He comes daily ever since—if not, I go to him; and thus I miss all sorts of gaieties, theatres, picture-galleries, and even the mounting of St. Stephen's church-steeple. Beethoven says, "Never mind seeing these things: I shall call for you, and towards evening we shall walk together in theSchönbrunnavenues." Yesterday, as we were walking in a lovely garden, everything in full bloom, and the open hot-houses almost intoxicating one's senses with their perfumes, he suddenly stopped in the oppressive heat of the sun, saying, "Göthe's poems exercise a great sway over me, not only by their meaning, but by their rhythm also. It is a language that urges me on to composition, that builds up its own lofty standard, containing in itself all the mysteries of harmony, so that I have but to follow up the radiations of that centre from which melodies evolve spontaneously. I pursue them eagerly, overtake them, then again see them flying before me, vanish in the multitude of my impressions, until I seize them anew with increased vigour, no more to be parted from them. It is then that my transports give them every diversity of modulation; it is I who triumph over the first of these musical thoughts, and the shape I give it, I call symphony. Yes, Bettina, music is the link between intellectual and sensual life. Would I could speak to Göthe on this subject, to seewhether he could understand me! Melody gives a sensible existence to poetry; for does not the meaning of a poem become embodied in melody? Does not Mignon's song breathe all her feelings through its melody, and must not these very feelings be reproductive in their turn? The mind would embrace all thoughts, both high and low, and embody them into one stream of sensations, all sprung from simple melody, and without the aid of its charms doomed to die in oblivion. This is the unity which lives in my Symphonies—numberless streamlets meandering on, in endless variety of shape, but all diverging into one common bed. Thus it is I feel that there is an indefinite something, an eternal, an infinite, to be attained; and although I look upon my works with a foretaste of success, yet I cannot help wishing, like a child, to begin my task anew, at the very moment that my thundering appeal to my hearers seems to have forced my musical creed upon them, and thus to have exhausted the insatiable cravings of my soul after my 'beau ideal!'
"Speak of me to Göthe: tell him to hear my Symphonies, and he will agree with me that music alone ushers man into the portal of an intellectual world, ready to encompasshim, butwhichhemay never encompass.Thatmind alone whose every thought is rhythm can embody music, can comprehend its mysteries, its divine inspirations, and can alone speak to the senses of its intellectual revelations. Although spirits may feed upon it as we do upon air, yet it may not nourish all mortal men; and those privileged few alone, who have drawn from its heavenly source, may aspire to hold spiritual converse with it. How few are these! for, like the thousands who marry for love, and who profess love, whilst Love will single out but one amongst them, so also will thousands court Music, whilst she turns a deaf ear to all, but the chosen few. She too, like her sister-arts, is based upon morality—that fountain-head of genuine invention! And would you know the true principle on which the artsmaybe won?—It is to bow to their immutable terms, to lay all passion and vexation of spirit prostrate at their feet, and to approach their divine presence with a mind so calm and so void of littleness as to be ready to receive the dictates of Fantasy and the revelations of Truth. Thus the art becomes a divinity, man approaches her with religious feelings, his inspirations are God's divine gifts,and his aim fixed by the same hand from above, which helps him to attain it.
"We know not whence our knowledge is derived. The seeds which lie dormant in us require the dew, the warmth, and the electricity of the soil, to spring up, to ripen into thought, and to break forth. Music is the electrical soil in which the mind thrives, thinks, and invents, whilst philosophy damps its ardour in an attempt to reduce it to a fixed principle.
"Although the mind can scarcely call its own that, which it produces through inspiration, yet it feasts upon these productions, and feels that in them alone lies its independence, its power, its approximation to the Deity, its intercourse with man, and that these, more than all, bear witness of a beneficent Providence.
"Music herself teaches us harmony; foronemusical thought bears upon the whole kindred of ideas, and each is linked to the other, closely and indissolubly, by the ties of harmony.
"The mind creates more readily when touched by the electrical spark: my whole nature is electric. But let me cease with my unfathomable wisdom, or I might miss the rehearsal. Write of me to Göthe—that is, if you have understoodme; but mark me, I am not answerable for anything, although ready to be taught by him."
I promised to write to you as best I could. He took me to a grand rehearsal with full orchestra. There I sat quite alone in a box, in the vast unlit space: single gleams of light stole through crevices and knot-holes in the walls, dancing like a stream of glittering sparks. There I saw this great genius exercise his sovereignty. Oh! Göthe, no Emperor or King feels so entirely his power, and that all might proceeds from himself, as this Beethoven, who but just now in the garden was at a loss to find from whom itdidcome. He stood there with such firm decision; his gestures, his countenance, expressed the completion of his creation; he prevented every error, every misconception—not a breath but was under command—all were set in the most sedulous activity by the majestic presence of his mind. One might prophesy that a spirit like this might, in a future state of perfection, reappear as the ruler of a world.
I put all this down last night, and this morning read it to him. He said, "Did I say this?—Well then I have had myraptus." He read it again most attentively, erased the above, andwrote between the lines; for he wishes above all that you should understand him.
* * * * * *
BETTINE.
GÖTHE TO BETTINE.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * *
Say everything that is kind for me to Beethoven, and that I would willingly bring a sacrifice to make his acquaintance, when a mutual interchange of ideas would certainly lead to the most beneficial results. May be, you could persuade him to visit Karlsbad and meet me there on my annual tour, for then I should have leisure to hear and be tutored by him. As to his being taught by me, that would be a sacrilege indeed, even in those more competent than I am; for surely his genius enlightens him, and will often dart flashes of brightness around him, whilst we are groping in the dark, scarcely sensible of the approaching dawn. I should be delighted if Beethoven would send me my two Songs which he has composed, but clearly written. I am most anxious to hear them, since nothing givesme greater pleasure and lays a firmer hold on my gratitude than the finding such poems of a former period embodied and sensualised anew by music, as Beethoven justly calls it.
* * * * * *
GÖTHE.
BETTINE TO GÖTHE.
Dearest Friend,
I have shown Beethoven your beautiful letter, as far as it concerned him: he was overjoyed, and cried, "If any one can brighten him up about music, it is I." He was most enthusiastic about your proposal of meeting him at Karlsbad, struck his forehead, and said, "Might I not have done this before? But i' faith I did think of it, and was restrained by timidity; thatwillsometimes worry me as though I were not a man of the right mettle; but I am no more afraid of Göthe now. Make sure therefore of my seeing him next year."
A DAY WITH BEETHOVEN.[82]
[Extract of a letter from Vienna to a friend in London.]
I now fulfil the promise I made on my departure for Germany last summer, of giving you, from time to time, an account of whatever might appear interesting in the fine arts, particularly in music; and as I then told you that I should not confine myself to any order of time and place, I commence at once with Vienna. This is the city which, speaking of music, must be called, by way of eminence, the capital of Germany. As to the sciences, it is quite otherwise, it being generally considered as one of the most inferior of the German Universities. The north of Germany has at all times possessed the best theorists—the Bachs, Marpurg, Kirnberger, Schwenke, Türk; but the men most celebrated for composition were always more numerous in the south, above all in Vienna. Here Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Hummel, M. v. Weber, Spohr, &c., not only received their musical education, butmost of them produced the works which have acquired them the greatest celebrity; and, even at the present period, Vienna abounds with eminent musicians—C. Kreutzer, Stadler, Mayseder, C. Czerny, Pixis, and that young prodigy on the piano-forte, Liszt. To give you a succinct account only of the present state of music in Vienna would exceed the limits of a letter; I will therefore rather devote the remainder of this to one who is still the brightest ornament of that imperial city—to Beethoven. You must not, however, expect from me now anything like a biography—that I shall reserve for a future communication. I wish now to give you only a short account of a single day's visit to the great man, and if, in my narration, I should appear to dwell on trifling points, you will be good enough to attribute it to my veneration for Beethoven, which leads me to consider everything highly interesting that is in the slightest degree connected with so distinguished a character.
The 28th of September, 1823, will be ever recollected by me as adies faustus; in truth, I do not know that I ever spent a happier day. Early in the morning I went, in company with two Vienna gentlemen, one of whom, Mr. H., is known as the very intimate friend of Beethoven,to the beautifully situated village of Baden,[83]about twelve miles from Vienna, where the latter usually resides during the summer months. Being with Mr. H., I had not to encounter any difficulty in being admitted into his presence. He looked very sternly at me at first, but he immediately after shook me heartily by the hand, as if an old acquaintance, for he then clearly recollected my first visit to him in 1816, though it had been but of a very short duration,—a proof of his excellent memory.
I found, to my sincere regret, a considerable alteration in his appearance, and it immediately struck me that he looked very unhappy. The complaints he afterwards made to Mr. H. confirmed my apprehensions. I feared that he would not be able to understand one word of what I said; in this, however, I rejoice to say I was much deceived, for he made out very well all that I addressed to him slowly and in a loud tone. From his answers it was clear that not a particle of what Mr. H. uttered had been lost, though neither the latter nor myself used a machine.From this you will justly conclude that the accounts respecting his deafness lately spread in London are much exaggerated. I should mention, though, that when he plays on the piano-forte, it is generally at the expense of some twenty or thirty strings, he strikes the keys with so much force. Nothing can possibly be more lively, more animated, and, to use an epithet that so well characterises his own Symphonies, more energetic, than his conversation when you have once succeeded in getting him into good humour; but one unlucky question, one ill-judged piece of advice—for instance, concerning the cure of his deafness—is quite sufficient to estrange him from you for ever.
He was desirous of ascertaining, for a particular composition he was then about, the highest possible note of the trombone, and questioned Mr. H. accordingly, but did not seem satisfied with his answers. He then told me that he had in general taken care to inform himself, through the different artists themselves, concerning the construction, character, and compass of all the principal instruments. He introduced his nephew to me, a fine young man of about eighteen, who is the only relation with whom he lives on terms of friendship, saying, "You may proposeto him an enigma in Greek, if you like;" meaning, I was informed, to acquaint me with the young man's knowledge of that language. The history of this relative reflects the highest credit on Beethoven's goodness of heart; the most affectionate father could not have made greater sacrifices on his behalf than he has made.
After we had been more than an hour with him, we agreed to meet at dinner, at one o'clock, in that most romantic and beautiful valley calleddas Helenenthal, about two miles from Baden. After having seen the baths and other curiosities of the town, we called again at his house about twelve o'clock, and, as we found him already waiting for us, we immediately set out on our walk for the valley. Beethoven is a famous pedestrian, and delights in walks of many hours, particularly through wild and romantic scenery: nay, I was told that he sometimes passes whole nights on such excursions, and is frequently missed at home for several days. On our way to the valley, he often stopped short and pointed out to me its most beautiful spots, or noticed the defects of the new buildings. At other times he seemed quite lost in himself, and only hummed in an unintelligible manner; I understood, however, that this was the way he composed,and I also learnt that he never writes one note down till he has formed a clear design for the whole piece.
The day being remarkably fine, we dined in the open air, and what seemed to please Beethoven extremely was, that we were the only visitors in the hotel, and quite by ourselves during the whole day. The Viennese repasts are famous all over Europe, and that ordered for us was so luxurious, that Beethoven could not help making remarks on the profusion which it displayed. "Why such a variety of dishes?" he exclaimed; "man is but little above other animals, if his chief pleasure is confined to a dinner-table." This and similar reflections he made during our meal. The only thing he likes in the way of food is fish, of which trout is his favourite. He is a great enemy to allgêne, and I believe that there is not another individual in Vienna who speaks with so little restraint on all kinds of subjects, even political ones, as Beethoven. He hears badly, but he speaks remarkably well, and his observations are as characteristic and as original as his compositions.
In the whole course of our table-talk there was nothing so interesting as what he said about Handel. I sat close by him and heard himassert very distinctly in German, "Handel is the greatest composer that ever lived."[84]I cannot describe to you with what pathos, and, I am inclined to say, with what sublimity of language, he spoke of the Messiah of this immortal genius. Every one of us was moved when he said, "I would uncover my head and kneel down on his tomb!" H. and I tried repeatedly to turn the conversation to Mozart, but without effect; I only heard him say, "In a monarchy we know who is the first;" which might or might not apply to the subject. Mr. C. Czerny, who, by the by, knows every note of Beethoven's by heart, though he does not play one single composition of his own without the music before him, told me, however, that Beethoven was sometimes inexhaustible in his praise of Mozart. It is worthy of remark that this great musician cannot bear to hear his own earlier works praised; and I was apprised that a sure way to make him angry is to say something complimentary of his Septetts, Trios, &c. His latest productions, which are, so little relished in London, but much admired by the young artists of Vienna, are his favourites: his second Mass he looks upon as his best work, I understood.
He is at present engaged in writing a new opera calledMelusine, the words by the famous but unfortunate poet Grillparzer. He concerns himself very little about the newest productions of living composers, insomuch that, when asked about theFreischütz, he replied, "I believeoneWeber has written it." You will be pleased to hear that he is a great admirer of the ancients; Homer, particularly his Odyssey, and Plutarch, he prefers to all the rest; and of the native poets, he studies Schiller and Göthe in preference to any other; this latter is his personal friend. He appears uniformly to entertain the most favourable opinion of the British nation. "I like," said he, "the noble simplicity of the English manners," and added other praises. It seemed to me as if he had yet some hopes of visiting this country together with his nephew. I should not forget to mention that I heard a MS. Trio of his, for the piano-forte, violin, and violoncello, which I thought very beautiful, and is, I understood, to appear shortly in London. The portrait you see of him in the music-shops is not now like him, but may have been so eightor ten years back. I could tell you many things more of this extraordinary man, who, from what I have seen and learnt of him, has inspired me with the deepest veneration; but I fear I have taken up your time already too much. The friendly and hearty manner in which he treated me, and bade me farewell, has left an impression on my mind, which will remain for life. Adieu.
Σ
A Visit to Beethoven.[85]
[Extract from a letter written by an English lady, dated Vienna, October, 1825.]
The imperial library is the finest room I ever saw, and the librarian very agreeable and obliging. What will you say when I tell you, that after taking an infinity of trouble, he succeeded in obtaining for me an introduction to BEETHOVEN, who is exceedingly difficult of access; but, in answer to the note requesting that I might be allowed to visit him, wrote—
"Avec le plus grand plaisir je recevrai une fille de * * * * *.—BEETHOVEN."
We went toBaden, a pretty little town in the Archduchy of Austria, about fifteen miles south-west of Vienna, much frequented for its hot baths, (whence it derives its name, similarly to our Bath,) wherethe giant of living composers, as Mr. —— always pleases me by calling him, retires during the summer months.
The people seemed surprised at our taking so much trouble; for, unaccountable as it may seem to those who have any knowledge of ortaste for music, his reign in Vienna is over, except in the hearts of a chosen few, with whom, by the bye, I have not yet met * * * * *, and I was even taught to expect a rough, unceremonious reception. When we arrived, he had just returned home, through a shower of rain, and was changing his coat. I almost began to be alarmed, after all that I had heard of hisbrusquerie, lest he should not receive us very cordially, when he came forth from his Sanctum with a hurried step and apparently very nervous; but he addressed us in so gentle, so courteous, so sweet a manner, and with such a truth in his sweetness, that I only know Mr. —— with whom he can be compared, whom he much resembles in features, person, address, and also in opinions. He is very short, extremely thin, and sufficiently attentive to personal appearance. He observed that * * * was very fond of Handel, that he himself alsolovedhim, and proceeded for some time eulogising that great composer. I conversed with him in writing, for I found it impossible to render myself audible; and, though this was a very clumsy mode of communicating, it did not much signify, as he talked on, freely and willingly, and did not wait for questions, or seem to expect long replies. I ventured to express my admiration of his compositions, and, among others, praised hisAdelaidein terms by no means too strong for my sense of its beauties. He very modestly remarked that the poetry was beautiful.
Beethoven speaks good French, at least by comparison with most other Germans, and conversed a little with * * * in Latin. He told us that he should havespokenEnglish, but that his deafness had prevented his acquiring more of our language than the power of reading it. He said that he preferred English to French writers, because "ils sont plus vrais." Thomson is his favourite author, but his admiration for Shakspeare is very great indeed.
When we were about to retire, he desired us to stop—"Je veux vous donner un souvenir de moi." He then went to a table in an adjoining room and wrote two lines of music—a little Fugue for the pianoforte—and presented it to me in a most amiable manner. He afterwards desired that I would spell my name to him, that he might inscribe his Impromptu to me correctly. He now took my arm and led me into the room where he had written, that I might see the whole of his apartment, which was quite that of an author, but perfectly clean; and,though indicating nothing like superfluity of wealth, did not show any want of either useful furniture, or neatness in arrangement. It must he recollected, however, that this is his country residence, and that the Viennese are not so costly or particular in their domestic details as we English. I led him back very gently to a room on the other side, in which was placed his grand pianoforte, by Broadwood, but he looked, I thought, melancholy at the sight of it, and said that it was very much out of order, for the country tuner was exceedingly bad. He struck some notes to convince me; nevertheless, I placed on the desk the page of MS. music which he had just given me, and he played it through quite simply, but prefaced it by three or four chords—such handfuls of notes—that would have gone to Mr. ——'s heart. He then stopped, and I would not on any account ask for more, as I found that he played without any satisfaction to himself.
We took leave of each other in a tone, of what in France would be called confirmed friendship; and he said, quite voluntarily, that if he came to England, he would certainly pay us a visit.
London: Printed by WILLIAMCLOWESand SONS,Stamford Street.
INCLUDING HISCORRESPONDENCE WITH HIS FRIENDS,NUMEROUS CHARACTERISTIC TRAITS,AND REMARKS ON HIS MUSICAL WORKS.EDITED BYI G N A C E M O S C H E L E S, ESQ.,Pianist to his Royal Highness Prince Albert.IN TWO VOLUMES.VOLUME II.LONDON:HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.1841.
LONDON:Printed by WILLIAMCLOWESand SONS,Stamford Street.
Oratorio contemplated by Beethoven—The German and Italian Opera at Vienna—Memorial addressed to Beethoven—Results of his Concert at the Hof-Theater—Mademoiselles Sontag and Ungher—Beethoven's distrustful Disposition—Invited to visit England—Proposition from the Philharmonic Society—His Arrangements with a Russian Prince—His Residence near Schönbrunn—His Illness—He disposes of some of his Works—His adopted Nephew—Extracts from Beethoven's Letters to him—Beethoven's Physicians—His Sufferings—He writes to Mr. Moscheles—Generosity of the Philharmonic Society—Beethoven's Property—His death—Preparations for the Funeral—Conformation of his Skull.
Oratorio contemplated by Beethoven—The German and Italian Opera at Vienna—Memorial addressed to Beethoven—Results of his Concert at the Hof-Theater—Mademoiselles Sontag and Ungher—Beethoven's distrustful Disposition—Invited to visit England—Proposition from the Philharmonic Society—His Arrangements with a Russian Prince—His Residence near Schönbrunn—His Illness—He disposes of some of his Works—His adopted Nephew—Extracts from Beethoven's Letters to him—Beethoven's Physicians—His Sufferings—He writes to Mr. Moscheles—Generosity of the Philharmonic Society—Beethoven's Property—His death—Preparations for the Funeral—Conformation of his Skull.
THENinth Symphony was finished, and Beethoven now proposed to devote his attention, without delay, to a work worthy of his powers—the composition of an Oratorio, written by his friend C. Bernard, and entitled"The Victory of the Cross." From this work he anticipated much pleasure, as he was satisfied with the poetry—a point in his estimation of no little moment—when an occurrence took place that deserves to be circumstantially related, as well on account of its importance to the history of art, as because, in relation to Beethoven, its consequences were interesting.
The Italian Opera in Vienna had now for some years possessed itself of those halls devoted to the melodious art, which in the time of Gluck had been exclusively occupied by German music; and although, for the last ten years, the tendencies exhibited by the musical world had been rather towards the sensual and the material, yet, in the main body of the Vienna public, a noble spirit was stirring, which it would never have been possible to exclude, or rather to expel, from its native soil, had there only existed a determination firmly to uphold what was of native growth.
The German Opera had still among hervotaries devoted adherents, who, by holding manfully together, might long have resisted the force of prevalent error, and saved the edifice from destruction.
A former administration does not seem to have duly understood the demands of the time, so as, while cautiously yielding to them to a certain extent, to have, nevertheless, retained all that was essential. The public, therefore, became impatient, and the first Italian Solfeggio that was heard within those walls sounded like the signal of banishment to the German Opera. The violence of the current carried every one along with it. No one asked in what direction he was borne, for all were enchanted, intoxicated, with therouladesof the Rossini school. Few, indeed, were they, who could resist the force of such a stream, and preserve in all its purity their taste for the truly beautiful and ideal in art; but to this little band German music is deeply indebted; for its warning voice by degrees brought back many a wanderer to the right path.
How, then, did all this affect Beethoven? As monarch in his own domain, he was almost as much forgotten by the crowd as if he had never existed; and no other mark of distinction was conferred upon him than the manifestation of outward respect, even by persons of the highest rank, whenever he made his appearance. How deeply he felt this ominous state of things, and how much it weighed upon his mind, was proved by his more than ordinary seclusion, as well as his determination to bring out the two new works, the Mass, and the Ninth Symphony, in Berlin. The report of this intention induced a small number of artists and friends of art to make an effort to avert from the imperial city the threatened disgrace; and they, in consequence, addressed to Beethoven a memorial, of which, on account of the interest of its contents, I will here give a faithful transcript:—
"To M. Ludwig van Beethoven.
"A small number of the disciples and lovers of art, from the wide circle of admirersof your genius, in your adopted city, present themselves before you to-day, in order to give utterance to wishes long felt, and to prefer a request which they have long hesitated to make.
"Although the number of speakers bears but a small proportion to that crowd, who are sensible of your worth, and joyfully acknowledge what you have done for the present and future time, yet their wishes and requests are by no means confined to the speakers, but shared by all to whom art and the realization of the ideal are more than a means of passing away an idle hour. Their wish is the wish also of a countless number, and their requests are repeated, aloud or in silence, by all whose bosoms are animated by a sense of whatever is divine in music.
"The wishes of those who venerate art in our native country are those which we would more especially express to you at present; for, although the name and the creations of Beethoven belong to every country where a susceptibility to the beauties of art exists,Austria may yet boast of the nearest claim to them. Among her people a due sense of the value of the great and immortal works of Mozart and Haydn, produced within her bosom, is not yet dead; and with joyful pride do they remember that the sacred triad, in which your name and theirs appear as the symbol of whatever is highest in the spiritual realms of music, sprung from the soil of their father-land.
"So much the more painful, however, must it be to you to see that a foreign power has invaded this royal citadel—that above the graves of the departed, and within the dwelling-place of the only one of this band that is still left us, productions are taking the lead, which can boast of no relationship with the princely spirits of the house; shallowness usurping the name and symbol of art, and an unworthy sporting with what is holy darkening and effacing the sense of truth and everlasting beauty.
"More than at any former time, therefore, do those who now address you feel a livelyconviction, that the one thing needful at the present moment is a new impulse from a powerful hand—a new appearance of the sovereign within his own domain. This necessity it is which brings them to you to-day, and the following are the requests which they now prefer to you in the name of native art and of all to whom it is dear.
"Withdraw no longer from the public enjoyment,—deny no longer to our sense of what is great and perfect the performance of the latest masterpiece of your hand. We know that a valuable composition in church-music has been produced, to succeed that in which you have immortalised the sensations of a soul, penetrated by the power of faith and illumined by the divine rays of genius. We know that a new flower blooms in the garland of your magnificent and unequalled Symphonies. For years, since the thunders of the Victory of Vittoria ceased to sound, have we anxiously hoped to see you pour out again, in a circle of kindred spirits, fresh gifts from the abundance of your wealth. Disappoint no longer the expectations of your friends;heighten the impression of your newest creations by introducing us yourself to the knowledge of them. Permit not these, the youngest offspring of your genius, to appear one day as strangers in the place of their birth—to fall, perhaps, into the hands of those whose minds are foreign to yours.
"Appear, then, once more in the circle of your friends, your admirers, your venerators; this is our first and most urgent request.
"Other claims on your talents, however, have been openly put forward. The wishes expressed and the offers made to you a year ago by the Directors of our Court Opera, and afterwards by the Society of Austrian Lovers of Music, were shared and approved by too many who respected your name, and were concerned for the interests of art, not to have quickly become public, and to have excited universal interest. Poetry has done her part to support these pleasing hopes and expectations, and worthy materials from a much-esteemed poetical mind await only your magic touch to charm them into life.
"Let this summons to so noble a work notbe heard in vain. Delay no further to transport us back to those long-departed days when the power of Polyhymnia moved with mighty spells alike the hearts of the multitude and of the consecrated priests of art. Need we say with what deep regret your late retired mode of life has filled us? Is any assurance required that all eyes have been turned towards you, and that all have seen with sorrow that he, whom they acknowledged as the highest of living men in his own domain, should have looked on in silence while our German soil has been invaded by the footsteps of foreign art—the seat of the German muse usurped—and German works have become but the echo of those of strangers; threatening a second childhood of taste to succeed its golden age? You alone are able to secure activity to the efforts of the best among us. You alone can bestow new life on national art and on the German Opera; bid them bloom once more, and save the true and the beautiful from the violence by which the fashion of the dayseeks to subject to itself their everlasting laws.
"Suffer us, then, to hope for the speedy fulfilment of the wishes of all to whom your harmonies have penetrated. This is our second and most urgent request. May this year not pass without our being rejoiced by witnessing the fruits of our entreaties, and may the unfolding of one of those long-wished-for gifts render the coming spring to us, and to the whole world of art, a twofold time of promise.
The bearers of this memorial indulged the expectation of receiving immediately from Beethoven an assurance of his compliance with the requests contained in it; but in this they were egregiously mistaken, for he declined reading it till he should be alone. I had been prevented from being present when it was delivered to him, and arrived only just as he had finished its perusal. He communicated to me the contents, and, after running them over once more, handed the paper quietly to me; then turning towards the window,he remained some time looking up at the sky. I could not help observing that he was much affected, and, after I had read it, I laid it down without speaking, in the hope that he would first begin the conversation. After a long pause, whilst his eyes never ceased following the clouds, he turned round, and said, in a solemn tone which betrayed his internal emotion—"It is really gratifying!—I am much pleased." I nodded assent, and wrote in the conversation-book that he must now be convinced that he would meet with sufficient support, if he would resolve to have the two new pieces brought out soon at a concert. To this course he had always declared himself decidedly adverse, professing his conviction that, from the alteration which had taken place in musical taste, and in the intoxicated state of the public mind, no sensibility remained for what was truly great.[86]
Beethoven read what I had just written, and then said, "Let us get into the open air." When we were out, he appeared, contrary to his custom, rather disposed to taciturnity, but I remarked the glimmering of a latent wish to comply with the well-meant requests of his admirers.
After a good deal of discussion with one and another, it was at last decided that the works should be brought before the public—but where? This was a question hard to answer, so that several weeks elapsed before it could be settled, and I will venture to say that the good people of Bonn were not so much perplexed to decide on the place best adapted for Beethoven's monument, and that many an entangled political problem was solved in less time at the Congress of Vienna.
Since Beethoven had intrusted to me alone the arrangement of the concert to be given, I might, in speaking of the difficulties I had to overcome, take occasion to mention at length the numerous obstacles and intrigues,the many basely avaricious demands, and the innumerable tricks and machinations, of which I became aware, but that it would lead me too far from my subject. I will therefore only observe, that, after a long debate, the place chosen was the Hof-Theater at the Kärnthner Thor, but this did not advance the matter much. A new struggle was now to be commenced with the manager, M. Duport, who was no less zealous than the rest for the interests of his theatre, and wished to make a profit of Beethoven's undertaking.
When two flints had come into collision, what results could be expected?—especially as neither one nor the other remained steady to his first terms, but changed every day like a weathercock.
At length, in order to be at least certain of what were the wishes of one of the contracting parties, we were obliged to have recourse to the following stratagem: I begged Count Lichnowsky and M. Schuppanzigh to call on Beethoven at the same hour, as if by accident, and to sound him with regard tohis intentions. On this occasion we were to endeavour to lead him to speak categorically on the several points in discussion, and one of us was immediately to write down whatever he should say, and then, half in jest, half in earnest, call on him to sign it.
The plan succeeded to admiration, but what was the consequence? From the whole procedure, Beethoven at length became aware of our design, and, suspecting as usual falsehood and treachery at the bottom, despatched to us the following sultan-likehatti-sherif:—
"To the Count Moritz von Lichnowsky."I despise artifices. Let me have no more of your visits. TheAcademy(the Concert) will not take place."BEETHOVEN."
"To the Count Moritz von Lichnowsky.
"I despise artifices. Let me have no more of your visits. TheAcademy(the Concert) will not take place.
"BEETHOVEN."
"To M. Schuppanzigh."Let me see you no more. I shall give no Academy."BEETHOVEN."
"To M. Schuppanzigh.
"Let me see you no more. I shall give no Academy.
"BEETHOVEN."
"To M. Schindler."Do not come near me again till I send for you. No Academy."BEETHOVEN."
"To M. Schindler.
"Do not come near me again till I send for you. No Academy.
"BEETHOVEN."
Fortunately Beethoven did not send us the silken cord along with these missives, so we all three remained in the land of the living. We suffered his anger to evaporate, and in the mean time assisted each other to do the best that we could for him.
Towards the end of April, Beethoven one day wrote to me in an angry mood:—"After these six weeks' squabbling about this and that, I feel absolutely boiled, stewed, and roasted. What is to be done at last about this much-talked-of Concert? Unless the prices are raised, what will remain for me after so many expenses, since the copying alone has cost so much?"
It will appear from this, that the principal point in discussion was concerning the raising the prices of admission. If Beethoven wished to get back the money that he hadalready expended, he must after all, nolens volens, submit to the demand of the manager, which was, that the Concert should take place in the theatre, on a subscription-night, at the ordinary prices; and that, for the use of it, as well as of the Chorus and Orchestra, the administration should receive the sum of one thousand florins, Vienna currency. There was no help for it. It was now—"Beethoven, submit to your fate."
The Concert took place on the 7th of May, 1824. The house was filled to overflowing. The gross receipts were 2220 florins; of which, subtracting 1000 for the theatre and 800 for the copying, there remained for Beethoven 420 florins. Every box was crammed, with the single exception of the Emperor's, which remained empty, although Beethoven had gone in person, in my company, to make the invitations to all the members of the Imperial family then in Vienna, and some of the illustrious personages had promised to attend. When the time came, however, the Emperor and Empress were on a journey, andthe Archduke Rudolph was in Olmütz; so that our great master was obliged to shift without the countenance of the Imperial court.
These were the immediate results of the concert. The details of the further consequences to Beethoven I may be permitted to pass over for the present, as I shall have much worse to notice in the sequel; but I cannot forbear mentioning some facts connected with the rehearsal of the vocal parts of the two works above alluded to.
It will perhaps be remembered that, in speaking of the performance ofFidelio, in the second period, I observed that Beethoven was in the habit of paying little attention to the possibility of the execution of what he wrote for the vocal parts. Innumerable proofs of this assertion may be found again in the second Mass and in the ninth Symphony, which, during the rehearsals of the chorus and solo parts, led to many unpleasant discussions. With due deference for the master, it was not possible to avoid telling him that this and that passage could not be sung. Thetwo ladies, Mademoiselle Sontag and Mademoiselle Ungher, who undertook the soprano and alto solos, came several times to practise them at Beethoven's house, and made the remark to him beforehand.[87]
musical notation
* The passages marked with a *, and inserted in small notes, indicate the high notes alluded to.—ED.
musical notation
musical notation
* This is the very part I did alter, as shown in the above illustration; for if, as the sequel shows, a Sontag had perseverance and means sufficient to work it out, the same could not be expected from every singer, and least of all from the Chorus, which repeats the same passage after the Solo performers.—ED.
Mlle. Ungher did not hesitate to call him the tyrant of singers, but he only answered, smiling, that it was because they were both so spoiled by the modern Italian style of singing that they found the two new works difficult.[88]"But this high passage here," said Sontag, pointing to the vocal Quartett in the Symphony,
Küsse gab sie uns und Reben—
"would it not be possible to alter that?"—"And this passage, M. van Beethoven," continued Mademoiselle Ungher, "is also too high for most voices. Could we not alter that?"—"No! no! no!" was the answer,[89]—"Well then, for Heaven's sake (in Gottes Namen), let us work away at it again," said the patient Sontag.
As for the poor Soprani, in the chorus parts of the Mass, every day did they complain to Beethoven that it was out of their power to reach and sustain the high notes so long as he prescribed. In some places the tyrant remained inexorable, though it would have been easy for him, by a transposition of some of the intervals, to render those passages easier for the voices, without altering anything essential. Umlauf, the most strictly classical conductor I have ever known, to whom Beethoven had committed the management of the whole, also made some modest remarks on this difficulty, but equally in vain. The consequence of this obstinacy was, that every chorus-singer, male and female, got over the stumbling-block as well as he or she could, and, when the notes were too high, left them out altogether.[90]
The master, however, standing in the midst of this confluence of music, heard nothing of all this, was not even sensible of the tumultuous applause of the auditory at the close of the Symphony, but was standing with his back to the proscenium, until Mademoiselle Ungher, by turning round and making signs, roused his attention, that he might at leastseewhat was going on in the front of the house. This acted, however, like an electric shock on the thousands present, who were struck with a sudden consciousness of his misfortune; and, as the flood-gates of pleasure, compassion, and sympathy were opened, there followed a volcanic explosion of applause, which seemed as if it would never end.[91]
This success, such as had never been witnessed in those venerable halls of art, induced the speculative manager of the theatre topropose a repetition of the new works, (with the exception of four numbers of the Mass,) securing, before-hand, to Beethoven 500 florins Vienna currency (1250 francs). The manager offered to take on himself all expenses, but claimed all the surplus receipts. Discouraged by the small profit of the first concert, (420 florins, paper currency,) Beethoven, for a long time, would not agree to this, but was at length necessitated to comply. In the latter part of the month of May, accordingly, the repetition took place in the imperial assembly-rooms (Redouten-Saal); the four movements of the Mass, however,Kyrie,Credo,Agnus Dei, andDona nobis pacem, which were the only parts of the Mass performed at the first concert, were destined to be omitted, though Beethoven protested strongly against it. In place of them the Italian roulade-monger, Signor David, sung the favourite Cavatina "Di tanti palpiti," in spite of the outcry of all the purists; and Sontag gave innumerable fioriture of Mercadante's. Of Beethoven's music, besidesthe ninth Symphony, the TerzettoTremate, empi tremate, by Italian singers, and the grand Overture in C major, with the double fugue, were also performed.
The pecuniary result of these manifold exertions was, that the manager had the pleasure of paying 800 florins towards the expenses, asthe house was not half full, and that Beethoven, deeply vexed at this unexpected result, declined at first to accept the 500 florins guaranteed to him, and was with much difficulty at last prevailed upon to take the money. The most complete ill humour took possession of him, so that he was no longer accessible to any one, and it was increased by the gossiping tittle-tattle of certain persons, who put it into his head that he had been cheated at the first concert, and thus excited his suspicions, especially against me. At a dinner, which he gave a few days afterwards to the two directors of his concert, Messrs. Umlauf and Schuppanzigh, and to me, in the Prater, he could no longer restrain his anger, but declared that he had been informedthat I, in conjunction with the manager, M. Duport, had defrauded him. It was in vain that our two companions endeavoured to convince him that, as every piece of money had passed through the hands of the two cashiers of the theatre, and their accounts of the receipts exactly corresponded, a fraud on either side was out of the question: he refused to retract his charge, and I consequently withdrew immediately, in company with M. Umlauf, and did not see Beethoven again till the month of November, when he called upon me at the theatre in the Josephstadt, where I was acting as music-director, and begged that what had passed might be forgotten.
This occurrence may serve to show what it was to be Beethoven'sfriend, and to keep on good terms with him only a single year. How much friendship, how many sacrifices, what an entire self-denial, did it not require to submit to be daily exposed to the most malicious calumnies, and even to the most dishonourable accusations! The friend of hisyouth, Hofrath von Breuning, was alienated from him by a similar reflection on his honour, and Beethoven was only brought back to him by certain melancholy events of the year 1826, when he stood in need of his assistance.
An accusation of this kind occasioned a coolness of twelve years' standing between him and his old friend Dr. Malfatti; and it was not till Beethoven was on his deathbed that I brought about a reconciliation. Credulous, inexperienced, and distrustful as he was, it was easy for any worthless person to slander and set him against his most tried friend. It was not always that these calumnies originated with his brothers, but other odious creatures were continually poisoning his mind, as there are examples enough to prove in his conversation-books.
In his last illness he circumstantially related to me and M. von Breuning many of the intrigues and machinations of some of those persons, whose motives were always envy and covetousness. He also confessed that he had several times been induced towrite letters, declaring his conviction of the deceit and treachery of this or that friend, without any better ground than those false accusations.
The manner in which he made his peace, however, was so frank and open-hearted, that one could not help passing over every vexation and insult that might have been received from him.
With his servants he was accustomed to make up these affronts by presents of money, and it was said that his faithful old housekeeper, who bore his humours for many years, was able to help him in time of need with what she had saved out of these presents, or rather fines, which Beethoven imposed on himself. That there really were such moments I can myself bear witness, and a note which I received from him in the spring of the year 1824 attests the same thing:—"Frau Schnapps (a nickname he had given to his housekeeper) will advance what is wanted for housekeeping; so come and dine with me at two o'clock. I havesome good news to tell, but let this be between ourselves, that thebrain-eater[92]may know nothing about it.—BEETHOVEN."
In the spring of the year 1824, Beethoven was again invited to visit England, and he appeared more than usually resolved on undertaking this journey in the following autumn. I was to accompany him, and we were to travel through the Rhenish provinces, that he might see his native country once more, where, alas! not a creature, with the exception of Dr. Wegeler in Coblentz, Ries's father, and the music-publisher Simrock in Bonn, ever bestowed a thought upon him. How rare was his correspondence, even with these old friends, appears from the Notices of Beethoven, published by the first-mentioned of them. Autumn approached, but Beethoven made no preparations for the journey.
In a letter dated the 20th of December of the same year, the invitation was most pressingly repeated on the part of the PhilharmonicSociety by Mr. Neate,[93]music professor of London, who had formerly passed some time in Vienna. The terms offered were as follow:—
"The Philharmonic Society proposes to pay you 300 guineas for your visit, and expects, on your part, that you will superintend the performance of your own works, of which at least one will be given at every concert. It also expects that you will, in the course of your stay in England, write a new Symphony and a Concerto, to be performed here, but to remain your own property." For a concert, which it was further proposed that he should himself give in London, the sum of 500l.sterling was to be guaranteed to him; so that nothing could be handsomer than these offers, as Beethoven himself acknowledged. But his nephew!... certain rumours with respect to this young man had now become generally current, and the consequence was, that the journey was given up, and thehopes of the Londoners, to see among them their long-established favourite, Beethoven, were all frustrated.
And now for the following fact, which I hope may be considered in all its bearings, and duly estimated by all admirers of the great deceased, since it deserves, far more than any of those already related, the attention of the whole musical world.
In the beginning of the year 1824, Beethoven received from a Russian prince his first extremely flattering letter, with a request that he would write one or two instrumental Quartetts, and dedicate them to the writer. The terms proposed were highly agreeable, the condition being added, that the prince should possess both of the works to be composed for a full year as his sole property, and that, after the lapse of that time only, the master should have a right to publish them. (This condition, which served to increase the loss that he eventually sustained, was not at first agreed to by Beethoven, but afterwards punctually fulfilled.)
This was soon followed by a second letter to the same purport, and just as some serpents are said by their glance to fascinate their destined prey, did Beethoven, by whom adulation was in general totally disregarded, appear intoxicated by the flatteries of the Russian prince. He abandoned the composition of the Oratorio by C. Bernard, which was already begun, and set about a Quartett for Prince Nicholas von Galitzin, but before it was ready the prince applied for a second, and soon after for a third, and found means to gain over Beethoven so entirely, that he seemed to think no more of the Oratorio, of the tenth Symphony, or even of a work which he had already planned, and which was to be the grand effort of his life, the conclusion of his artistical exertions—namely—the setting Göthe's Faust to music.[94]The musical world has to thank this man only that all these works, as well as a grand Requiem,which the composer had also projected, remained unwritten, and for this he can never make amends. But let us proceed. The sum agreed on for the Quartetts, to be written for this princely Mæcenas, was 125 ducats. Beethoven, however, received from St. Petersburg nothing but letters filled with questions concerning doubtful or difficult passages in these Quartetts, to which the fullest and most circumstantial replies were immediately dispatched, and it would be highly desirable, for the intelligibility of the pieces in question, that these answers should be published;[95]but never did he receive a single ruble. It was not till the month of December, in the year 1826, when a long illness had occasioned him considerable pecuniary embarrassment, that he applied to the prince for the stipulated sum, representing his distressed situation; but received no answer. Beethoven wrote again,and at the same time begged the Austrian ambassador and the banking-house of Stieglitz at St. Petersburg, in private letters, to make application to the prince. At length an answer arrived from the latter, that Prince Nicholas von Galitzin had gone to Persia to join the army, without leaving them any instructions to remit money to Beethoven. In this painful situation Beethoven recollected the offer made to him by the London Philharmonic Society, and wrote on the subject to Moscheles and Sir George Smart. I shall return again to this matter, and in the mean time I must be allowed to close this extraordinary case by observing, that if Prince Nicholas von Galitzin is still living, he can only hope to appease the manes of Beethoven by paying over this just debt of 125 ducats, either to some charitable institution, or to the Bonn committee for the erection of a monument to his memory.
Immediately after the above-mentioned two memorable concerts, Beethoven moved into a pleasant house at Penzing, near Schönbrunn,to which he had taken a fancy, connected with which is a characteristic anecdote. The house is situated near the river Wien, over which there is a bridge for foot passengers, and, as the master had become an object of great public curiosity, it was not uncommon for this bridge to be occupied by a crowd of persons, who had posted themselves there, to wait for an opportunity of seeing him. This annoyed him so much that he left the house in three weeks and went to Baden. A similar case had occurred a year before at Hetzendorf, where he left a lodging which he had taken for the summer, and for which he had paid in advance 400 florins, because he took offence at the excessive politeness of his landlord.
In the autumn of the year 1824 Beethoven returned from Baden, and for the first time for many years took a house in town, that his nephew, who had now left school, might be near the University. During this winter (1824-5) the master had a severe fit of illness, originating in an intestinal disorder:indeed, he had been on bad terms with his stomach during his whole life. The eminent physician, Dr. Staudenheim, had hitherto been his medical attendant, and often had to remonstrate seriously with his patient, though it must be confessed without much effect. Now, however, he chose to appoint Dr. Braunhofer, professor at the University, to attend him. The winter was passed in a state of constant suffering, and it was not till the spring that he began to recover a little, and moved again to Baden, his favourite summer residence.
His mental activity during this whole year extended no further than to the composition of the last Quartett; for the Russian Mæcenas was continually writing flattering letters to urge him to its completion.
The first work undertaken after the illness of the year 1825 was the Quartett, No. 12, with the remarkable adagio—"Canzone di ringraziamento in modo lidico, offerta alla Divinità da un guarito."
In the year 1825 Beethoven closed withan offer made to him by the brothers Schott, in Mainz, for the purchase of his second Mass and of the ninth Symphony, after proposals had been made to him by houses in Berlin, Vienna, and Leipzig, which, however, did not suit him. Pursuant to this agreement, Beethoven received
At the same time the house at Mainz agreed for the following works of Beethoven's:—
This not inconsiderable sum might have enabled him to replace the amount abstractedfrom his little fund, and to avert many future difficulties, had he not determined to consider it as a capital, to be laid out in the purchase of public securities, as a provision for his nephew, and not as his own property. How far he was in the right we shall see in the sequel.
In the autumn of 1825 Beethoven moved to his last lodging, in what is called the Schwarzpanier House, situated on the glacis of the suburb of Währing. It suited him well, had plenty of sunshine, and commanded an extensive and, at the same time, agreeable prospect over the city and several suburbs. In this abode he passed the eventful year 1826, in which his harassed mind was destined to the hardest and bitterest trial which could be imposed upon a man, to whom virtue and honour were the dearest of all things.
His adopted nephew, endowed, as I have already remarked, with uncommon mental abilities, had, to the great joy of his uncle, who brought him up like the child of a nobleman,already made considerable progress in his education, and Beethoven took no little pride in his success. At the age of seventeen, the youth returned to the house of this his second father, and, attending only the course of philosophy at the University, was released from all the restraints to which he was necessarily subject while at school; for his uncle, trusting entirely to his understanding and steadiness, granted his nephew all the freedom he desired, which, indeed, under the circumstances, he could hardly avoid. It would lead us too far to enter into any detail of the observations made by his first teachers on a certain turn of mind in the boy, which might probably lead him away from the right path; it was hoped that this had been corrected in his subsequent education.
This youth, possessing talents worthy of his renowned name, was no sooner in the full enjoyment of his liberty, than he fell into an evil course of life—neglected his studies—abused the affection and indulgence of his uncle—and was, at last, expelled from theUniversity, where even the respect universally felt for the name he bore could no longer screen him. It would be needless to dwell on the sufferings of the great master, before and during this event, which was not unexpected. Whoever saw him in this time of trouble could not fail to perceive plainly on his features the traces of the mortification caused by this dishonour to his name.
The measure of his sufferings was, however, far from full; and they were increased by the circumstance that there were people found who threw the blame of all that had happened on the uncle; and we will not therefore shrink from inquiring, in the course of this narrative, whether some part of the fault may not indeed be attributable to Beethoven.
In accordance with the wish of this young man, he was now allowed to continue his studies at the Polytechnic Institution, and to devote himself to mercantile pursuits—a permission which Beethoven was the more willing to grant, since he knew his nephew would, in that institution, be under thesuperintendence of the vice-director, M. Reisser, who was his joint-guardian with himself. All attempts to bring him again into an honourable course were vain; on the contrary, Beethoven received innumerable proofs that he had not only lost all affection, but even all respect for him, and rejected with equal obstinacy advice and entreaty. It may now be time to inquire how far the master may be considered blameable for the conduct of this youth, and by what means the latter forfeited his affection and his respect.
When a man undertakes the education of a gifted child, possessed by such an excess of love as Beethoven bore to his nephew, this alone may prove the source of innumerable evils, and become a kind of Pandora's box. Beethoven, in the first instance, committed the mistake of granting unbounded confidence to his nephew when a boy ten or twelve years of age, though he had often been convicted of falsehood and other serious juvenilefaults; and afterwards expecting from a lad of sixteen the steadiness of a man, and emancipating him in the fullest sense of the term. Of these mistakes he now became conscious—but alas! too late! Beethoven was still more to blame because he could not, even in the presence of his nephew, refrain from expressing his detestation of the boy's mother, to which he gave utterance sometimes in the most violent manner; forbidding him all intercourse with her, utterly regardless of the voice of Nature, which, sooner or later, may awaken and become its own avenger.
No sooner was the young man released from the restraints of his childhood than he sought out this in every sense unfortunate mother; and continued to visit her, although he knew that this had been most strictly forbidden by Beethoven: and hence arose many painful contests between uncle and nephew.
In these proceedings, though Beethoven may have been over-severe towards the mother,he was led to adopt this course by the most cogent reasons founded on antecedent events.
There are now lying before me twenty-nine letters, addressed by Beethoven to his nephew in the summer of the year 1825, dated Baden, and which, with other papers, came again into his possession after his nephew's catastrophe in August, 1826. They were confided to me and Hofrath von Breuning, at that moment, towards the end of his earthly career, to which I have adverted in the introduction to this work, in order that from their contents a judgment might be formed of the line of conduct pursued by the uncle towards his nephew, and that he might stand before the world acquitted of charges brought against him. I now proceed to fulfil the melancholy duty of making some faithful extracts from them.