To Count Franz von Brunswick:Dear, dear B! I have only to say to you that I came to a right satisfactory arrangement with Clementi. I shall receive 200 pounds Sterling—and besides I am privileged to sell the same works in Germany and France. He has also offered me other commissions—so that I am enabled to hope through them to achieve the dignity of a true artist while still young.I need, dear B,theQuartets. I have already asked your sister to write to you about them, it takes too long to copy them from my score—therefore make haste and send them direct to me byLetter Post. You shall have them back in 4 or 5 days at the latest. I beg you urgently for them, since otherwise I might lose a great deal.If you can arrange it that the Hungarians want me to come for a few concerts, do it—you may have me for 200 florins in gold—then I will bring my opera along. I will not get along with the princely rabble.WheneverWE(several) (amici) drink your wine, we drink you, i. e., we drink your health. Farewell—hurry—hurry—hurry and send me the quartets—otherwise you may embarrass me greatly.Schuppanzigh has married—it is said withOnevery like him. What a family????Kiss your sister Therese, tell her I fear I shall become great without the help of a monument reared by her. Send me to-morrow the quartets—quar-tets—t-e-t-s.Your friend Beethoven.[50]If an English publisher could afford to pay so high a price for the manuscripts of a German composer, why not a French one? So Beethoven reasoned, and, Bonn being then French, he wrote to Simrock proposing a contract like that made with Clementi. The letter, which was dictated and signed by Beethoven but written by another, expresses a desire to sell six new works to a publishing house in France, one in England and one in Vienna simultaneously, with the understanding that they are to appear only after a certain date. They are a symphony, an overture for Collin’s “Coriolan,” a violin concerto, 3 quartets, 1 concerto for the pianoforte, the violin concerto arranged for pianoforte “avec des notes additionelles.” The price, “very cheap,” is to be 1200florins, Augsburg current. As regards the day of publication, he thinks he can fix the first of September of that year for the first three, and the first of October for the second three.Simrock answered that owing to unfavorable circumstances due to the war, all he could offer, in his “lean condition,” was 1600 livres. He also proposed that in case Beethoven found his offer fair, he should send the works without delay to Breuning. Simrock would at once pay Breuning 300 livres in cash and give him a bill of exchange for 1300 livres, payable in two years, provided nobody reprinted any of his works in France, he taking all measures to protect his property under the laws.A series of letters written from Baden and bearing dates in June and July, addressed to Gleichenstein, are of no special interest or importance except as they, when read together, establish beyond cavil that Beethoven made no journey to any distant watering-place during the time which they cover. By proving this they have a powerful bearing on the vexed question touching the true date of Beethoven’s famous love-letter supposed by Schindler to have been addressed to the young Countess Guicciardi. That it was written in 1806 or 1807 was long since made certain; and it was only in a mistaken deference to Beethoven’s “Evening, Monday, July 6”—which, if correct, would be decisive in favor of the latter year—that the letter was not inserted in its proper place as belonging to the year 1806. That this deferencewasa mistake, and that Beethoven should have written “July 7,” is made certain by Simrock’s letter, which, by determining the dates of the notes to Gleichenstein, affords positive evidence that the composer passed the months of June and July, 1807, in Baden. A cursory examination of the composer’s correspondence brings to light other similar mistakes. There is a letter to Breitkopf and Härtel with this date, “Wednesday, November 2, 1809”—Wednesday was the 1st; a letter to Countess Erdödy has “29 February, 1815”—in that year February had but 28 days; and a letter to Zmeskall is dated “Wednesday, July 3rd, 1817”—July 3rd that year falling on a Thursday. Referring the reader to what has appeared in a previous chapter, for the letter and a complete discussion of the question of its date, it need only be added here, that it was, beyond a doubt, written from some Hungarian watering-place (as Schindler says), where Beethoven tarried for a time after his visit to Brunswick and before that to Prince Lichnowsky. This fact being established, it follows, as a necessary consequence, that it was not written to Julia Guicciardi—already nearly three years the wife of Gallenberg—nor to Therese Malfatti—then agirl but thirteen or at most fourteen years—nor, in short, to any person whose name has ever been given by biographer or novelist as among the objects of Beethoven’s fleeting passions. Thus we are led to the obvious and rational conclusion, that a mutual appreciation had grown up between the composer and some lady not yet known; that there were obstacles to marriage just now insuperable, but not of such a nature as to forbid the expectation of conquering them in the future; and that—in 1807 as in 1806—they were happy in their love and looking forward with hope.[51]The following letter to Prince Esterhazy, dated July 26, belongs to the same period and refers to the composition of the Mass in C:Most Serene, most Gracious Prince!Having been told that you, my Prince, have asked concerning the mass which you commissioned me to write for you, I take the liberty, my Serene Prince, to inform you that you shall receive the same at the latest by the 20th of the month of August—which will leave plenty of time to have it performed on the name-day of her Serene Highness, the Princess—an extraordinarily favorable offer which I received from London when I had the misfortune to make a failure of my benefit at the theatre, which made me grasp the need with joy, retarded the completion of the mass, much as I wished, Serene Prince, to appear with it before you, and to this was added an illness of the head, which at first permitted me to work not at all and now but little; since everything is so eagerly interpreted against me, I inclose a letter from my physician—may I add that I shall give the mass into your hands with great fear since you, Serene Highness, are accustomed to have the inimitable masterpieces of the great Haydn performed for you.Composition of the Mass in CAt the end of July, Beethoven removed from Baden to Heiligenstadt, devoting his time there to the C minor Symphony and the Mass in C. One of Czerny’s notes relates to the mass:Once when he (Beethoven) was walking in the country with the Countess Erdödy and other ladies, they heard some village musicians and laughed at some false notes which they played, especially the violoncellist, who, fumbling for the C major chord, produced something like the following:Bass clef with notes G A C G E CBeethoven used this figure for the “Credo” of his first mass, which he chanced to be composing at the time.The name-day of Princess Esterhazy,néePrincess Marie von Liechtenstein, for which Beethoven promises in the letter above given to have the Mass ready, was the 8th of September. In the years when this date did not fall upon a Sunday it was the custom at Eisenstadt to celebrate it on the first Sunday following. In 1807 the 8th fell on a Tuesday and the first performance of Beethoven’s Mass, therefore, took place on the 13th. Haydn, as Pohl informs us, had written his masses for this day and had gone to Eisenstadt from Vienna to conduct their performance. So Beethoven now; who seems to have had his troubles with the singers here as in Vienna, if one may found such an opinion upon an energetic note of Prince Esterhazy copied and printed by Pohl. In this note, which is dated September 12, 1807, the Prince calls upon his vice-chapelmaster, Johann Fuchs, to explain why the singers in his employ were not always on hand at his musical affairs. He had heard on that day with displeasure that at the rehearsal of Beethoven’s Mass only one of the five contraltos was present, and he stringently commanded all the singers and instrumentalists in his service to be on hand at the performance of the mass on the following day.Ill Feeling between Beethoven and HummelThe Mass was produced on the next day—the 13th. “It was the custom at this court,” says Schindler,that after the religious service the local as well as foreign musical notabilities met in the chambers of the Prince for the purpose of conversing with him about the works which had been performed. When Beethoven entered the room, the Prince turned to him with the question: “But, my dear Beethoven, what is this that you have done again?” The impression made by this singular question, which was probably followed by other critical remarks, was the more painful on our artist because he saw the chapelmaster standing near the Prince laugh. Thinking that he was being ridiculed, nothing could keep him at the place where his work had been so misunderstood and besides, as he thought, where a brother in art had rejoiced over his discomfiture. He left Eisenstadt the same day.The laughing chapelmaster was J. N. Hummel, who had been called to the post in 1804 in place of Haydn, recently pensioned because of his infirmities, due to old age. Schindler continues:Thence dates the falling-out with Hummel, between whom and Beethoven there never existed a real intimate friendship. Unfortunately they never came to an explanation which might have disclosed that the unlucky laugh was not directed at Beethoven, but at the singular manner in which the Prince had criticized the mass (in which there is still much that might be complained of). But there were other things which fed the hate of Beethoven. One of these was that the two had an inclination for the same girl; the other, the tendency which Hummel had firstintroduced not only in pianoforte playing but also composition.... Not until the last days of Beethoven,post tot discrimina rerum, was the cloud which had settled between the two artists dispelled.In the earlier editions of his book, Schindler gives a still gloomier tinge to the story:His hatred of Hummel because of this (the laugh after the mass) was so deeply rooted that I know of no second one like it in his entire history. After the lapse of 14 years he told me the story with a bitterness as if it had happened the day before. But this dark cloud was dissipated by the strength of his spirit, and this would have happened much earlier had Hummel approached him in a friendly manner instead of always holding himself aloof.That Schindler heard Beethoven speak of the occurrence in Eisenstadt, fourteen years thereafter, with “great bitterness” is not to be doubted; but this does not prove the existence of so lasting and deep a hatred towards Hummel as is asserted. That he was dissatisfied with Hummel’s later course as pianist and composer is most probable, and hardly needs Schindler’s testimony; but it is not so with other statements of his; and facts have come to light since his book appeared (1840) which he could not well have known, but which leave little doubt that he was greatly mistaken in his view of the relations between the two men. That something very like an “intimate friendship”hadcharacterized their intercourse, the reader already knows; and that, three or four years later, they were again friendly, if not intimate, will in due time appear. As to the girl whom both loved, but who favored Hummel, if Schindler refers to the sister of Röckel—afterwards the wife of Hummel—it is known from Röckel himself that there is nothing in the story. If, on the other hand, he had in mind a ludicrous anecdote—not quite fit to be printed—the “wife of a citizen,” who plays the third rôle in the comedy, was not of such a character as to cause any lasting ill blood between the rivals for her passing favor.In short, while we accept the Eisenstadt anecdote, as being originally derived from Beethoven himself, we must view all that Schindler adds in connection with it with a certain amount of distrust and doubt—if not reject it altogether—as a new illustration of his proneness to accept without examination old impressions for established facts.This year is remarkable not only in Beethoven’s life, but in the history of music, as that in which was completed the C minor Symphony. This wondrous work was no sudden inspiration. Themes for the Allegro, Andante and Scherzo are found in sketchbooks belonging, at the very latest, to the years 1800 and 1801.There are studies also preserved, which show that Beethoven wrought upon it while engaged on “Fidelio” and the Pianoforte Concerto in G—that is, in 1804-6, when, as before noted, he laid it aside for the composition of the fourth, in B-flat major. That is all that is known of the rise and progress of this famous symphony, except that it was completed this year in the composer’s favorite haunts about Heiligenstadt.[52]In the “Journal des Luxus” of January, 1808, there appeared a letter in which it was stated that “Beethoven’s opera ‘Fidelio,’ which despite all contradictory reports has extraordinary beauties, is to be performed in Prague in the near future with a new overture.” The composer was also said to have “already begun a second mass.” Of this mass we hear nothing more, but there was a foundation of fact in the other item of news. Guardasoni had for some time kept alive the Italian opera in Prague, only because his contract required it. It had sunk so low in the esteem of the public, that performances were actually given to audiences of less than twenty persons in the parterre—the boxes and galleries being empty in proportion. That manager died early in 1806, and the Bohemian States immediately raised Carl Liebich from his position of stage-manager of the German drama to that of General Director, with instructions to dismiss the Italian and engage a German operatic company. Such a change required time; and not until April 24th, 1807, did the Italians make their last appearance, selecting for the occasion Mozart’s “Clemenza di Tito”—originally composed for that stage. On the 2d of May the new German opera opened with Cherubini’s “Faniska.”Beethoven, in view of his relations to the Bohemian nobles, naturally expected, and seems to have had the promise, that his “Fidelio” should be brought out there as well as its rival, and, as Seyfried expresses it, “planned a new and less difficult overture for the Prague theatre.” This was the composition published in 1832 with the title: “Overture in C, composed in the year 1805, for the opera ‘Leonore’ by Ludwig van Beethoven”—an erroneousdate, which continued current and unchallenged for nearly forty years. Schindler’s story—that it was tried at Prince Lichnowsky’s and laid aside as inadequate to the subject—was therefore based on misinformation; but that it was played either at Lichnowsky’s or Lobkowitz’s is very probable, and, if so, it may well have made but a tame and feeble impression on auditors who had heard the glorious “Leonore” Overture the year before. A tragical and lamentable consequence of establishing the true date of Op. 138—of the discovery that the supposed No. I is really No. III of the “Leonore-Fidelio” overtures—is this; that so much eloquent dissertation on the astonishing development of Beethoven’s powers as exhibited in his progress from No. I to No. III, has lost its basis, and all the fine writing on this topic is, at a blow, made ridiculous and absurd! As to the performance of “Fidelio” at Prague, Beethoven was disappointed. It was not given. Another paragraph from the “Journal des Luxus, etc.” (November, 1806) gives the only satisfactory notice, known to us, of the origin of one of Beethoven’s minor but well-known compositions.“In Questa Tomba Oscura”A bit of musical pleasantry (says the journal last mentioned) recently gave rise to a competition amongst a number of famous composers. Countess Rzewuska[53]improvised an aria at the pianoforte; the poet Carpani at once improvised a text for it. He imagined a lover who had died of grief because of the indifference of his ladylove; she, repenting of her hard-heartedness, bedews the grave; and now the shade calls to her:In questa tomba oscuraLasciami riposar;Quando viveva, ingrata,Dovevi a me pensar.Lascia che l’ombra ignudeGodansi pace almen,E non bagnar mie ceneriD’inutile velen.These words have been set by Paër, Salieri, Weigl, Zingarelli, Cherubini, Asioli and other great masters and amateurs. Zingarelli alone provided ten compositions of them; in all about fifty have been collected and the poet purposes to give them to the public in a volume.The number of the compositions was increased to sixty-three, and they were published in 1808, the last (No. 63) being by Beethoven. This was by no means considered the best at the time, although it alone now survives.The Publications of the Year 1807Though disappointed in December, as he had been in March, in the hope of obtaining the use of a theatre for a concert,Beethoven was not thereby prevented from coming prominently before the public as composer and director. It was on this wise: The want of better opportunities to hear good symphony music well performed, than Schuppanzigh’s Concerts—which were also confined to the summer months—and the occasional hastily arranged “Academies” of composers and virtuosos, afforded, induced a number of music-lovers early in the winter to form an institute under the modest title: “Concert of Music-Lovers” (Liebhaber-Concert). Says the “Wiener Vaterländische Blätter” of May 27, 1808: “An orchestra was organized, whose members were chosen from the best of the local music-lovers (dilettanti). A few wind-instruments only—French horns, trumpets, etc., were drafted from the Vienna theatres.... The audiences were composed exclusively of the nobility of the town and foreigners of note, and among these classes the preference was given to the cognoscenti and amateurs.” The hall “zur Mehlgrube,” which was first engaged, proved to be too small, and the concerts were transferred to the hall of the University, where “in twenty meetings symphonies, overtures, concertos and vocal pieces were performed zealously and affectionately and received with general approval.” “Banker Häring was a director in the earlier concerts but gave way to Clement ‘because of disagreements.’” The works of Beethoven reported as having been performed in these concerts, are the Symphony in D (in the first concert), the overture to “Prometheus” in November, the “Eroica” Symphony and “Coriolan” Overture in December, and about New Year the Fourth Symphony in B-flat, which also on the 15th of November had been played in the Burgtheater at a concert for the public charities. Most, if not all of these works were directed by their composer. The works ascertained as belonging to this year are: (1) The transcription of the Violin Concerto for Pianoforte, made (as Clementi’s letter to Collard says) at Clementi’s request; (2) the overture to “Coriolan”; (3) the Mass in C;[54](4) the so-called “Leonore” Overture, No. 1, publishedas Op. 138; (5) the Symphony in C minor; (6) the Arietta, “In questa tomba.” The original publications of the year were few, viz., (1) “LIVeSonata” for Pianoforte, Op. 57, dedicated to Count Brunswick, advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of February 18, by theKunst- und Industrie-Comptoir; (2) Thirty-two Variations in C minor, advertised by the same firm on April 29; (3) Concerto concertant for Pianoforte, Violin and Violoncello, Op. 56, dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz, advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” on July 1.The following advertisements are evidence of the great and increasing popularity of Beethoven’s name: On March 21, Traeg announces 12 Écossaises and 12 Waltzes for two violins and bass (2 flutes, 2 hornsad lib.); also for pianoforte; other works are being arranged; on April 20, theKunst- und Industrie-Comptoirannounces an arrangement of the “Eroica” Symphony for pianoforte, violin, viola and violoncello; on May 27 (Artaria), a Sonata for Pianoforte and Violoncello, Op. 64, transcribed from Op. 3; on June 13 (Traeg), the Symphony in D major arranged by Ries as a Quintet with double-bass, flute, 2 hornsad lib.; on September 12 (the Chemical Printing Works), a Polonaise, Op. 8, for two violins and for violin and guitar.Chapter VIIThe Year 1808—Beethoven’s Brother Johann—Plans for New Operas—The “Pastoral Symphony” and “Choral Fantasia”—A Call to Cassel—Appreciation in Vienna.Slanders against Johann van BeethovenThe history of the year 1808 must be preceded by the following letter to Gleichenstein:Dear good Gleichenstein:Please be so kind as to give this to the copyist to-morrow—it concerns the symphony as you see—in case he is not through with the quartet to-morrow, take it away and deliver it at theIndustriecomptoir.... You may say to my brother that I shall certainly not write to him again. I know the cause, it is this, because he has lent me money and spent some on my account he is already concerned, I know my brothers, since I cannot yet pay it back to him, and the other probably who is filled with the spirit of revenge against me and him too—it were best if I were to collect the whole 1500 florins (from theIndustriecomptoir) and pay him with it, then the matter will be at an end—heaven forefend that I should be obliged to receive benefactions from my brothers.[55]Beethoven.Of all the known letters of Beethoven, perhaps no one is so much to be regretted as this, written near the end of 1807, just when the contracts with theKunst- und Industrie-Comptoir, and Simrock—he had received nothing as yet on the Clementi contract—made his pecuniary resources abundant, doubtless increased by a handsome honorarium out of the receipts of the Liebhaber Concerts. True, the letter was intended for Gleichenstein’s eye alone; still it is sad to know that even in a moment of spleen or anger and in the privacy of intimate friendship, the great master couldso far forget his own dignity, and write thus abusively of his brother Johann, whose claim was just and whose future career was dependent upon its payment at this time.The case, in few words, was this:—Eleonore Ordley, sole heir of her sister, Theresia Tiller, was, in the autumn of 1807, seeking a purchaser for the house and “registered apothecary shop” which, until 1872, still existed directly between the market-place and the bridge at Linz on the Danube, and was willing to dispose of them on such terms of payment, as to render it possible even for Johann van Beethoven with his slender means to become their owner. “I know my brothers,” writes Beethoven. His brothers also knew him; and Johann had every reason to fear that if he did not secure his debt now when his brother’s means were abundant, he might at the crisis of his negotiation find himself penniless. His demand was too just to be resisted and Gleichenstein evidently drew the money from theKunst- und Industrie-Comptoirand paid it; for on the 13th of March, 1808, the contract of sale was signed at Vienna. By the terms of the contract which fixed the price at 25,000 florins, the vendee agreed to assume incumbrances on the property amounting to 12,600 florins, pay 10,400 florins in cash and 5% interest on 2,000 florins to the vendor during her life, and to be in Linz and take possession of the property on or before March 20, i. e., within a week after the signing of the contract.The expenses incurred in the negotiations, in his journey to Linz, and in taking possession, left the indigent purchaser barely funds sufficient to make his first payment and ratify the contract; in fact, he had only 300 florins left. The profits of his shop and the rents of his house were so small, that Johann was almost at his wit’s end how to meet his next engagements. He sold the iron gratings of the windows—but they produced too little to carry him through. It was a comical piece of good luck for him that the jars and pots upon his shelves were of pure, solid English tin—a metal which Napoleon’s non-intercourse decrees fulminated against England had just then raised enormously in price. The cunning apothecary sold his tin, furnished his shop with earthenware, and met his payments with the profits of the transaction. But it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good; the reverses of the Austrian arms in April, 1809, opened the road for the French armies to Linz, and gave Apothecary Beethoven an opportunity to make large contracts for the supply of medicines to the enemy’s commissariat, which not only relieved him in his present necessities but laid the foundation for his subsequent moderate fortune.This concise record of facts effectually disposes of the current errors, which are, first: that about 1802-3 Beethoven established his brother in Linz as apothecary, advancing to him the necessary capital; second: that, through his personal influence, he obtained for Johann profitable contracts with the Austrian Commissariat for medicines—which contracts were the basis of his subsequent prosperity; third: that consequently, in obtaining monies from his brother, Beethoven was only sharing in the profits on capital furnished by himself; and, fourth: that hence, Johann’s urgent request for payment in 1807 was an exhibition of vile selfishness and base ingratitude! All this is the exact reverse of the truth.No other performances of Beethoven’s works at the Liebhaber Concerts, than those before enumerated, are reported; perhaps none were given, for reasons indicated in a letter from Stephan von Breuning to Wegeler, written in March, 1808: “Beethoven came near losing a finger by aPanaritium[felon], but he is again in good health. He escaped a great misfortune, which, added to his deafness, would have completely ruined his good humor, which, as it is, is of rare occurrence.”The series of concerts closed with the famous one of March 27th, at which in honor of Haydn, whose 76th birthday fell on the 31st, his “Creation” with Carpani’s Italian text was given. It is pleasant to know that Beethoven was one of those who, “with members of the high nobility,” stood at the door of the hall of the university to receive the venerable guest on his arrival there in Prince Esterhazy’s coach, and who accompanied him as “sitting in an armchair he was carried, lifted high, and on his entrance into the hall was received with the sound of trumpets and drums by the numerous gathering and greeted with joyous shouts of ‘Long live Haydn!’”Some pains have been taken in other chapters to show that the want of taste and appreciation so often alleged for the works of Beethoven at Vienna is a mistake. On the contrary, generally in the concerts of those years, whenever an orchestra equal to the task was engaged, few as his published orchestral compositions then were, they are as often to be found on the programmes as those of Mozart or even Haydn; none were more likely to fill the house. Thus, immediately after the close of the Liebhaber Concerts, Sebastian Meier’s annual benefit in the Theater-an-der-Wien opened with the “Sinfonia Eroica.” This was on Monday evening, April 11. Two days after (13th) the Charity Institute’s Concert in the Burg Theatre offered a programme of six numbers; No. 1 was Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony in B-flat; No. 5, one ofhis Pianoforte Concertos, played by Friedrich Stein; and No. 6, the “Coriolan” Overture—all directed by the composer; and, at a benefit concert in May, in the Augartensaal, occurred the first known public performance of the Triple Concerto, Op. 56.Rust’s Meetings with the ComposerThe once famous musical wonder-child, Wilhelm Rust, of Dessau, at the time a young man of some twenty-two years, had come to Vienna in 1807, and was now supporting himself by giving “children instructions in reading and elementary natural science.” In a letter to his “best sister, Jette,” dated Haking (a village near Vienna), July 9, 1808, he wrote of Beethoven.You want much to hear something about Beethoven; unfortunately I must say first of all that it has not been possible for me to get intimately acquainted with him. What else I know I will tell you now: He is as original and singular as a man as are his compositions. On the other hand he is also very childlike and certainly very sincere. He is a great lover of truth and in this goes too far very often; for he never flatters and therefore makes many enemies. A good fellow played for him, and when he was finished Beethoven said to him: “You will have to play a long time before you will realize that you can do nothing.” I do not know whether you heard that I also played for him. He praised my playing, particularly in the Bach fugue, and said: “You play that well,” which is much for him. Still he could not omit calling my attention to two mistakes. In a Scherzo I had not played the notes crisply enough and at another time I had struck one note twice instead of binding it. He must be unable to endure the French; for once when Prince Lichnowsky had some French guests, he asked Beethoven, who was also with him, to play for them as they had requested; but he refused and said he would not play for Frenchmen. In consequence he and Lichnowsky had a falling out.[56]Once I met him at a restaurant where he sat with a few acquaintances. He berated Vienna soundly and the decay of its music. In this he is certainly right, and I was glad to hear his judgment, which confirmed mine. Last winter I frequently attended the Liebhaber Concerts, the first of which under Beethoven’s direction were very beautiful; but after he retired they became so poor that there was not one in which something was not bungled....It is very possible that Beethoven will leave Vienna; at any rate he has frequently spoken of doing so and said: “They are forcing me to it.” He also asked me once how the orchestras were in the North. You wanted to know if any new sonatas by him have been published. His last works were symphonies and he is now writing an opera, which is the reason why I cannot go to him any more. Last year he composed a piece which I have not heard and an overture “Coriolan” which is extraordinarily beautiful. Perhaps you have had an opportunity to hear it in Berlin. The theme and variations in C minor which you refer to I also have; it is very beautiful, etc.In December Rust, writing to his brother Carl, was obliged to correct what he had said about Beethoven’s new opera; “All new products which have appeared here are more or less mediocre except those of Beethoven. I think I have written you that he has not yet begun his new opera. I have not yet heard his first opera; it has not been performed since I have been here.” These last sentences of Rust remind us of the once current notion that disgust and disappointment at the (assumed) failure of “Fidelio” prevented Beethoven from ever undertaking the composition of another opera. The error was long since exploded, and, indeed, amply refuted by his proposition to the “princely theatre rabble” for a permanent engagement. It is now universally known how earnestly Beethoven all his life long sought a satisfactory text for an opera or an oratorio; his friends always knew it; and his essays in vocal composition had, in spite of the critics, so favorably impressed them and the dramatic writers of the day, that all were eager to serve him.Thus Schindler writes to Gleichenstein from Gratz, on March 19, 1807: “Speak at once to our friend Beethoven and particularly with the worthy Breuning, and learn if Beethoven has a mind to set a comic opera to music. I have read it, and found it varied in situation, beautiful in diction.” Nothing came of this.A somewhat more promising offer came from another quarter, but also without result. The celebrated Orientalist, Hammer-Purgstall, had just returned from the East to Vienna. Although but thirty-three years of age, he was already famous, and his translations and other writings were the talk of the day. An autograph note by Beethoven without address or date, preserved in the Petter Collection, was evidently written to him:Almost put to shame by your courtesy and kindness in communicating your still unknown literary treasures in manuscript, I thank you heartily while returning the opera texts; overwhelmed in my artistic calling it is impossible for me just now to go into details about the Indian opera particularly, as soon as time permits I shall visit you in order to discuss this subject as well as the oratorio, “The Deluge,” with you.No oratorio on the subject of the deluge appears in the catalogue of Hammer-Purgstall’s works.[57]An Operatic “Macbeth” in ContemplationThe new directors of the theatres began their operatic performances at the Kärnthnerthor January 1 and 2, and at the Burg January 4, 1807, with Gluck’s “Iphigenia in Tauris.” It was new to Collin and awakened in his mind new ideas of the ancient tragedy, which he determined to embody in a text for a musical drama in oratorio form. According to his biographer, Laban, he projected one on the Liberation of Jerusalem, to offer to Beethoven for setting; but it was never finished. Another essay in the field of musical drama was a “Macbeth,” after Shakespeare, also left unfinished in the middle of the second act, “because it threatened to become too gloomy.” He carried to completion a grand opera libretto, “Bradamante,” for which he had an unusual predilection. It also was offered to Beethoven, but “seemed too venturesome” to him in respect of its use of the supernatural; there were probably other reasons why it did not appeal to him. “And so it happened that although at a later period Beethoven wanted to undertake its composition, Collin gave the book to Reichardt, who set it to music during his sojourn in Vienna in 1808.”A writer in Cotta’s “Morgenblatt” remarks: “The clever Beethoven has a notion to compose Goethe’s ‘Faust’ as soon as he has found somebody who will adapt it for the stage for him.” Nottebohm (“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 225et seq.) says that the first act of Collin’s “Macbeth” was printed in 1809 and must have been written in 1808 at the latest. He also prints a sketch showing that Beethoven had begun its composition. The “Macbeth” project therefore preceded the negotiations about “Bradamante.” Collin’s opera begins, like Shakespeare’s, with the witches’ scene, and the sketch referred to is preceded by the directions: “Overture Macbeth falls immediately into the chorus of witches.”[58]The consequence of Beethoven’s fastidiousness and indecision was that on removing again to Heiligenstadt for the summer, he had no text for a vocal composition and devoted his time and energies to an instrumental composition—the “Sinfonia Pastorale.”Those who think programme music for the orchestra is a recent invention, and they who suppose the “Pastoral” Symphony to be an original attempt to portray nature in music, are alike mistaken. It was never so much the ambition of Beethoven to invent new forms of musical works, as to surpass his contemporaries in the use of those already existing. There were few greatbattles in those stormy years, that were not fought over again by orchestras, military bands, organs and pianofortes; and pages might be filled with a catalogue of programme music, long since dead, buried and forgotten.A remark of Ries, confirmed by other testimony, as well as by the form and substance of many of his master’s works, if already quoted, will bear repetition: “Beethoven in composing his pieces often thought of a particular thing, although he frequently laughed at musical paintings and scolded particularly about trivialities of this sort. Haydn’s ‘Creation’ and ‘The Seasons’ were frequently ridiculed, though Beethoven never failed to recognize Haydn’s high deserts,” etc. But Beethoven himself did not disdain occasionally to introduce imitations into his works. The difference between him and others in this regard was this: they undertook to give musical imitations of things essentially unmusical—he never.On a bright, sunny day in April, 1823, Beethoven took Schindler for a long ramble through the scenes in which he had composed his Fifth and Sixth symphonies. Schindler writes:After we had looked at the bath-house and its adjacent garden at Heiligenstadt and he had given expression to many agreeable recollections touching his creations, we continued our walk towards the Kahlenberg in the direction past Grinzing [?]. Passing through the pleasant meadow-valley between Heiligenstadt and the latter village,[59]which is traversed by a gently murmuring brook which hurries down from a near-by mountain and is bordered with high elms, Beethoven repeatedly stopped and let his glances roam, full of happiness, over the glorious landscape. Then seating himself on the turf and leaning against an elm, Beethoven asked me if there were any yellowhammers to be heard in the trees around us. But all was still. He then said: “Here I composed the ‘Scene by the Brook’ and the yellowhammers up there, the quails, nightingales and cuckoos round about, composed with me.” To my question why he had not also put the yellowhammers into the scene, he drew out his sketchbook and wrote:Treble clef with ascending pattern“That’s the composer up there,” he remarked, “hasn’t she a more important rôle to play than the others?Theyare meant only for a joke.”And really the entrance of this figure in G major gives the tone-picture a new charm. Speaking now of the whole work and its parts, Beethoven said that the melody of this variation from the species of the yellowhammers was pretty plainly imitated in the scale written down in Andante rhythm and the same pitch.[60]As a reason for not having mentioned this fellow-composer he said that had he printed the name it would only have served to increase the number of ill-natured interpretations of the movement which has made the introduction of the work difficult not only in Vienna but also in other places. Not infrequently the symphony, because of its second movement, had been declared to be child’s play. In some places it shared the fate of the “Eroica.”Jokes in the “Pastoral Symphony”Equally interesting, valuable and grateful is Schindler’s account of the origin of Beethoven’s “Merrymaking of the Countryfolk” in this symphony. Somewhat curtailed it is this:There are facts to tell us of how particular was the interest which Beethoven took in Austrian dance-music. Until his arrival in Vienna (1792), according to his own statement, he had not become acquainted with any folkmusic except that of the mountains, with its strange and peculiar rhythms. How much attention he afterwards bestowed on dance-music is proved by the catalogue of his works. He even made essays in Austrian dance-music, but the players refused to grant Austrian citizenship to these efforts. The last effort dates from 1819 and, strangely enough, falls in the middle of his work on the “Missa Solemnis.” In the tavern “To the Three Ravens” in thevordern Brühlnear Mödling there had played a band of seven men. This band was one of the first that gave the young musician from the Rhine an opportunity to hear the national tunes of his new home in an unadulterated form. Beethoven made the acquaintance of the musicians and composed several sets ofLändlerand other dances for them. In the year mentioned (1819), he had again complied with the wishes of the band. I was present when the new opus was handed to the leader of the company. The master in high good humor remarked that he had so arranged the dances that one musician after the other might put down his instrument at intervals and take a rest, or even a nap. After the leader had gone away full of joy because of the present of the famous composer, Beethoven asked me if I had not observed how village musicians often played in their sleep, occasionally letting their instruments fall and remaining entirely quiet, then awaking with a start, throwing in a few vigorous blows or strokes at a venture, but generally in the right key, and then falling asleep again; he had tried to copy these poor people in his “Pastoral” symphony. Now, reader, take up the score and see the arrangement on pages 106, 107, 108 and 109. Note the stereotyped accompaniment figure of the two violins on page 105 and the following; note the sleep-drunken secondbassoon[61]with his repetition of a few tones, while contra-bass, violoncello and viola keep quiet; on page 108 we see the viola wake up and apparently awaken the violoncello—and the second horn also sounds three notes, but at once sinks into silence again. At length contra-bass and the two bassoons gather themselves together for a new effort and the clarinet has time to take a rest. Moreover, the Allegro in 2-4 time on page 110 is based in form and character on the old-time Austrian dances. There were dances in which 3-4 time gave way suddenly to 2-4. As late as the third decade of the nineteenth century I myself saw such dances executed in forest villages only a few hours distant from the metropolis—Laab, Kaltenleutgeben and Gaden.The subject of Beethoven’s imitations, even in play, are therefore musical, not incongruous; and inhis“Portrait musical de la Nature” are so suggestive as to aid and intensify the “expression of feelings,” which was his professed aim.Count Oppersdorff and the Fourth SymphonyBeethoven wrote to Count Oppersdorff on November 1:
To Count Franz von Brunswick:
Dear, dear B! I have only to say to you that I came to a right satisfactory arrangement with Clementi. I shall receive 200 pounds Sterling—and besides I am privileged to sell the same works in Germany and France. He has also offered me other commissions—so that I am enabled to hope through them to achieve the dignity of a true artist while still young.I need, dear B,theQuartets. I have already asked your sister to write to you about them, it takes too long to copy them from my score—therefore make haste and send them direct to me byLetter Post. You shall have them back in 4 or 5 days at the latest. I beg you urgently for them, since otherwise I might lose a great deal.If you can arrange it that the Hungarians want me to come for a few concerts, do it—you may have me for 200 florins in gold—then I will bring my opera along. I will not get along with the princely rabble.WheneverWE(several) (amici) drink your wine, we drink you, i. e., we drink your health. Farewell—hurry—hurry—hurry and send me the quartets—otherwise you may embarrass me greatly.Schuppanzigh has married—it is said withOnevery like him. What a family????Kiss your sister Therese, tell her I fear I shall become great without the help of a monument reared by her. Send me to-morrow the quartets—quar-tets—t-e-t-s.Your friend Beethoven.[50]
Dear, dear B! I have only to say to you that I came to a right satisfactory arrangement with Clementi. I shall receive 200 pounds Sterling—and besides I am privileged to sell the same works in Germany and France. He has also offered me other commissions—so that I am enabled to hope through them to achieve the dignity of a true artist while still young.I need, dear B,theQuartets. I have already asked your sister to write to you about them, it takes too long to copy them from my score—therefore make haste and send them direct to me byLetter Post. You shall have them back in 4 or 5 days at the latest. I beg you urgently for them, since otherwise I might lose a great deal.
If you can arrange it that the Hungarians want me to come for a few concerts, do it—you may have me for 200 florins in gold—then I will bring my opera along. I will not get along with the princely rabble.
WheneverWE(several) (amici) drink your wine, we drink you, i. e., we drink your health. Farewell—hurry—hurry—hurry and send me the quartets—otherwise you may embarrass me greatly.
Schuppanzigh has married—it is said withOnevery like him. What a family????
Kiss your sister Therese, tell her I fear I shall become great without the help of a monument reared by her. Send me to-morrow the quartets—quar-tets—t-e-t-s.
Your friend Beethoven.[50]
If an English publisher could afford to pay so high a price for the manuscripts of a German composer, why not a French one? So Beethoven reasoned, and, Bonn being then French, he wrote to Simrock proposing a contract like that made with Clementi. The letter, which was dictated and signed by Beethoven but written by another, expresses a desire to sell six new works to a publishing house in France, one in England and one in Vienna simultaneously, with the understanding that they are to appear only after a certain date. They are a symphony, an overture for Collin’s “Coriolan,” a violin concerto, 3 quartets, 1 concerto for the pianoforte, the violin concerto arranged for pianoforte “avec des notes additionelles.” The price, “very cheap,” is to be 1200florins, Augsburg current. As regards the day of publication, he thinks he can fix the first of September of that year for the first three, and the first of October for the second three.
Simrock answered that owing to unfavorable circumstances due to the war, all he could offer, in his “lean condition,” was 1600 livres. He also proposed that in case Beethoven found his offer fair, he should send the works without delay to Breuning. Simrock would at once pay Breuning 300 livres in cash and give him a bill of exchange for 1300 livres, payable in two years, provided nobody reprinted any of his works in France, he taking all measures to protect his property under the laws.
A series of letters written from Baden and bearing dates in June and July, addressed to Gleichenstein, are of no special interest or importance except as they, when read together, establish beyond cavil that Beethoven made no journey to any distant watering-place during the time which they cover. By proving this they have a powerful bearing on the vexed question touching the true date of Beethoven’s famous love-letter supposed by Schindler to have been addressed to the young Countess Guicciardi. That it was written in 1806 or 1807 was long since made certain; and it was only in a mistaken deference to Beethoven’s “Evening, Monday, July 6”—which, if correct, would be decisive in favor of the latter year—that the letter was not inserted in its proper place as belonging to the year 1806. That this deferencewasa mistake, and that Beethoven should have written “July 7,” is made certain by Simrock’s letter, which, by determining the dates of the notes to Gleichenstein, affords positive evidence that the composer passed the months of June and July, 1807, in Baden. A cursory examination of the composer’s correspondence brings to light other similar mistakes. There is a letter to Breitkopf and Härtel with this date, “Wednesday, November 2, 1809”—Wednesday was the 1st; a letter to Countess Erdödy has “29 February, 1815”—in that year February had but 28 days; and a letter to Zmeskall is dated “Wednesday, July 3rd, 1817”—July 3rd that year falling on a Thursday. Referring the reader to what has appeared in a previous chapter, for the letter and a complete discussion of the question of its date, it need only be added here, that it was, beyond a doubt, written from some Hungarian watering-place (as Schindler says), where Beethoven tarried for a time after his visit to Brunswick and before that to Prince Lichnowsky. This fact being established, it follows, as a necessary consequence, that it was not written to Julia Guicciardi—already nearly three years the wife of Gallenberg—nor to Therese Malfatti—then agirl but thirteen or at most fourteen years—nor, in short, to any person whose name has ever been given by biographer or novelist as among the objects of Beethoven’s fleeting passions. Thus we are led to the obvious and rational conclusion, that a mutual appreciation had grown up between the composer and some lady not yet known; that there were obstacles to marriage just now insuperable, but not of such a nature as to forbid the expectation of conquering them in the future; and that—in 1807 as in 1806—they were happy in their love and looking forward with hope.[51]
The following letter to Prince Esterhazy, dated July 26, belongs to the same period and refers to the composition of the Mass in C:
Most Serene, most Gracious Prince!Having been told that you, my Prince, have asked concerning the mass which you commissioned me to write for you, I take the liberty, my Serene Prince, to inform you that you shall receive the same at the latest by the 20th of the month of August—which will leave plenty of time to have it performed on the name-day of her Serene Highness, the Princess—an extraordinarily favorable offer which I received from London when I had the misfortune to make a failure of my benefit at the theatre, which made me grasp the need with joy, retarded the completion of the mass, much as I wished, Serene Prince, to appear with it before you, and to this was added an illness of the head, which at first permitted me to work not at all and now but little; since everything is so eagerly interpreted against me, I inclose a letter from my physician—may I add that I shall give the mass into your hands with great fear since you, Serene Highness, are accustomed to have the inimitable masterpieces of the great Haydn performed for you.
Most Serene, most Gracious Prince!
Having been told that you, my Prince, have asked concerning the mass which you commissioned me to write for you, I take the liberty, my Serene Prince, to inform you that you shall receive the same at the latest by the 20th of the month of August—which will leave plenty of time to have it performed on the name-day of her Serene Highness, the Princess—an extraordinarily favorable offer which I received from London when I had the misfortune to make a failure of my benefit at the theatre, which made me grasp the need with joy, retarded the completion of the mass, much as I wished, Serene Prince, to appear with it before you, and to this was added an illness of the head, which at first permitted me to work not at all and now but little; since everything is so eagerly interpreted against me, I inclose a letter from my physician—may I add that I shall give the mass into your hands with great fear since you, Serene Highness, are accustomed to have the inimitable masterpieces of the great Haydn performed for you.
Composition of the Mass in C
At the end of July, Beethoven removed from Baden to Heiligenstadt, devoting his time there to the C minor Symphony and the Mass in C. One of Czerny’s notes relates to the mass:
Once when he (Beethoven) was walking in the country with the Countess Erdödy and other ladies, they heard some village musicians and laughed at some false notes which they played, especially the violoncellist, who, fumbling for the C major chord, produced something like the following:Bass clef with notes G A C G E CBeethoven used this figure for the “Credo” of his first mass, which he chanced to be composing at the time.
Once when he (Beethoven) was walking in the country with the Countess Erdödy and other ladies, they heard some village musicians and laughed at some false notes which they played, especially the violoncellist, who, fumbling for the C major chord, produced something like the following:
Bass clef with notes G A C G E C
Beethoven used this figure for the “Credo” of his first mass, which he chanced to be composing at the time.
The name-day of Princess Esterhazy,néePrincess Marie von Liechtenstein, for which Beethoven promises in the letter above given to have the Mass ready, was the 8th of September. In the years when this date did not fall upon a Sunday it was the custom at Eisenstadt to celebrate it on the first Sunday following. In 1807 the 8th fell on a Tuesday and the first performance of Beethoven’s Mass, therefore, took place on the 13th. Haydn, as Pohl informs us, had written his masses for this day and had gone to Eisenstadt from Vienna to conduct their performance. So Beethoven now; who seems to have had his troubles with the singers here as in Vienna, if one may found such an opinion upon an energetic note of Prince Esterhazy copied and printed by Pohl. In this note, which is dated September 12, 1807, the Prince calls upon his vice-chapelmaster, Johann Fuchs, to explain why the singers in his employ were not always on hand at his musical affairs. He had heard on that day with displeasure that at the rehearsal of Beethoven’s Mass only one of the five contraltos was present, and he stringently commanded all the singers and instrumentalists in his service to be on hand at the performance of the mass on the following day.
Ill Feeling between Beethoven and Hummel
The Mass was produced on the next day—the 13th. “It was the custom at this court,” says Schindler,
that after the religious service the local as well as foreign musical notabilities met in the chambers of the Prince for the purpose of conversing with him about the works which had been performed. When Beethoven entered the room, the Prince turned to him with the question: “But, my dear Beethoven, what is this that you have done again?” The impression made by this singular question, which was probably followed by other critical remarks, was the more painful on our artist because he saw the chapelmaster standing near the Prince laugh. Thinking that he was being ridiculed, nothing could keep him at the place where his work had been so misunderstood and besides, as he thought, where a brother in art had rejoiced over his discomfiture. He left Eisenstadt the same day.
that after the religious service the local as well as foreign musical notabilities met in the chambers of the Prince for the purpose of conversing with him about the works which had been performed. When Beethoven entered the room, the Prince turned to him with the question: “But, my dear Beethoven, what is this that you have done again?” The impression made by this singular question, which was probably followed by other critical remarks, was the more painful on our artist because he saw the chapelmaster standing near the Prince laugh. Thinking that he was being ridiculed, nothing could keep him at the place where his work had been so misunderstood and besides, as he thought, where a brother in art had rejoiced over his discomfiture. He left Eisenstadt the same day.
The laughing chapelmaster was J. N. Hummel, who had been called to the post in 1804 in place of Haydn, recently pensioned because of his infirmities, due to old age. Schindler continues:
Thence dates the falling-out with Hummel, between whom and Beethoven there never existed a real intimate friendship. Unfortunately they never came to an explanation which might have disclosed that the unlucky laugh was not directed at Beethoven, but at the singular manner in which the Prince had criticized the mass (in which there is still much that might be complained of). But there were other things which fed the hate of Beethoven. One of these was that the two had an inclination for the same girl; the other, the tendency which Hummel had firstintroduced not only in pianoforte playing but also composition.... Not until the last days of Beethoven,post tot discrimina rerum, was the cloud which had settled between the two artists dispelled.
Thence dates the falling-out with Hummel, between whom and Beethoven there never existed a real intimate friendship. Unfortunately they never came to an explanation which might have disclosed that the unlucky laugh was not directed at Beethoven, but at the singular manner in which the Prince had criticized the mass (in which there is still much that might be complained of). But there were other things which fed the hate of Beethoven. One of these was that the two had an inclination for the same girl; the other, the tendency which Hummel had firstintroduced not only in pianoforte playing but also composition.... Not until the last days of Beethoven,post tot discrimina rerum, was the cloud which had settled between the two artists dispelled.
In the earlier editions of his book, Schindler gives a still gloomier tinge to the story:
His hatred of Hummel because of this (the laugh after the mass) was so deeply rooted that I know of no second one like it in his entire history. After the lapse of 14 years he told me the story with a bitterness as if it had happened the day before. But this dark cloud was dissipated by the strength of his spirit, and this would have happened much earlier had Hummel approached him in a friendly manner instead of always holding himself aloof.
His hatred of Hummel because of this (the laugh after the mass) was so deeply rooted that I know of no second one like it in his entire history. After the lapse of 14 years he told me the story with a bitterness as if it had happened the day before. But this dark cloud was dissipated by the strength of his spirit, and this would have happened much earlier had Hummel approached him in a friendly manner instead of always holding himself aloof.
That Schindler heard Beethoven speak of the occurrence in Eisenstadt, fourteen years thereafter, with “great bitterness” is not to be doubted; but this does not prove the existence of so lasting and deep a hatred towards Hummel as is asserted. That he was dissatisfied with Hummel’s later course as pianist and composer is most probable, and hardly needs Schindler’s testimony; but it is not so with other statements of his; and facts have come to light since his book appeared (1840) which he could not well have known, but which leave little doubt that he was greatly mistaken in his view of the relations between the two men. That something very like an “intimate friendship”hadcharacterized their intercourse, the reader already knows; and that, three or four years later, they were again friendly, if not intimate, will in due time appear. As to the girl whom both loved, but who favored Hummel, if Schindler refers to the sister of Röckel—afterwards the wife of Hummel—it is known from Röckel himself that there is nothing in the story. If, on the other hand, he had in mind a ludicrous anecdote—not quite fit to be printed—the “wife of a citizen,” who plays the third rôle in the comedy, was not of such a character as to cause any lasting ill blood between the rivals for her passing favor.
In short, while we accept the Eisenstadt anecdote, as being originally derived from Beethoven himself, we must view all that Schindler adds in connection with it with a certain amount of distrust and doubt—if not reject it altogether—as a new illustration of his proneness to accept without examination old impressions for established facts.
This year is remarkable not only in Beethoven’s life, but in the history of music, as that in which was completed the C minor Symphony. This wondrous work was no sudden inspiration. Themes for the Allegro, Andante and Scherzo are found in sketchbooks belonging, at the very latest, to the years 1800 and 1801.There are studies also preserved, which show that Beethoven wrought upon it while engaged on “Fidelio” and the Pianoforte Concerto in G—that is, in 1804-6, when, as before noted, he laid it aside for the composition of the fourth, in B-flat major. That is all that is known of the rise and progress of this famous symphony, except that it was completed this year in the composer’s favorite haunts about Heiligenstadt.[52]
In the “Journal des Luxus” of January, 1808, there appeared a letter in which it was stated that “Beethoven’s opera ‘Fidelio,’ which despite all contradictory reports has extraordinary beauties, is to be performed in Prague in the near future with a new overture.” The composer was also said to have “already begun a second mass.” Of this mass we hear nothing more, but there was a foundation of fact in the other item of news. Guardasoni had for some time kept alive the Italian opera in Prague, only because his contract required it. It had sunk so low in the esteem of the public, that performances were actually given to audiences of less than twenty persons in the parterre—the boxes and galleries being empty in proportion. That manager died early in 1806, and the Bohemian States immediately raised Carl Liebich from his position of stage-manager of the German drama to that of General Director, with instructions to dismiss the Italian and engage a German operatic company. Such a change required time; and not until April 24th, 1807, did the Italians make their last appearance, selecting for the occasion Mozart’s “Clemenza di Tito”—originally composed for that stage. On the 2d of May the new German opera opened with Cherubini’s “Faniska.”
Beethoven, in view of his relations to the Bohemian nobles, naturally expected, and seems to have had the promise, that his “Fidelio” should be brought out there as well as its rival, and, as Seyfried expresses it, “planned a new and less difficult overture for the Prague theatre.” This was the composition published in 1832 with the title: “Overture in C, composed in the year 1805, for the opera ‘Leonore’ by Ludwig van Beethoven”—an erroneousdate, which continued current and unchallenged for nearly forty years. Schindler’s story—that it was tried at Prince Lichnowsky’s and laid aside as inadequate to the subject—was therefore based on misinformation; but that it was played either at Lichnowsky’s or Lobkowitz’s is very probable, and, if so, it may well have made but a tame and feeble impression on auditors who had heard the glorious “Leonore” Overture the year before. A tragical and lamentable consequence of establishing the true date of Op. 138—of the discovery that the supposed No. I is really No. III of the “Leonore-Fidelio” overtures—is this; that so much eloquent dissertation on the astonishing development of Beethoven’s powers as exhibited in his progress from No. I to No. III, has lost its basis, and all the fine writing on this topic is, at a blow, made ridiculous and absurd! As to the performance of “Fidelio” at Prague, Beethoven was disappointed. It was not given. Another paragraph from the “Journal des Luxus, etc.” (November, 1806) gives the only satisfactory notice, known to us, of the origin of one of Beethoven’s minor but well-known compositions.
“In Questa Tomba Oscura”
A bit of musical pleasantry (says the journal last mentioned) recently gave rise to a competition amongst a number of famous composers. Countess Rzewuska[53]improvised an aria at the pianoforte; the poet Carpani at once improvised a text for it. He imagined a lover who had died of grief because of the indifference of his ladylove; she, repenting of her hard-heartedness, bedews the grave; and now the shade calls to her:In questa tomba oscuraLasciami riposar;Quando viveva, ingrata,Dovevi a me pensar.Lascia che l’ombra ignudeGodansi pace almen,E non bagnar mie ceneriD’inutile velen.These words have been set by Paër, Salieri, Weigl, Zingarelli, Cherubini, Asioli and other great masters and amateurs. Zingarelli alone provided ten compositions of them; in all about fifty have been collected and the poet purposes to give them to the public in a volume.
A bit of musical pleasantry (says the journal last mentioned) recently gave rise to a competition amongst a number of famous composers. Countess Rzewuska[53]improvised an aria at the pianoforte; the poet Carpani at once improvised a text for it. He imagined a lover who had died of grief because of the indifference of his ladylove; she, repenting of her hard-heartedness, bedews the grave; and now the shade calls to her:
In questa tomba oscuraLasciami riposar;Quando viveva, ingrata,Dovevi a me pensar.Lascia che l’ombra ignudeGodansi pace almen,E non bagnar mie ceneriD’inutile velen.
In questa tomba oscuraLasciami riposar;Quando viveva, ingrata,Dovevi a me pensar.Lascia che l’ombra ignudeGodansi pace almen,E non bagnar mie ceneriD’inutile velen.
In questa tomba oscuraLasciami riposar;Quando viveva, ingrata,Dovevi a me pensar.
Lascia che l’ombra ignudeGodansi pace almen,E non bagnar mie ceneriD’inutile velen.
These words have been set by Paër, Salieri, Weigl, Zingarelli, Cherubini, Asioli and other great masters and amateurs. Zingarelli alone provided ten compositions of them; in all about fifty have been collected and the poet purposes to give them to the public in a volume.
The number of the compositions was increased to sixty-three, and they were published in 1808, the last (No. 63) being by Beethoven. This was by no means considered the best at the time, although it alone now survives.
The Publications of the Year 1807
Though disappointed in December, as he had been in March, in the hope of obtaining the use of a theatre for a concert,Beethoven was not thereby prevented from coming prominently before the public as composer and director. It was on this wise: The want of better opportunities to hear good symphony music well performed, than Schuppanzigh’s Concerts—which were also confined to the summer months—and the occasional hastily arranged “Academies” of composers and virtuosos, afforded, induced a number of music-lovers early in the winter to form an institute under the modest title: “Concert of Music-Lovers” (Liebhaber-Concert). Says the “Wiener Vaterländische Blätter” of May 27, 1808: “An orchestra was organized, whose members were chosen from the best of the local music-lovers (dilettanti). A few wind-instruments only—French horns, trumpets, etc., were drafted from the Vienna theatres.... The audiences were composed exclusively of the nobility of the town and foreigners of note, and among these classes the preference was given to the cognoscenti and amateurs.” The hall “zur Mehlgrube,” which was first engaged, proved to be too small, and the concerts were transferred to the hall of the University, where “in twenty meetings symphonies, overtures, concertos and vocal pieces were performed zealously and affectionately and received with general approval.” “Banker Häring was a director in the earlier concerts but gave way to Clement ‘because of disagreements.’” The works of Beethoven reported as having been performed in these concerts, are the Symphony in D (in the first concert), the overture to “Prometheus” in November, the “Eroica” Symphony and “Coriolan” Overture in December, and about New Year the Fourth Symphony in B-flat, which also on the 15th of November had been played in the Burgtheater at a concert for the public charities. Most, if not all of these works were directed by their composer. The works ascertained as belonging to this year are: (1) The transcription of the Violin Concerto for Pianoforte, made (as Clementi’s letter to Collard says) at Clementi’s request; (2) the overture to “Coriolan”; (3) the Mass in C;[54](4) the so-called “Leonore” Overture, No. 1, publishedas Op. 138; (5) the Symphony in C minor; (6) the Arietta, “In questa tomba.” The original publications of the year were few, viz., (1) “LIVeSonata” for Pianoforte, Op. 57, dedicated to Count Brunswick, advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of February 18, by theKunst- und Industrie-Comptoir; (2) Thirty-two Variations in C minor, advertised by the same firm on April 29; (3) Concerto concertant for Pianoforte, Violin and Violoncello, Op. 56, dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz, advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” on July 1.
The following advertisements are evidence of the great and increasing popularity of Beethoven’s name: On March 21, Traeg announces 12 Écossaises and 12 Waltzes for two violins and bass (2 flutes, 2 hornsad lib.); also for pianoforte; other works are being arranged; on April 20, theKunst- und Industrie-Comptoirannounces an arrangement of the “Eroica” Symphony for pianoforte, violin, viola and violoncello; on May 27 (Artaria), a Sonata for Pianoforte and Violoncello, Op. 64, transcribed from Op. 3; on June 13 (Traeg), the Symphony in D major arranged by Ries as a Quintet with double-bass, flute, 2 hornsad lib.; on September 12 (the Chemical Printing Works), a Polonaise, Op. 8, for two violins and for violin and guitar.
The Year 1808—Beethoven’s Brother Johann—Plans for New Operas—The “Pastoral Symphony” and “Choral Fantasia”—A Call to Cassel—Appreciation in Vienna.
The Year 1808—Beethoven’s Brother Johann—Plans for New Operas—The “Pastoral Symphony” and “Choral Fantasia”—A Call to Cassel—Appreciation in Vienna.
Slanders against Johann van Beethoven
The history of the year 1808 must be preceded by the following letter to Gleichenstein:
Dear good Gleichenstein:Please be so kind as to give this to the copyist to-morrow—it concerns the symphony as you see—in case he is not through with the quartet to-morrow, take it away and deliver it at theIndustriecomptoir.... You may say to my brother that I shall certainly not write to him again. I know the cause, it is this, because he has lent me money and spent some on my account he is already concerned, I know my brothers, since I cannot yet pay it back to him, and the other probably who is filled with the spirit of revenge against me and him too—it were best if I were to collect the whole 1500 florins (from theIndustriecomptoir) and pay him with it, then the matter will be at an end—heaven forefend that I should be obliged to receive benefactions from my brothers.[55]Beethoven.
Dear good Gleichenstein:
Please be so kind as to give this to the copyist to-morrow—it concerns the symphony as you see—in case he is not through with the quartet to-morrow, take it away and deliver it at theIndustriecomptoir.... You may say to my brother that I shall certainly not write to him again. I know the cause, it is this, because he has lent me money and spent some on my account he is already concerned, I know my brothers, since I cannot yet pay it back to him, and the other probably who is filled with the spirit of revenge against me and him too—it were best if I were to collect the whole 1500 florins (from theIndustriecomptoir) and pay him with it, then the matter will be at an end—heaven forefend that I should be obliged to receive benefactions from my brothers.[55]
Beethoven.
Of all the known letters of Beethoven, perhaps no one is so much to be regretted as this, written near the end of 1807, just when the contracts with theKunst- und Industrie-Comptoir, and Simrock—he had received nothing as yet on the Clementi contract—made his pecuniary resources abundant, doubtless increased by a handsome honorarium out of the receipts of the Liebhaber Concerts. True, the letter was intended for Gleichenstein’s eye alone; still it is sad to know that even in a moment of spleen or anger and in the privacy of intimate friendship, the great master couldso far forget his own dignity, and write thus abusively of his brother Johann, whose claim was just and whose future career was dependent upon its payment at this time.
The case, in few words, was this:—Eleonore Ordley, sole heir of her sister, Theresia Tiller, was, in the autumn of 1807, seeking a purchaser for the house and “registered apothecary shop” which, until 1872, still existed directly between the market-place and the bridge at Linz on the Danube, and was willing to dispose of them on such terms of payment, as to render it possible even for Johann van Beethoven with his slender means to become their owner. “I know my brothers,” writes Beethoven. His brothers also knew him; and Johann had every reason to fear that if he did not secure his debt now when his brother’s means were abundant, he might at the crisis of his negotiation find himself penniless. His demand was too just to be resisted and Gleichenstein evidently drew the money from theKunst- und Industrie-Comptoirand paid it; for on the 13th of March, 1808, the contract of sale was signed at Vienna. By the terms of the contract which fixed the price at 25,000 florins, the vendee agreed to assume incumbrances on the property amounting to 12,600 florins, pay 10,400 florins in cash and 5% interest on 2,000 florins to the vendor during her life, and to be in Linz and take possession of the property on or before March 20, i. e., within a week after the signing of the contract.
The expenses incurred in the negotiations, in his journey to Linz, and in taking possession, left the indigent purchaser barely funds sufficient to make his first payment and ratify the contract; in fact, he had only 300 florins left. The profits of his shop and the rents of his house were so small, that Johann was almost at his wit’s end how to meet his next engagements. He sold the iron gratings of the windows—but they produced too little to carry him through. It was a comical piece of good luck for him that the jars and pots upon his shelves were of pure, solid English tin—a metal which Napoleon’s non-intercourse decrees fulminated against England had just then raised enormously in price. The cunning apothecary sold his tin, furnished his shop with earthenware, and met his payments with the profits of the transaction. But it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good; the reverses of the Austrian arms in April, 1809, opened the road for the French armies to Linz, and gave Apothecary Beethoven an opportunity to make large contracts for the supply of medicines to the enemy’s commissariat, which not only relieved him in his present necessities but laid the foundation for his subsequent moderate fortune.
This concise record of facts effectually disposes of the current errors, which are, first: that about 1802-3 Beethoven established his brother in Linz as apothecary, advancing to him the necessary capital; second: that, through his personal influence, he obtained for Johann profitable contracts with the Austrian Commissariat for medicines—which contracts were the basis of his subsequent prosperity; third: that consequently, in obtaining monies from his brother, Beethoven was only sharing in the profits on capital furnished by himself; and, fourth: that hence, Johann’s urgent request for payment in 1807 was an exhibition of vile selfishness and base ingratitude! All this is the exact reverse of the truth.
No other performances of Beethoven’s works at the Liebhaber Concerts, than those before enumerated, are reported; perhaps none were given, for reasons indicated in a letter from Stephan von Breuning to Wegeler, written in March, 1808: “Beethoven came near losing a finger by aPanaritium[felon], but he is again in good health. He escaped a great misfortune, which, added to his deafness, would have completely ruined his good humor, which, as it is, is of rare occurrence.”
The series of concerts closed with the famous one of March 27th, at which in honor of Haydn, whose 76th birthday fell on the 31st, his “Creation” with Carpani’s Italian text was given. It is pleasant to know that Beethoven was one of those who, “with members of the high nobility,” stood at the door of the hall of the university to receive the venerable guest on his arrival there in Prince Esterhazy’s coach, and who accompanied him as “sitting in an armchair he was carried, lifted high, and on his entrance into the hall was received with the sound of trumpets and drums by the numerous gathering and greeted with joyous shouts of ‘Long live Haydn!’”
Some pains have been taken in other chapters to show that the want of taste and appreciation so often alleged for the works of Beethoven at Vienna is a mistake. On the contrary, generally in the concerts of those years, whenever an orchestra equal to the task was engaged, few as his published orchestral compositions then were, they are as often to be found on the programmes as those of Mozart or even Haydn; none were more likely to fill the house. Thus, immediately after the close of the Liebhaber Concerts, Sebastian Meier’s annual benefit in the Theater-an-der-Wien opened with the “Sinfonia Eroica.” This was on Monday evening, April 11. Two days after (13th) the Charity Institute’s Concert in the Burg Theatre offered a programme of six numbers; No. 1 was Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony in B-flat; No. 5, one ofhis Pianoforte Concertos, played by Friedrich Stein; and No. 6, the “Coriolan” Overture—all directed by the composer; and, at a benefit concert in May, in the Augartensaal, occurred the first known public performance of the Triple Concerto, Op. 56.
Rust’s Meetings with the Composer
The once famous musical wonder-child, Wilhelm Rust, of Dessau, at the time a young man of some twenty-two years, had come to Vienna in 1807, and was now supporting himself by giving “children instructions in reading and elementary natural science.” In a letter to his “best sister, Jette,” dated Haking (a village near Vienna), July 9, 1808, he wrote of Beethoven.
You want much to hear something about Beethoven; unfortunately I must say first of all that it has not been possible for me to get intimately acquainted with him. What else I know I will tell you now: He is as original and singular as a man as are his compositions. On the other hand he is also very childlike and certainly very sincere. He is a great lover of truth and in this goes too far very often; for he never flatters and therefore makes many enemies. A good fellow played for him, and when he was finished Beethoven said to him: “You will have to play a long time before you will realize that you can do nothing.” I do not know whether you heard that I also played for him. He praised my playing, particularly in the Bach fugue, and said: “You play that well,” which is much for him. Still he could not omit calling my attention to two mistakes. In a Scherzo I had not played the notes crisply enough and at another time I had struck one note twice instead of binding it. He must be unable to endure the French; for once when Prince Lichnowsky had some French guests, he asked Beethoven, who was also with him, to play for them as they had requested; but he refused and said he would not play for Frenchmen. In consequence he and Lichnowsky had a falling out.[56]Once I met him at a restaurant where he sat with a few acquaintances. He berated Vienna soundly and the decay of its music. In this he is certainly right, and I was glad to hear his judgment, which confirmed mine. Last winter I frequently attended the Liebhaber Concerts, the first of which under Beethoven’s direction were very beautiful; but after he retired they became so poor that there was not one in which something was not bungled....It is very possible that Beethoven will leave Vienna; at any rate he has frequently spoken of doing so and said: “They are forcing me to it.” He also asked me once how the orchestras were in the North. You wanted to know if any new sonatas by him have been published. His last works were symphonies and he is now writing an opera, which is the reason why I cannot go to him any more. Last year he composed a piece which I have not heard and an overture “Coriolan” which is extraordinarily beautiful. Perhaps you have had an opportunity to hear it in Berlin. The theme and variations in C minor which you refer to I also have; it is very beautiful, etc.
You want much to hear something about Beethoven; unfortunately I must say first of all that it has not been possible for me to get intimately acquainted with him. What else I know I will tell you now: He is as original and singular as a man as are his compositions. On the other hand he is also very childlike and certainly very sincere. He is a great lover of truth and in this goes too far very often; for he never flatters and therefore makes many enemies. A good fellow played for him, and when he was finished Beethoven said to him: “You will have to play a long time before you will realize that you can do nothing.” I do not know whether you heard that I also played for him. He praised my playing, particularly in the Bach fugue, and said: “You play that well,” which is much for him. Still he could not omit calling my attention to two mistakes. In a Scherzo I had not played the notes crisply enough and at another time I had struck one note twice instead of binding it. He must be unable to endure the French; for once when Prince Lichnowsky had some French guests, he asked Beethoven, who was also with him, to play for them as they had requested; but he refused and said he would not play for Frenchmen. In consequence he and Lichnowsky had a falling out.[56]
Once I met him at a restaurant where he sat with a few acquaintances. He berated Vienna soundly and the decay of its music. In this he is certainly right, and I was glad to hear his judgment, which confirmed mine. Last winter I frequently attended the Liebhaber Concerts, the first of which under Beethoven’s direction were very beautiful; but after he retired they became so poor that there was not one in which something was not bungled....
It is very possible that Beethoven will leave Vienna; at any rate he has frequently spoken of doing so and said: “They are forcing me to it.” He also asked me once how the orchestras were in the North. You wanted to know if any new sonatas by him have been published. His last works were symphonies and he is now writing an opera, which is the reason why I cannot go to him any more. Last year he composed a piece which I have not heard and an overture “Coriolan” which is extraordinarily beautiful. Perhaps you have had an opportunity to hear it in Berlin. The theme and variations in C minor which you refer to I also have; it is very beautiful, etc.
In December Rust, writing to his brother Carl, was obliged to correct what he had said about Beethoven’s new opera; “All new products which have appeared here are more or less mediocre except those of Beethoven. I think I have written you that he has not yet begun his new opera. I have not yet heard his first opera; it has not been performed since I have been here.” These last sentences of Rust remind us of the once current notion that disgust and disappointment at the (assumed) failure of “Fidelio” prevented Beethoven from ever undertaking the composition of another opera. The error was long since exploded, and, indeed, amply refuted by his proposition to the “princely theatre rabble” for a permanent engagement. It is now universally known how earnestly Beethoven all his life long sought a satisfactory text for an opera or an oratorio; his friends always knew it; and his essays in vocal composition had, in spite of the critics, so favorably impressed them and the dramatic writers of the day, that all were eager to serve him.
Thus Schindler writes to Gleichenstein from Gratz, on March 19, 1807: “Speak at once to our friend Beethoven and particularly with the worthy Breuning, and learn if Beethoven has a mind to set a comic opera to music. I have read it, and found it varied in situation, beautiful in diction.” Nothing came of this.
A somewhat more promising offer came from another quarter, but also without result. The celebrated Orientalist, Hammer-Purgstall, had just returned from the East to Vienna. Although but thirty-three years of age, he was already famous, and his translations and other writings were the talk of the day. An autograph note by Beethoven without address or date, preserved in the Petter Collection, was evidently written to him:
Almost put to shame by your courtesy and kindness in communicating your still unknown literary treasures in manuscript, I thank you heartily while returning the opera texts; overwhelmed in my artistic calling it is impossible for me just now to go into details about the Indian opera particularly, as soon as time permits I shall visit you in order to discuss this subject as well as the oratorio, “The Deluge,” with you.
Almost put to shame by your courtesy and kindness in communicating your still unknown literary treasures in manuscript, I thank you heartily while returning the opera texts; overwhelmed in my artistic calling it is impossible for me just now to go into details about the Indian opera particularly, as soon as time permits I shall visit you in order to discuss this subject as well as the oratorio, “The Deluge,” with you.
No oratorio on the subject of the deluge appears in the catalogue of Hammer-Purgstall’s works.[57]
An Operatic “Macbeth” in Contemplation
The new directors of the theatres began their operatic performances at the Kärnthnerthor January 1 and 2, and at the Burg January 4, 1807, with Gluck’s “Iphigenia in Tauris.” It was new to Collin and awakened in his mind new ideas of the ancient tragedy, which he determined to embody in a text for a musical drama in oratorio form. According to his biographer, Laban, he projected one on the Liberation of Jerusalem, to offer to Beethoven for setting; but it was never finished. Another essay in the field of musical drama was a “Macbeth,” after Shakespeare, also left unfinished in the middle of the second act, “because it threatened to become too gloomy.” He carried to completion a grand opera libretto, “Bradamante,” for which he had an unusual predilection. It also was offered to Beethoven, but “seemed too venturesome” to him in respect of its use of the supernatural; there were probably other reasons why it did not appeal to him. “And so it happened that although at a later period Beethoven wanted to undertake its composition, Collin gave the book to Reichardt, who set it to music during his sojourn in Vienna in 1808.”
A writer in Cotta’s “Morgenblatt” remarks: “The clever Beethoven has a notion to compose Goethe’s ‘Faust’ as soon as he has found somebody who will adapt it for the stage for him.” Nottebohm (“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 225et seq.) says that the first act of Collin’s “Macbeth” was printed in 1809 and must have been written in 1808 at the latest. He also prints a sketch showing that Beethoven had begun its composition. The “Macbeth” project therefore preceded the negotiations about “Bradamante.” Collin’s opera begins, like Shakespeare’s, with the witches’ scene, and the sketch referred to is preceded by the directions: “Overture Macbeth falls immediately into the chorus of witches.”[58]
The consequence of Beethoven’s fastidiousness and indecision was that on removing again to Heiligenstadt for the summer, he had no text for a vocal composition and devoted his time and energies to an instrumental composition—the “Sinfonia Pastorale.”
Those who think programme music for the orchestra is a recent invention, and they who suppose the “Pastoral” Symphony to be an original attempt to portray nature in music, are alike mistaken. It was never so much the ambition of Beethoven to invent new forms of musical works, as to surpass his contemporaries in the use of those already existing. There were few greatbattles in those stormy years, that were not fought over again by orchestras, military bands, organs and pianofortes; and pages might be filled with a catalogue of programme music, long since dead, buried and forgotten.
A remark of Ries, confirmed by other testimony, as well as by the form and substance of many of his master’s works, if already quoted, will bear repetition: “Beethoven in composing his pieces often thought of a particular thing, although he frequently laughed at musical paintings and scolded particularly about trivialities of this sort. Haydn’s ‘Creation’ and ‘The Seasons’ were frequently ridiculed, though Beethoven never failed to recognize Haydn’s high deserts,” etc. But Beethoven himself did not disdain occasionally to introduce imitations into his works. The difference between him and others in this regard was this: they undertook to give musical imitations of things essentially unmusical—he never.
On a bright, sunny day in April, 1823, Beethoven took Schindler for a long ramble through the scenes in which he had composed his Fifth and Sixth symphonies. Schindler writes:
After we had looked at the bath-house and its adjacent garden at Heiligenstadt and he had given expression to many agreeable recollections touching his creations, we continued our walk towards the Kahlenberg in the direction past Grinzing [?]. Passing through the pleasant meadow-valley between Heiligenstadt and the latter village,[59]which is traversed by a gently murmuring brook which hurries down from a near-by mountain and is bordered with high elms, Beethoven repeatedly stopped and let his glances roam, full of happiness, over the glorious landscape. Then seating himself on the turf and leaning against an elm, Beethoven asked me if there were any yellowhammers to be heard in the trees around us. But all was still. He then said: “Here I composed the ‘Scene by the Brook’ and the yellowhammers up there, the quails, nightingales and cuckoos round about, composed with me.” To my question why he had not also put the yellowhammers into the scene, he drew out his sketchbook and wrote:Treble clef with ascending pattern“That’s the composer up there,” he remarked, “hasn’t she a more important rôle to play than the others?Theyare meant only for a joke.”And really the entrance of this figure in G major gives the tone-picture a new charm. Speaking now of the whole work and its parts, Beethoven said that the melody of this variation from the species of the yellowhammers was pretty plainly imitated in the scale written down in Andante rhythm and the same pitch.[60]As a reason for not having mentioned this fellow-composer he said that had he printed the name it would only have served to increase the number of ill-natured interpretations of the movement which has made the introduction of the work difficult not only in Vienna but also in other places. Not infrequently the symphony, because of its second movement, had been declared to be child’s play. In some places it shared the fate of the “Eroica.”
After we had looked at the bath-house and its adjacent garden at Heiligenstadt and he had given expression to many agreeable recollections touching his creations, we continued our walk towards the Kahlenberg in the direction past Grinzing [?]. Passing through the pleasant meadow-valley between Heiligenstadt and the latter village,[59]which is traversed by a gently murmuring brook which hurries down from a near-by mountain and is bordered with high elms, Beethoven repeatedly stopped and let his glances roam, full of happiness, over the glorious landscape. Then seating himself on the turf and leaning against an elm, Beethoven asked me if there were any yellowhammers to be heard in the trees around us. But all was still. He then said: “Here I composed the ‘Scene by the Brook’ and the yellowhammers up there, the quails, nightingales and cuckoos round about, composed with me.” To my question why he had not also put the yellowhammers into the scene, he drew out his sketchbook and wrote:
Treble clef with ascending pattern
“That’s the composer up there,” he remarked, “hasn’t she a more important rôle to play than the others?Theyare meant only for a joke.”And really the entrance of this figure in G major gives the tone-picture a new charm. Speaking now of the whole work and its parts, Beethoven said that the melody of this variation from the species of the yellowhammers was pretty plainly imitated in the scale written down in Andante rhythm and the same pitch.[60]As a reason for not having mentioned this fellow-composer he said that had he printed the name it would only have served to increase the number of ill-natured interpretations of the movement which has made the introduction of the work difficult not only in Vienna but also in other places. Not infrequently the symphony, because of its second movement, had been declared to be child’s play. In some places it shared the fate of the “Eroica.”
Jokes in the “Pastoral Symphony”
Equally interesting, valuable and grateful is Schindler’s account of the origin of Beethoven’s “Merrymaking of the Countryfolk” in this symphony. Somewhat curtailed it is this:
There are facts to tell us of how particular was the interest which Beethoven took in Austrian dance-music. Until his arrival in Vienna (1792), according to his own statement, he had not become acquainted with any folkmusic except that of the mountains, with its strange and peculiar rhythms. How much attention he afterwards bestowed on dance-music is proved by the catalogue of his works. He even made essays in Austrian dance-music, but the players refused to grant Austrian citizenship to these efforts. The last effort dates from 1819 and, strangely enough, falls in the middle of his work on the “Missa Solemnis.” In the tavern “To the Three Ravens” in thevordern Brühlnear Mödling there had played a band of seven men. This band was one of the first that gave the young musician from the Rhine an opportunity to hear the national tunes of his new home in an unadulterated form. Beethoven made the acquaintance of the musicians and composed several sets ofLändlerand other dances for them. In the year mentioned (1819), he had again complied with the wishes of the band. I was present when the new opus was handed to the leader of the company. The master in high good humor remarked that he had so arranged the dances that one musician after the other might put down his instrument at intervals and take a rest, or even a nap. After the leader had gone away full of joy because of the present of the famous composer, Beethoven asked me if I had not observed how village musicians often played in their sleep, occasionally letting their instruments fall and remaining entirely quiet, then awaking with a start, throwing in a few vigorous blows or strokes at a venture, but generally in the right key, and then falling asleep again; he had tried to copy these poor people in his “Pastoral” symphony. Now, reader, take up the score and see the arrangement on pages 106, 107, 108 and 109. Note the stereotyped accompaniment figure of the two violins on page 105 and the following; note the sleep-drunken secondbassoon[61]with his repetition of a few tones, while contra-bass, violoncello and viola keep quiet; on page 108 we see the viola wake up and apparently awaken the violoncello—and the second horn also sounds three notes, but at once sinks into silence again. At length contra-bass and the two bassoons gather themselves together for a new effort and the clarinet has time to take a rest. Moreover, the Allegro in 2-4 time on page 110 is based in form and character on the old-time Austrian dances. There were dances in which 3-4 time gave way suddenly to 2-4. As late as the third decade of the nineteenth century I myself saw such dances executed in forest villages only a few hours distant from the metropolis—Laab, Kaltenleutgeben and Gaden.
There are facts to tell us of how particular was the interest which Beethoven took in Austrian dance-music. Until his arrival in Vienna (1792), according to his own statement, he had not become acquainted with any folkmusic except that of the mountains, with its strange and peculiar rhythms. How much attention he afterwards bestowed on dance-music is proved by the catalogue of his works. He even made essays in Austrian dance-music, but the players refused to grant Austrian citizenship to these efforts. The last effort dates from 1819 and, strangely enough, falls in the middle of his work on the “Missa Solemnis.” In the tavern “To the Three Ravens” in thevordern Brühlnear Mödling there had played a band of seven men. This band was one of the first that gave the young musician from the Rhine an opportunity to hear the national tunes of his new home in an unadulterated form. Beethoven made the acquaintance of the musicians and composed several sets ofLändlerand other dances for them. In the year mentioned (1819), he had again complied with the wishes of the band. I was present when the new opus was handed to the leader of the company. The master in high good humor remarked that he had so arranged the dances that one musician after the other might put down his instrument at intervals and take a rest, or even a nap. After the leader had gone away full of joy because of the present of the famous composer, Beethoven asked me if I had not observed how village musicians often played in their sleep, occasionally letting their instruments fall and remaining entirely quiet, then awaking with a start, throwing in a few vigorous blows or strokes at a venture, but generally in the right key, and then falling asleep again; he had tried to copy these poor people in his “Pastoral” symphony. Now, reader, take up the score and see the arrangement on pages 106, 107, 108 and 109. Note the stereotyped accompaniment figure of the two violins on page 105 and the following; note the sleep-drunken secondbassoon[61]with his repetition of a few tones, while contra-bass, violoncello and viola keep quiet; on page 108 we see the viola wake up and apparently awaken the violoncello—and the second horn also sounds three notes, but at once sinks into silence again. At length contra-bass and the two bassoons gather themselves together for a new effort and the clarinet has time to take a rest. Moreover, the Allegro in 2-4 time on page 110 is based in form and character on the old-time Austrian dances. There were dances in which 3-4 time gave way suddenly to 2-4. As late as the third decade of the nineteenth century I myself saw such dances executed in forest villages only a few hours distant from the metropolis—Laab, Kaltenleutgeben and Gaden.
The subject of Beethoven’s imitations, even in play, are therefore musical, not incongruous; and inhis“Portrait musical de la Nature” are so suggestive as to aid and intensify the “expression of feelings,” which was his professed aim.
Count Oppersdorff and the Fourth Symphony
Beethoven wrote to Count Oppersdorff on November 1: