Chapter XVIII

Beethoven and His Sketchbooks

Beethoven was seldom without a folded sheet or two of music paper in his pocket upon which he wrote with pencil in two or three measures of music hints of any musical thought which might occur to him wherever he chanced to be. Towards the end of his life his Conversation Books often answered the same purpose; and there are traditions of bills-of-fare at dining-rooms having been honored with ideas afterwards made immortal. This habit gave Abbé Gelinek a foundation for the following amusing nonsense as related by Tomaschek: “He (Gelinek) declared,” says Tomaschek,

as if it were an aphorism, that all of Beethoven’s compositions were lacking in internal coherency and that not infrequently they were overloaded. These things he looked upon as grave faults of composition and sought to explain them from the manner in which Beethoven went about his work, saying that he had always been in the habit of noting every musical idea that occurred to him upon a bit of paper which he threw into a corner of his room, and that after a while there was a considerable pile of the memoranda which the maid was not permitted to touch when cleaning the room. Now when Beethoven got into a mood for work he would hunt a few musicalmotiviout of his treasure-heap which he thought might serve as principal and secondary themes for the composition in contemplation, and often his selection was not a lucky one. I (Tomaschek) did not interrupt the flow of his passionate, yet awkward speech, but briefly answered that I was unfamiliar with Beethoven’s method of composing but was inclined to think that the aberrations occasionally to be found in his compositions were to be ascribed to his individuality, and that only an unprejudiced and keen psychologist, who had had an opportunity to observe Beethoven from the beginning of his artistic development to its maturity in order gradually to familiarize himself with his views on art, could fit himself to give the musical world an explanation of the intellectual cross-relationships in Beethoven’s glorious works, a thing just as impossible to his blind enthusiasts as to his virulent opponents. Gelinek may have applied these last words to himself, and not incorrectly.

This conversation took place in 1814, the day after a rehearsal of Beethoven’s Symphony in A—the Seventh! Gelinek’s pile of little bits of paper in the corner of the room, when touched by the wand of truth, resolves itself into blank music books, to which his new ideas were transferred from the original slight pencil sketches, and frequently with two or three words to indicate the kind of composition to which they were suited. Divers anecdotes are current which pretend to give the origin of someof the themes thus recorded and afterwards wrought out, but few judicious readers will attach much weight to most of them. For although conceptions can sometimes be traced directly to their exciting causes, the musical composer can seldom say more than that they occurred to him at such a time and place—and often not even that. It is certainly not improbable that Beethoven’s admirers may have questioned him upon this point, as Schindler did upon the “Pastoral” Symphony, and that he was able to satisfy them; but Handel’s “Harmonious Blacksmith” may be taken as the type of most of the current stories, which only need truth to make them interesting.

To return to the sketchbooks—which performed a twofold office; being not alone the registers of new conceptions, but containing the preliminary studies of the instrumental works into which they were wrought out. The introduction to the excellent pamphlet, “Ein Skizzenbuch von Beethoven, beschrieben und in Auszügen dargestellt von Gustav Nottebohm,” though properly confined by him to the single book which he was describing, is equally true of so many that have been examined with care as to warrant its general application. The following extracts may be taken as true of the greater part of the sketchbooks:

How the Sketching Was Done

Before us (he says) lies a volume in oblong folio (Teatro) of 192 pages and bearing 16 staves on each page, and, save a few empty places, containing throughout notes and sketches in Beethoven’s handwriting for compositions of various sorts. The volume is bound in craftsman’s style, trimmed, and has a stout pasteboard cover. It was bound thus before it was used or received the notes. [Excepting the number of pages this description applies to most of the true sketchbooks.] The sketches are for the greater part one-part; that is, they occupy but a single staff, only exceptionally are they on two or more staves. [In some of the later books the proportion of sketches in two or more parts is much greater than in this.] It is permissible to assume in advance that they were written originally and in the order in which they follow each other in the sketchbook. When a cursory glance over the whole does not seem to contradict this assumption, a careful study nevertheless compels a modification at times. It is to be observed that generally Beethoven began a new page with a new composition; and, moreover, that he worked alternately or simultaneously at different movements. As a result, different groups of sketches are crowded so closely together that in order to find room he was obliged to make use of spaces which had been left open, and thus eventually sketches for the most different compositions had to be mixed together and brought into companionship. [In some of the books “vi-” not infrequently meets the eye. It was the one of Beethoven’s modes of keeping the clue in the labyrinth of sketches, being part of the wordvide. The second syllable, “-de,” can always be found on the same or a neighboring page.] “N.B.,”“No. 100,” “No. 500,” “No. 1000,” etc., and in later sketches “meilleur,” are common, all which signs are explained by Schindler as being a whimsical mode of estimating the comparative value of different musical ideas, or of forms of the same. Again Nottebohm continues: In spite of this confused working it is plain that Beethoven, as a rule, was conscious from the beginning of the goal for which he was striving, that he was true to his first concept and carried out the projected form to the end. The contrary is also true at times, and the sketchbook (like others) disclosed a few instances in which Beethoven in the course was led from the form originally conceived into another, so that eventually something different appeared from what was planned in the first instance. (Once more.) In general it may be observed that Beethoven in all his work begun in the sketchbook proceeded in the most varied manner, and at times reached his goal in a direction opposite to that upon which he first set out. [At times] the thematic style dominates; the first sketch breaks off abruptly with the principal subject and the work that follows is confined to transforming and reshaping the thematic kernel at first thrown on the paper until it appears to be fitted for development; then the same process is undertaken with intermediary sections; everywhere we find beginnings, never a whole; a whole comes before us only outside of the sketchbook, in the printed composition where sections which were scattered in the sketchbook are brought together. [In other cases] the thematic manner is excluded; every sketch is aimed at a unity and is complete in itself; the very first one gives the complete outline for a section of a movement; those that follow are then complete reshapings of the first, as other readings directed towards a change in the summary character, or a reformation of the whole, an extension of the middle sections, etc. Naturally, the majority of the sketches do not belong exclusively to either of the two tendencies, but hover between them, now leaning toward one, now toward the other.

One readily sees that, when the general plan of a work is clear and distinct before the mind, it is quite indifferent in what order the various parts are studied; and that Beethoven simply adopted the method of many a dramatic and other author, who sketches his scenes or chapters not in course but as mood, fancy or opportunity dictates. It is equally evident that the composer could have half a dozen works upon his hands at the same time, not merely without disadvantage to any one of them, but to the gain of all, since he could turn to one or another as the spirit of composition impelled; like the author of a profound literary work, who relieves and recreates his mind by varying his labors, and executes his grand task all the more satisfactorily, because he, from time to time, refreshes himself by turning his attention to other and lighter topics. When Beethoven writes to Wegeler: “As I am writing now I often compose three or four pieces at once,” he could have referred only to the preliminary studies of the sketchbooks. Sometimes, it is true, works were laid asideincomplete after he had begun the task of writing them out in full, and finished when occasion demanded; but as a rule his practice was quite different, viz.: All the parts of a work having been thus studied until he had determined upon the form, character and style of every important division and subdivision, and recorded the results in his sketchbook by a few of the first measures, followed by “etc.” or “and so on,” the labor of composition may be said to have been finished, and there remained only the task of writing out the clean copy of what now existed full and complete in his mind, and of making such minor corrections and improvements as might occur to him on revision. The manuscripts show that these were sometimes very numerous, though they rarely extend to any change in the form or to any alteration in the grand effect except to heighten it, or render it more unexpected or exciting. When upon reflection he was dissatisfied with a movement as a whole he seems rarely to have attempted its improvement by mere correction, choosing rather to discard it at once and compose a new one based either upon the same themes or upon entirely new motives. The several overtures to “Fidelio” are illustrations of both procedures.

The sketches of the greater part of Beethoven’s songs, after the Bonn period, are preserved, and prove with what extreme care he wrought out his melodies. The sketchbook analysed by Nottebohm affords a curious illustration in Matthison’s “Opferlied,” the melody being written out in full not less than six times, the theme in substance remaining unchanged. Absolute correctness of accent, emphasis, rhythm—of prosody, in short—was with him a leading object; and various papers, as well as the Conversation Books, attest his familiarity with metrical signs and his scrupulous obedience to metrical laws. Since the shameful mutilation and dispersion of Beethoven’s manuscripts at the time of their sale, probably no one person has been able to trace and examine half of the sketchbooks; still, enough have come under observation during the researches for this work to establish with reasonable certainty these points:

I. That each sketchbook was filled in pretty regular course from beginning to end before a new one was taken.

II. That had the collection been kept entire it would have afforded the means of determining with a good degree of certainty the chronology of most of his instrumental works, after coming to Vienna, as to their first conception and studies—excluding, of course, those which, in one form or another, he brought with him from Bonn.

III. That the more important vocal compositions were studied separately.

IV. That only from the sketchbooks can an adequate idea of the vast fertility of Beethoven’s genius be formed. They are in music, like Hawthorne’s “Notebooks” in literature, the record of a never ceasing flow of new thoughts and ideas, until death sealed the fountain forever. There are themes and hints, never used, for all kinds of instrumental compositions, from the trifles, which he called “Bagatelles,” to symphonies, evidently intended to be as different from those we know as they are from each other; and these hints are in such numbers, that those which can be traced in the published works are perhaps much the smaller proportion of the whole. Whoever has the will and opportunity to devote an hour or two to an examination of a few of these monuments of Beethoven’s inventive genius, will easily comprehend the remark which he made near the close of his life: “It seems to me that I have just begun to compose!”[90]

Symptoms of Approaching Deafness

One topic more demands brief notice before closing this chapter. In the “Merrymaking of the Countryfolk” of Beethoven’s “Pastoral” Symphony, at the point where the fun grows most fast and furious and the excitement rises to its height, an ominous sound, as of distant thunder, gives the first faint warning of the coming storm. So in the life of the composer at the moment of that highest success and prosperity, which we have labored to place vividly before the mind of the reader, just when he could first look forward with well-grounded confidence to the noblest gratification of a musician’s honorable ambition, a new and discordant element thrust itself into the harmony of his life. This was the symptoms of approaching deafness. His own account fixes their appearance in the year 1799; then they were still so feeble and intermittent, as to have caused him at first no serious anxiety; but in another year they had assumed so much the appearance of a chronic and increasing evil, as to compel him to abandon plans for travel which he had formed, and for which he waspreparing himself, with great industry and perseverance, to appear in the twofold capacity of virtuoso and composer. Instead, therefore, in 1801, of having “long since journeyed through half the world,” he, for two years, had been confined to Vienna or its immediate vicinity, vainly seeking relief from surgeons and physicians.

It is not difficult to imagine calamities greater than that which now threatened Beethoven—as, the loss of sight to a Raphael or Rubens in the height of their fame and powers; a partial paralysis or other incurable disease of the brain cutting short the career of a Shakespeare or Goethe, a Bacon or Kant, a Newton or Humboldt. Better the untimely fate of a Buckle, than to live long years of unavailing regret over the blasted hopes and promise of early manhood. In such cases there remains no resource; hope itself is dead. But to Beethoven, even if his worst fears should prove prophetic and his infirmity at length close all prospects of a career as virtuoso and conductor, the field of composition still remained open. This he knew, and it saved him from utter despair. Who can say that the world has not been a gainer by a misfortune which stirred the profoundest depths of his being and compelled the concentration of all his powers into one direction?

As the disease made progress and the prospect of relief became less, notwithstanding a grief and anxiety which caused him such mental agony as even to induce the thought of suicide, he so well succeeded in keeping it concealed from all but a few intimate and faithful friends, that no notice whatever is to be found of it until 1802 except in papers from his own hand. They form a very touching contrast to his letters to other correspondents. Neither the head nor the heart is to be envied of the man who can read them without emotion. The two most important are letters to Wegeler giving full details of his case; doubly valuable because they are not merely letters to a friend, but an elaborate account of the symptoms and medical treatment of his disease, made to a physician of high standing who thoroughly understood the constitution of the patient. They are therefore alike significant for what they contain and for what they omit. No hypothesis as to the cause of the evil can be entertained, which is discordant with them. Reserving them, however, for their proper places in the order of time, a story or two inconsistent with them may here be disposed of.

The so-called Fischoff Manuscript says:

Theories as to the Loss of Hearing

In the year 1796, Beethoven, on a hot summer day, came greatly overheated to his home, threw open doors and windows, disrobed downto his trousers and cooled himself in a draft at the open window. The consequence was a dangerous sickness which, on his convalescence, settled in his organs of hearing, and from this time his deafness steadily increased.

In this passage both the date and the averment are irreconcilable with the letters to Wegeler.

Dr. Weissenbach, in his “Reise zum Congress” (1814), gives what appears to be the same story but in fewer words. “He (Beethoven) once endured a fearful attack of typhus. From this time dates the decay of his nervous system, and probably also the, to him, great misfortune of the loss of hearing.” Neither a typhus nor a typhoid fever is a matter of a few days or weeks if severe; and the chronology of our narrative is, to say the least, so far fixed and certain as to exclude the possibility of his having passed through any very serious illness of that nature since he came to Vienna. But it is not at all improbable that, in 1784 or 1785, he may have been a victim to this frightful disorder, and that it may have been the cause of his melancholy condition of health at the time of his mother’s death, and of the chronic diarrhœa with which he was so long troubled. True, there is no record of such an illness; but that proves nothing. There is no record that he passed through an attack of small-pox, except that which the disease left upon his face.

But the most extraordinary and inexplicable account of the origin of his deafness is that given by Beethoven himself to the English pianist, Charles Neate, in 1815. Mr. Neate was once urging Beethoven to visit England and mentioned as a farther inducement the great skill of certain English physicians in treating diseases of the ear, assuring him that he might cherish hopes of relief. Beethoven replied in substance as follows: “No; I have already had all sorts of medical advice. I shall never be cured—I will tell you how it happened. I was once busy writing an opera—

Neate: “Fidelio?”

Beethoven: “No. It was not ‘Fidelio.’ I had a very ill-tempered, troublesomeprimo tenoreto deal with. I had already written two grand airs to the same text, with which he was dissatisfied, and now a third which, upon trial, he seemed to approve and took away with him. I thanked the stars that I was at length rid of him and sat down immediately to a work which I had laid aside for those airs and which I was anxious to finish. I had not been half an hour at work, when I heard a knock at my door, which I at once recognized as that of myprimo tenore. I sprang up from my table under such an excitement of rage, that,as the man entered the room, I threw myself upon the floor as they do upon the stage (here B. spread out his arms and made a gesture of illustration), coming down upon my hands. When I arose I found myself deaf and have been so ever since. The physicians say, the nerve is injured.”

That Beethoven really related this strange story cannot be questioned; the word of the venerable Charles Neate to the author is sufficient on that point. What is to be thought of it, is a very different matter. Here at least it may stand without comment.

Beethoven’s Brothers—His First Concert on His Own Account—Punto and the Sonata for Horn—Steibelt Confounded—E. A. Förster and the First Quartets—The Septet and First Symphony—Beethoven’s Homes—Hoffmeister—Compositions and Publications of 1800.

It is not easy to conceive upon what ground the opinion became current, as it did, that Beethoven in the year 1800 and for several years to come was still burdened with the support of his brothers—young men now respectively in their 26th and 24th years. This mistake as to Johann has already been exposed. Leaving Ludwig for the first quarter of this year doubly busy—having, in addition to his usual occupations, his preparations to make for a grand concert in April—we turn, for a page, to his brother Carl.

In the “Hof- und Staats-Schematismus” for the year 1800, at the end of the list of persons employed in the “K. K. Universal-Staatschuldenkasse” are the names of two “Praktikanten”; the first is “Mr. Carl v. Beethoven lives in the Sterngasse, 484.” In the same publication appears a new department or bureau of the above-named office called the “K. K. n. öst. Klassen-Steuer-Kasse” and the second of the three bureau officers is “Mr. Carl v. Beethoven lives unterm Tuchladen, 605.”

It is not improbable that, while simply “Praktikant,” he may have needed occasional pecuniary aid, but his preferment to the place of “Kassa-Officier” rendered him independent. This appointment is dated March 24th, 1800, and gave him a salary of 250 florins. Small as the sum now appears, it was amply sufficient, with what he could earn by teaching music (and the brother of the great Beethoven could have no lack of pupils), to enable him to live comfortably. In fact, he was better off than many a colleague in the public service, who still with care and economy managed to live respectably. It may therefore be confidently asserted that Beethoven was henceforth relievedof all care on account of Carl, as of Johann, until the bankruptcy of the government and Carl’s broken health many years later, made fraternal assistance indispensable.

At the beginning of this year Carl had tried his fortune as a composer—but probably with slender profit, since no second venture has been discovered. Six minuets, six “Deutsche” and six contradances by him are advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of January 11, in double editions, one for clavier and one for two violins and violoncello. The concert for which Beethoven had been preparing during the winter took place on the 2d of April. It was his first public appearance for his own benefit in Vienna, and, so far as is known, anywhere except in Prague. All that is now to be ascertained in relation to it is contained in the advertisement, in the programme, and in a single notice, sent to the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung.” The programme, which was in the possession of Madame van Beethoven (widow of the composer’s nephew) is as follows:

To-day, Wednesday, April 2nd, 1800, HerrLudwig van Beethovenwill have the honor to give a grand concert for his benefit in the Royal Imperial Court Theatre beside the Burg. The pieces which will be performed are the following:1. A grand symphony by the late Chapelmaster Mozart.2. An aria from “The Creation” by the Princely Chapelmaster Herr Haydn, sung by Mlle. Saal.3. A grand Concerto for the Pianoforte, played and composed by HerrLudwig van Beethoven.4. A Septet, most humbly and obediently dedicated to Her Majesty the Empress, and composed by HerrLudwig van Beethovenfor four stringed and three wind-instruments, played by Messrs. Schuppanzigh, Schreiber, Schindlecker, Bär, Nickel, Matauschek and Dietzel.5. A Duet from Haydn’s “Creation,” sung by Mr. and Mlle. Saal.6. HerrLudwig van Beethovenwill improvise on the pianoforte.7. A new grand symphony with complete orchestra, composed by HerrLudwig van Beethoven.Tickets for boxes and stalls are to be had of Herr van Beethoven at his lodgings in the Tiefen Graben, No. 241, third storey, and of the box-keeper.Prices of admission are as usual.The beginning is at half-past 6 o’clock.

1. A grand symphony by the late Chapelmaster Mozart.

2. An aria from “The Creation” by the Princely Chapelmaster Herr Haydn, sung by Mlle. Saal.

3. A grand Concerto for the Pianoforte, played and composed by HerrLudwig van Beethoven.

4. A Septet, most humbly and obediently dedicated to Her Majesty the Empress, and composed by HerrLudwig van Beethovenfor four stringed and three wind-instruments, played by Messrs. Schuppanzigh, Schreiber, Schindlecker, Bär, Nickel, Matauschek and Dietzel.

5. A Duet from Haydn’s “Creation,” sung by Mr. and Mlle. Saal.

6. HerrLudwig van Beethovenwill improvise on the pianoforte.

7. A new grand symphony with complete orchestra, composed by HerrLudwig van Beethoven.

Tickets for boxes and stalls are to be had of Herr van Beethoven at his lodgings in the Tiefen Graben, No. 241, third storey, and of the box-keeper.

Prices of admission are as usual.

The beginning is at half-past 6 o’clock.

The correspondent of the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” described the concert as the most interesting affair of its kind given for a long time, said the new concerto had “many beauties, especially in the first two movements,” praised the “taste and feeling” exhibited in the Septet, and in the Symphony found “much art, novelty and wealth of ideas”; but, he continues: “unfortunately there was too much use of the wind-instruments, so that the music sounded more as if written for a military band than an orchestra.” The rest of the notice is devoted to scolding the band for inattention to the conductor. Which of the pianoforte Concertos Beethoven played on this occasion is nowhere intimated. The Symphony in C soon became known throughout Germany; while the Septet achieved a sudden popularity so widely extended and enduring as at length to become an annoyance to the composer.[91]

A Public Concert with Punto

Before the month was out Beethoven again played in public in a concert given by Johann Stich, known as Punto. This Bohemian virtuoso, after several years of wandering, had lately come to Vienna from Paris,viaMunich. As a performer upon the horn he was unrivalled by any predecessor or contemporary; but as a composer he was beneath criticism. Beethoven’s delight in any one whose skill afforded him new experience of the powers and possible effects of any orchestral instrument is known to the reader. Nothing more natural, therefore, than his readiness to compose a sonata for himself and Punto to be played at the latter’s concert on April 18th. Ries informs us that “though the concert was announced with the Sonata the latter was not yet begun. Beethoven began the work the day before the performance and it was ready for the concert.” His habit of merely sketching his own part and of trusting to his memory and the inspiration of the moment, even when producing his grand Concertos in public, probably rendered him good service on this occasion. The “Allgemeine Musikzeitung” (III, 704) preserves also the interesting fact that owing to the enthusiastic applause the Sonata was immediately repeated.

April 27th was the anniversary of the day on which Maximilian Franz entered Bonn to assume the duties of Elector and Archbishop. Sixteen years had passed and on this day he, with a small retinue, again entered Vienna. He took refuge “in an Esterhazy villa in a suburb,” while the small château nearwhich now stands the railway station at Hetzendorf, behind Schönbrunn Garden, was preparing for his residence; whither he soon removed, and where for the present we leave him.

At the end of February or early in March, the charlatan Daniel Steibelt gave a concert in Prague which brought him in 1800 florins, and in April or May, “having finished his speculation, he went to Vienna, his purse filled with ducats, where he was knocked in the head by the pianist Beethoven,” says Tomaschek. Ries relates how:

When Steibelt came to Vienna with his great name, some of Beethoven’s friends grew alarmed lest he do injury to the latter’s reputation. Steibelt did not visit him; they met first time one evening at the house of Count Fries, where Beethoven produced his new Trio in B-flat major for Pianoforte, Clarinet and Violoncello (Op. 11), for the first time.[92]There is no opportunity for particular display on the part of the pianist in this Trio. Steibelt listened to it with a sort of condescension, uttered a few compliments to Beethoven and felt sure of his victory. He played a Quintet of his own composition, improvised, and made a good deal of effect with his tremolos, which were then something entirely new. Beethoven could not be induced to play again. A week later there was again a concert at Count Fries’s; Steibelt again played a quintet which had a good deal of success. He also played an improvisation (which had, obviously, been carefully prepared) and chose the same theme on which Beethoven had written variations in his Trio.[93]This incensed the admirers of Beethoven and him; he had to go to the pianoforte and improvise. He went in his usual (I might say, ill-bred) manner to the instrument as if half-pushed, picked up the violoncello part of Steibelt’s quintet in passing, placed it (intentionally?) upon the stand upside down and with one finger drummed a theme out of the first few measures. Insulted and angered he improvised in such a manner that Steibelt left the room before he finished, would never again meet him and, indeed, made it a condition that Beethoven should not be invited before accepting an offer.

It was, and still is, the custom at Vienna for all whose vocations and pecuniary circumstances render it possible, to spend all or some portion of the summer months in the country. The aristocracies of birth and wealth retire to their country-seats, live in villas for the season or join the throngs at the great watering-places; other classes find refuge in the villages and hamlets which abound in the lovely environs of the city, where many a neat cottage is built for their use and where the peasants generally have a spare room or two, cleanly kept and neatly furnished. Beethoven’s habit of escaping from town during the hot monthswas, therefore, nothing peculiar to him. We have reached the point whence, with little if any interruption, Beethoven can be followed from house to house, in city and country, through the rest of his life; a matter of great value in fixing the true dates of important letters and determining the chronology of his life and works—but for the first seven years the record is very incomplete.

Various Dwelling Places in Vienna

Carl Holz told Jahn: “He (Beethoven) lived at first in a little attic-room in the house of the book-binder Strauss in the Alservorstadt, where he had a miserable time.” This is one of the facts which an inquisitive young man like Holz would naturally learn of the master during the short period when he was his factotum. This attic-room must have been soon changed for the room “on the ground-floor” mentioned in a previous chapter. An undated note of van Swieten is directed to Beethoven at “No. 45 Alsergasse, at Prince Lichnowsky’s”; but in the Vienna directory for 1804 no street is so named, and the only number 45 in the “Alsergrund” is in the Lämmelgasse, property of Georg Musial; but Prince Josef Lichnowsky is named as owner of No. 125 in the Hauptstrasse of that suburb. This was the same house; it had merely changed numbers. The site is now occupied by the house No. 30 Alserstrasse. Thence Beethoven went as a guest to the house occupied by Prince Lichnowsky. In May, 1795, Beethoven, in advertising the Trios, Op. 1, gives the “residence of the author” as the “Ogylisches Haus in the Kreuzgasse behind the Minorite church, No. 35 in the first storey”; but that is no reason to think that Prince Lichnowsky then lived there. Where Beethoven was during the next few years has not been ascertained, but, as has been seen by the concert bill on a preceding page, he was during the winter of 1799-1800 in the Tiefen Graben “in a very high and narrow house,” as Czerny wrote to F. Luib.[94]For the summer of 1800, he took quarters for himself and servant in one of those houses in Unter-Döbling, an hour’s walk, perhaps, from town, to which the readiest access is by the bridge over the brook on the North side of the Döbling hospital for the insane. The wife of a distinguished Vienna advocate occupied with her children another part of the samehouse. One of these children was Grillparzer, afterward famous as a poet. The zeal with which Beethoven at this period labored to perfect his pianoforte playing, and his dislike to being listened to, have been already noted. Madame Grillparzer was a lady of fine taste and culture, fond of music and therefore able to appreciate the skill of her fellow-lodger, but ignorant of his aversion to listeners. Her son, in 1861, still remembered Beethoven’s incessant practice and his mother’s habit of standing outside her own door to enjoy his playing. This continued for some time; but one day Beethoven sprang from the instrument to the door, opened it, looked out to see if any one was listening, and unfortunately discovered the lady. From that moment he played no more. Madame Grillparzer, thus made aware of his sensitiveness on this point, informed him through his servant that thenceforth her door into the common passageway should be kept locked, and she and her family would solely use another. It was of no avail; Beethoven played no more.

Another authentic and characteristic anecdote can belong only to this summer. There lived in a house hard by a peasant of no very good reputation, who had a daughter remarkably beautiful, but also not of the best fame. Beethoven was greatly captivated by her and was in the habit of stopping to gaze at her when he passed by where she was at work in farmyard or field. She, however, made no return of his evident liking and only laughed at his admiration. On one occasion the father was arrested for engaging in a brawl and imprisoned. Beethoven took the man’s part and went to the magistrates to obtain his release. Not succeeding, he became angry and abusive, and in the end would have been arrested for his impertinence but for the strong representations made by some, who knew him, of his position in society and of the high rank, influence and power of his friends.

Throughout this period of Beethoven’s life, each summer is distinguished by some noble composition, completed, or nearly so, so that on his return to the city it was ready for revision and his copyist. Free from the demands of society, his time was his own; his fancy was quickened, his inspiration strengthened, in field and forest labor was a delight. The most important work of the master bears in his own hand the date, 1800, and may reasonably be supposed to have been the labor of this summer. It is the Concerto in C minor for Pianoforte and Orchestra, Op. 37.

Doležalek and Hoffmeister

At the approach of autumn Beethoven returned to his old quarters in the Tiefen Graben. In this year Krumpholz introduced to him Johann Emanuel (possibly Johann Nepomuk Emanuel)Doležalek, a young man of 20 years, born in Chotieborz in Bohemia, who had come to Vienna to take lessons from Albrechtsberger. He played the pianoforte and violoncello, was a capable musician, in his youth a rather popular composer of Bohemian songs and then, for half a century, one of the best teachers in the capital. Toward the close of his life he was frequently occupied with the arrangement of private concerts, chiefly quartet parties, for Prince Czartoryski and other prominent persons. As long as he lived he was an enthusiastic admirer of Beethoven, and enjoyed the friendship of the composer till his death. Among his observations are the statements concerning the hatred of Beethoven felt by the Vienna musicians already noted. Koželuch, he relates, threw the C minor Trio at his (Doležalek’s) feet when the latter played it to him. Speaking of Beethoven, Koželuch said to Haydn: “We would have done that differently, wouldn’t we, Papa?” and Haydn answered, smilingly, “Yes, we would have done that differently.” Haydn, says Doležalek, could not quite reconcile himself with Beethoven’s music. It was Doležalek who witnessed the oft-told scene in the Swan tavern when Beethoven insisted on paying without having eaten.

One of the most prolific and popular composers whom Beethoven found in Vienna was Franz Anton Hoffmeister, “Chapelmaster and R. I. licensed Music, Art and Book Seller.” He was an immigrant from the Neckar valley and (born 1754) much older than Beethoven, to whom he had extended a warm sympathy and friendship, doubly valuable from his somewhat similar experience as a young student in Vienna. This is evident from the whole tone of their correspondence. In 1800, Hoffmeister left Vienna and in Leipzig formed a copartnership with Ambrosius Kühnel, organist of the Electoral Saxon Court Chapel, and established a publishing house there, still retaining his business in Vienna. As late as December 5, 1800, his signature is as above given; but on the 1st of January, 1801, the advertisements in the public press announce the firm of “Hoffmeister and Kühnel,Bureau de Musiquein Leipzig.” Since 1814 the firm name has been C. F. Peters. Knowing Beethoven personally and so intimately, it is alike creditable to the talents of the one and the taste and appreciation of the other that Hoffmeister, immediately upon organizing his new publishing house, should have asked him for manuscripts. To his letter he received an answer dated Dec. 15, 1800, in which Beethoven says:

... Perprimoyou must know that I am very sorry that you, my dear brother in music, did not earlier let me know something (of yourdoings) so that I might have marketed my quartets with you, as well as many other pieces which I have sold, but if Mr. Brother is as conscientious as many other honest engravers who grave us poor composers to death, you will know how to derive profit from them when they appear. I will now set forth in brief what Mr. Brother can have from me. Imoa Septetper il Violino,Viola,Violoncello,Contrabasso,Clarinetto,Corno,Fagotto—tutti obligati. (I cannot write anything not obligato for I came into this world with an obligato accompaniment.) This Septet has pleased greatly. For more frequent use the three wind-instruments, namelyFagotto,ClarinettoandCornomight be transcribed for another violin, viola and violoncello. IIoA grand Symphony for full orchestra. IIIoA Concerto for pianoforte which I do not claim to be one of my best, as well as another one which will be published here by Mollo (this for the information of the Leipzig critics) because I am for the present keeping the better ones for myself until I make a tour; but it will not disgrace you to publish it. IVoA grand Solo Sonata.[95]That is all that I can give you at this moment. A little later you may have a Quintet for stringed instruments as well as, probably, Quartets and other things which I have not now with me. In your reply you might set the prices and as you are neither a Jew nor an Italian, nor I either one or the other, we shall no doubt come to an understanding.

The First String Quartets

The reference to the Quartets, Op. 18, in this letter, taken in connection with the apologies for long delay in writing, indicates conclusively enough that at least the first set, the first three, had been placed in the hands of Mollo and Co. early in the autumn, and it is barely possible, not probable, that they had already been issued from the press.[96]The importance of these Quartets in the history both of Beethoven and of chamber music renders very desirable more definite information upon their origin and dates of composition than the incomplete, unsatisfactory and not always harmonious data already known, afford. The original manuscripts appear to have been lost.

Von Lenz quotes in his “Critical Catalogue of Beethoven’s Works” an anecdote from a pamphlet printed at Dorpat in which is related:

After Beethoven had composed his well-known String Quartet in F major he played for his friend (Amenda) (on the pianoforte?) the gloriousAdagio(D minor, 9-8 time) and asked him what thought had been awakened by it. “It pictured for me the parting of two lovers,”was the answer. “Good!” remarked Beethoven, “I thought of the scene in the burial vault in ‘Romeo and Juliet’.”

This Quartet existed, then, before Amenda left Vienna. Czerny says in his notes for Jahn: “Of the first six Violin Quartets that in D major, No. 3 in print, was the very first composed by Beethoven. On the advice of Schuppanzigh he called that in F major No. 1, although it was composed later.” Ries confirms this: “Of his Violin Quartets, Op. 18, he composed that in D major first of all. That in F major, which now precedes it, was originally the third.”[97]Nota benethat neither Czerny nor Ries spoke from personal observation at the time of composition; they must both have learned the fact from Beethoven himself, or, more probably, from dates on the original manuscripts. A criticism of three quartets which appeared in the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” in 1799, which failed to give the name of the composer, has been applied by some writers (by Langhans in his History of Music, for instance) to Beethoven’s Op. 18; but erroneously. They were the works of Emanuel Aloys Förster (born January 26, 1748, in Neurath, Upper Silesia, died November 12, 1823, in Vienna), a musician who was so highly esteemed by Beethoven that, on one occasion at least, he called him his “old master.” The phrase can easily be interpreted to mean that Beethoven found instruction in Förster’s chamber music which he heard at the soirées of Prince Lichnowsky and other art-patrons. Förster’s compositions, not many of which have been preserved in print, are decidedly Beethovenish in character. His eldest son, who in 1870 was still living in Trieste, remembered Beethoven perfectly well from 1803 to 1813, and communicated to the author of this biography some reminiscences well worth preserving. It is known from other sources that Beethoven, after the retirement of Albrechtsberger, considered Förster to be the first of all the Vienna teachers of counterpoint and composition, and this is confirmed by the son’s statement that it was on Beethoven’s advice that he sent to press the compendious “Anleitung zum Generalbass” which Breitkopf and Härtel published in 1805. A year or two later, Count Rasoumowsky applied to Beethoven for instruction in musical theory and especially in quartet composition. Beethoven absolutely refused, but so strongly recommended his friend Förster, that the latter was engaged. Förster’s dwelling in all those years was a favorite resort of the principal composers and dilettanti. Thither came Beethoven; Zmeskall, a very precise gentleman with abundant whitehair; Schuppanzigh, a short fat man with a huge belly; Weiss, tall and thin; Linke, the lame violoncellist, Henry Eppinger, the Jewish violin dilettante, the youthful Mayseder, J. N. Hummel, and others. The regular periods of these quartet meetings were Sunday at noon, and the evening of Thursday; but Beethoven in those years often spent other evenings with Förster, “when the conversation usually turned upon musical theory and composition.” Notwithstanding the wide difference in their ages (22 years), their friendship was cordial and sincere. The elder not only appreciated and admired the genius of the younger, but honored him as a man; and spoke of him as being not only a great musical composer, but, however at times rough in manner and harsh, even rude, in speech, of a most honorable and noble nature. Add to all this the fact, that Beethoven in later years recommended Förster to pupils as his own “old master,” and it is no forced and unnatural inference, that he (Beethoven) had studied quartet composition with him, as he had counterpoint with Albrechtsberger, and operatic writing with Salieri. Nor is this inference weakened—it is rather strengthened—by some points in what now follows:

The earliest mention of a string quartet in connection with Beethoven is that proposal by Count Appony cited from Wegeler which led to no instant result. Then comes a passage from a letter to Amenda: “Do not give your Quartet to anybody, because I have greatly changed it, having learned how to write quartets properly.” Had he learned from study under Förster?

Sketches for the First Quartets

The original manuscripts being lost, further chronological notices concerning them must be sought for in the sketchbooks. Here Nottebohm comes to our assistance. In the Petter collection at Vienna there are sketches for the last movement of the G major Quartet, the last movement of the B-flat Quartet (among them one which was discarded), both deviating from the printed form more or less, and one for the last movement of the F major Quartet, this approaching pretty closely the ultimate form; thus this quartet was farther advanced than the others. Associated with this sketch are sketches for the Sonata in B-flat, Op. 22, and for the easy Variations in G major which were begun while work was in progress on the last movement of the Quartet in G. Beethoven worked simultaneously on the first movement of Op. 22 and the scherzo of the first Quartet; while working on the last movement of the Quartet in B-flat the rondo of the Sonata was begun. The sketches date from 1799 and 1800. Inasmuch as they occur before those for the Horn Sonata, which was composed very hurriedly and performed on April 18, 1800, the sketcheswere doubtless written earlier. One of the variations of the Quartet in A major was sketched much earlier—in 1794 or 1795. A little sketch for the first movement of the F major Quartet found beside sketches for the Violin Sonata, Op. 24, no doubt belongs to the revised form of the Quartet. In a sketchbook formerly in the possession of Grassnick in Berlin, there are sketches for the Quartet in D major which are near the ultimate form, except that there is a different theme for the last movement. Then comes a beginning in G major inscribed “Quartet 2,” the germ of the theme of the second Quartet. There was, therefore, at the time no second Quartet, and that in D is the first. There follows “Der Kuss,” sketches for the “Opferlied,” the Rondo in G major, Op. 51, No. 2, to a passage from Schiller’s “Ode to Joy,” to Gellert’s “Meine Lebenszeit verstreicht,” in G minor, to an intermezzo for pianoforte, to the revised form of the B-flat Concerto (which he played in Prague in 1798), and to various songs. The indications are, therefore, that the sketches were written in 1798. Then come sketches for the variations on “Anleitung zum Generalbass,” which originated and were published in the beginning of 1799, and after them extended sketches for the first movement of the F major Quartet, of which those belonging to the first movement are in an advanced stage, those for the second movement less so. A few sketches for a “third” quartet (thus specified) which were not used show that there was no third at the time; therefore, the Quartet in F is the second and was planned in 1799. Another sketchbook contains the continuation of the sketches for the F major Quartet, and, indeed, for all the movements; then an unused sketch for a “third” quartet (still not yet in existence), then to two songs by Goethe (one “Ich denke dein”), then to the movements of the G major Quartet, which is thus indicated to have been the third (the intermezzo in the second movement was conceived later), further sketches for the A major Quartet, which, it follows, was the fourth. Among these sketches are others for the Septet and the Variations on “Kind, willst du ruhig schlafen?” which appeared in December in 1799, and was therefore not composed earlier. All these sketches date from 1798 and 1799; but the Quartets were not finished. In an unused sketch for the Adagio of the quartet in F occur the words: “Les derniers soupirs,” which confirm the story told by Amenda. The continuation of the G major Quartet dates to 1800. Up to now no sketches for the Quartet in C minor have been found.

The results of this chronological investigation may be summed up as follows: The composition of the Quartets was begun in1798, that in D, the third, being first undertaken. This was followed by that in F and soon after, or simultaneously, work was begun on that in G, which was originally designed as the second; but, as that in F was completed earlier, this was designated as the second by Beethoven, and that in G became in point of time the third. The Quartet in F was finished in its original shape by June 25, 1799, on which day he gave it to Amenda; he revised it later. Whether or not this was also done with the others cannot be said; there is no evidence. The remark made in 1801, that he had just learned to write quartets, need not be read as meaning that he had formal instruction from Förster, but is amply explained by his practice on the six Quartets; yet Förster may have influenced him strongly. He then wrote the one in A (now No. 5), intending it to be the fourth; in this he seems to have made use of amotifinvented at an earlier period. The Quartets in B-flat and C minor followed, the latter being, perhaps, the last. The definitive elaboration of the Quartets lasted certainly until 1800, possibly until 1801. The Quartets then appeared in two sets from the press of Mollo. It is likely that the first three, at least, were in the hands of the publisher before the end of 1800, as is proved by the letter to Hoffmeister. The first three appeared in the summer of 1801 and were advertised as on sale by Nägeli in Zurich already in July; they were mentioned in the “Allg. Musik. Zeitung” on August 26, and in Spazier’s “Zeitung für die Elegante Welt.” In October of the same year the last three appeared and Mollo advertised them in the “Wiener Zeitung” of October 28. The Quartets are dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz.

Notice of a valuable present to Beethoven from his lenient and generous patron, Prince Carl Lichnowsky, naturally connects itself with the story of the Quartets—a gift thus described by Alois Fuchs, formerly violinist in the Imperial Court Orchestra, under date of December 2, 1846:

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