Chapter XXI

Beethoven and Stephan von Breuning

V. When Wegeler says of Stephan von Breuning, “But he had, with short interruptions, spent his life in closest association with Beethoven from his tenth year to his death,” he says too much; and too little when he writes that Beethoven “had once broken for a considerable space with Breuning (and with what friend did he not?)” For besides the quarrel, which Ries describes, there came at last so decided a separation that Breuning’s name disappears from our history for a period of eight to ten years—and that, too, not fromhisfault.

It was impossible that the two should have met in 1801 on such terms as those on which they had parted in 1796. Breuning had passed this interval of five years in a small provincial town, Mergentheim, in the monotonous routine of a petty office, in the service of a semi-military, semi-religious institution which had so sunk in grandeur and power as to be little more than a venerable name—a relic of the past. In the same service he had now returned to Vienna. How Beethoven had been employed, and how he had risen, we have seen. Thus, their relative positions in society had completely changed. Beethoven now moved familiarly in circles to which Breuning could have access only by his or some other friend’s protection.

In view of the relation in which Wegeler stood to the Breuning family, Beethoven might well have said more about “Steffen,” but not easily less. Even here something of patronizing condescension in the tone makes itself felt, which becomes far toopronounced when he speaks of him in the second letter—that of November. Reading these passages in connection with those unlucky sentences in the Amenda letter, which have been censured in another place, one feels that Breuning had been made sensible, to a painful degree, how great his friend had grown. Wegeler himself is struck by Breuning’s non-appearance at Beethoven’s private concert, and remarks: “He must have felt his disappointment with this old friend all the more, since Breuning had been developed by Father Ries from an amateur to a most admirable violinist, and had several times played in electoral concerts.”

The more thoroughly the character of Breuning is examined, not only in his subsequent relations to Beethoven but also in the light of all that is known of him as a public official, as a husband, father and friend, the higher he stands as a man. Under circumstances, in his office, fitted to try his patience beyond the ordinary limits of endurance, he never failed to bear himself nobly, as a man of high principle, ever ready to sacrifice private and personal considerations to the call of duty. In private life he was invariably just, generous, tenacious of the right. Whatever causes he may have had on divers occasions to complain of Beethoven, we learn nothing of them from his correspondence so far as it has been made public, unless a single passage cited by Wegeler be thought an exception; yet this is but the expression of heartfelt sorrow and compassion—not one word of anger. And we know that Beethoven, when in distress, never turned to him in vain for sympathy nor for such aid as was in his power to give. In the miserable years to come the reader will learn enough of Breuning, though by no means a prominent figure, to feel respect and admiration for his character, and to see for himself how unjust to him were those letters—written by Beethoven under the impulse of short-lived choler—which Ries has contributed to the “Notizen.” There is some temptation to think that Breuning was of those whom Beethoven “estimated at only what they were worth to him”; but let us trust that, should ever the blanks in the Amenda letter be filled from the autograph, his name will not be found—certainly not, if the conjecture as to the time of Amenda’s residence in Vienna prove correct. It is difficult to avoid saying either too much or too little on such a topic as this of Breuning and Beethoven—to strike the just medium in the strength of the language used; but the subject has been made the occasion of so much injudicious comment, it was not possible to pass it over.

VI. The “Intelligenz-Blatt” of Bonn, under date of November 30, 1784, announces the baptism, on the preceding day, of Ferdinand, son of Franz Ries.

Like many others who have become eminent musicians, his taste and capabilities manifested themselves very early; as, at five years old, he began his musical education under his father, and afterwards under Bernhard Romberg, the celebrated violoncello player.

The French invasion, the departure of Romberg in consequence (1794) from Bonn, and the pecuniary straits to which Franz Ries was reduced,

prevented much attention being, for some time, paid to the instruction of his son.... At last, when he was about thirteen (“he had reached the age of 13 years”, says the “Rheinischer Antiquarius”), a friend of his father took him to Arnsberg in Westphalia, for the purpose of learning thoroughbass and composition from an organ-player in that neighborhood.... The pupil proved so much the more able to teach of the two, that the organist was obliged to give the matter up at once and proposed to young Ries to teach him the violin instead. As apis-aller, this was accepted; and Ries remained at Arnsberg about nine months, after which he returned home. Here he remained upwards of two years, improving himself in his art with great industry.... At length, in the year 1801, he went to Munich with the same friend who had formerly taken him to Arnsberg. Here he was thrown upon his own resources; and throughout the trying and dispiriting circumstances which, with slight exception, attended the next years of his life, he appears to have displayed a firmness, an energy, and an independence of mind, the more honorable, perhaps, from the very early age at which they were called into action. At Munich, Mr. Ries was left by his friend, with little money and but very slender prospects. He tried for some time to procure pupils, but was at last reduced to copy music at three-pence per sheet. With this scanty pittance, he not only continued to keep himself free from embarrassments, but saved a few ducats to take him to Vienna, where he had hopes of patronage and advancement from Beethoven.... He set out from Munich with only seven ducats and reached Vienna before they were exhausted!

The citations are from that noble musical journal the London “Harmonicon,” and belong to an article on Ries published in March, 1824. They correspond perfectly to a sketch of Ries’s life in the “Rheinischer Antiquarius,” although there are sufficient differences to show that the materials of the two articles were drawn from independent sources. The “Antiquarius” (Part III, Vol. II, p. 62), however, dates Ries’s arrival in Munich 1800, the “Harmonicon” giving it 1801. But the difference is rather apparent than real, since the winter of 1800-1801 includes them both, and is therefore of very little import. But when Ries, inthe “Notizen” (p. 75), says: “On my arrival inViennain 1800,” the discrepancy is one not to be passed over without investigation; not that it is a matter of much interest in itself when a boy of fifteen or sixteen years became a pupil of Beethoven, but because of its bearing upon other and weightier questions in the chronology of the master’s life and works. Which, then, is correct?

Ayrton, the editor of the “Harmonicon,” could have obtained (in 1824) the date for his article only from Ries himself, as in fact the internal evidence proves him to have done. It was published after the announcement of Ries’s farewell concert in London, with the evident intention of aiding in securing its success, and must have been presented to Ries for revision before it was sent to press. Ries, therefore, must have erred by a lapse of memory, in 1824 as he admitted he may have done, or in December, 1837, when he wrote the “Notizen.” As for the writer, he has no hesitation in accepting September or October, 1801, as the date of Ries’s advent in Vienna. Thus the last of these errors—that of Wegeler in his date of the letter of June 29; that of Schindler (in his first editions) in the date of the “Christus am Ölberg”; and this of Ries—which had thrown all this period of Beethoven’s history into a confusion that seemed inextricable, is satisfactorily rectified, and the current of the narrative now flows as clear and unimpeded here as in any other part.

Let us return to it. The “Harmonicon” proceeds:

Beethoven and Ferdinand Ries

Ries’ hopes from his father’s early friend, were not disappointed; Beethoven received him with a cordial kindness, too rare, alas! from men who have risen to eminence and distinction towards those whose claim upon them is founded on the reminiscences of their humble state. He at once took the young man under his immediate care and tuition; advanced him pecuniary loans, which his subsequent conduct converted to gifts; and allowed him to be the first to take the title of pupil and appear in public as such.

So also the “Notizen”:

In the letter of recommendation from my father there had been opened a small credit account to be used in case of need. I never made use of it but, when a few times Beethoven discovered that I was short of funds, he sent me money without being asked and never wanted to take it back. He was really very fond of me, of which fact he once in his absent-mindedness gave me a very comical proof. Once when I returned from Silesia, where I had spent some time at the country-seat of Prince Lichnowsky as pianist on the recommendation of Beethoven, and entered his room he was about to shave himself and had lathered his face up to his eyes—for so far his fearfully stiff beard reached. He jumped up, embraced me cordially and thereby transferred so much of the latherfrom his left cheek to my right that he had none left. Did we laugh? Beethoven must also have learned privately how matters had gone with me; for he was acquainted with many of my youthful escapades, with which he only teased me. In many cases he disclosed a really paternal interest in me.

“But with all his kindness” continues the “Harmonicon,”

Beethoven would not give Ries instruction in thoroughbass or composition. He said it required a particular gift to explain them with clearness and precision, and, besides that, Albrechtsberger was the acknowledged master of all composers. This latter had almost given up teaching, being very old, and was persuaded to take a new pupil only by the strong recommendation of Beethoven and by the temptation of a ducat a lesson. Poor Ries’ ducats ran only to the number of 28; after this he was driven to his books again.

So it appears that he was Beethoven’s pupil only upon the pianoforte. The manner in which he was taught is also described in the “Notizen”:

The Recollections of Ries and Czerny

When Beethoven gave me a lesson I must say that contrary to his nature he was particularly patient. I was compelled to attribute this and his friendly disposition, which was seldom interrupted, chiefly to his great affection and love for my father. Thus, sometimes, he would permit me to repeat a thing ten times, or even oftener. In the Variations dedicated to the Princess Odescalchi (Op. 34), I was obliged to repeat the lastAdagiovariations almost entirely seventeen times; yet he was still dissatisfied with the expression of the little cadenza, although I thought I played it as well as he. On this day I had a lesson which lasted nearly two hours. If I made a mistake in passages or missed notes and leaps which he frequently wanted emphasized he seldom said anything; but if I was faulty in expression, increscendos, etc., or in the character of the music, he grew angry because, as he said, the former was accidental while the latter disclosed lack of knowledge, feeling, or attentiveness. The former slips very frequently happened to him even when he was playing in public.

“I often played on two fortepianos with Ries,” says Czerny, “among other things the Sonata, Op. 47, which had been arranged for two pianofortes. Ries played very fluently, clear but cold.”[119]

Here we have a key to the identity of so many of Ries’s and Czerny’s facts and anecdotes of those years, written out by them independently; the latter, as he assures us, having first become acquainted with the “Notizen” through the quotations of Court Councillor Lenz. The two brilliant boys, thrown so much together, would never weary of talking of their famous master. The stories of his oddities and eccentricities, minute facts relating to hiscompositions, were, therefore, common property; and it is clear that some which in this manner became known to Ries at last assumed in his memory the aspect of personal experiences and, as such, are related in the “Notizen.” The author of this work once introduced an incident into something that he was writing, under the full conviction of having been an actor in it, which he now knows was only related to him by his brother. Yet only some six or seven years had elapsed, whereas Ries wrote of a period which ended thirty-five years before.

Another remark of Czerny’s is as follows:

When the French were in Vienna for the first time, in 1805, Beethoven visited a number of officers and generals who were musical and for whom he played Gluck’s “Iphigenia in Tauris” from the score, to which they sang the choruses and songs not at all ill. I begged the score from him and at home wrote out the pianoforte score as I had heard him play it. I still have this arrangement (November, 1852). From that time I date my style of arranging orchestral works, and he was always wholly satisfied with my arrangements of his symphonies, etc.

A lad who, though not yet fifteen years old, was able to write a pianoforte score of such an opera after a single hearing, certainly deserved the testimonial to his talent which, though written by another hand, was signed at the time by Beethoven and sealed. The testimonial, in the possession of theGesellschaft der Musikfreundein Vienna, runs as follows:

We, the undersigned, cannot withhold from the lad Carl Czerny, who has made such extraordinary progress on the pianoforte, far surpassing what might be expected from a boy of fourteen years, that for this reason, and also because of his marvelous memory, he is deserving of all possible support, the more since his parents have expended their fortune in the education of this promising son.Ludwig van Beethoven. (Seal)Vienna, December 7, 1805.

Ludwig van Beethoven. (Seal)

Vienna, December 7, 1805.

The master had early and wisely warned him against a too free use of his extraordinary memory. “My musical memory,” Czerny writes,

enabled me to play the Beethovenian works by heart without exception, and during the years 1801-1805 I was obliged to play these works in this manner at Prince Lichnowsky’s once or twice a week, he calling out only the desired opus number. Beethoven, who was present a few times, was not pleased. “Even if he plays correctly on the whole,” he remarked, “he will forget in this manner the quick survey, thea vista-playing and, occasionally, the correct expression.”

Very neat is the anecdote which Czerny relates in the “Wiener Musikzeitung” of September 28th, 1845, how, after he hadoutgrown his studies, he was deservedly reprimanded for a few additions which he made on his own account in one of his master’s works.

On the whole he was pleased with my performance of his works ... but he scolded me for every blunder with a kind freedom which I shall never forget. When once, for instance, I played the Quintet with Wind-Instruments with Schuppanzigh, I permitted myself, in a spirit of youthful carelessness, many changes, in the way of adding difficulties to the music, the use of the higher octave, etc.—Beethoven took me severely to task in the presence of Schuppanzigh, Linke and the other players. The next day I received the following letter from him, which I copy carefully from the original draft:“Dear Czerny:“To-day I cannot see you, but to-morrow I will call on you myself to have a talk with you. I burst forth so yesterday that I was sorry after it had happened; but you must pardon that in an author who would have preferred to hear his work exactly as he wrote it, no matter how beautifully you played in general. I will makeloudamends at the Violoncello Sonata (I was to play his Violoncello Sonata with Linke the next week). Be assured that as an artist I have the greatest wishes for your success and will always try to show myself,Yourtrue FriendBeethoven.”This letter did more than anything else to cure me of the desire to make any changes in the performance of his works, and I wish that it might have the same influence on all pianists.

“Dear Czerny:“To-day I cannot see you, but to-morrow I will call on you myself to have a talk with you. I burst forth so yesterday that I was sorry after it had happened; but you must pardon that in an author who would have preferred to hear his work exactly as he wrote it, no matter how beautifully you played in general. I will makeloudamends at the Violoncello Sonata (I was to play his Violoncello Sonata with Linke the next week). Be assured that as an artist I have the greatest wishes for your success and will always try to show myself,Yourtrue FriendBeethoven.”

“Dear Czerny:

“To-day I cannot see you, but to-morrow I will call on you myself to have a talk with you. I burst forth so yesterday that I was sorry after it had happened; but you must pardon that in an author who would have preferred to hear his work exactly as he wrote it, no matter how beautifully you played in general. I will makeloudamends at the Violoncello Sonata (I was to play his Violoncello Sonata with Linke the next week). Be assured that as an artist I have the greatest wishes for your success and will always try to show myself,

Yourtrue FriendBeethoven.”

This letter did more than anything else to cure me of the desire to make any changes in the performance of his works, and I wish that it might have the same influence on all pianists.

Beethoven’s Love-Affairs—The Letter to the “Immortal Beloved”—Giulietta Guicciardi—Therese Brunswick—Countess Erdödy—Therese Malfatti—Confused Chronologies—Many Contradictory Theories and Speculations.

In the letter dated November 16, Beethoven’s strong expressions of desire and intention to exhibit his powers as pianist and composer in other cities, are striking and worthy of the reader’s attention, yet need no comment; but a new topic there introduced must be treated at some length, not because it is of very great importance in itself, but as an episode in the master’s life which has employed so many pens and upon which biographer and novelist seem to have contended which could make the most of it and paint it in the highest romantic colors.[120]

The sentences referred to are: “I am living more pleasantly since. I live more amongst men.... This change has been wrought by adear fascinatinggirl, etc.” Notwithstanding all that has been written on this text there is little reason to think that Beethoven’s passion for this particularly fascinating girl was more engrossing or lasting than at other periods for others, although peculiar circumstances subsequently kept it more alive in his memory. The testimony of Wegeler, Breuning, Romberg, Ries,has been cited to the point that Beethoven “was never without a love, and generally deeply engrossed in it.”

In Vienna (says Wegeler) at least as long as I lived there, Beethoven always had a love-affair on his hands, and occasionally made conquests which, though not impossible, might have been difficult of achievement to many an Adonis.... I will add that, so far as I know, every one of his sweethearts belonged to the higher social stations.

So, also, friends of Beethoven with whom Jahn conversed in 1852. Thus according to Carl Czerny he was said to have been in love with a Countess Keglevics, who was not generally considered handsome. The Sonata in E-flat, Op. 7 (dedicated to her), was called “Die Verliebte” (“The Maiden, or Woman, in Love”). Dr. Bertolini, friend and physician of Beethoven from 1806 to 1816, said: “Beethoven generally had a flame; the Countess Guicciardi, Mme. von Frank, Bettina Brentano and others.” He was not insensible to ladies fair and frail. Doležalek, a music teacher who came to Vienna in 1800 and was the master’s admirer and friend to the last, adds the particular that “he never showed that he was in love.”

In short, Beethoven’s experience was precisely that of many an impulsive man of genius, who for one cause or another never married and therefore never knew the calm and quiet, but unchanging, affection of happy conjugal life. One all-absorbing but temporary passion, lasting until its object is married to a more favored lover, is forgotten in another destined to end in like manner, until, at length, all faith in the possibility (for them) of a permanent, constant attachment to one person is lost. Such men after reaching middle age may marry for a hundred various motives of convenience, but rarely for love.

Upon this particular passion of Beethoven, the present writer labors under the disadvantage of being compelled to subordinate his imagination to his reason and to sacrifice flights of fancy to the duty of ascertaining and imparting the modicum of truth that underlies all this branch of Beethoven literature, of extracting the few grains of wheat from the immense mass of chaff. With what success remains to be seen.

When Schindler, in perusing the “Notizen,” came to the passages above quoted, with his usual agility in jumping at conclusions he decided at once, that Beethoven here refers to the Countess Julia Guicciardi, and so states in his book; probably hitting the truth nearer than on the next page, where he makes Fräulein Marie Koschak the object of Beethoven’s “autumnallove,” some half a dozen years before the two had ever met. In this case, however, there is no reason to suppose him mistaken.

Relations with the Countess Guicciardi

On the 16th of November, 1801—the date of Beethoven’s letter—the Countess Guicciardi was just one week less than seventeen years of age. She is traditionally described as having had a good share of personal attractions, and is known to have been a fine looking woman even in advanced years. She appears to have possessed a mind of fair powers, cultivated and accomplished to the degree then common to persons of her rank; but it is not known that she was in any way eminently distinguished, unless for musical taste and skill as a pianist, which may perhaps be indicated in the dedication to her of a sonata by Kleinheinz as well as by Beethoven.

Julia Guicciardi’s near relationship to the Brunswicks would naturally throw her into the society of Beethoven immediately upon the transfer of her father from Trieste to Vienna; their admiration of his talents, their warm affection for him as a man, would awaken her curiosity to see him and create a most natural prejudice in his favor. Coming to the capital from a small, distant provincial town when hardly of an age to enter society, and finding herself so soon distinguished by the particular attentions and evident admiration of a man of Beethoven’s social position and fame, might well dazzle the imagination of a girl of sixteen, and dispose her, especially if she possessed more than common musical taste and talents, to return in a certain degree the affection proffered to her by the distinguished author of the Symphony, the Quartet, the Septet, the “Prometheus” music, and so many wonderful sonatas, by the unrivalled pianist, the generous, impulsive, enthusiastic artist, although unprepossessing in person and unable to offer either wealth or a title. There was romance in the affair. Besides these considerations there are traditions and reminiscences of old friends of the composer all tending to confirm the opinion of Schindler, that the “fascinating girl” was indeed the young Countess Guicciardi. That writer, however, knew nothing of the matter until twenty years afterwards; but what he learned came from Beethoven himself.

It happened, when the topic came up between them, “that, being in a public place where he did not like to trust himself to speak,” says Schindler, Beethoven also wrote his share in the conversation, so far as it related to this subject; hence his words may still be read in a Conversation Book of February, 1823, preserved in the Royal Library at Berlin. His statements havecertainly gained nothing in clearness from his whim of writing them in part in bad French.

It is proper to state, before introducing the citation from this book, that the young lady married Count Wenzel Robert Gallenberg, a prolific composer of ballet and occasional music, on the 3rd of November, 1803. The young pair soon left Vienna for Italy and were in Naples in the spring of 1806; for Gallenberg was one of the composers of the music for the fêtes, on the occasion of Joseph Bonaparte’s assumption of the crown of the Two Sicilies. When the Neapolitan Barbaja took charge of the R. I. Opera at Vienna, toward the close of 1821, he made the Count an associate in the administration, and thus it happened that Schindler had occasion to call upon him with a message from Beethoven.

The Conversation Books of those years show, that the question of selling the opera, “Fidelio,” to various theatres, was one often discussed by Beethoven and his friends, and, also, that the author had no complete copy of the score. It thus became necessary to borrow one for the purpose of copying the whole or parts; and at this point we turn to the Conversation Book. Schindler, in the midst of a long series of remarks upon heterogeneous topics, expresses surprise that the Dresden theatre has never purchased “Fidelio,” and adds his opinion, that Weber will do all in his power to further Beethoven’s interest, both in regard to the opera and to the Mass in D. Then follows political news—Spain, England, etc.—and the sale or hypothecation by Dr. Bach of certain bank shares on which Beethoven wishes to raise money; and then:

A Conversation about the Countess

Schindler: Now as to “Fidelio”; what shall, what can I do to expedite that?Beethoven: Steiner has the score.Schindler: I shall go to Count Gallenberg, who will lend it to you for a time with pleasure. It would be best if you were to have it copied at your own expense. You may ask 40 ducats. (After a farther remark or two he promises to see Gallenberg “to-morrow morning”; some pages farther is the report):Schindler: Gallenberg presents his compliments; he will send the score, provided they have two copies. If this is not the case he will have the score copied for you. I am to call on him again in two days. (The conversation then turns upon copying certain songs and upon lithographing the Mass in D; after which):Schindler: He (Gallenberg) did not inspire me with much respect to-day.Beethoven: I was his invisible benefactor through others.Schindler: He ought to know that, so that he might have more respect for you than he seems to have. (Kitchen affairs follow here for a space; then Beethoven takes the pencil and writes):Beethoven: So it seems you did not find G. favorably disposed toward me; I am little concerned in the matter, but I should like to know what he said.Schindler: He replied to me that he thought that you must have the score yourself; but when I assured him that you did not have it he said that its loss was a consequence of your irregular habits and many changes of lodgings. What affair is that of the public? And, moreover, who will care what such persons think? What have you decided to do in the matter at Steiner’s? To keep quiet still longer? Dr. Bach recently asked me about it. I thought you wanted to keep the score because you had none. Do you want to give the five-part fugue also for nothing? My dearest friend and master, that is too much generosity towards such unworthy persons. You will only be laughed at. (Steiner had bought some compositions of B. and not published them.)Beethoven: (having asked Schindler if he had seen Gallenberg’s wife, proceeds):J’étois bien aimé d’elle et plus que jamais son époux. Il étoit pourtant plutôt son amant que moi, mais par elle j’apprenois de son misère et je trouvais un homme de bien, qui me donnait la somme de 500 fl. pour le soulager. Il étoit toujours mon ennemi, c’étoit justement la raison, que je fusse tout le bien que possible.Schindler: It was for this reason that he added “He is an intolerable fellow.” Probably because of pure gratitude. But forgive them, Lord, they know not what they do.Est-ce qu’il y a longtemps qu’elle est mariée avec Mons. de Gallenberg?—Mad. la Comtesse? Était-elle riche? Elle a une belle figure jusqu’ici!Beethoven:Elle est née Guicciardi. Elle étoit l’épouse de lui avant son voyage en Italie—arrivé à Vienne elle cherchoit moi pleurant, mais je la méprisois.[121]Schindler: Hercules at the crossways!Beethoven: And if I had wished to give my vital powers with that life, what would have remained for the nobler, the better (things)?

Schindler: Now as to “Fidelio”; what shall, what can I do to expedite that?

Beethoven: Steiner has the score.

Schindler: I shall go to Count Gallenberg, who will lend it to you for a time with pleasure. It would be best if you were to have it copied at your own expense. You may ask 40 ducats. (After a farther remark or two he promises to see Gallenberg “to-morrow morning”; some pages farther is the report):

Schindler: Gallenberg presents his compliments; he will send the score, provided they have two copies. If this is not the case he will have the score copied for you. I am to call on him again in two days. (The conversation then turns upon copying certain songs and upon lithographing the Mass in D; after which):

Schindler: He (Gallenberg) did not inspire me with much respect to-day.

Beethoven: I was his invisible benefactor through others.

Schindler: He ought to know that, so that he might have more respect for you than he seems to have. (Kitchen affairs follow here for a space; then Beethoven takes the pencil and writes):

Beethoven: So it seems you did not find G. favorably disposed toward me; I am little concerned in the matter, but I should like to know what he said.

Schindler: He replied to me that he thought that you must have the score yourself; but when I assured him that you did not have it he said that its loss was a consequence of your irregular habits and many changes of lodgings. What affair is that of the public? And, moreover, who will care what such persons think? What have you decided to do in the matter at Steiner’s? To keep quiet still longer? Dr. Bach recently asked me about it. I thought you wanted to keep the score because you had none. Do you want to give the five-part fugue also for nothing? My dearest friend and master, that is too much generosity towards such unworthy persons. You will only be laughed at. (Steiner had bought some compositions of B. and not published them.)

Beethoven: (having asked Schindler if he had seen Gallenberg’s wife, proceeds):J’étois bien aimé d’elle et plus que jamais son époux. Il étoit pourtant plutôt son amant que moi, mais par elle j’apprenois de son misère et je trouvais un homme de bien, qui me donnait la somme de 500 fl. pour le soulager. Il étoit toujours mon ennemi, c’étoit justement la raison, que je fusse tout le bien que possible.

Schindler: It was for this reason that he added “He is an intolerable fellow.” Probably because of pure gratitude. But forgive them, Lord, they know not what they do.Est-ce qu’il y a longtemps qu’elle est mariée avec Mons. de Gallenberg?—Mad. la Comtesse? Était-elle riche? Elle a une belle figure jusqu’ici!

Beethoven:Elle est née Guicciardi. Elle étoit l’épouse de lui avant son voyage en Italie—arrivé à Vienne elle cherchoit moi pleurant, mais je la méprisois.[121]

Schindler: Hercules at the crossways!

Beethoven: And if I had wished to give my vital powers with that life, what would have remained for the nobler, the better (things)?

Reverence for the composer, and admiration for his compositions, must have led many who will read this to the perusal of the constantly accumulating literature of which Beethoven andhis works are the subject; and they must remember the prominence accorded to the Guicciardi affair. Will they believe that all theestablishedfacts, which have ever been made public, are exhausted in these pages already? This is literally true. All else is but conjecture or mistake. There is nothing in the present state of knowledge on this subject to relieve the great mass of turgid eloquence expended upon it from being described in one word as—nonsense. The foundation for a tragedy is certainly small in a case where the lover writes: “It is the first time that I feel as if marriagemightmake me happy”; and immediately adds “now, of course, I could not marry!” because the gratification of his ambition was more to him than domestic life with the beloved one.

In November, 1852, Jahn had an interview with the Countess Gallenberg. On so delicate a topic as Beethoven’s passion for her fifty years before, reticence was natural; but had the affair in truth been of the importance that others have given it, some hint must have confessed it. Yet there is nothing of the kind in his notes of the conversation. Here they are:

Beethoven was her teacher; he had his music sent to her and was extremely severe until the correct interpretation was reached down to the smallest detail; he laid stress upon a light manner of playing; he easily became angry, threw down his music and tore it; he would take no pay but linen, although he was very poor, under the pretence that the Countess had sewed it. He also taught Princess Odescalchi and Baroness Erdmann; sometimes he went to his pupils, sometimes they came to him. He did not like to play his own compositions, but would only improvise. At the slightest disturbance he would get up and go away. Count Brunswick, who played the violoncello, adored him as did (also) his sisters, Therese and Countess Deym. Beethoven had given her (the Countess Guicciardi) the Rondo in G, but begged its return when he had to dedicate something to the Countess Lichnowsky, and then dedicated the Sonata to her. B. was very ugly, but noble, refined in feeling and cultured.

In this simple record the lady’s memory evidently mistakes by overrating the poverty of Beethoven at the time she was his pupil and in making him then so negligent in dress. “In his earlier years Beethoven dressed carefully, even elegantly; only later did he grow negligent, which he carried to the verge of uncleanliness,” says Grillparzer; and Czerny: “About the year 1813-’14, when B. looked well and strong, he also cared for his outward appearance.” But what a blow to all the supposed romantic significance is the short, prosaic account of the dedication of the C-sharp minor Sonata to her—a composition which was not a favorite with the composer himself. “Everybody is alwaystalking about the C-sharp minor Sonata! Surely I have written better things. There is the Sonata in F-sharp major—that is something very different,” he once said to Czerny.

A Conjectural Offer of Marriage

There is but one well-authenticated fact to be added, namely, that Beethoven kept up his intercourse with the family Guicciardi certainly as late as May or June, 1823, that is, to within six months of the young lady’s marriage. A careful survey and comparison both of the published data and of the private traditions and hints gleaned during a residence of several years at Vienna, result in the opinion (an opinion, note, not a statement resting on competent evidence) that Beethoven at length decided to offer Countess Julia his hand; that she was not indisposed to accept it; and that one of her parents consented to the match, but the other, probably the father, refused to entrust the happiness of his daughter to a man without rank, fortune or permanent engagement; a man, too, of character and temperament so peculiar, and afflicted with the incipient stages of an infirmity which, if not arrested and cured, must deprive him of all hope of obtaining any high and remunerative official appointment and at length compel him to abandon his career as the great pianoforte virtuoso. As the Guicciardis themselves were not wealthy, prudence forbade such a marriage. Be all this as it may, this much is certain: Beethoven did not marry the Countess Julia Guicciardi; Count Wenzel Robert Gallenberg did. The rejected lover—true to a principle enunciated in a letter to Zmeskall of March 29, 1799, “there is no use in quarrelling with what cannot be changed”—made the best of it, and went to work on the “Sinfonia eroica”!

Schindler’s Unfounded Conclusions

Every reader acquainted with Schindler’s book will have noticed that two grave matters, connected by him with the Guicciardi affair, have been silently passed over, notwithstanding the very great importance given to them by him and his copyists. They must now be considered. Schindler’s honest and conscientious desire to ascertain and impart the truth concerning Beethoven admits no doubt. The spirit was willing, but his weakness as an investigator was something extraordinary. His helplessness in finding and following the clue out of a difficulty is something pitiable, sometimes ludicrous. He reminds us, now and then, of the character described by Addison: “He is perpetually puzzled and perplexed amidst his own blunders.”

Take the present matter for an instance. In his first editions of the biography the date given to the Guicciardi affair is 1806. With Wegeler’s letter before him giving him one fixed point—November, 1801—and the “Gräfliches Taschenbuch” to beconsulted in every respectable bookstore and public library for the day of Gallenberg’s marriage, November 3, 1803, he is still at a loss. “I had first to come to Paris, there make the acquaintance of Cherubini, in order to hit, quite accidentally, upon a certain clue for this date for which I had vainly searched in Vienna. Cherubini and his wife, soon after their arrival in Vienna in 1805, heard of this affair as of something that had happened two years before.” Following this hint, in his edition of 1860, he changes the 1806 to 1803—that is, he adopts the new date because, twenty years before, he heard from an old gentleman of 80 years and his wife, nearly as old, that, thirty-five years before, they had heard that some two years before that time Beethoven had been jilted! They also “could say with certainty that the effect upon Beethoven’s mood had already been overcome”;—which we are very willing to hear from them, although the fact needed no confirmation. Again; his conversation with Beethoven, given as an appendix to the edition of 1845, was suppressed in the first because the Countess Gallenberg was then living; the “Taschenbuch” would have taught him that this objection remained in force until March 22nd, 1856! How is it possible to read with confidence the opinions and statements of so helpless a writer—even when we grant him, as we do Schindler, the utmost rectitude of intention—except when he speaks from personal knowledge, or upon evidence which he shows to be good?

Having in a manner so extraordinary fixed the date to his satisfaction, Schindler proceeds to the catastrophe:

Yet touching the results of this break upon the spirits of our master, so highly blessed by this love, something more may be said. In his despair he sought comfort with his approved and particularly respected friend Countess Marie Erdödy—at her country-seat at Jedlersee, in order to spend a few days in her company. Thence, however, he disappeared and the Countess thought he had returned to Vienna, when, three days later, her music-master, Brauchle, discovered him in a distant part of the palace gardens. This incident was long kept a close secret, and only after several years did those familiar with it confide it to the more intimate friends of Beethoven, long after the love-affair had been forgotten. It was associated with a suspicion that it had been the purpose of the unhappy man to starve himself to death. Those friends who made close observation of the attitude of Beethoven towards the music-master noticed that he treated him with extraordinary attention thereafter.

Jedlersee is so near Vienna, that a stout walker like Beethoven would think nothing of the distance; and forhimto obey the whim or necessity of the moment, and disappear for two or three days, is the very weakest of all grounds for the astoundingconjecture here gravely related. But grant for a moment that something of the kind, some time or other, really occurred; what reason is there to suppose that it happened then, and in connection with the Guicciardi matter? None,Credat Judæus Apella, non ego. Indeed the whole story, whatever its date and connection, is told on such mere hearsay evidence as would not justify the police in arresting a beggar. To prevent it from passing into the category of established facts—at least in connection with this particular love-affair, and until some new and competent proof be discovered—it may be remarked:

I. Schindler’s first knowledge of the passion of Beethoven for Julia Guicciardi was obtained in 1823. Whatever he heard from other sources could only have been afterwards; and in all probability was after Beethoven’s death, when his attention was recalled to the subject by a paper presently to be noticed. He does not pretend to have heard this Jedlersee story from any party to it; nor could he, for the Countess Erdödy had been banished from the Austrian dominions long before it could have come to his ears. He is, in fact and upon his own showing, gravely detailing a mere private rumor, current (he says) among certain friends of Beethoven, of an event which happened (if at all) fifteen, twenty or thirty years before, and which wassurmisedby them, or by him, to have occurred at the time he was jilted by the young Countess Guicciardi.

II. There is nothing whatever in Ries’s reminiscences, most of which are of the precise period of that affair, which, by any stretch of fancy, can be made to confirm the story; nay, more, they are utterly inconsistent with it. There is nothing even to show that he ever observed that his master’s relations to the Guicciardis were in any way remarkable; yet Beethoven’s inclination to the society of women was a point in his character that particularly impressed him. “Beethoven,” he says,

was fond of the company of women, especially if they had young and pretty faces, and generally when we passed a somewhat charming girl he would turn back and gaze at her through his glasses keenly, and laugh or grin if he noticed that I was looking at him. He was frequently in love, but generally only for a short period. Once when I twitted him concerning his conquest of a pretty woman he admitted that she had held him in the strongest bonds for the longest time, viz., fully seven months.

III. And so too with Breuning. There is no letter, or part of a letter by him (so far as made known by Wegeler), nor any tradition derived from him, that relates to this passion or its supposedconsequences; and yet, it is only from one of his letters that we know of the proposal of marriage in 1810; nay, more, we shall find, in 1803, Beethoven inviting a friend to dine with “Countess Guicciardi,” at a time when he and Breuning lodged together!

IV. If the Jedlersee story be true at all in connection with this particular lady, the time must have been 1803. But it is totally inconsistent with what is known of the composer’s history during that year.

V. Brauchle was not the Countess Erdödy’s music-teacher, but the tutor of her children, in which capacity he could hardly have been employed at a time when the eldest was not six years of age! If we are correctly informed, he was not in that service until after the year 1803; nor is it known that Beethoven’s intimacy with the Countess had then been formed. In any case, the starvation story may be considered as disposed of for the present.

The force of these arguments will be incidentally but materially increased by the views—if they find favor and acceptance—advanced and supported in a short discussion of the single remaining question belonging to the Guicciardi affair, to which we now come.

It was well known to Beethoven’s friends, that he died possessed of a few bank-shares; but where the certificates were deposited neither his brother, Breuning nor Schindler knew. “B. kept his bank-shares in a secret drawer of a cabinet known only to Holz,” is one of Jahn’s notes of a conversation with Carl Holz. When Schindler read Jahn’s manuscript notices and memoranda upon Beethoven and added his comments, he remarked here:

Johann Beethoven first devoted himself to the disappearance of the shares, and not finding them he cried out: “Breuning and Schindler must find them.” Holz was asked to come, by Breuning, and requested to say if he did not know where they were concealed. He knew the secret drawer in the old cabinet in which they were kept.

In that “secret drawer” Breuning found not only the bank-certificates, but also various “letters of importance to his friend,” as Schindler describes them. One of these was a letter with two postscripts written by Beethoven on two pieces of note-paper with a lead pencil, at some watering-place not named, in the July of a year not given and to a person not indicated. It is couched in terms of enthusiastic love rarely equalled even in romance, being like a translation into words of the most tender and touching passages in his most impassioned musical compositions. This document, placed in Schindler’s possession by Breuning, is theoriginal of what was first printed in 1840, as, “three autograph letters written by Beethoven to his Giulietta from a bathing-place in Hungary”[122]and which have so often been reprinted at various times. The letter is as follows:

Text of the Letter to the “Immortal Beloved”

July 6, in the morning.My angel, my all, my very self—only a few words to-day and at that with pencil (with yours)—not till to-morrow will my lodgings be definitively determined upon—what a useless waste of time. Why this deep sorrow where necessity speaks—can our love endure except through sacrifices—except through not demanding everything—can you change it that you are not wholly mine, I not wholly thine. Oh, God! look out into the beauties of nature and comfort yourself with that which must be—love demands everything and that very justly—thus it is with me so far as you are concerned, and you with me. If we were wholly united you would feel the pain of it as little as I. My journey was a fearful one; I did not reach here until 4 o’clock yesterday morning; lacking horses the post-coach chose another route—but what an awful one. At the stage before the last I was warned not to travel at night—made fearful of a forest, but that only made me the more eager and I was wrong; the coach must needs break down on the wretched road, a bottomless mud road—without such postilions as I had with me I should have stuck in the road. Esterhazy, travelling the usual road hitherward, had the same fate with eight horses that I had with four—yet I got some pleasure out of it, as I always do when I successfully overcome difficulties. Now a quick change to things internal from things external. We shall soon surely see each other; moreover, I cannot communicate to you the observations I have made during the last few days touching my own life—if our hearts were always close together I would make none of the kind. My heart is full of many things to say to you—Ah!—there are moments when I feel that speech is nothing after all—cheer up—remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours; the gods must send us the rest that which shall be best for us.Your faithful Ludwig.Evening, Monday, July 6.You are suffering, my dearest creature—only now have I learned that letters must be posted very early in the morning. Mondays, Thursdays,—the only days on which the mail-coach goes from here to K. You are suffering—Ah! wherever I am there you are also. I shall arrange affairs between us so that I shall live and live with you, what a life!!!! thus!!!! thus without you—pursued by the goodness of mankind hither and thither—which I as little try to deserve as I deserve it. Humility of man towards man—it pains me—and when I consider myself in connection with the universe, what am I and what is he whom we callthe greatest—and yet—herein lies the divine in man. I weep when I reflect that you will probably not receive the first intelligence from me until Saturday—much as you love me, I love you more—but do not ever conceal your thoughts from me—good-night—as I am taking the baths I must go to bed. Oh, God! so near so far! Is our love not truly a celestial edifice—firm as Heaven’s vault.Good-morning, on July 7.Though still in bed my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us. I can live only wholly with you or not at all—yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home, send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits.—Yes, unhappily it must be so—you will be the more resolved since you know my fidelity—to you, no one can ever again possess my heart—none—never—Oh, God, why is it necessary to part from one whom one so loves and yet my life in W (Vienna) is now a wretched life—your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men—at my age I need a steady, quiet life—can that be under our conditions? My angel, I have just been told that the mail-coach goes every day—and I must close at once so that you may receive the L. at once. Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together—be calm—love me—to-day—yesterday—what tearful longings for you—you—you—my life—my all—farewell—Oh continue to love me—never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved L.ever thineever mineever for each other.

July 6, in the morning.

My angel, my all, my very self—only a few words to-day and at that with pencil (with yours)—not till to-morrow will my lodgings be definitively determined upon—what a useless waste of time. Why this deep sorrow where necessity speaks—can our love endure except through sacrifices—except through not demanding everything—can you change it that you are not wholly mine, I not wholly thine. Oh, God! look out into the beauties of nature and comfort yourself with that which must be—love demands everything and that very justly—thus it is with me so far as you are concerned, and you with me. If we were wholly united you would feel the pain of it as little as I. My journey was a fearful one; I did not reach here until 4 o’clock yesterday morning; lacking horses the post-coach chose another route—but what an awful one. At the stage before the last I was warned not to travel at night—made fearful of a forest, but that only made me the more eager and I was wrong; the coach must needs break down on the wretched road, a bottomless mud road—without such postilions as I had with me I should have stuck in the road. Esterhazy, travelling the usual road hitherward, had the same fate with eight horses that I had with four—yet I got some pleasure out of it, as I always do when I successfully overcome difficulties. Now a quick change to things internal from things external. We shall soon surely see each other; moreover, I cannot communicate to you the observations I have made during the last few days touching my own life—if our hearts were always close together I would make none of the kind. My heart is full of many things to say to you—Ah!—there are moments when I feel that speech is nothing after all—cheer up—remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours; the gods must send us the rest that which shall be best for us.

Your faithful Ludwig.

Evening, Monday, July 6.

You are suffering, my dearest creature—only now have I learned that letters must be posted very early in the morning. Mondays, Thursdays,—the only days on which the mail-coach goes from here to K. You are suffering—Ah! wherever I am there you are also. I shall arrange affairs between us so that I shall live and live with you, what a life!!!! thus!!!! thus without you—pursued by the goodness of mankind hither and thither—which I as little try to deserve as I deserve it. Humility of man towards man—it pains me—and when I consider myself in connection with the universe, what am I and what is he whom we callthe greatest—and yet—herein lies the divine in man. I weep when I reflect that you will probably not receive the first intelligence from me until Saturday—much as you love me, I love you more—but do not ever conceal your thoughts from me—good-night—as I am taking the baths I must go to bed. Oh, God! so near so far! Is our love not truly a celestial edifice—firm as Heaven’s vault.

Good-morning, on July 7.

Though still in bed my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us. I can live only wholly with you or not at all—yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home, send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits.—Yes, unhappily it must be so—you will be the more resolved since you know my fidelity—to you, no one can ever again possess my heart—none—never—Oh, God, why is it necessary to part from one whom one so loves and yet my life in W (Vienna) is now a wretched life—your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men—at my age I need a steady, quiet life—can that be under our conditions? My angel, I have just been told that the mail-coach goes every day—and I must close at once so that you may receive the L. at once. Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together—be calm—love me—to-day—yesterday—what tearful longings for you—you—you—my life—my all—farewell—Oh continue to love me—never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved L.

ever thineever mineever for each other.

Among the many persons before whom at various times Schindler kindly placed the original for examination were Otto Jahn and the present writer, neither of whom ever discovered any other reason to suppose this paper to have been intended for the Countess Guicciardi than Schindler’s conjecture and the grounds upon which he had formed it. Bearing in mind that the existence of this paper was utterly unknown to either Breuning or Schindler until after the death of its writer, who alone could have imparted its history, the mental process by which it came to be described in the words just quoted, “three autograph letters written by Beethoven to his Giulietta from a bathing-place in Hungary,” is perfectly easy to trace; thus:

In the first of the three parts, or letters, Beethoven speaks of the very disagreeable journey which he had performed with four post-horses, and Esterhazy with eight; in the second he writes of the “mail-coach from here to K.” and again, “As I am taking the baths I must go to bed.” Now, of the 218 places in theAustrian postal-guide whose names begin with K, a large number are in Hungary; the bathing-places in that kingdom are also numerous; and Esterhazy’s possessions were there; hence Schindler’s assumption that Beethoven wrote from a Hungarian watering-place—which may stand for the present. His conjecture as to whom he wrote was of course suggested by his conversation in 1823 upon the Countess Gallenberg. This assumption, so obvious and natural for him to make that it was accepted unquestioned and even unsuspected for thirty years, must nevertheless be tested.

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