"Most esteemed Friend,—You will receive, together with this, a composition of mine which has already been printed for several years, but of which, to my shame, you perhaps know nothing yet."I may, perhaps, be able to excuse myself, and to explain why I dedicated anything to you, which came so warmly from my heart, and yet did not make you acquainted with it,—by the plea that, at first, I did not know where you resided, and then my diffidence led me to think that I had been somewhat hasty in dedicating anything to you without knowing if it had your approval. And, indeed, even now I send you the 'Adelaïde' with some timidity. You yourself know what changes a few years produce in an artist who is constantly progressing; the more one accomplishes in art, the less is one satisfied with former works."My most fervent wish will be realized if you are not altogether dissatisfied with the music to your heavenly 'Adelaïde,' and if you are incited by it to compose a similar poem soon, and (should my request not seem too bold) to send it to me forthwith, when I shall put forth all my strength to approach your lovely poetry in merit."Consider the dedication as a mark of my esteem and gratitude for the exquisite pleasure which your poetry has always afforded, and will still afford me."When playing the 'Adelaïde,' remember sometimes"Your sincere admirer,"Beethoven."
"Most esteemed Friend,—You will receive, together with this, a composition of mine which has already been printed for several years, but of which, to my shame, you perhaps know nothing yet.
"I may, perhaps, be able to excuse myself, and to explain why I dedicated anything to you, which came so warmly from my heart, and yet did not make you acquainted with it,—by the plea that, at first, I did not know where you resided, and then my diffidence led me to think that I had been somewhat hasty in dedicating anything to you without knowing if it had your approval. And, indeed, even now I send you the 'Adelaïde' with some timidity. You yourself know what changes a few years produce in an artist who is constantly progressing; the more one accomplishes in art, the less is one satisfied with former works.
"My most fervent wish will be realized if you are not altogether dissatisfied with the music to your heavenly 'Adelaïde,' and if you are incited by it to compose a similar poem soon, and (should my request not seem too bold) to send it to me forthwith, when I shall put forth all my strength to approach your lovely poetry in merit.
"Consider the dedication as a mark of my esteem and gratitude for the exquisite pleasure which your poetry has always afforded, and will still afford me.
"When playing the 'Adelaïde,' remember sometimes
"Your sincere admirer,"Beethoven."
FOOTNOTES:[16]Surgeon-in-Chief to the army.[17]Eleanore von Breuning.[18]Stephan von Breuning.[19]Probably in the house of Baron Pasqualati.[20]A painting by Füger, Director of the Vienna Academy.[21]Christoph Breuning.[22]Madame von Breuning.[23]Franz Ries, the violinist.[24]Ferdinand, afterwards Beethoven's pupil.[25]Professor of Medicine at the Académie Joséphine, and author of several works.[26]Undoubtedly the Countess Julia Guicciardi.[27]The Breuning family had long been in possession of one of the most honourable posts in the Teutonic Order, four members had successively filled the office of Chancellor, and Stephan himself was afterwards appointed to the government of Mergentheim. He was generally esteemed, and died a short time after Beethoven.[28]The omission of the name of Johann van Beethoven from this document is somewhat unaccountable. It may have been caused through Beethoven's irritation at his conduct. The original of the Promemoria is now in the possession of Madame Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt.[29]Beethoven was at the time in his thirty-second year; but he never knew precisely his age.
[16]Surgeon-in-Chief to the army.
[16]Surgeon-in-Chief to the army.
[17]Eleanore von Breuning.
[17]Eleanore von Breuning.
[18]Stephan von Breuning.
[18]Stephan von Breuning.
[19]Probably in the house of Baron Pasqualati.
[19]Probably in the house of Baron Pasqualati.
[20]A painting by Füger, Director of the Vienna Academy.
[20]A painting by Füger, Director of the Vienna Academy.
[21]Christoph Breuning.
[21]Christoph Breuning.
[22]Madame von Breuning.
[22]Madame von Breuning.
[23]Franz Ries, the violinist.
[23]Franz Ries, the violinist.
[24]Ferdinand, afterwards Beethoven's pupil.
[24]Ferdinand, afterwards Beethoven's pupil.
[25]Professor of Medicine at the Académie Joséphine, and author of several works.
[25]Professor of Medicine at the Académie Joséphine, and author of several works.
[26]Undoubtedly the Countess Julia Guicciardi.
[26]Undoubtedly the Countess Julia Guicciardi.
[27]The Breuning family had long been in possession of one of the most honourable posts in the Teutonic Order, four members had successively filled the office of Chancellor, and Stephan himself was afterwards appointed to the government of Mergentheim. He was generally esteemed, and died a short time after Beethoven.
[27]The Breuning family had long been in possession of one of the most honourable posts in the Teutonic Order, four members had successively filled the office of Chancellor, and Stephan himself was afterwards appointed to the government of Mergentheim. He was generally esteemed, and died a short time after Beethoven.
[28]The omission of the name of Johann van Beethoven from this document is somewhat unaccountable. It may have been caused through Beethoven's irritation at his conduct. The original of the Promemoria is now in the possession of Madame Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt.
[28]The omission of the name of Johann van Beethoven from this document is somewhat unaccountable. It may have been caused through Beethoven's irritation at his conduct. The original of the Promemoria is now in the possession of Madame Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt.
[29]Beethoven was at the time in his thirty-second year; but he never knew precisely his age.
[29]Beethoven was at the time in his thirty-second year; but he never knew precisely his age.
LOVE.
The Fourth Symphony—Julia Guicciardi—Letters to her—To Bettina Brentano—Beethoven's Attachments—Domestic Troubles—Frau Nanette Streicher—Daily Life—Composingim Freien.
The Fourth Symphony—Julia Guicciardi—Letters to her—To Bettina Brentano—Beethoven's Attachments—Domestic Troubles—Frau Nanette Streicher—Daily Life—Composingim Freien.
"In love with an Ideal,A creature of his own imagination,A child of air, and echo of his heart;And like a lily on a river floating,She floats upon the river of his thoughts."
hence comes it that after a storm of darkness and gloom—after the disappointment of his "Leonora"—the next offspring of the poet's fancy should be a symphony (No. 4), the most delicately finished and bright in colouring which we possess?
The mystery is not easily solved. Former biographers have at once come to the conclusion that this was the period in which Beethoven's love for Julia Guicciardi, alluded to in a letter to Wegeler, had reached its climax. This hypothesis has, however, been put to flight by the discovery of Alexander Thayer that the lady was married to Count Gallenberg (afterwards the Keeper of the Archives of the Imperial Opera) in 1803—that is, three years before the composition of the work.
Is the B flat major Symphony, after all, as much the exponent of the master passion as is, in another way, the C sharp minor Sonata? Or is it, with its troubled, gloomy opening, expanding into glorious warmth and sunshine, another evidence of Beethoven's resolution to set fate at defiance, and to keep at bay the monster Grief which threatened to annihilate him? Who can tell? When the traveller, suddenly emerging from some mist-hung mountain gorge, steps out upon the rocky platform, he beholds in the distance, beneath his delighted gaze, a landscape bathed in sunshine; so to the poet's excited fancy there must have been present some bright vision, one of those "loftier spirits, who sported with him and allotted to him nobler tasks," drawing a veil over the troubled Past, and pointing him onwards to a glorious Future.
Let the Reader take which interpretation he will.
We propose briefly to present to him the two sets of letters which show us Beethoven in two different aspects as a lover—the firstpur et simple, the second Platonic.
Nothing is known with certainty of Beethoven's "immortal beloved," whose name vibrates throughout the Adagio of the Moonlight Sonata. The letters to her (of date unknown, written from some baths inHungary, whither he had been ordered for his health) breathe the very intensity of passion—a passion at times too deep for words.[30]
"Morning, 6th July."My Angel! my All! my Second Self!"Only a few words to-day, written with a pencil (with thine). My residence will not be definitely fixed before to-morrow. What a ruinous waste of time!—Why this deep sorrow where Necessity speaks? can our love exist otherwise than by sacrifices, than by our not expecting everything? Canst thou alter the fact that thou art not wholly mine, that I am not wholly thine?—Alas! look into the beauties of Nature, and calm thy mind for what must be endured. Love demands all, and with perfect right, and thusI feel towards theeandthou towards me, only thou forgettest so easily that I have to livefor myselfandfor thee,—were we perfectly united, thou wouldst feel this trial as little as I do."My journey was terrible. I only arrived yesterday at four o'clock in the morning, owing to the want of horses. The driver chose another route, but what a fearful one! At the last station they warned me not to travel by night, and tried to terrify me by a forest, but this only stimulated me, though I was wrong. The carriage broke down on that dreadful road, a mere rough, unmade country lane, and had not my postillions been what they were, I should have been obliged to remain there by the wayside."Esterhazy, on the usual route, had the same fate with eight horses that I had with four, and yet I felt a certaindegree of pleasure, as I always do when I overcome anything happily.—Now, in haste, from the outer to the inner man! We shall probably soon see each other again. I cannot communicate to thee to-day the reflections I have been making, during the last few days, on my life—were our hearts ever near to one another, I should make none such. My heart is full of much that I have to say to thee. Ah! there are moments in which I feel that language is absolutely nothing. Take courage! continue to be my true, my only treasure, my All, as I am thine. The gods must send the rest—that which is ordained to be, and shall be for us."Thy faithful"Ludwig."
"Morning, 6th July.
"My Angel! my All! my Second Self!
"Only a few words to-day, written with a pencil (with thine). My residence will not be definitely fixed before to-morrow. What a ruinous waste of time!—Why this deep sorrow where Necessity speaks? can our love exist otherwise than by sacrifices, than by our not expecting everything? Canst thou alter the fact that thou art not wholly mine, that I am not wholly thine?—Alas! look into the beauties of Nature, and calm thy mind for what must be endured. Love demands all, and with perfect right, and thusI feel towards theeandthou towards me, only thou forgettest so easily that I have to livefor myselfandfor thee,—were we perfectly united, thou wouldst feel this trial as little as I do.
"My journey was terrible. I only arrived yesterday at four o'clock in the morning, owing to the want of horses. The driver chose another route, but what a fearful one! At the last station they warned me not to travel by night, and tried to terrify me by a forest, but this only stimulated me, though I was wrong. The carriage broke down on that dreadful road, a mere rough, unmade country lane, and had not my postillions been what they were, I should have been obliged to remain there by the wayside.
"Esterhazy, on the usual route, had the same fate with eight horses that I had with four, and yet I felt a certaindegree of pleasure, as I always do when I overcome anything happily.—Now, in haste, from the outer to the inner man! We shall probably soon see each other again. I cannot communicate to thee to-day the reflections I have been making, during the last few days, on my life—were our hearts ever near to one another, I should make none such. My heart is full of much that I have to say to thee. Ah! there are moments in which I feel that language is absolutely nothing. Take courage! continue to be my true, my only treasure, my All, as I am thine. The gods must send the rest—that which is ordained to be, and shall be for us.
"Thy faithful"Ludwig."
"Monday evening, 6th July."Thou grievest—thou—the dearest of all beings!—I have just learned that the letters must be sent off very early. Mondays and Thursdays are the only days on which the post goes to K—-.—Thou grievest! Ah! where I am, there thou art with me—with our united efforts I shall attain my object—I shall pass my life with thee—what a life!!! whereas now!!! without thee—persecuted at times by the kindness of others, a kindness which I neither deserve nor wish to deserve. Servility from man to his fellow-creature pains me; and, when I consider myself in relation to the universe, what am I? what is he who is called the greatest? and yet even here is displayed the Divine in man!—I weep when I think that thou wilt probably receive no tidings of me before Saturday. However much thou mayest love me, I love thee more fervently still—never hide thy feelings from me.—Good night! as a patient here I must now go to rest. Ah, God! so near!—so far apart! is not our love a true celestial mansion, enduring as the vault of heaven itself!"
"Monday evening, 6th July.
"Thou grievest—thou—the dearest of all beings!—I have just learned that the letters must be sent off very early. Mondays and Thursdays are the only days on which the post goes to K—-.—Thou grievest! Ah! where I am, there thou art with me—with our united efforts I shall attain my object—I shall pass my life with thee—what a life!!! whereas now!!! without thee—persecuted at times by the kindness of others, a kindness which I neither deserve nor wish to deserve. Servility from man to his fellow-creature pains me; and, when I consider myself in relation to the universe, what am I? what is he who is called the greatest? and yet even here is displayed the Divine in man!—I weep when I think that thou wilt probably receive no tidings of me before Saturday. However much thou mayest love me, I love thee more fervently still—never hide thy feelings from me.—Good night! as a patient here I must now go to rest. Ah, God! so near!—so far apart! is not our love a true celestial mansion, enduring as the vault of heaven itself!"
"7th July."Good morning!"Even before I rise my thoughts throng to thee, my immortal beloved, at times with joy, then again mournfully, waiting to hear if fate be favourable to us. I can only live entirely with thee, or not at all. Yes! I am resolved to wander apart from thee until the moment shall arrive when I may fly into thine arms, may feel my home in thee, and send my soul encompassed by thine into the world of spirits. Yes, alas! it must be so! Thou wilt be prepared, for thou knowest my faithfulness. Never can another possess my heart; never, never. Oh God! why must I fly from what is so dear to me?—and yet my life in V—— is, as at present, a sorrowful one. Thy love made me at once the happiest and the most miserable of men. At my age I require a uniformity, an evenness of life; and can this be possible in our relations?—Angel! I have just heard that the post goes out every day; and must stop that thou mayest receive this letter soon.—Be calm; only by calmly viewing our existence can we attain our aim of passing our lives together. Be calm; love me—to-day—yesterday—what longing, what tears for thee—for thee—for thee—my Life! my All! Farewell! Oh! continue to love me—never misjudge the faithful heart of thy lover.L."Ever thine,"Ever mine,"Ever each other's."
"7th July.
"Good morning!
"Even before I rise my thoughts throng to thee, my immortal beloved, at times with joy, then again mournfully, waiting to hear if fate be favourable to us. I can only live entirely with thee, or not at all. Yes! I am resolved to wander apart from thee until the moment shall arrive when I may fly into thine arms, may feel my home in thee, and send my soul encompassed by thine into the world of spirits. Yes, alas! it must be so! Thou wilt be prepared, for thou knowest my faithfulness. Never can another possess my heart; never, never. Oh God! why must I fly from what is so dear to me?—and yet my life in V—— is, as at present, a sorrowful one. Thy love made me at once the happiest and the most miserable of men. At my age I require a uniformity, an evenness of life; and can this be possible in our relations?—Angel! I have just heard that the post goes out every day; and must stop that thou mayest receive this letter soon.—Be calm; only by calmly viewing our existence can we attain our aim of passing our lives together. Be calm; love me—to-day—yesterday—what longing, what tears for thee—for thee—for thee—my Life! my All! Farewell! Oh! continue to love me—never misjudge the faithful heart of thy lover.L.
"Ever thine,"Ever mine,"Ever each other's."
It was indeed the case that no other love ever did "possess his heart" in the same way. This was, if nothis first, at least his onlyreallove. Such letters as these Beethoven wrote to no one else; the contrast between them and the three following (addressed to Bettina Brentano, afterwards Madame von Arnim) will be at once apparent:—
"Vienna, August 11, 1810."Dearest Friend,—Never has there been a more beautiful spring than this year; I say so, and feel it too, because in it I first made your acquaintance. You have yourself seen that in society I am like a fish on the sand, which writhes, and writhes, and cannot get off until some benevolent Galatea throws it back into the mighty ocean. I was, indeed, quite out of my element, dearest friend, and was surprised by you at a time when discouragement had completely mastered me—but how quickly it vanished at your glance! I knew at once that you must be from some other sphere than this absurd world, in which, with the best will, one cannot open one's ears. I am a miserable being, and yet I complain of others!!—But you will forgive me for this with that good heart which looks out of your eyes, and that intelligence which is hidden in your ears,—at least they know how to flatter by the way in which they listen."My ears are, alas! a partition wall through which I cannot easily have any friendly intercourse with men. Otherwise!—perhaps!—I should have felt more assured with you; but I could only understand the full, intelligent glance of your eyes, which has so taken hold of me, that I shall never forget it. Dear friend, dearest girl!—Art! who understands her? with whom can I discuss this great goddess?... How dear to me are the few days in which wechatted together, or, I should say, rather corresponded! I have preserved all the little notes with your witty, charming, most charming answers, and so I have to thank my defective hearing that the best part of those hasty conversations is written down. Since you left I have had vexatious hours—hours of shadow in which I can do nothing. I wandered in the Schönbrunn Allée for about three hours after you left, but no angel met me who could have taken possession of me as you did,my Angel."Pardon, dearest friend, this deviation from the original key, but such intervals I must have as a relief to my heart. So you have written about me to Goethe, have you not? I could bury my head in a sack, so that I might not hear or see anything of all that is going on in the world, because I shall not meet you again, dearest angel, but I shall receive a letter from you soon. Hope sustains me, as she does half the world; through all my life she has been my companion. What would otherwise have become of me?—I send you 'Kennst du das Land,' written with my own hand, as a remembrance of the hour in which I first knew you. I send you also another, which I have composed since I took leave of you; my dearestHerz!"Herz, mein Herz, was soll das geben,Was bedränget dich so sehr;Welch ein neues, fremdes Leben,Ich erkenne dich nicht mehr."Answer me at once, dearest friend; write and tell me what is to become of me since my heart has turned such a rebel. Write to your most faithful friend,"Beethoven."
"Vienna, August 11, 1810.
"Dearest Friend,—Never has there been a more beautiful spring than this year; I say so, and feel it too, because in it I first made your acquaintance. You have yourself seen that in society I am like a fish on the sand, which writhes, and writhes, and cannot get off until some benevolent Galatea throws it back into the mighty ocean. I was, indeed, quite out of my element, dearest friend, and was surprised by you at a time when discouragement had completely mastered me—but how quickly it vanished at your glance! I knew at once that you must be from some other sphere than this absurd world, in which, with the best will, one cannot open one's ears. I am a miserable being, and yet I complain of others!!—But you will forgive me for this with that good heart which looks out of your eyes, and that intelligence which is hidden in your ears,—at least they know how to flatter by the way in which they listen.
"My ears are, alas! a partition wall through which I cannot easily have any friendly intercourse with men. Otherwise!—perhaps!—I should have felt more assured with you; but I could only understand the full, intelligent glance of your eyes, which has so taken hold of me, that I shall never forget it. Dear friend, dearest girl!—Art! who understands her? with whom can I discuss this great goddess?... How dear to me are the few days in which wechatted together, or, I should say, rather corresponded! I have preserved all the little notes with your witty, charming, most charming answers, and so I have to thank my defective hearing that the best part of those hasty conversations is written down. Since you left I have had vexatious hours—hours of shadow in which I can do nothing. I wandered in the Schönbrunn Allée for about three hours after you left, but no angel met me who could have taken possession of me as you did,my Angel.
"Pardon, dearest friend, this deviation from the original key, but such intervals I must have as a relief to my heart. So you have written about me to Goethe, have you not? I could bury my head in a sack, so that I might not hear or see anything of all that is going on in the world, because I shall not meet you again, dearest angel, but I shall receive a letter from you soon. Hope sustains me, as she does half the world; through all my life she has been my companion. What would otherwise have become of me?—I send you 'Kennst du das Land,' written with my own hand, as a remembrance of the hour in which I first knew you. I send you also another, which I have composed since I took leave of you; my dearestHerz!"
Herz, mein Herz, was soll das geben,Was bedränget dich so sehr;Welch ein neues, fremdes Leben,Ich erkenne dich nicht mehr.
"Answer me at once, dearest friend; write and tell me what is to become of me since my heart has turned such a rebel. Write to your most faithful friend,
"Beethoven."
"Vienna, 10th February, 1811."Dear, beloved Friend,—I have already had two letters from you, and see from those to Tonie that you still remember me, and even too kindly. Your first letter I carried about with me the whole summer, and it has often made me very happy. Although I do not write to you frequently, and you see nothing at all of me, yet in thought I write you a thousand times a thousand letters. How you must feel in Berlin amongst all the frivolous, worldly rabble, I could imagine, even though you had not written it to me yourself,—mere prating about Art without any results!! The best description of this is to be found in Schiller's poem, 'The River,' in which the Spree speaks.—You are about to be married, dear friend, or are so already, and I have not been able to see you even once previously. May all the felicity with which marriage blesses those who enter into her bonds be poured upon you and your husband! What shall I say to you about myself? I can only exclaim with Johanna, 'Compassionate my fate!' If I am but spared for a few years longer, I will thank Him who embraces all within Himself—the Most High—for this as well as for all other weal and woe.—If you should mention me when writing to Goethe, strive to find all those words which can express to him my deepest reverence and admiration. I am just about to write to him myself regarding 'Egmont,' to which I have composed the music, solely out of love for his poetry, which always makes me happy;—but who can sufficiently thank a Poet, the most precious jewel of a Nation! Now no more, my dear, good friend. I only returned this morning from aBacchanalewhere I laughed too heartily, only to weep nearly as much to-day; boisterous joy often drives me violently back upon myself. As to Clemens, many thanks for his courtesy; with regard to the Cantata,the subject is not important enough for us, it is very different in Berlin. As for my affection, the sister has so large a share of it that not much is left for the brother—will he be content with this? Now farewell, dear, dear friend. I imprint a sorrowful kiss upon your forehead, thus impressing, as with a seal, all my thoughts upon it. Write soon, soon, often, to your Brother,"Beethoven."
"Vienna, 10th February, 1811.
"Dear, beloved Friend,—I have already had two letters from you, and see from those to Tonie that you still remember me, and even too kindly. Your first letter I carried about with me the whole summer, and it has often made me very happy. Although I do not write to you frequently, and you see nothing at all of me, yet in thought I write you a thousand times a thousand letters. How you must feel in Berlin amongst all the frivolous, worldly rabble, I could imagine, even though you had not written it to me yourself,—mere prating about Art without any results!! The best description of this is to be found in Schiller's poem, 'The River,' in which the Spree speaks.—You are about to be married, dear friend, or are so already, and I have not been able to see you even once previously. May all the felicity with which marriage blesses those who enter into her bonds be poured upon you and your husband! What shall I say to you about myself? I can only exclaim with Johanna, 'Compassionate my fate!' If I am but spared for a few years longer, I will thank Him who embraces all within Himself—the Most High—for this as well as for all other weal and woe.—If you should mention me when writing to Goethe, strive to find all those words which can express to him my deepest reverence and admiration. I am just about to write to him myself regarding 'Egmont,' to which I have composed the music, solely out of love for his poetry, which always makes me happy;—but who can sufficiently thank a Poet, the most precious jewel of a Nation! Now no more, my dear, good friend. I only returned this morning from aBacchanalewhere I laughed too heartily, only to weep nearly as much to-day; boisterous joy often drives me violently back upon myself. As to Clemens, many thanks for his courtesy; with regard to the Cantata,the subject is not important enough for us, it is very different in Berlin. As for my affection, the sister has so large a share of it that not much is left for the brother—will he be content with this? Now farewell, dear, dear friend. I imprint a sorrowful kiss upon your forehead, thus impressing, as with a seal, all my thoughts upon it. Write soon, soon, often, to your Brother,
"Beethoven."
"Toeplitz, 15th August, 1812."My most dear, kind Friend,—Kings and princes may indeed be able to create professors and privy councillors, and to bestow titles and decorations, but great men they cannot make. Spirits that tower above the common herd, these they cannot pretend to make, and therefore they are forced to respect them. When two men like Goethe and myself come together, these grandees must perceive what is accounted great by such as we."On our way home yesterday we met the whole imperial family; we saw them coming in the distance, when Goethe immediately dropped my arm to place himself on one side; and say what I would, I could not get him to advance another step. I pressed my hat down upon my head, buttoned up my great-coat, and made my way with folded arms through the thickest of the throng. Princes and courtiers formed a line, Duke Rudolph took off his hat, the Empress made the first salutation. The great ones of the earthknow me! To my infinite amusement, I saw the procession file past Goethe, who stood by the side, hat in hand, bending low. I took him to task for it pretty smartly, gave him no quarter, and reproached him with all his sins,especially those against you, dearest friend, for we had just been speaking about you. Heavens! had I been granted a time with you such ashehad, I should have produced many more great works! A musician is also a poet, and can feel himself transported by a pair of eyes into a more beautiful world, where nobler spirits sport with him, and impose great tasks upon him. What ideas rushed into my mind when I first saw you in the little observatory during that glorious May shower, which proved so fertilizing to me also! The loveliest themes stole from your glances into my heart,—themes which shall enchant the world when Beethoven can no longer direct. If God grant me a few years more, I must see you again, my dearest friend; the voice which ever upholds the right within me demands it. Spirits can also love one another; I shall ever woo yours; your applause is dearer to me than aught else in the world. I told Goethe my opinion of the effect of applause upon men like us—we must be heard with intelligence by our peers; emotion is very well for women (pardon me), but music ought to strike fire from the souls of men. Ah! dearest child, how long is it since we were both so perfectly agreed upon all points! There is no real good but the possession of a pure, good soul, which we perceive in everything, and before which we have no need to dissemble.We must be something if we would appear something.The world must recognise us, it is not always unjust; but this is a light matter to me, for I have a loftier aim."In Vienna I hope for a letter from you; write soon, soon and fully; in eight days I shall be there. The court goes to-morrow; to-day they are to play once more. Goethe has taught the Empress herrôle. His duke and he wished me to play some of my own music, but I refused them both, for they are both in love with Chinese porcelain. Alittle indulgence is necessary, for understanding seems to have lost the upper hand; but I will not play for such perverse tastes, neither do I choose to be a party to the follies of princes who are for ever committing some such absurdity. Adieu, adieu, dear love; your last letter lay for a whole night next to my heart, and cheered me there. Musicians allow themselves everything. Heavens! how I love you!"Your most faithful friend and deaf brother,"Beethoven."
"Toeplitz, 15th August, 1812.
"My most dear, kind Friend,—Kings and princes may indeed be able to create professors and privy councillors, and to bestow titles and decorations, but great men they cannot make. Spirits that tower above the common herd, these they cannot pretend to make, and therefore they are forced to respect them. When two men like Goethe and myself come together, these grandees must perceive what is accounted great by such as we.
"On our way home yesterday we met the whole imperial family; we saw them coming in the distance, when Goethe immediately dropped my arm to place himself on one side; and say what I would, I could not get him to advance another step. I pressed my hat down upon my head, buttoned up my great-coat, and made my way with folded arms through the thickest of the throng. Princes and courtiers formed a line, Duke Rudolph took off his hat, the Empress made the first salutation. The great ones of the earthknow me! To my infinite amusement, I saw the procession file past Goethe, who stood by the side, hat in hand, bending low. I took him to task for it pretty smartly, gave him no quarter, and reproached him with all his sins,especially those against you, dearest friend, for we had just been speaking about you. Heavens! had I been granted a time with you such ashehad, I should have produced many more great works! A musician is also a poet, and can feel himself transported by a pair of eyes into a more beautiful world, where nobler spirits sport with him, and impose great tasks upon him. What ideas rushed into my mind when I first saw you in the little observatory during that glorious May shower, which proved so fertilizing to me also! The loveliest themes stole from your glances into my heart,—themes which shall enchant the world when Beethoven can no longer direct. If God grant me a few years more, I must see you again, my dearest friend; the voice which ever upholds the right within me demands it. Spirits can also love one another; I shall ever woo yours; your applause is dearer to me than aught else in the world. I told Goethe my opinion of the effect of applause upon men like us—we must be heard with intelligence by our peers; emotion is very well for women (pardon me), but music ought to strike fire from the souls of men. Ah! dearest child, how long is it since we were both so perfectly agreed upon all points! There is no real good but the possession of a pure, good soul, which we perceive in everything, and before which we have no need to dissemble.We must be something if we would appear something.The world must recognise us, it is not always unjust; but this is a light matter to me, for I have a loftier aim.
"In Vienna I hope for a letter from you; write soon, soon and fully; in eight days I shall be there. The court goes to-morrow; to-day they are to play once more. Goethe has taught the Empress herrôle. His duke and he wished me to play some of my own music, but I refused them both, for they are both in love with Chinese porcelain. Alittle indulgence is necessary, for understanding seems to have lost the upper hand; but I will not play for such perverse tastes, neither do I choose to be a party to the follies of princes who are for ever committing some such absurdity. Adieu, adieu, dear love; your last letter lay for a whole night next to my heart, and cheered me there. Musicians allow themselves everything. Heavens! how I love you!
"Your most faithful friend and deaf brother,"Beethoven."
These letters were first published in Bettina's book, "Ilius Pamphilius und die Ambrosia," but the style is so unlike Beethoven's simple mode of expression, that it is difficult to discover what the composer really wrote to Bettina, and what has been supplied by the latter's rather too vivid imagination. The reiterateddear,dearest, and thewrite soon,soon,often, are very feminine and veryun-Beethovenish. This strange, inexplicable little being, who fascinated not only Beethoven, but every one else with whom she came in contact, has also published an account of her interviews with Beethoven. This is so highly coloured that we may be excused for doubting the perfect truth of the recital, especially as we know what a gloss—nay, what falseness—she contrived to give to all that related to her intercourse with Goethe. She herself tells us, naïvely enough, that when she showed Beethoven one morning her account of whathe had said the previous day, he was quite surprised, and exclaimed, "Did I really say that? I must have had araptus!"
Bettina was, however, of some service to him, as it was doubtless she who paved the way to his acquaintance with Goethe, and their meeting in 1812 at Toeplitz; and her family remained true, warm friends of the composer long after the great minister had forgotten his very existence.
Beethoven was most unfortunate in his attachments, the objects of which were always of much higher social standing than himself. Constantly associating with people of rank and culture, it was natural that to the sensitive nature of our poet, the young girl nobly born, with all the intuitive, nameless fascinations of the high-bred aristocrat, should present a great contrast to the plebeian, every-day graces of thebourgeoise. Beethoven used to say that he had found more real appreciation of his works amongst the nobility than in any other circle, and we can hardly wonder at the infatuation with which he stakes all his chances of happiness on a love which he knows can never be gratified.
The following little scrap in his handwriting has been preserved:—"Only love—yes, only that—has power to give me a happier life. Oh, God! let me at length find her—her who destined to be mine, who shall strengthen me in virtue!" Schindler imagines that these words have reference to a well-known dilettante of great talent, Fräulein Marie Pachler, whom Beethoven admired exceedingly. He neversummoned up courage enough to propose to her however, and she afterwards married an advocate in Gratz. This lady may also be the subject of the allusion in a letter to Ries, 1816:—"Say all that is kind from me to your wife; I, alas! have none. I found only one with whom I could have been happy, and she will probably never be mine. But I am not on this account a woman-hater!"
Another love of Beethoven's was the Countess Marie Erdödy, to whom he dedicated the two splendid Trios, Op. 70, but this seems to have been entirely a Platonic affection.
Who can exaggerate the immense benefit that a loving, tender wife would have been to Beethoven—a wife like Mozart's Constance? The consciousness of one ever by his side to whom he might safely confide all that wounded or annoyed him, would have more than neutralized the chilling, exasperating effects of the calamity that had overtaken him, would have been a fresh impetus to great achievements. But fate had willed it otherwise.
In nothing was the want of a wife so apparent as in Beethoven's domesticménage, which certainly was thenon plus ultraof discomfort. One great cause of this was his habit of frequently changing his abode. He had long since left the Lichnowski Palace, his infirmity rendering it desirable that he should have a home of his own, but he was extremely difficult to please in the choice of a residence. One house he would leave because the sun did not shine into his apartment; another because the supply ofwater was deficient (a serious drawback to him, as he was accustomed to lave his head and face profusely while composing), and for even less cogent reasons he would pack up and leave at an hour's notice, so that it soon became a difficult matter to find a suitable abode for him. It may easily be imagined that this constant removal was not effected without considerable outlay, and so badly did he manage that at one time he had no less than four houses on his hands. When all other resources failed, he would take refuge in the fourth story of his friend Baron Pasqualati's house, which was constantly reserved for him. The summer he always spent in the country, generally in a hired lodging. On one occasion a suite of apartments in the villa of Baron Pronay had been placed at his disposal, and as the house stood in the midst of a superb park, it was thought that Beethoven would be fully satisfied. In a few days, however, the bird had flown, alleging as his reason that he could not endure to listen to the ceremonious salutation with which his host accosted him every morning in his ramble—much less to return it!
Oulibischeff's amusing description of our composer's surroundings is worth repeating:—
"In his room reigned a confusion, an organized chaos, such as can hardly be imagined. Books and music lay on every article of furniture, or were heaped up like pyramids in the four corners. A multitude of letters which he had received during the week or the month covered the floor like a white carpet with red spots. On the window-sill were displayed theremains of a succulent breakfast, by the side or on the top of proof sheets awaiting correction. There a row of bottles, partly sealed, partly empty; further on anescritoire, and on it the sketch of a quartet; on the pianoforte a flying sheet of note-paper with the embryo of a symphony; while to bring so many directly opposite things into harmony, everything was united by a thick layer of dust.
"It may easily be imagined that amidst such awell-arranged whole, the artist had often no small trouble to find what he required. He used to complain bitterly about this, and always put the blame on other people's shoulders, for he fancied that he was extremely systematic in the way in which he kept his things, and used to declare that in the darkest night he could find even a pin belonging to him, if people 'would but put things back in their proper places'!
"On one occasion an important paper was missing—neither a sketch nor a loose sheet, but a thick, clearly copied score from the Mass in D. At last it was found; but where, think you? In the kitchen, where it had been used to wrap up eatables! More than oneDonnerwetter! and more than one bad egg must have flown at the head of the devoted cook, when this was discovered; for Beethoven liked fresh eggs too well to use them as missiles.... Once, when he had dismissed his housekeeper, a very good orderly person (and soon received into favour again), he resolved to make himself independent, and to keep no more servants, since they only 'workedmischief in the house.' And why should he not wait upon himself, and look after the kitchen himself? Could it be more difficult to prepare a dinner than to compose a C minor symphony? Charmed with this glorious idea, Beethoven hastens to put it into execution. He invites some friends to dinner, buys the necessary provisions in the market, and carries them home himself; ties on the business-like white apron; adjusts the indispensable nightcap on his head; grasps the cook's knife, and sets to work. The guests arrive, and find him before the fire, whose scorching flame seems to act like the fire of inspiration upon him. The patience of the Viennese appetites was put to an unwonted trial. At length the dishes were placed on the table, and the host proved that it was worth while waiting for him. The soup might have challenged thesoupe maigregiven in charity; the boiled meat, scarcely cooked, presupposed in individuals of the human race the digestion of an ostrich; the vegetables swam in a sea of fat and water; the roast meat, splendidly burned to a cinder, looked as though it had found its way down the chimney; in short, nothing was fit to eat. And nobody did eat anything except the host, who by word and example encouraged his guests to fall to. In vain; Beethoven'schefs-d'œuvreof cookery were not appreciated, and the guests made their dinner on bread, fruit, and sweetmeats, adding plenty of wine to prevent any bad effects from their enforced abstinence. This remarkable feast convinced even the great Maestro that composing and cooking aretwo very different things, and the unjustly deposed cook was speedily re-established in her rights."
It was very fortunate for Beethoven that after some years passed in this erratic way, a sensible lady-friend at length came to the rescue, and by her feminine tact and adroitness, succeeded in persuading him to abandon his nomadic habits to some extent, and to mingle a little more in society. This was Frau Nanette Streicher, the amiable wife of the celebrated instrument maker, and early friend of Schiller. She began by putting the wardrobe of the composer to rights (as might be imagined, it was in a deplorable plight), and afterwards, in conjunction with her husband, hired a respectable house for Beethoven, furnished it suitably, and engaged a man (a tailor by trade) and his wife to wait upon him. In this quiet haven our tempest-tossed Beethoven came to anchor for a while, and might have been seen busy over his pianoforte, or among his papers, while his cross-legged knight of the Goose stitched away comfortably in the adjoining anteroom.
When fairly domiciled, Beethoven's mode of life was very regular. His habit was to rise every morning, winter and summer, at daybreak, when he at once proceeded to his desk, where he wrote till about two o'clock without any interruption, except the necessary interval for breakfast, and—if his ideas did not flow rapidly enough—an occasional run of half an hour or longer into the open air. Between two and three he dined, after which it was his invariable custom to make the circuit of the towntwice or three times; and no weather could keep him within doors—summer heat or winter frost, thunder, hail, rain, sleet,—nothing prevented this afternoon ramble. It was, in fact, his time for composition; he never ventured out without his note-book to preserve any fugitive thoughts that might flit across his mind, and used laughingly to apply to himself Johanna's words, "I dare not come without my banner!" Necessarily, therefore, he was a very silent companion, but inonesense only, as the whole way he continued humming (or rather growling) in a manner peculiar to himself any thema on which he was mentally at work. Ries relates that on one occasion when they were walking together, Beethoven suddenly exclaimed, "A theme has occurred to me!" They hurried onwards in silence, and on arriving at home the master went at once to the pianoforte (without even removing his hat), where he thundered like an inspired giant for more than an hour, during which the beautiful finale to the Sonata Op. 54 (in F major) struggled into existence.
Beethoven generally returned from his promenade only when warned by the shadows that evening was coming on; then alone in the darkening twilight he loved to breathe to his best, his only friend, hisClavier,[31]the thoughts which met with no response in human sympathy. During the evening he very seldom worked, but would smoke his pipe, and play occasionally on his viola or violin, both of whichmust always be placed ready for him on the pianoforte.
Our poor deaf Beethoven had, too, his little coterie of sincere and attached friends, among whom his real nature could show itself without restraint or distrust, and who clung to him through life in spite of the unceasing efforts of the two brothers to dislodge them. These were—naturally Prince Lichnowski and his brother Count Moritz, who cherished a love and admiration for Beethoven which the latter warmly reciprocated, dedicating to the Count his Variations, Op. 35, and the beautiful Idyl, Op. 90. To these must be added the worthy Baron von Zmeskall, a Hungarian State Secretary, to whom the composer addressed many a humorous epistle; his old friend Stephan Breuning; the Baron von Gleichenstein; his secretary Schindler; and last, but not least, Franz, Count von Brunswick, to whom he dedicated the Sonata Appassionata, and who had more influence over him than anybody else.
One proceeding Beethoven never omitted, viz., the reading of the evening paper. In these stirring times the newspaper was an absolute necessity, and our musician would never retire to rest without previously ascertaining the state of the political horizon. He used to frequent a coffee-house which boasted another means of exit besides the general one, and taking up his position in the background, he would steadily peruse theGazette(not a very long task in those days, when "our own" correspondents were as yet undreamt of), and as soon as the last word ofthe last page had been scanned, beat a hasty retreat through the private door, and wend his solitary way homewards. Ten o'clock rarely found him out of bed. Such was his simple, innocent day! It was no mere phrase, that declaration of his, "I live only in my art,"—it was indeed the one connecting link between him and others.
What he produced in suffering and loneliness stirred, like a mighty wind among the forest branches, the noblest feelings of a thousand hearts, bidding them grapple with Destiny as he had done, and prove themselvesmenand heroes!
FOOTNOTES:[30]In translating these letters we have thought it best to keep to the original pronoun,—the simplethoubeing more suited to Beethoven's ideal love than the coarseryou.[31]Beethoven could not endure the foreign wordpianoforte.
[30]In translating these letters we have thought it best to keep to the original pronoun,—the simplethoubeing more suited to Beethoven's ideal love than the coarseryou.
[30]In translating these letters we have thought it best to keep to the original pronoun,—the simplethoubeing more suited to Beethoven's ideal love than the coarseryou.
[31]Beethoven could not endure the foreign wordpianoforte.
[31]Beethoven could not endure the foreign wordpianoforte.
VICTORY AND SHADOW.
Period of Greatest Intellectual Activity—Hummel—The Battle of Vittoria—Congress of Vienna—Maelzel—Pecuniary Difficulties—Adoption of Nephew—The Philharmonic Society—The Classical and Romantic Schools—The Ninth Symphony—His Nephew's Conduct—Last Illness.
Period of Greatest Intellectual Activity—Hummel—The Battle of Vittoria—Congress of Vienna—Maelzel—Pecuniary Difficulties—Adoption of Nephew—The Philharmonic Society—The Classical and Romantic Schools—The Ninth Symphony—His Nephew's Conduct—Last Illness.
he period between the years 1805 and 1814 may be considered that of Beethoven's greatest creative energy. It is almost impossible to keep pace with the stream of colossal works which flowed without intermission from his pen. To this period belong the G major and E flat pianoforte concertos, without exception the most poetical and the noblest compositions of the kind which we possess; the fantasia for pianoforte, orchestra, and chorus; the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth symphonies; the "Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage" on Goethe's short but suggestive poem, "Tiefe Stille herrscht im Wasser;ohne Regung ruht das Meer;" the First Mass; the music to "Egmont;" the overtures to Collin's tragedy of "Coriolanus," and to "King Stephen," and the "Ruins of Athens,"—each of which, from its intellectual grasp of subject, wonderful ideality, and highly finished detail, would merit a volume to itself. Nor do these Titanic orchestral productions occupy the whole of his attention. They are accompanied by a mass of works for the pianoforte, which, if in one sense slighter than those we have named, yet, in another, stand equally high; the soliloquies and dialogues (if we may be allowed the expression) contained in the pianoforte sonatas breathe thoughts as noble and as deep as those expressed by the more varieddramatis personæof the orchestra or the quartets. Truly, a perfect acquaintance with Beethoven would claim the devotion of the highest powers, and the study of a lifetime. Any attempt, however, to depict these great works briefly in words would be futile, and we therefore pass on to the consideration of the poet's outer life. This was almost monotonous—certainly not varied. Beethoven, as we have seen, lived wholly in his art, and the changes which occurred, most momentous to him, were not those of outward circumstance, but of inner, intellectual development.
In the year 1809 he was offered the post of Kapellmeister to the King of Westphalia, with a salary of six hundred ducats; and this, his great desire of possessing a fixed income made him ready to accept; although he would certainly have been miserable in such a position, as Jerome was not the man to understand either him or his works. Happily,this ordeal was spared him. It was thought derogatory to the dignity of Austria that her greatest composer, the one of whom she had most reason to be proud, should be allowed through pecuniary considerations to quit her bounds; and as the Emperor would do nothing for Beethoven (his abhorrence of etiquette and well-known republican sentiments having prevented his ever getting into favour at Court), an agreement was ultimately entered into by the Archduke Rudolph (Beethoven's pupil, afterwards Archbishop of Olmütz) and the Princes Lobkowitz and Kinsky, to pay the composer annually the sum of four thousand guldens, on condition of his continuing to reside in Vienna. In two years' time this was reduced one-fifth, owing to changes in the Austrian Finance, and subsequently it dwindled down to a mere nothing, from the death and bankruptcy of two of the contracting parties—but Beethoven could get no redress, although he religiously fulfilled his part of the compact.
In drawing the money from the executors of Prince Kinsky he was obliged always to send in a proof that he was still in existence. This annoyed him excessively, and he generally had the affair transacted for him by a friend, which on one occasion produced the following laconic voucher to Schindler:—
"Certificate of Life.—The Fish lives!vidiPastor Romualdus,"—an allusion to his eccentric use of water when composing.
In this year also occurred the bombardment ofVienna, out of which Ries has contrived to bring forward an implied accusation of cowardice against the composer, in his statement that Beethoven hid himself in a cellar, burying his head among cushions that he might not hear the firing.
The explanation of this lies on the surface; if he did take refuge underground it was only what every other inhabitant of the city, whose duty did not call him elsewhere, was doing; and as for the cushions—the vibration of the cannonade heard in that vault must have been agony to his diseased nerve. Had Beethoven really been alarmed he might easily have quitted Vienna. Cowardice in any form is the last vice that could be attributed to him; resolute and firm, he feared no danger.
In 1810 the Mass in C was performed for the first time at Eisenstadt, the residence of Prince Esterhazy, the grandson of Haydn's patron, in whose service Hummel was at the time as Kapellmeister. Esterhazy, accustomed only to the simple services and masses of the Haydn-Mozart school, did not know what to make of a production so totally different. Accordingly, at thedéjeunerafterwards given in the palace to the artists and dilettanti who had assembled for the occasion, he said, with a smile, to our composer, "Now, dear Beethoven, what is this that you have been about again?" The susceptible musician, not a little irritated at hearing his work so lightly spoken of, glanced towards Hummel, who happened to be standing by the Prince's side, wearing a peculiar smile, which seemed to Beethoven full of malicious pleasure. This was too much—the opinion of a fashionable worldling like Esterhazy was nothing to Beethoven, but that a brother in art should so misunderstand him—should rejoice at an apparent failure!—he rose abruptly, and quitted the palace.
Such is the correct account of the rupture between Beethoven and Hummel, which lasted until a few days before the death of the former, when Hummel, hearing of his precarious state, hastened to Vienna to effect a reconciliation before it was too late.[32]Another version of the story is that the two composers were rivals for the hand of the same lady, and that Hummel, owing to Beethoven's deafness and his own better position as Kapellmeister, was the favoured suitor! The practice of tracing every event in our composer's life to a love affair is just as ridiculous as the opposite extreme of denying his capability for the tender passion.
A more interesting incident in connection with the First Mass is that related by Schindler of the effect produced upon Beethoven by the reading of the German text composed for it by some poet, who, though unknown to fame, seems to have translated the master's thoughts from the language of Tones into that of Words, with power and truth. WhenBeethoven came to the "Qui tollis" his eyes overflowed with tears (the first and last time that he was ever seen so affected) as he exclaimed, "Thus I felt while composing this!"
The tide of Beethoven's earthly renown and glory, which had been slowly rising for years, reached its height in 1813-14.
In the former year took place the two celebrated concerts on behalf of the Austrian and Bavarian soldiers wounded in the battle of Hanau, when the Seventh Symphony, and "Wellington's Victory, or the Battle of Vittoria," were performed for the first time. We can easily imagine, from the sensation excited even now by the latter work, how intense must have been the enthusiasm which greeted its performance at a time when popular feeling was strung up to the highest pitch. Beethoven himself directed, regulating the movements of his bâton by those of Schuppanzigh's bow. In a notice of the concert written by himself he says: "It was an unprecedented assembly of distinguished artists, every one of whom was inspired by the desire of accomplishing something by his art for the benefit of the Fatherland; and all worked together unanimously, accepting of subordinate places without regard to precedence, that a splendidensemblemight be attained.... My part was the direction of the whole, but only because the music happened to be of my composition. Had it been otherwise, I would have stationed myself as readily at the great drum, like Herr Hummel; for our only motives were Love to the Fatherland, andthe joyful devotion of our powers to serve those who had sacrificed so much for us."
In 1814 occurred the great Congress, when Vienna was for a season the abode of kings, princes, and delegates from every Court in Europe, and the glittering capital was well-nigh intoxicated by its own magnificence. The magistrates of the city invited Beethoven to compose a Cantata for the occasion, which produced the "Glorreiche Augenblick," perhaps the composer's most neglected work, and deservedly so, as it is not worthy of him. It won for him, however, the presentation of the freedom of the city, the only distinction which Beethoven valued. Nor was this his only triumph. His genius began to be universally recognised; he was created an honorary member of Academies and Societies in London, Paris, Stockholm, and Amsterdam; and the Philharmonic Society in London presented him with a superb grand pianoforte of Broadwood's manufacture. In short, from every nation in Europe, and even from America, he received striking proofs of the love and admiration in which he was held. Stimulated by these manifestations, excited by the splendour around him, and the stirring, momentous events which were taking place, Beethoven was induced to depart for the time from his usual solitary habits, and to mingle for a few weeks in society. In the apartments of Prince Rasoumowski, the well-known Russian dilettante, he was introduced to many of the illustrious visitors, and long retained a lively recollection, half comical, half gratified, of the manner in whichhe had been idolized;—how the grand seigneurs had paid court to him, and how admirably he had played his part in receiving their homage! He was most deeply affected by his interview with the gentle Empress Elizabeth of Russia, with whom he conversed in his customary frank, open way, completely setting aside all etiquette; while she, on her part, expressed the highest veneration for the composer, and at her departure left him a gift of two hundred ducats, which he acknowledged after his own fashion by dedicating to her his brilliant Polonaise, Op. 89. This was the only substantial result to our poverty-stricken Beethoven of the attachment professed by the whole of the gay throng!
The bright episode of the Congress, with its fêtes and triumphs, soon flitted past, bringing out in sterner and darker contrast the days which followed.
Beethoven had dedicated his "Battle of Vittoria" to the Prince Regent of England (George IV.), but to his great chagrin, no notice was taken of it. He alludes to this in a letter to Ries, and referring to the Prince's well-known character ofgourmand, says, "He might at least have sent me a butcher's knife or a turtle!"
Another vexation in connection with the symphony, causing him infinite annoyance, arose out of the despicable conduct of Maelzel, afterwards the inventor of the metronome. In the year 1812 he had made the acquaintance of the latter, who had promised to construct for him a sound-conductor, in return for which Beethoven composed a kind of warlike piecefor the mechanician's new instrument, the panharmonica, which he was on the point of taking to England for exhibition. The effect of Beethoven's work was so marvellous, that Maelzel urged him to arrange it for the orchestra, and the result was—the "Battle of Vittoria." Maelzel meanwhile went on constructing four machines, only one of which was found available, and Beethoven, without the slightest suspicion of any underhand dealing, allowed him to take the entire management of the concerts for the relief of the wounded. In his hermit life he did not hear much of what was going on around him, and his consternation may therefore be imagined when informed that his false friend was announcing the symphony everywhere as his own property, stating that it had been given to him by Beethoven in return for his machine, and the sum of four hundred guldens which he professed to have lent him! He had actually contrived to have many of the orchestral parts copied out, and those that were wanting supplied by some low musician, and with this mutilated work he was on his way to England. The matter was at once placed in the hands of the law; but it was long before Beethoven recovered from the effects of this fraud; it made him, in fact, suspicious ever after towards copyists. The loan of four hundred guldens proved to have beenfifty, which Beethoven accepted from him at a time when, as he states in his instructions to his lawyers, he was "in dire necessity;deserted by every one in Vienna."
This Maelzel had the impudence subsequently towrite to Beethoven, requesting his patronage for the metronome, and pretending that he was busily engaged in preparing a sound-conductor which would enable the master to direct in the orchestra. The latter never made its appearance, but Beethoven, who at first approved of the metronome, did all in his power to have it introduced. Afterwards, when he saw the confusion oftempowhich it had occasioned, he used to say, "Don't let us have any metronome! He that has true feeling will not require it, and for him who has none, it will not be of any use."
This affair with Maelzel gives us a glimpse into the pecuniary difficulties which harassed Beethoven throughout his life, assuming greater prominence towards the end. He was always in want of money, and yet (according to the notions of the times) he was handsomely paid for his compositions. What, then, was the cause of it? Were his means swallowed up by his frequent removals? Did the perplexity arise simply from his unbusiness-like habits? To these questions we must add a third, which may, perhaps, afford a clue to the mystery,—What became of the valuable presents, the watches, rings, breast-pins, snuff-boxes, &c., &c., of which Beethoven had received so many? When asked where such a gift was, he would look bewildered, and say after a moment's reflection, "I really don't know!" The matter would then pass entirely from his thoughts; but there were those about him who were not equally indifferent!
In 1815 the cloud which for two years had been threatening, burst upon him in those troubles andsorrows which encompassed him until the end. He lost his old friend and staunch supporter, Prince Lichnowski, and, a few months after, his brother Carl, who in dying bequeathed to him as a legacy the care of his only child. It seemed as if the annoyance which this man had caused our Beethoven in his life were to be perpetuated and continually renewed in the person of his son. Not so, however, did the master regard the fresh call upon him. After having done all that kindness could suggest, or money procure, to relieve his brother's sufferings and cheer his last days, he took home the orphan child to his heart with a love and tenderness that could not have been greater had the boy been his own.
His first step was to remove him from the care of his mother, a woman of lax morals and low habits. In this Beethoven was actuated by the purest and best motives; but, unfortunately, his zeal went too far. He forgot that the fact of his sister-in-law's having been a bad wife did not necessarily imply that she had lost a mother's heart; and in insisting upon the total separation between the two, he roused all the bitterest feelings of a woman's nature, and prepared much sorrow for himself. The "Queen of Night," as he nicknamed her, sought redress through the law, and for four years a suit for the possession of the lad was pending. In his appeal Beethoven thus nobly expresses the sentiments which dictated his conduct:—"My wishes and efforts have no other aim than that of giving the best possible education to the boy, his talents justifying the greatest expectations; and of fulfilling the trust reposed in my brotherly love by his father. The stem is now pliable; but if it be for a time neglected, it will become crooked, and outgrow the gardener's training hand; and upright bearing, knowledge, and character will be irretrievably lost. I know of no duty more sacred than that of the training and education of a child. The duty of a guardian can only consist in the appreciation of what is good, and the adoption of a right course; and only then does he consult the welfare of his ward; whereas in obstructing the good he neglects his duty."
Misled by the prefixvan, his advocate unfortunately carried the case to the Aristocratic Court; and, as it went on, Beethoven was called upon to show his right to this proceeding. Pointing with eloquent emphasis to his head and heart, the composer declared that in these lay his nobility; but, however true in the abstract, the law could not admit this plea, and after a decision had been given in his favour, the case had to be re-tried before the ordinary Civil Court. This occurrence wounded Beethoven more than can be described; he felt his honour tarnished as a man and as an artist, and for several months no persuasion could induce him to show himself in public. In addition to this, the evidence necessarily brought forward to strengthen his plea revealed only too plainly the loose life of his sister-in-law, and such anexposéof one so nearly related to himself was, for his pure and reserved nature, the height of misery.
The Civil Court reversed the decision of the Aristocratic, and the boy was given over to his mother; while Beethoven, determined to gain his end, brought the case before the High Court of Appeal, where he was finally successful. Let the reader imagine the effect of all this painful publicity, following upon the annoyances with Maelzel, to a mind constituted like Beethoven's. No Stylites on his pillar could have suffered more than did our composer in his loneliness until the cause was gained. And what return did he meet with from the object of his solicitude?—The basest ingratitude.
About this time he began seriously to think of visiting London; the Philharmonic Society made him the most handsome offers; and his own inclinations prompted him to quit Vienna. He had at all times cherished the greatest love and admiration for England and the English nation, our free institutions harmonizing with his political views; and a commission coming from this quarter was always welcome to him, not only on account of the unwontedhonorairewhich usually accompanied it, but also because of the high esteem in which he held the English as artists and appreciators of art. During the latter years of his life, therefore, this visit to London was his favourite scheme, and he intendeden routeto pass through the Rhine provinces, that he might once more see the home and the friends of his boyhood;—but it was destined never to take place.
The four years of the lawsuit were almost barren of creative result, but in the winter of 1819-20 he began his Mass in D. This colossal work, writtenmore for future generations than for us, was originally intended for the installation of the Archduke Rudolph as Archbishop of Olmütz; but as the work went on, our composer grew more and more in love with his task, which gradually assumed such proportions that it was not completed till 1823—two years after the event it was meant to celebrate! A copy of the Mass, which Beethoven regarded as his most successful effort, was offered to every court in Europe for the sum of fifty ducats. It was, however, accepted only by France, Prussia, Saxony, Russia, and by Prince Radziwill, Governor of Posen, and a musical society in Frankfort. The King of Prussia sent to inquire, through his Ambassador, if the master would not prefer a decoration to the fifty ducats. Beethoven's answer was prompt—"Fifty ducats!" If his work were worthy of a decoration, why not have given it in addition to the paltry sum asked for it? Louis XVIII. acted differently; he sent the composer a valuable gold medal, on one side of which was his bust, and on the reverse the inscription, "Donné, par le roi, à M. Beethoven." An application of Beethoven's to Goethe requesting him to draw the attention of Karl August to the Mass met with no answer, although Goethe might have been able, at very trifling inconvenience to himself, to render material assistance to the master. His self-love had probably not recovered from the shock it had received during a walk with Beethoven on the Bastei at Vienna, when, struck by the profound respect and deference manifested by every one whom they encountered, Goethe exclaimed, "I really hadno idea that I was so well known here!" "Oh!" replies our brusque composer, "the people are bowing to me, not to you!" This was in reality the case, for the circumstance occurred in Beethoven's palmy days, when he was, as Marx observes, a "universally beloved and popular character, a part of Vienna itself."
The circumstance which more than any other casts a gloom over the master's last days is, that he was doomed (apparently) to outlive his fame, and to have the inexpressible mortification of witnessing that rupture in the musical world which has lasted down to our days, and will probably never be healed, viz., the separation of the classical from the so-called romantic school. Hitherto, the followers of Art had been united; naturally, individual tastes and predilections had occasionally predominated—some admiring one master and some another,—but on the whole, the lovers of music had been unanimous in their adherence to the pure and good. With the appearance of Rossini (that clever scene-painter, as Beethoven called him), this state of affairs underwent a complete revolution. His gay, light-hearted melodies, extravagant roulades, and inexhaustible vivacity took the public by storm—Beethoven and his immortal masterpieces were forgotten. And yet, perhaps, this is only what might have been expected,—the divine in Art is not for all, nor are all for the divine. Beethoven might have known, like Goethe, that he was too profound ever to be popular in a wide sense. The mass of mankind look upon Artsimply as a means of relaxation. So, indeed, it ought to be to all; but never should it stop there. Art, in its highest and best forms, has power not only to provide the weary and careworn with temporary self-forgetfulness, and to dissipate grief, but—and herein lies its true, its God-given strength—to renew the energies and brace the mind for higher and nobler efforts in the future. Whenever it stops short of this, satisfied with fulfilling its first and lower function, there is developed a tendency to abdicate its real position, and to degenerate into the mere panderer to man's follies, to his vices. Who could have felt this more keenly than Beethoven? Not the mere loss of his own popularity was it that made him turn away so deeply wounded from grand displays in which snatches of his own works were performed, along with meaningless arias, and shallow, noisy overtures of the new Italian school. So deeply did he take the change to heart, that he resolved to have his Mass in D and the Ninth Symphony performed for the first time in Berlin. The announcement of this intention produced a warm remonstrance (in the form of an Address) from his attached little circle of friends; and the master, touched by the feeling which called out this manifestation, was induced to forego his determination, and to consent to the two works being brought out in Vienna, provided a hall suitable for the purpose could be obtained.
This was no easy matter, and the difficulties in connection with it gave rise to a half-comical littleincident. His enemies were in power, and demanded an absurd sum for the use of the building, to which Beethoven could not be induced to agree. As neither party would yield, the project seemed on the point of shipwreck, when the faithful Schindler, alarmed for the success of the enterprise on which he had set his heart, persuaded Count Moritz Lichnowski and the violinist Schuppanzigh to meet him as if by accident at Beethoven's house, and press the latter to yield to what was inevitable. The plan succeeded, and the necessary papers were signed; but the composer's suspicions were roused, and the three devoted friends received for their pains the following autocratic mandates:—