Chapter VI

Dear Marie, dear Bigot!It is only with the deepest regret that I am compelled to recognize that the purest and most harmless feelings can often be misunderstood—as affectionately as you have met me I have never thought of interpreting it otherwise than that you were giving me your friendship. You must deem me very vain and contemptible if you assume that the advances of such excellent persons as yourselves could make me believe that I had at once won your love—moreover, it is one of my first principles never to stand in other than friendly relations with the wife of another man, I do not wish by such relations to fill my soul with distrust against her who may some day share my fate with me—and thus ruin for myself the loveliest and purest life. It is possible that I have jested with Bigot a few times in a way that was not too refined, I told you myself that I am occasionally ill behaved. I am natural in my intercourse with all my friends and hate all restraint. I count Bigot amongst them, if something that I do displeases him, friendship demands that he tell me so—and I will certainly have a care never to offend again—but how can good Marie put so bad a construction on my actions....With regard to my invitation to go driving with you and Caroline it was but natural that I should believe, Bigot having opposed your going with me alone, that both of you deemed it unbecoming or objectionable—and when I wrote I had no other purpose than to make you understand that I saw noharmin it, and when I declared that it was a matter of great importance to me that you should not refuse it was only to persuade you to enjoy the gloriously beautiful day, I had your and Caroline’s pleasure in mind more than my own and I thought to compel you to accede to my wishes when I said thatmistrust on your part or a refusal would really offend me—you ought really to ponder how you will make amends for having spoilt for me a day that was so bright because of my cheerful mood and the cheerful weather—if I said that you misunderstood me, your present judgment of me shows that I may have been right, not to think about that which you thought about in connection with the matter—when I said thatsomething evilmight come of it if I came to you, that was more than anything else ajokewhich had only the one purpose of showing how everything about you attracts me, that I have no greater wish than always to live with you, is also the truth—even in case there was a hidden meaning in it even the most sacred friendship can yet have secrets, but tomisinterpretthe secret of a friend—because one cannot at once guess it, that you ought not to do—dear Bigot, dear Marie,never, neverwill you find me ignoble, from childhood I learned to love virtue—and all that is beautiful and good—you have hurt me to the heart. It shall only serve to make our friendship the firmer. I am really not at all well to-day and I shall scarcely be able to see you, yesterday after the quartets my feelings and imagination continually called up before me the fact that I had made you suffer, I went to the Ridotto (ball) last night to seek distraction, but in vain, everywhere I was haunted by the vision of all of you, ceaselessly it said to me they are so good and probably are suffering because of you. Dejected in spirits I hurried away.[41]Write me a few lines.Your trueFriend Beethovenembraces you all.

Dear Marie, dear Bigot!

It is only with the deepest regret that I am compelled to recognize that the purest and most harmless feelings can often be misunderstood—as affectionately as you have met me I have never thought of interpreting it otherwise than that you were giving me your friendship. You must deem me very vain and contemptible if you assume that the advances of such excellent persons as yourselves could make me believe that I had at once won your love—moreover, it is one of my first principles never to stand in other than friendly relations with the wife of another man, I do not wish by such relations to fill my soul with distrust against her who may some day share my fate with me—and thus ruin for myself the loveliest and purest life. It is possible that I have jested with Bigot a few times in a way that was not too refined, I told you myself that I am occasionally ill behaved. I am natural in my intercourse with all my friends and hate all restraint. I count Bigot amongst them, if something that I do displeases him, friendship demands that he tell me so—and I will certainly have a care never to offend again—but how can good Marie put so bad a construction on my actions....

With regard to my invitation to go driving with you and Caroline it was but natural that I should believe, Bigot having opposed your going with me alone, that both of you deemed it unbecoming or objectionable—and when I wrote I had no other purpose than to make you understand that I saw noharmin it, and when I declared that it was a matter of great importance to me that you should not refuse it was only to persuade you to enjoy the gloriously beautiful day, I had your and Caroline’s pleasure in mind more than my own and I thought to compel you to accede to my wishes when I said thatmistrust on your part or a refusal would really offend me—you ought really to ponder how you will make amends for having spoilt for me a day that was so bright because of my cheerful mood and the cheerful weather—if I said that you misunderstood me, your present judgment of me shows that I may have been right, not to think about that which you thought about in connection with the matter—when I said thatsomething evilmight come of it if I came to you, that was more than anything else ajokewhich had only the one purpose of showing how everything about you attracts me, that I have no greater wish than always to live with you, is also the truth—even in case there was a hidden meaning in it even the most sacred friendship can yet have secrets, but tomisinterpretthe secret of a friend—because one cannot at once guess it, that you ought not to do—dear Bigot, dear Marie,never, neverwill you find me ignoble, from childhood I learned to love virtue—and all that is beautiful and good—you have hurt me to the heart. It shall only serve to make our friendship the firmer. I am really not at all well to-day and I shall scarcely be able to see you, yesterday after the quartets my feelings and imagination continually called up before me the fact that I had made you suffer, I went to the Ridotto (ball) last night to seek distraction, but in vain, everywhere I was haunted by the vision of all of you, ceaselessly it said to me they are so good and probably are suffering because of you. Dejected in spirits I hurried away.[41]Write me a few lines.

Your trueFriend Beethovenembraces you all.

Malfatti, Bertolini and Mme. Streicher

Gleichenstein introduced Beethoven to a family named Malfatti. The culture, refinement, musical taste and high character of the parents, and the uncommon grace and beauty of their two charming children, young girls now of twelve to fourteen years, rendered the house very attractive to the composer. There was less than a year’s difference in the ages of the children; Therese was born January 1st and Anna December 7th of the same year; whether 1792 or 1793, our friendly authority was not certain. Anna became, in due time (1811), the wife of Gleichenstein; and Therese was at one time the object of one of Beethoven’s short-lived, unrequited passions. Her niece writes: “That Beethoven loved my aunt, and wished to marry her, and also that her parents would never have given their consent, is true.”[42]There is nothing to determine conclusively when the master’s fondness assumed this intenser form; but there are good reasons (which may perhaps appear hereafter) for believing, that it was at least five years later than our present date. His attentions to the young lady, at all events, attracted no notice outside the family circle, nor did her rejection of them prevent the continuance of warm, friendly relations between the parties, up to and after her marriage in 1817. Dr. Sonnleithner establishes both these facts:

Frau Therese Baroness von Drosdick,néeMalfatti (died in Vienna, 60 years old, on April 27, 1851), was the wife of Court Councillor Wilhelm Baron von Drosdick. She was a beautiful, lively and intellectual woman, a very good pianoforte player and, besides, the cousin of the famous physician and friend of Beethoven’s, Dr. von Malfatti. Herein lies the explanation of an unusually kind relationship with Beethoven which resulted in a less severe regard for conventional forms. Nothing is known of a particular intimacy between her and Beethoven. A relative of the Baroness, who knew her intimately, knows also that she and Beethoven formed a lasting friendship, but as to any warmer feeling on either side he knew nothing, nor anything to the contrary; but he says: “When conversation turned on Beethoven, she spoke of him reverentially, but with a certain reserve.”

Through these Malfattis, Beethoven became also known personally to the physician of the same name and “they were greatfriends for a long time. Towards each other they were like two hard millstones, and they separated. Malfatti used to say of Beethoven: ‘He is a disorderly (konfuser) fellow—but all the same he may be the greatest genius.’” The assistant of Malfatti, Dr. Bertolini, was long the confidential physician of Beethoven; and through him he became personally known to the present head of the great firm of “Miller & Co.,” wholesale merchants in Vienna, who for many years was fond of describing his interviews, in youth, with the “great Beethoven.” Though nothing specially worthy of record took place, Mr. Miller’s recollections are interesting as additional testimony to the activity of the master’s mind and his enjoyment of jocose, witty and improving conversation. Through a caprice of Beethoven, his cordial relations to Dr. Bertolini came to an abrupt end about 1815; but the doctor, though pained and mortified, retained his respect and veneration for his former friend to the last. In 1831, he gave a singular proof of his delicate regard for Beethoven’s reputation; supposing himself to be at the point of death from cholera, and being too feeble to examine his large collection of the composer’s letters and notes to him, he ordered them all to be burned, because a few were not of a nature to be risked in careless hands.

The reader will not have forgotten Marie Anna Stein of Augsburg—pianoforte-maker Stein’s “Mädl,” as Mozart called her. After the death of her father (February 29, 1792), she, being then just 23 years of age, assisted by her brother, Matthäus Andreas, a youth of sixteen years, took charge of and continued his business. The great reputation of the Stein instruments led to the removal of the Steins to Vienna. An imperial patent, issued January 17, 1794, empowered Nanette and Andreas Stein to establish their business “in the Landstrasse 301, zur Rothen Rose,” and in the following July they arrived, accompanied by Johann Andreas Streicher, an “admirable pianist and teacher” of Munich, to whom Nanette was engaged. The business flourished nobly under the firm-name “Geschwister Stein” until 1802, “when they separated and each carried on an independent business.” It is known that Beethoven, immediately upon the arrival of the Steins, renewed his intercourse with them, of which, however, there is but a single record worth quoting, until a period several years later than that before us. Reichardt writes in his letter of February 7, 1809:

Streicher has abandoned the soft, yielding, repercussive tone of the other Vienna instruments, and at Beethoven’s wish and advice given his instruments greater resonance and elasticity, so that the virtuoso who plays with strength and significance may have the instrument in bettercommand for sustained and expressive tones. He has thereby given his instruments a larger and more varied character, so that they must give greater satisfaction than the others to all virtuosi who seek something more than mere easy brilliancy in their style of playing.

This shows us Beethoven in a new character—that of an improver of the pianoforte. The “young Stein” mentioned by Ries, was Nanette’s brother Carl Friedrich, who followed his sister to Vienna in 1804.

One of Beethoven’s characteristic notes to Zmeskall, not dated, but belonging in these years, adds another name to the long list which proves that, however unpopular the composer may have been with his brother musicians, he possessed qualities and tastes that endeared him to the best class of rising young men in the learned professions:

The Jahn brothers are as little attractive to me as to you. But they have so pestered me, and finally referred me to you as one of their visitors, that at the last I consented. Come then in God’s name, it may be I will call for you at Zizius’s, if not, come there direct, so that I may not be left there without the company of human beings. We will let our commissions wait until you are better able to look after them. If you cannot, come to the Swan to-day where I shall surely go.

Dr. Johann Zizius, of Bohemia (born January 7, 1772), appears at the early age of 28, in theStaats-Schematismusfor 1800, as professor of political science to the R. I. Staff of Guards; three years later he has the same professorship in the Theresianum, which he retained to his death in 1824, filling also in his later years the chair of constitutional law in the University. Dr. Sonnleithner made his acquaintance about 1820. In his very valuable and interesting“Musikalische Skizzen aus Alt-Wien” (“Recensionen,”1863), he describes Zizius in a way which shows him to have been a man after Beethoven’s own heart until his increasing infirmity excluded him in great measure from mixed society.

The attraction of Beethoven’s personal character for young persons of more than ordinary genius and culture has been already noted. Another illustration of this was Julius Franz Borgias Schneller, born (1777) at Strasburg, educated at Freiberg in the Breisgau, and just now (1805) professor of history in the Lyceum at Linz on the Danube. Driven into exile because of his active resistance to the French, he had made his way to Vienna, where his fine qualities of head and heart made him a welcome guest in literary circles and gained him the affection of the young writers of the capital. In 1803, he received his appointment at Linz,whence, three years later, he was advanced to the same position in the new university at Gratz. Perhaps the most beloved of his friends was Gleichenstein.

Beethoven and his Predecessors

We pass to the notices of Ries, Czerny and others, which record divers characteristic anecdotes and personal traits of the master, not susceptible of exact chronological arrangement but which belong to this period. “Of all composers,” says Ries (“Notizen,” p. 84), “Beethoven valued most highly Mozart and Handel, then S. Bach. Whenever I found him with music in his hand or lying on his desk it was surely compositions of these heroes. Haydn seldom escaped without a few sly thrusts.” Compare this with what Jahn heard from Czerny: “Once Beethoven saw at my house the scores of six quartets by Mozart. He opened the fifth, in A, and said: ‘That’s a work! that’s where Mozart said to the world: Behold what I might have done for you if the time were here!‘” And, touching Handel: “Graun’s ‘Tod Jesu’ was unknown to Beethoven. My father brought the score to him, which he played througha vistain a masterly manner. When he came to a place where Graun had written a twofold ending to be left to the choice of the performer, he said: ‘The man must have had the gripes not to be able to say which ending is the better!’ At the end he said that the fugues were passable, the rest ordinary. Then he picked up Handel’s ‘Messiah’ with the words: ‘Here is a different fellow!’ and played the most interesting numbers and called our attention to several resemblances to Haydn’s ‘Creation,’ etc.” “Once,” says Ries (p. 100), “when after a lesson we were talking about fugue themes, I sitting at the pianoforte and he beside me, I played the first fugue theme from Graun’s ‘Tod Jesu’; he began to play it after me with his left hand, then brought in the right and developed it for perhaps half an hour. I am still unable to understand how he could have endured the uncomfortable position so long. His enthusiasm made him insensible to external impressions.” In another place (p. 87) he relates: “During a walk I mentioned to Beethoven two pure fifth progressions which sound striking and beautiful in his C minor Quartet (Op. 18). He did not know them and denied that they were fifths. It being his habit always to carry ruled paper with him, I asked him for a sheet and wrote down the passage in all four voices; seeing that I was right he said: ‘Well, and who has forbidden them?’ Not knowing how to take the question, I had him repeat it several times until I finally answered in amazement: ‘But they are first principles!’ The question was repeated again, whereupon I answered: ‘Marpurg, Kirnberger,Fux, etc., etc., all theoreticians!’—‘And I allow themthus!’ was his answer.”[43]

We quote again from Ries (p. 106):

I recall only two instances in which Beethoven told me to add a few notes to his composition: once in the theme of the rondo of the ‘Sonate Pathétique’ (Op. 13), and again in the theme of the rondo of his first Concerto in C major, where he gave me some passages in double notes to make it more brilliant. He played this last rondo, in fact, with an expression peculiar to himself. In general he played his own compositions very freakishly, holding firmly to the measure, however, as a rule and occasionally, but not often, hurrying the tempo. At times he would hold the tempo back in hiscrescendowithritardando, which made a very beautiful and highly striking effect. In playing he would give a passage now in the right hand, now in the left, a lovely and absolutely inimitable expression; but he very seldom added notes or ornaments.... (p. 100). He played his own compositions very unwillingly. Once he was making serious preparations for a long trip which we were to make together, on which I was to arrange the concerts and play his concertos as well as other compositions. He was to conduct and improvise.

Beethoven’s Improvisations

And now something more on the subject of Beethoven’s improvisations. Says Ries: “This last was certainly the most extraordinary (performance) any one was ever privileged to listen to, especially when he was in good humor or excited. Not a single artist of all that I have heard ever reached the plane in this respect which Beethoven occupied. The wealth of ideas which crowded in upon him, the moods to which he surrendered himself, the variety of treatment, the difficulties which offered themselves or were introduced by him, were inexhaustible.” And Czerny:

Beethoven’s improvisation (with which he created the greatest sensation in the first years of his sojourn in Vienna and even caused Mozart to wonder) was of the most varied kind, whether he was treating themes chosen by himself or set for him by others.1. In the first-movement form or the final rondo of a sonata, when he regularly closed the first section and introduced a second melody in a related key, etc., but in the second section gave himself freely to all manner of treatment of the motivi. In Allegros the work was enlivened by bravura passages which were mostly more difficult than those to be found in his compositions.2. In the free-variation form, about like his Choral Fantasia, Op. 80, or the choral finale of his Ninth Symphony, both of which give a faithful illustration of his improvisations in this form.3. In the mixed genre, where, in the potpourri style, one thought follows upon another, as in his solo Fantasia, Op. 77. Often a few tones would suffice to enable him to improvise an entire piece (as, for instance, the Finale of the third Sonata, D major, of Op. 10).Nobody equalled him in the rapidity of his scales, double trills, skips, etc.—not even Hummel. His bearing while playing was masterfully quiet, noble and beautiful, without the slightest grimace (only bent forward low, as his deafness grew upon him); his fingers were very powerful, not long, and broadened at the tips by much playing, for he told me very often indeed that he generally had to practise until after midnight in his youth.In teaching he laid great stress on a correct position of the fingers (after the school of Emanuel Bach, which he used in teaching me); he could scarcely span a tenth. He made frequent use of the pedals, much more frequent than is indicated in his works. His playing of the scores of Handel and Gluck and the fugues of Seb. Bach was unique, in that in the former he introduced a full-voicedness and a spirit which gave these works a new shape.He was also the greatesta vistaplayer of his time (even in score-reading); he scanned every new and unfamiliar composition like a divination and his judgment was always correct, but, especially in his younger years, very keen, biting, unsparing. Much that the world admired then and still admires he saw in an entirely different light from the lofty point of view of his genius.Extraordinary as his playing was when he improvised, it was frequently less successful when he played his printed compositions, for, as he never had patience or time to practise, the result would generally depend on accident or his mood; and as his playing, like his compositions, was far ahead of his time, the pianofortes of the period (until 1810), still extremely weak and imperfect, could not endure his gigantic style of performance. Hence it was that Hummel’s purling, brilliant style, well calculated to suit the manner of the time, was much more comprehensible and pleasing to the public. But Beethoven’s performance of slow and sustained passages produced an almost magical effect upon every listener and, so far as I know, was never surpassed.

1. In the first-movement form or the final rondo of a sonata, when he regularly closed the first section and introduced a second melody in a related key, etc., but in the second section gave himself freely to all manner of treatment of the motivi. In Allegros the work was enlivened by bravura passages which were mostly more difficult than those to be found in his compositions.

2. In the free-variation form, about like his Choral Fantasia, Op. 80, or the choral finale of his Ninth Symphony, both of which give a faithful illustration of his improvisations in this form.

3. In the mixed genre, where, in the potpourri style, one thought follows upon another, as in his solo Fantasia, Op. 77. Often a few tones would suffice to enable him to improvise an entire piece (as, for instance, the Finale of the third Sonata, D major, of Op. 10).

Nobody equalled him in the rapidity of his scales, double trills, skips, etc.—not even Hummel. His bearing while playing was masterfully quiet, noble and beautiful, without the slightest grimace (only bent forward low, as his deafness grew upon him); his fingers were very powerful, not long, and broadened at the tips by much playing, for he told me very often indeed that he generally had to practise until after midnight in his youth.

In teaching he laid great stress on a correct position of the fingers (after the school of Emanuel Bach, which he used in teaching me); he could scarcely span a tenth. He made frequent use of the pedals, much more frequent than is indicated in his works. His playing of the scores of Handel and Gluck and the fugues of Seb. Bach was unique, in that in the former he introduced a full-voicedness and a spirit which gave these works a new shape.

He was also the greatesta vistaplayer of his time (even in score-reading); he scanned every new and unfamiliar composition like a divination and his judgment was always correct, but, especially in his younger years, very keen, biting, unsparing. Much that the world admired then and still admires he saw in an entirely different light from the lofty point of view of his genius.

Extraordinary as his playing was when he improvised, it was frequently less successful when he played his printed compositions, for, as he never had patience or time to practise, the result would generally depend on accident or his mood; and as his playing, like his compositions, was far ahead of his time, the pianofortes of the period (until 1810), still extremely weak and imperfect, could not endure his gigantic style of performance. Hence it was that Hummel’s purling, brilliant style, well calculated to suit the manner of the time, was much more comprehensible and pleasing to the public. But Beethoven’s performance of slow and sustained passages produced an almost magical effect upon every listener and, so far as I know, was never surpassed.

Characteristics of the Composer

Pass we to certain minor characteristic traits which Ries has recorded of his master:

Beethoven recalled his youth, and his Bonn friends, with great pleasure, although his memory told of hard times, on the whole. Of his mother, in particular, he spoke with love and feeling, calling her often an honest, good-hearted woman. He spoke but little and unwillingly of his father, who was most to blame for the family misery, but a single hard word against him uttered by another would anger him. On the whole he was a thoroughly good and kind man, on whom his moods and impetuousness played shabby tricks. He would have forgiven anybody, no matter how grievously he had injured him or whatever wrong he had done him, if he had found him in an unfortunate position. (“Notizen,” p. 122.)Beethoven was often extremely violent. One day we were eating our noonday meal at the Swan inn; the waiter brought him the wrong dish. Scarcely had Beethoven spoken a few words about the matter,which the waiter answered in a manner not altogether modest, when Beethoven seized the dish (it was a mess of lungs with plenty of gravy) and threw it at the waiter’s head. The poor fellow had an armful of other dishes (an adeptness which Viennese waiters possess in a high degree) and could not help himself; the gravy ran down his face. He and Beethoven screamed and vituperated while all the other guests roared with laughter. Finally, Beethoven himself was overcome with the comicalness of the situation, as the waiter who wanted to scold could not, because he was kept busy licking from his chops the gravy that ran down his face, making the most ridiculous grimaces the while. It was a picture worthy of Hogarth. (“Notizen,” p. 121.)Beethoven knew scarcely anything about money, because of which he had frequent quarrels; since he was always mistrustful, and frequently thought himself cheated when it was not the case. Easily excited, he called people cheats, for which in the case of waiters he had to make good with tips. At length his peculiarities and absentmindedness became known in the inns which he frequented most often and he was permitted to go his way, even when he went without paying his bill. (“Notizen,” p. 122.)Beethoven had taken lessons on the violin even after he reached Vienna from Krumpholz and frequently when I was there we played his Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violin together. But it was really a horrible music; for in his enthusiastic zeal he never heard when he began a passage with bad fingering.In his behavior Beethoven was awkward and helpless; his uncouth movements were often destitute of all grace. He seldom took anything into his hands without dropping and breaking it. Thus he frequently knocked his ink-well into the pianoforte which stood near by the side of his writing-table. No piece of furniture was safe from him, least of all a costly piece. Everything was overturned, soiled and destroyed. It is hard to comprehend how he accomplished so much as to be able to shave himself, even leaving out of consideration the number of cuts on his cheeks. He could never learn to dance in time. (“Notizen,” p. 119.)Beethoven attached no value to his manuscripts; after they were printed they lay for the greater part in an anteroom or on the floor among other pieces of music. I often put his music to rights; but whenever he hunted something, everything was thrown into confusion again. I might at that time have carried away the original manuscripts of all his printed pieces; and if I had asked him for them he would unquestionably have given them to me without a thought. (“Notizen,” p. 113.)

Beethoven was often extremely violent. One day we were eating our noonday meal at the Swan inn; the waiter brought him the wrong dish. Scarcely had Beethoven spoken a few words about the matter,which the waiter answered in a manner not altogether modest, when Beethoven seized the dish (it was a mess of lungs with plenty of gravy) and threw it at the waiter’s head. The poor fellow had an armful of other dishes (an adeptness which Viennese waiters possess in a high degree) and could not help himself; the gravy ran down his face. He and Beethoven screamed and vituperated while all the other guests roared with laughter. Finally, Beethoven himself was overcome with the comicalness of the situation, as the waiter who wanted to scold could not, because he was kept busy licking from his chops the gravy that ran down his face, making the most ridiculous grimaces the while. It was a picture worthy of Hogarth. (“Notizen,” p. 121.)

Beethoven knew scarcely anything about money, because of which he had frequent quarrels; since he was always mistrustful, and frequently thought himself cheated when it was not the case. Easily excited, he called people cheats, for which in the case of waiters he had to make good with tips. At length his peculiarities and absentmindedness became known in the inns which he frequented most often and he was permitted to go his way, even when he went without paying his bill. (“Notizen,” p. 122.)

Beethoven had taken lessons on the violin even after he reached Vienna from Krumpholz and frequently when I was there we played his Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violin together. But it was really a horrible music; for in his enthusiastic zeal he never heard when he began a passage with bad fingering.

In his behavior Beethoven was awkward and helpless; his uncouth movements were often destitute of all grace. He seldom took anything into his hands without dropping and breaking it. Thus he frequently knocked his ink-well into the pianoforte which stood near by the side of his writing-table. No piece of furniture was safe from him, least of all a costly piece. Everything was overturned, soiled and destroyed. It is hard to comprehend how he accomplished so much as to be able to shave himself, even leaving out of consideration the number of cuts on his cheeks. He could never learn to dance in time. (“Notizen,” p. 119.)

Beethoven attached no value to his manuscripts; after they were printed they lay for the greater part in an anteroom or on the floor among other pieces of music. I often put his music to rights; but whenever he hunted something, everything was thrown into confusion again. I might at that time have carried away the original manuscripts of all his printed pieces; and if I had asked him for them he would unquestionably have given them to me without a thought. (“Notizen,” p. 113.)

Beethoven felt the loss of Ries very sensibly; but it was in part supplied by young Röckel, to whom he took a great liking. Inviting him to call, he told him he would give special orders to his servant to admit him at all times, even in the morning when busy. It was agreed that, when Röckel was admitted, if he found Beethoven very much occupied he should pass through the room into the bed-chamber beyond—both rooms overlooked the Glacis from the fourth story of the Pasqualati house on the Mölker Bastei—and there await him a reasonable time; if the composer came not,Röckel should quietly pass out again. It happened one morning upon his first visit, that Röckel found at the street door a carriage with a lady in it; and, on reaching the fourth storey, there, at Beethoven’s door, was Prince Lichnowsky in a dispute with the servant about being admitted. The man declared he dared not admit anybody, as his master was busy and had given express orders not to admit any person whatever. Röckel, however, having the entrée, informed Beethoven that Lichnowsky was outside. Though in ill humor, he could no longer refuse to see him. The Prince and his wife had come to take Beethoven out for an airing; and he finally consented, but, as he entered the carriage, Röckel noticed that his face was still cloudy.

That Beethoven and Ignatz von Seyfried were brought much together in these years, the reader already knows. Their acquaintance during thirty years—which, for at least half of the time, was really the “friendly relationship” which Seyfried names it—was, he says, “never weakened, never disturbed by even the smallest quarrel—not that we were both always of a mind, or could be, but we always spoke freely and frankly to each other, without reserve, according to our convictions, without conceitedly trying to force upon one another our opinions as infallible.”

Besides, Beethoven was much too straightforward, open and tolerant to give offence to another by disapprobation, or contradiction; he was wont to laugh heartily at what did not please him and I confidently believe that I may safely say that in all his life he never, at least not consciously, made an enemy; only those to whom his peculiarities were unknown were unable quite to understand how to get along with him; I am speaking here of an earlier time, before the misfortune of deafness had come upon him; if, on the contrary, Beethoven sometimes carried things to an extreme in his rude honesty in the case of many, mostly those who had imposed themselves upon him as protectors, the fault lay only in this, that the honest German always carried his heart on his tongue and understood everything better than how to flatter; also because, conscious of his own merit, he would never permit himself to be made the plaything of the vain whims of the Mæcenases who were eager to boast of their association with the name and fame of the celebrated master. And so he was misunderstood only by those who had not the patience to get acquainted with the apparent eccentric. When he composed “Fidelio,” the oratorio “Christus am Ölberg,” the symphonies in E-flat, C minor and F, the Pianoforte Concertos in C minor and G major, and the Violin Concerto in D, we were living in the same house[44]and (since we were each carrying on a bachelor’s apartment) we dined at the same restaurant and chatted away many an unforgettable hour in the confidential intimacy of colleagues, for Beethoven was then merry, ready for any jest, happy, full of life, witty and not seldom satirical. No physicalill had then afflicted him [?]; no loss of the sense which is peculiarly indispensable to the musician had darkened his life; only weak eyes had remained with him as the results of the smallpox with which he had been afflicted in his childhood, and these compelled him even in his early youth to resort to concave, very strong (highly magnifying) spectacles.[45]He had me play the pieces mentioned, recognized throughout the musical world as masterpieces, and, without giving me time to think, demanded to know my opinion of them; I was permitted to give it without restraint, without fearing that I should offend any artistic conceit—a fault which was utterly foreign to his nature.

He had me play the pieces mentioned, recognized throughout the musical world as masterpieces, and, without giving me time to think, demanded to know my opinion of them; I was permitted to give it without restraint, without fearing that I should offend any artistic conceit—a fault which was utterly foreign to his nature.

The above is from “Cäcilia,” Vol. IX, 218, 219. In the so-called “Studien” (appendix) are other reminiscences, which form an admirable supplement to it. Those which belong to the years 1800-1805 follow:

Our master could not be presented as a model in respect of conducting, and the orchestra always had to have a care in order not to be led astray by its mentor; for he had ears only for his composition and was ceaselessly occupied by manifold gesticulations to indicate the desired expression. He used to suggest adiminuendoby crouching down more and more, and at apianissimohe would almost creep under the desk. When the volume of sound grew he rose up also as if out of a stage-trap, and with the entrance of the power of the band he would stand upon the tips of his toes almost as big as a giant, and waving his arms, seemed about to soar upwards to the skies. Everything about him was active, not a bit of his organism idle, and the man was comparable to aperpetuum mobile. He did not belong to those capricious composers whom no orchestra in the world can satisfy. At times, indeed, he was altogether too considerate and did not even repeat passages which went badly at the rehearsal: “It will go better next time,” he would say. He was very particular about expression, the delicate nuances, the equable distribution of light and shade as well as an effectivetempo rubato, and without betraying vexation, would discuss them with the individual players. When he then observed that the players would enter into his intentions and play together with increasing ardor, inspired by the magical power of his creations, his face would be transfigured with joy, all his features beamed pleasure and satisfaction, a pleased smile would play around his lips and a thundering “Bravi tutti!” reward the successful achievement. It was the first and loftiest triumphal moment for the genius, compared with which, as he confessed, the tempestuous applause of a receptive audience was as nothing. When playing at first sight, there were frequent pauses for the purpose of correcting the parts and then the thread would be broken; but he was patient even then; but when things went to pieces, particularly in the scherzos of his symphonies at a sudden and unexpected change of rhythm, he would shout with laughter and say he had expected nothing else, but was reckoning on it from the beginning; he was almost childishly glad that he had been successful in “unhorsing such excellent riders.”Deafness and DisorderlinessBefore Beethoven was afflicted with his organic ailment, he attended the opera frequently and with enjoyment, especially the admirable and flourishing Theater-an-der-Wien, perhaps, also, for convenience’ sake, since he had scarcely to do more than to step from his room into the parterre. There he was fascinated more especially by the creations of Cherubini and Méhul, which at that time were just beginning to stir up the enthusiasm of all Vienna. There he would plant himself hard against the orchestra rail and, dumb as a dunce, remain till the last stroke of the bows. This was the only sign, however, that the art work had interested him; if, on the contrary, the piece did not please him he would turn on his heel at the first fall of the curtain and take himself away. It was, in fact, difficult, yes, utterly impossible to tell from his features whether or not he was pleased or displeased; he was always the same, apparently cold, and just as reserved in his judgments concerning his companions in art; his mind was at work ceaselessly, but the physical shell was like soulless marble. Strangely enough, on the other hand, hearing wretched music was a treat to him which he proclaimed by a peal of laughter. Everybody who knew him intimately knew that in this art he was a virtuoso, but it was a pity that those who were near him were seldom able to fathom the cause of such explosions, since he often laughed at his most secret thoughts and conceits without giving an accounting of them.He was never found on the street without a small note-book in which he was wont to record his passing ideas. Whenever conversation turned on the subject he would parody Joan of Arc’s words: “I dare not come without my banner!”—and he adhered to his self-given rule with unparalleled tenacity; although otherwise a truly admirable disorder prevailed in his household. Books and music were scattered in every corner; here the remnants of a cold luncheon; here sealed or half-emptied bottles; here upon a stand the hurried sketches of a quartet; here the remains of a déjeuner; there on the pianoforte, on scribbled paper the material for a glorious symphony still slumbering in embryo; here a proof-sheet awaiting salvation; friendly and business letters covering the floor; between the windows a respectable loaf of strachino,ad latusa considerable ruin of a genuine Veronese salami—yet despite this varied mess our master had a habit, quite contrary to the reality, of proclaiming his accuracy and love of order on all occasions with Ciceronian eloquence. Only when it became necessary to spend days, hours, sometimes weeks, in finding something necessary and all efforts remained fruitless, did he adopt a different tone, and the innocent were made to bear the blame. “Yes, yes,” was the complaint, “that’s a misfortune! Nothing is permitted to remain where I put it; everything is moved about; everything is done to vex me; O men, men!” But his servants knew the good-natured grumbler; let him growl to his heart’s content, and—in a few minutes all would be forgotten, until another occasion brought with it a renewal of the scene.He often made merry over his illegible handwriting and excused himself by saying: “Life is too short to paint letters or notes; and prettier notes would scarcely help me out of needs.”[46]

Deafness and Disorderliness

Before Beethoven was afflicted with his organic ailment, he attended the opera frequently and with enjoyment, especially the admirable and flourishing Theater-an-der-Wien, perhaps, also, for convenience’ sake, since he had scarcely to do more than to step from his room into the parterre. There he was fascinated more especially by the creations of Cherubini and Méhul, which at that time were just beginning to stir up the enthusiasm of all Vienna. There he would plant himself hard against the orchestra rail and, dumb as a dunce, remain till the last stroke of the bows. This was the only sign, however, that the art work had interested him; if, on the contrary, the piece did not please him he would turn on his heel at the first fall of the curtain and take himself away. It was, in fact, difficult, yes, utterly impossible to tell from his features whether or not he was pleased or displeased; he was always the same, apparently cold, and just as reserved in his judgments concerning his companions in art; his mind was at work ceaselessly, but the physical shell was like soulless marble. Strangely enough, on the other hand, hearing wretched music was a treat to him which he proclaimed by a peal of laughter. Everybody who knew him intimately knew that in this art he was a virtuoso, but it was a pity that those who were near him were seldom able to fathom the cause of such explosions, since he often laughed at his most secret thoughts and conceits without giving an accounting of them.

He was never found on the street without a small note-book in which he was wont to record his passing ideas. Whenever conversation turned on the subject he would parody Joan of Arc’s words: “I dare not come without my banner!”—and he adhered to his self-given rule with unparalleled tenacity; although otherwise a truly admirable disorder prevailed in his household. Books and music were scattered in every corner; here the remnants of a cold luncheon; here sealed or half-emptied bottles; here upon a stand the hurried sketches of a quartet; here the remains of a déjeuner; there on the pianoforte, on scribbled paper the material for a glorious symphony still slumbering in embryo; here a proof-sheet awaiting salvation; friendly and business letters covering the floor; between the windows a respectable loaf of strachino,ad latusa considerable ruin of a genuine Veronese salami—yet despite this varied mess our master had a habit, quite contrary to the reality, of proclaiming his accuracy and love of order on all occasions with Ciceronian eloquence. Only when it became necessary to spend days, hours, sometimes weeks, in finding something necessary and all efforts remained fruitless, did he adopt a different tone, and the innocent were made to bear the blame. “Yes, yes,” was the complaint, “that’s a misfortune! Nothing is permitted to remain where I put it; everything is moved about; everything is done to vex me; O men, men!” But his servants knew the good-natured grumbler; let him growl to his heart’s content, and—in a few minutes all would be forgotten, until another occasion brought with it a renewal of the scene.

He often made merry over his illegible handwriting and excused himself by saying: “Life is too short to paint letters or notes; and prettier notes would scarcely help me out of needs.”[46]

The whole forenoon, from the first ray of light till the meal hour, was devoted to mechanical labor, i. e., to transcribing; the rest of the day was given to thought and the ordering of ideas. Hardly had he put the last bit in his mouth before he began his customary promenade, unless he had some other excursionin petto; that is to say, he hurried in double-quick time several times around the city, as if urged on by a goad; and this, let the weather be what it might.

And his hearing—how was it with that?

A question not to be answered to full satisfaction. It is clear that the “Notizen” of Wegeler and Ries, the Biography (first editions) of Schindler, and especially the papers from Beethoven’s own hand printed in those volumes, have given currency to a very exaggerated idea of the progress of his infirmity. On the other hand, Seyfried as evidently errs in the other direction; and yet Carl Czerny, both in his published and manuscripts notices, goes even farther. For instance, he writes to Jahn: “Although he had suffered from pains in his ears and the like ever since 1800, he still heard speech and music perfectly well until nearly 1812,” and adds in confirmation: “As late as the years 1811-1812 I studied things with him and he corrected with great care, as well as ten years before.” This, however, proves nothing, as Beethoven performed feats of this kind still more remarkable down to the last year of his life. Beethoven’s Lamentation, the testament of 1802, is one extreme, the statements of Seyfried and Czerny the other; the truth lies somewhere between.

Neglect of Medical Treatment

In June, 1801, Beethoven is “obliged to lean down to the orchestral rail to hear a drama.” The next summer he cannot hear a flute or pipe to which Ries calls his attention. In 1804, as Doležalek tells Jahn, “in the rehearsals to the ‘Eroica’ he did not always hear the wind-instruments distinctly and missed them when they were playing.” The evil was then making, if slow, still sure progress. “In those years,” says Schindler, “there was a priest named Pater Weiss in the Metropolitan Church of St. Stephen who occupied himself with healing the deaf and had accomplished many fortunate cures. He was not a mere empiricist, but was familiar with the physiology of the ear; he effected his cures with simple remedies, and enjoyed a wide fame among the people, and also the respect of medical practitioners. With the consent of his physician our terrified tone-poet had also entrusted his case to the priest.” Precisely when this was, is unknown; it could not, however, have been until after Dr. Schmidt’s treatment had proved hopeless. The so-called Fischoff Manuscript, evidently on the authority of Zmeskall himself, gives a more particular account than Schindler of Pater Weiss’s experience with his new patient. “Herr v. Zmeskall with great difficulty persuaded Beethoven to go there with him. At first he followed the advice of the physician; but as he had to go to him every day in order to have a fluid dropped into his ear, this grew unpleasant, the more since, in his impatience, he felt little or no improvement; and he remained away. The physician, questioned by Zmeskall, told him the facts, and Zmeskall begged him to accommodate himself to the self-willed invalid, and consult his convenience. The priest, honestly desirous to help Beethoven, went to his lodgings, but his efforts were in vain, inasmuch as Beethoven in a few days refused him entrance, and thus neglected possible help or at least an amelioration of his condition.”

Probably the evil was of such a nature that, with all the resources of our present medical science, it could hardly have been impeded, much less arrested. This is poor consolation, but the best we have. The sufferer now resigned himself to his fate. On a page of twenty-one leaves of sketches to the Rasoumowsky Quartets, Op. 59, stands written in pencil—if correctly deciphered—these words from his hand:

Even as you have plunged into the whirlpool of society, you will find it possible to composeoperasin spite of social obstacles.Let your deafness no longer remain a secret—not even in art!

Even as you have plunged into the whirlpool of society, you will find it possible to composeoperasin spite of social obstacles.

Let your deafness no longer remain a secret—not even in art!

Princes as Theatrical Directors—Disappointed Expectations—Subscription Concerts at Prince Lobkowitz’s—The Symphony in B-flat—The “Coriolan” Overture—Contract with Clementi—The Mass in C—The Year 1807.

A controversy for the possession of the two Court Theatres and that An-der-Wien involved certain legal questions which, in September, 1806, were decided by the proper tribunal against the old directors, who were thus at the end of the year compelled to retire. Peter, Baron von Braun, closed his twelve years’ administration with a circular letter addressed to his recent subordinates, dated December 28, in which, after bidding them an affectionate adieu, he said: “With imperial consent I have turned over the vice-direction of the Royal Imperial Court Theatre to a company composed of the following cavaliers: the Princes Lobkowitz, Schwarzenberg and Esterhazy and the Counts Esterhazy, Lodron, Ferdinand Palffy, Stephen Zichy and Niklas Esterhazy.”

Plans to Keep Beethoven in Vienna

Beethoven naturally saw in this change a most hopeful prospect of an improvement in his own theatrical fortunes, and immediately, acting on a hint from Lobkowitz, addressed to the new directors a petition and proposals for a permanent engagement, with a fixed salary, in their service. The document was as follows:

To the Worshipful R. I. Theatre Direction:The undersigned flatters himself that during his past sojourn in Vienna he has won some favor with not only the high nobility but also the general public, and has secured an honorable acceptance of his works at home and abroad.Nevertheless, he has been obliged to struggle with difficulties of all kinds and has not yet been able to establish himself here in a position which would enable him to fulfil his desire to live wholly for art, to develop his talents to a still higher degree of perfection, which must be the goal of every true artist, and to make certain for the future the fortuitous advantages of the present.Inasmuch as the undersigned has always striven less for a livelihood than for the interests of art, the ennoblement of taste and theuplifting of his genius toward higher ideals and perfection, it necessarily happens that he often was compelled to sacrifice profit and advantage to the Muse. Yet works of this kind won for him a reputation in foreign lands which assures him of a favorable reception in a number of considerable cities and a lot commensurate with his talents and opportunities.But in spite of this the undersigned cannot deny that the many years during which he has lived here and the favor and approval which he has enjoyed from high and low have aroused in him a wish wholly to fulfil the expectations which he has been fortunate enough to awaken; and let him say also, the patriotism of a German has made this place more estimable and desirable than any other.He can, therefore, not forbear before deciding to leave the city so dear to him, to follow the suggestion kindly made to him by His Serene Highness the ruling Prince Lobkowitz, who intimated that a Worshipful Direction was not disinclined under proper conditions to engage the undersigned for the service of the theatre under their management and to ensure his further sojourn here by offering him the means of a permanent livelihood favorable to the exercise of his talent.Inasmuch as this intimation is in perfect accord with the desires of the undersigned, he takes the liberty to submit an expression of his willingness as well as the following stipulations for the favorable consideration of the Worshipful Direction:1. He promises and contracts to compose every year at least one grand opera, to be selected jointly by the Worshipful Direction and the undersigned; in return he asks a fixed remuneration of 2400 florins per annum and the gross receipts of the third performance of each of such operas.2. He agrees to deliver gratis each year a small operetta, divertissement, choruses or occasional pieces according to the wishes or needs of the Worshipful Direction, but hopes that the Worshipful Direction will not hesitate in return for such works to give him one day in each year for a benefit concert in the theatre building.If one reflects what an expenditure of capacity and time is required for the making of an opera to the absolute exclusion of every other intellectual occupation, and further, that in cities where the author and his family have a share in the receipts at every performance, a single successful work may make the fortune of an author; and still further how small a compensation, owing to the monetary condition and high prices for necessaries which prevail here, is at the command of a local artist to whom foreign lands are open, the above conditions can certainly not be thought to be excessive or unreasonable.But whether or not the Worshipful Direction confirms and accepts this offer, the undersigned appends the request that he be given a day for a musical concert in one of the theatre buildings; for, in case the proposition is accepted, the undersigned will at once require his time and powers for the composition of the opera and therefore be unable to use them for his profit in another direction. In the event of a declination of the present offer, moreover, since the permission for a concert granted last year could not be utilized because of various obstacles which intervened, the undersigned would look upon the fulfilment of last year’s promise as a highest sign of the great favor heretofore enjoyed by him,and he requests that in the first case the day be set on the Feast of the Annunciation, in the second on one of the approaching Christmas holidays.Ludwig van Beethoven, m. p.Vienna, 1807.

To the Worshipful R. I. Theatre Direction:

The undersigned flatters himself that during his past sojourn in Vienna he has won some favor with not only the high nobility but also the general public, and has secured an honorable acceptance of his works at home and abroad.

Nevertheless, he has been obliged to struggle with difficulties of all kinds and has not yet been able to establish himself here in a position which would enable him to fulfil his desire to live wholly for art, to develop his talents to a still higher degree of perfection, which must be the goal of every true artist, and to make certain for the future the fortuitous advantages of the present.

Inasmuch as the undersigned has always striven less for a livelihood than for the interests of art, the ennoblement of taste and theuplifting of his genius toward higher ideals and perfection, it necessarily happens that he often was compelled to sacrifice profit and advantage to the Muse. Yet works of this kind won for him a reputation in foreign lands which assures him of a favorable reception in a number of considerable cities and a lot commensurate with his talents and opportunities.

But in spite of this the undersigned cannot deny that the many years during which he has lived here and the favor and approval which he has enjoyed from high and low have aroused in him a wish wholly to fulfil the expectations which he has been fortunate enough to awaken; and let him say also, the patriotism of a German has made this place more estimable and desirable than any other.

He can, therefore, not forbear before deciding to leave the city so dear to him, to follow the suggestion kindly made to him by His Serene Highness the ruling Prince Lobkowitz, who intimated that a Worshipful Direction was not disinclined under proper conditions to engage the undersigned for the service of the theatre under their management and to ensure his further sojourn here by offering him the means of a permanent livelihood favorable to the exercise of his talent.

Inasmuch as this intimation is in perfect accord with the desires of the undersigned, he takes the liberty to submit an expression of his willingness as well as the following stipulations for the favorable consideration of the Worshipful Direction:

1. He promises and contracts to compose every year at least one grand opera, to be selected jointly by the Worshipful Direction and the undersigned; in return he asks a fixed remuneration of 2400 florins per annum and the gross receipts of the third performance of each of such operas.

2. He agrees to deliver gratis each year a small operetta, divertissement, choruses or occasional pieces according to the wishes or needs of the Worshipful Direction, but hopes that the Worshipful Direction will not hesitate in return for such works to give him one day in each year for a benefit concert in the theatre building.

If one reflects what an expenditure of capacity and time is required for the making of an opera to the absolute exclusion of every other intellectual occupation, and further, that in cities where the author and his family have a share in the receipts at every performance, a single successful work may make the fortune of an author; and still further how small a compensation, owing to the monetary condition and high prices for necessaries which prevail here, is at the command of a local artist to whom foreign lands are open, the above conditions can certainly not be thought to be excessive or unreasonable.

But whether or not the Worshipful Direction confirms and accepts this offer, the undersigned appends the request that he be given a day for a musical concert in one of the theatre buildings; for, in case the proposition is accepted, the undersigned will at once require his time and powers for the composition of the opera and therefore be unable to use them for his profit in another direction. In the event of a declination of the present offer, moreover, since the permission for a concert granted last year could not be utilized because of various obstacles which intervened, the undersigned would look upon the fulfilment of last year’s promise as a highest sign of the great favor heretofore enjoyed by him,and he requests that in the first case the day be set on the Feast of the Annunciation, in the second on one of the approaching Christmas holidays.

Ludwig van Beethoven, m. p.

Vienna, 1807.

Neither of these requests was granted directly; one of them only indirectly. Nor is it known that any formal written reply was conveyed to the petitioner. The cause of this has been strangely suggested to lie in an old grudge—the very existence of which is a mere conjecture—cherished against Beethoven by Count Palffy, director of the German Drama. But it is quite needless to go so far for a reason. The composer’s well-known increasing infirmity of hearing, his habits of procrastination, and above all his inability, so often proved, to keep the peace with orchestra and singers—all this was too well known to the new directors, whatever may have been their own personal wishes, to justify the risk of attaching him permanently to an institution for the success of which they were responsible to the Emperor. It is very evident, that they temporized with him. His petition must have been presented at the very beginning of the year; otherwise the grant of a theatre for a concert at the Feast of the Annunciation (March 25) would have been useless, for want of time to make the necessary preparations; and an allusion to the “princely rabble” in a letter written in May, proves that no answer had then been given him; and a reference to the matter by the correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” near the end of the year shows that at least none had then been made public. So far as is known, the Directors chose to let the matter drop quietly and gave him none; nor did they revive “Fidelio”—for which abundant reasons suggest themselves. But they gave Beethoven ample proof that no motives of personal animosity, no lack of admiration for his talents or appreciation of his genius, governed their decision. Prince Esterhazy ordered the composition of a mass, and immediate preparations were made for the performance of his orchestral works “in a very select circle that contributed a very considerable sum for the benefit of the composer,” as a writer in the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” remarks. These performances took place in March “at the house of Prince L.” according to the “Journal des Luxus.”

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