wished to make you happy.

"So be it!"Ludwig van Beethoven."Heiligenstadt, 6th October, 1802."

"Heiligenstadt, 10th October, 1802.

"Thus I bid farewell to thee, mournfully enough. Even the dearest hope that I brought hither with me, the hope of being to a certain degree restored, has utterly forsaken me. As the leaves of autumn fall and wither, so has my hope faded. Almost as I came do I depart; even the lofty courage which inspired me during the lovely days of summer has vanished. Oh, Providence! vouchsafe to me one more day of pure happiness! The responsive echo of pure joy has been so long a stranger to my heart. When, when, O God! shall I again feel it in the temple of nature and man? Never? Ah! that would be too hard!"

(On the outside.)

"For my brothers Carl and——, to be read and fulfilled after my death."

Several writers have maintained that the consequences of Beethoven's deafness are plainly discernible in his compositions; that he lost all idea of harmonic relations, that his later works are mere incongruous, erratic fancies, devoid of form and melody, and, in short, compared to his former productions, what the second part of "Faust" is to the first.

Happily, such ideas—promulgated by theorists of the old school like Fétis, and dilettanti of the Mozart-Italian school like Oulibicheff—have now exploded, and the service rendered to Art by Beethoven's latest works—especially his pianoforte sonatas—is fully recognised. It is these which have brought the pianoforte to its present eminence as the most intellectual and ideal of all instruments, and which, by their depth of thought and loftiness of aim, have raised an insuperable barrier between the dilettante who trifles with music for amusement, and the artist who devotes his life to its cultivation as a God-appointed means of developing the divine in man.

At the same time we come upon passages here and there which Beethoven would, perhaps, have written otherwise, had his ear, as well as his mind, been sensitive to their effect.

It is not posterity that has been the loser by Beethoven's deafness; we, at least, ought to appreciate the "precious jewel" which his adversity carried within it, and has handed down to us. His contemporaries, however, had cause to lament, for in a few years it put a stop to all improvising and playing in public. We read, indeed, of a plan for an artistic tour with his pupil Ries, when the latter was to make all arrangements for concert-giving, and to play the pianoforte Concertos and other works, while Beethoven conducted and improvised—but the project never came to maturity. It was, in fact, impossible. Beethoven entirely lost the sensitiveness of touch which had once distinguished his playing from that of all contemporaries; and, in his efforts to extract some nourishment for his hungering ear, used to hammer the pianoforte so unmercifully as generally to break several strings. Nor could it be obviated by a special instrument constructed for himself, norby a sound-conductor invented for him by the ingenious Graff.

A curious feature of his deafness was the gradual manner in which the auricular nerve decayed; he first lost the power of catching the higher notes of singers or instruments, as we have seen, while deep, low sounds were long audible to him; this may account for the prevalence of those deep-lying tones in almost all his later works, especially the Second Mass and the Ninth Symphony.

As a natural consequence of his affliction, he soon became unable to conduct his own orchestral works. This, however, was no great loss, for he had never possessed either the self-possession or the experience necessary to wield thebâtonsatisfactorily. Knowing thoroughly as he did what every instrument had to say, he listened excitedly for each in detail—without calmly attending to the effect of the whole; at eachcrescendohe would rise as if about to fly, gesticulating so rapidly and energetically that the members of the orchestra (who had enough to do to follow such new and peculiar music) were often more bewildered than guided by his directions. At the same time be it distinctly understood that, however low the performance might fall beneath his "ideal," however vexatious the mistakes of individual performers might be, he never lost his temper so far as to act in the manner related by Ries in his Notices, of which the following is a specimen:—

"Beethoven was present at the first performance of his Fantasia for pianoforte, orchestra, and chorus.The clarinettist, in a passage where the beautiful subject of the finale has already entered, made by mistake a repetition of eight bars. As very few instruments are heard at this point, the error in the execution was torturing to the ear. Beethoven rose furiously, turned round, and insulted the musicians in the grossest manner, and so loudly that it was heard by the whole audience. Then, resuming his seat, he exclaimed, "From the beginning!" The movement was recommenced, and this time all went well, and the success was brilliant. But when the concert was over, the artists recollected only too well the honourable titles by which Beethoven had publicly addressed them; and, as if the matter had but that moment occurred, became excessively angry, and vowed never to play again when Beethoven was in the orchestra, &c., &c."

That the clarinettist did make a mistake is true, but that Beethoven behaved in the outrageous way described was most positively denied by all who were present on the occasion, including the conductor, Franz Clement. Where Ries got the story from is difficult to imagine, since he was himself in St. Petersburg at the time. On the contrary, the members of the orchestra were all on excellent terms with Beethoven, who prized their approval far more than that of the general public; and was wont, when particularly pleased with a performance, to turn round, his face beaming with delight, and exclaim, "Bravi, tutti!" But woe betide those who dared to question the effect of the new and somewhat startling combinations which he introduced! Ries found this out to his cost. At the unexpected entrance of the horn in the Allegro of the Eroica, he—as usual, beside his master in the orchestra—exclaimed, "How abominably wrong!" for which outburst he was nearly rewarded by a box on the ear.

Pianoforte playing, improvisation, and orchestral conducting were given up one after the other—not suddenly, for Beethoven was resolved to defy his fate as long as possible,—but henceforth it is with Beethoven the composer alone that we have to do.

The autumn of 1802 saw him so far restored as to be able to commence his great work on Napoleon, which, however, on account of many interruptions, was not finished until the year 1804.

In 1802 he writes thus to his publisher, Hofmeister, who had requested him to compose a sonata of a revolutionary tendency:—"Are you riding to the devil in a body, gentlemen, that you propose to me to writesuch a sonata? At the time of the revolutionary fever it might have done, but now, when everything is once more in the beaten track, when Bonaparte has signed the Concordat with the Pope—now such a sonata! If it had been amissa pro Sancta Maria a tre voci, or aVesper, I would immediately have taken pen in hand and written in ponderous notes aCredo in unum,—but, good heavens! such a sonata in these fresh, dawning Christian times! Ho! ho! I'll have nothing to do with it!" and yet at this very time he must have been busy with a work destined to the honour of the great Disturber of the Peace of Europe.The idea for this emanated originally from General Bernadotte, the French Ambassador at Vienna—a great admirer of the composer,—and was in reality warmly entered into by Beethoven, who, with his red-hot Republicanism and love for Plato, was an enthusiastic supporter of the First Consul, and imagined nothing less than that it was Napoleon's intention to remodel France according to the Platonic method, and inaugurate a golden age of universal happiness. With the news of the empire came the destruction of this elysian prospect,—Beethoven in a fury tore to pieces the title-page of his symphony on which was written simply,—

"Bonaparte."Luigi v. Beethoven;"

and stamping it under foot, showered a volley of imprecations on the head of the tyrant who had played so false a game.

No persuasion could induce him at first to publish the work, but after the lapse of some years this masterpiece of ideal writing was given to the world under the title of "Sinfonia Eroica per festegiare il sovvenire d'un grand' uomo." Great man as Napoleon had been in Beethoven's estimation, he never could think of him otherwise than with detestation, till the sudden collapse of the Napoleonic idea in 1815, and the death of its promoter in 1821, changed his wrath into a kind of grim commiseration, which he showed by remarking that he had "seventeen years before composed the music suited to thiscatastrophe!" meaning the Funeral March in the Eroica.

This, the first great manifesto of the Sovereign of the World of Sound, was a wonderful advance on the first two symphonies, produced somewhere about the years 1800-1802. In these he took up the art where Haydn and Mozart had left it; but, "though he could dally and tarry awhile with them, he would not remain with them;" his greater earnestness impelled him on to realms unknown to them, to conquest compared with which theirs faded into comparative insignificance.

In 1805 Ferdinand Ries left Vienna, after having enjoyed Beethoven's instruction for five years. He was, in fact, the only one whom Beethoven recognised as his pupil (with the exception of the Archduke Rudolph), and to him he entrusted the playing of his concertos, &c., for the first time, when no longer able to do so himself. The impressions which Ries has left in his Notices, of Beethoven as an instructor, are like his other statements, somewhat contradictory. In one place he declares that during the lessons the master was engaged in composition or some similar work at one end of the room, while he was playing at the other, and that he seldom sat down by him for half an hour at a time. Again, he says that Beethoven took extraordinary pains with him—sometimes extending the lesson over two hours, and making him repeat ten times—nay, oftener—any passage with which he was not quite satisfied. Probably the truth lies between these two extremes. Beethoven, who had no settled order in his life, could not be expected to be systematic in tuition; hence the impression of desultoriness left upon the mind of the pupil. A characteristic anecdote of this period is worth quoting.

"Beethoven," says Ries, "had given me the manuscript of his third concerto, that I might appear in public with it for the first time as his pupil; Beethoven conducted and turned over the pages for me. I had begged him to compose a cadenza for me, but he directed me to write one myself. He was satisfied with my composition, and altered little; but one brilliant and very difficult passage, which seemed to him too hazardous, I was to change. The easier one did not please me, and I could not make up my mind to play it in public. The critical moment arrived—Beethoven had seated himself quietly—but when I boldly attacked the difficult cadence, he gave his chair a violent push. The cadenza, however, succeeded, and Beethoven was so delighted that he exclaimed, 'Bravo!' which electrified the audience."

In 1805 Beethoven produced his solitary opera, "Leonora" (afterwards known as "Fidelio"), amid a series of annoyances and vexations such as probably no operatic writer, either before or since, has ever had to contend against. What between troubles arising out of the libretto, the overture, the singers, the critics, and the theatrical cabals, our poor Beethoven was well-nigh driven distracted.

The story on which the opera is founded (originally taken from the French, and so well known as torequire no repetition here) is almost too slight for dramatic purposes, inasmuch as there is but one really powerful situation—that of the grave scene—in the entire piece, and the whole interest, therefore, is concentrated on the one figure, Leonora. What Beethoven has made out of these slender materials; how he has depicted, in all its intensity and tenderness, that love which he was doomed never to experience, needs no description from us.

What was Beethoven's object in choosing this theme for his labours? Was it a foreshadowing of bliss that might be his? or was it the delineation of a character which, in its earnestness and purity, should be the reverse of that "Don Juan" of Mozart, of which he once said, "The divine art ought never to be lowered to the folly of such a scandalous subject"?

The little byplay and domestic "asides" cost our soaring Beethoven infinitely more trouble than the most impassioned scenas, and he was obliged to write the little air of Marcelline, "O, wär' ich schon mit Dir vereint," no less than thrice before he could attain the requisite lightness.

The composition of the four "Leonora" overtures is without a parallel in musical annals. When Beethoven had finished No. 1, in C major, he consented to its being first tried over by a small orchestra at Prince Lichnowski's, in the presence of a select number of critics and connoisseurs, by whom it was condemned as being light and almost flimsy in structure, and as affording no clue to the contents of theopera. It was therefore withdrawn, and not published till after the composer's death.

But may not the light-heartedness which distinguishes this overture have been intentional on the part of Beethoven? may he not have wished to represent his heroine before the shadow of grief had fallen upon her, in the enjoyment of the highest wedded bliss?

Marx takes this view of "Leonora" No. 1, adducing in support of it the following extract from one of the manuscript books in which Beethoven was accustomed to hold intercourse with his friends:—

"Aristotle, when he speaks of tragedy, says that the hero ought first to be represented as living in the greatest happiness and splendour. Thus we see him in 'Egmont.' When he is in the enjoyment of felicity, Fate comes and throws a noose over his head from which he is not able to extricate himself. Courage and Defiance appear upon the scene, and boldly look Destiny—aye, and death—in the face. Clärchen's fate interests us, like that of Gretchen in 'Faust,' because she was once so happy. A tragedy which begins as well as continues gloomily, is tedious."

"Leonora" No. 2 was condemned on account of the predominance of the wind instruments, and No. 3 ultimately, because the stringed instruments had so much to do that precision was out of the question.

When, at length, the composer was satisfied with his creation; when the singers (pacified by the friendly intervention of Seyfried) had agreed to give the music as it was written; when all difficultieswere apparently overcome, the unlucky composer's annoyances reached a climax in the reception accorded to his work by the public.

With great want of judgment (purposely to annoy him, as Beethoven thought) the opera was produced a few days after the French troops had entered Vienna; when all his friends and patrons, including Lichnowski, had sought refuge at their country seats till the storm had blown over; and the theatre was filled with French officers and soldiers, an audience utterly incapable of appreciating the master. As might have been anticipated, the work was coldly received, and, after three representations, withdrawn. In 1806 it met with the same fate, and not till 1814 did this, the grandest work of the German school—a work which has fought its way to every stage in Europe, and has been brought home to every heart by a Malibran, a Schröder-Devrient, or a Tietjens,—obtain a favourable hearing.

During the time the opera was in progress, Beethoven (like Mozart in producing his "Seraglio") suffered keenly from the jealousy of some of his opponents, and his brothers took care that every barb should find its way home to his sensitive mind. Even his friend Stephan Breuning, in his great desire to help the composer, aggravated the evil by the very warmth of his partisanship,—and thus, by constant dwelling upon them, many little slights assumed a disproportionate magnitude, and annoyed our poor Beethoven intensely.

But enough of darkness and despondency; life nowbegins, by one of those sudden and apparently inexplicable changes, to wear a rosier hue for the composer. Reserving our inquiry into the cause of this, we close this chapter with the beautiful letter to the poet Matthison, whose "Adelaïde" he had set to music some time previously.

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