Life of Beethoven Part 3

In the third Overture, which was subst.i.tuted for the two former, too hard a task was imposed upon the stringed instruments, so that these also were found deficient in the requisite precision.

The fourth and last Overture (in E major) Beethoven wrote because the third was moreover deemed too long, and he would not agree to curtail it. It was not published till 1815, with the Opera, after the latter had been for many years replaced on the list of acting pieces; and this time, with partial alterations of the libretto, by Friedrich Treitschke.[30]

In my account of the first period, where I had occasion to mention Beethoven's anxiety for the improvement of the Schuppanzigh Quartett, I remarked that he never asked the singers if they could sing what he wrote, or if it would be necessary for him to make alterations here and there, to render their parts easier of execution. Thus, too, in composing he gave full scope to his genius, and paid too little attention to the precepts given him many years before by Salieri relative to the treatment of the vocal parts. Hence, at rehearsals, he came into unpleasant collisions with the singers; and it is well known that the kapell-meister Ignatz von Seyfried, who then had an engagement at the Theater an der Wien, was frequently obliged to act the part of mediator between Beethoven and the vocal performers, and that he gave him on this subject many a useful piece of advice, founded upon long experience.[31] If Beethoven had thus far encountered abundance of vexations, the measure of them was filled by the coldness with which the Opera was received at its first representation. The cause of this indifference was not the immoderate length and breadth of the whole upon so slender a pedestal as the meagre libretto was, but it was as much owing to the unlucky circ.u.mstance that the audience consisted chiefly of French military, who had entered Vienna a few days before, and were more familiar with the thunder of cannon than with sublime musical conceptions, especially when they could not understand anything of their nature and subject. This may serve in part to account for its slender success. But is not some blame to be attributed to Beethoven himself? He would not listen to advice from any quarter, and he had therefore to take a lesson from experience. But was all the experience in the world of any benefit to him? Alas, no!--as we shall see on a decisive occasion, which occurred in 1824, at the rehearsals of his second Ma.s.s, and the ninth Symphony.

At that time the friend of his juvenile years, Stephen von Breuning, was particularly serviceable to him. He spared neither advice nor active exertions in his behalf, and helped the inexperienced Beethoven through all the "intrigues and cabals" which he had to encounter on the part of the managers of the theatre and the vocal performers.[32] But, still too young, and of a disposition as inflammable as Beethoven himself, he was unable to avert any mortifications from the head of his friend, and only drew them down upon his own in an equal degree, and thus doubled his burden, which the interference of the "evil principle" rendered still more oppressive. Others, who wished as well to Beethoven in this affair as Breuning, were not sparing of their advice, and thus the unfortunate composer was involved in a maze of counsels and opinions, as he frequently was in the course of his life, from which nothing but his good genius and love ultimately extricated him. At that time he should have had at his elbow a friend like Wegeler, who, according to Beethoven's account, possessed the talent of giving a comic turn to everything that was likely to produce discord and strife between friends, thus putting them all in good humour with one another again.

All the intrigues and cabals to which Beethoven was exposed on occasion of his first opera, might perhaps not have left behind that disagreeable impression which made him shrink from the mere idea of writing a second. It may be asked, where was then his powerful patron and friend, Prince Lichnowsky, who would probably have cut the knot?

Shortly before the entrance of the French troops he quitted Vienna, with many thousand others, and did not return till the autumn of the following year.

After these fatal storms were over, and Beethoven's mind had somewhat recovered its composure, he wrote the fourth Symphony in B major, in point of form, indisputably the most finished of all; and thus storm and tempest were suddenly succeeded by the brightest sunshine. Rapid as such transitions are in nature, so rapid was the change in his tone of mind, and hence ensued not a few contrasts. A musical idea, for instance, which engrossed his imagination, could suddenly chase all clouds from his brow, and make him forget everything around him, excepting that central point in which all his feelings converged. This was the pa.s.sion for his Julia, which had then attained its greatest intensity, and seemed to occupy all his thoughts. In the summer of 1806 he took a journey to an Hungarian bathing-place, on account of his gradually increasing deafness. There he addressed to the object of his affection the following three interesting letters, which I possess in his own hand-writing:--

I.

"_July 6th, 1806, morning._

"My angel, my all, my other self!--Only a few words to-day, and in pencil (written with yours). My future abode will certainly not be fixed till to-morrow. What a frivolous waste of time, &c.!--Why this profound sorrow, when necessity commands? Can our love subsist otherwise than by sacrifices, by not wishing for everything? Canst thou help it that thou art not wholly mine, that I am not wholly thine? Cast thine eyes on beautiful Nature, and let not thy mind be ruffled by that which must be.

Love requires everything, and very justly: so it is I with thee, thou with me; only thou forgettest so easily that I must live for myself and for thee. If we were completely united, thou wouldst not feel this sorrow any more than I. My journey was terrible. I did not arrive here till four o'clock yesterday morning, for want of horses. At the last stage, I was warned not to travel at night, and told to beware of a certain wood; but this only spurred me on, and I was wrong: owing to the execrable roads--a bottomless by-road--the carriage broke down. Prince Esterhazy, who travelled hither by the other road, had the same accident with eight horses that I had with four. Nevertheless, I feel some pleasure again, as I always do when I have conquered some difficulty. But now let us pa.s.s rapidly from externals to internals. We shall soon meet again. I cannot communicate to thee to-day the observations which I have been making for some days past on my life. If our hearts were close to one another, I should certainly not make any such. I have much to say to thee. Ah! there are moments when I find that language is nothing! Cheer up!--continue to be my true, my only love, my all, as I to thee: as for the rest--we must leave it to the G.o.ds to dispose for us as they please.

"Thy faithful

"LUDWIG."

II.

"_Monday evening, July 6th, 1806._

"Thou grievest, my dearest!--I have just learned that letters must be put into the post very early. Thou grievest! Ah! where I am, there art thou with me; with me and thee, I will find means to live with thee.

What a life!!!! So!!!--Without thee, persecuted by the kindness of people here and yonder, which, methinks, I no more wish to deserve than I really do deserve it--humility of man towards men--it pains me--and when I consider myself in connexion with the universe, what am I, and what is he who is called the greatest? And yet again herein lies the divine in man!... Love me as thou wilt, my love for thee is more ardent--but never disguise thyself from me. Good night!--As an invalid who has come for the benefit of the baths, I must go to rest. Ah G.o.d!

So near! So distant! Is not our love a truly heavenly structure, but firm as the vault of heaven!"

III.

"_Good morning, on the 7th of July, 1806._

"Before I was up, my thoughts rushed to thee, my immortal beloved; at times cheerful, then again sorrowful, waiting to see if Fate will listen to us. I cannot live unless entirely with thee, or not at all; nay, I have resolved to wander about at a distance, till I can fly into thine arms, call myself quite at home with thee, and send my soul wrapped up in thee into the realm of spirits. Yes, alas! it must be so! Thou must cheer up, more especially as thou knowest my love to thee. Never can another possess my heart--never!--never!--O G.o.d! why must one flee from what one so fondly loves! And the life that I am leading at present is a miserable life. Thy love makes me the happiest, and at the same time the unhappiest, of men. At my years, I need some uniformity, some equality, in my way of life; can this be in our mutual situation? Be easy; it is only by tranquil contemplation of our existence that we can accomplish our object of living together. What longing with tears after thee, my life, my all! Farewell. O continue to love me, and never mis...o...b.. the most faithful heart of thy

"Beloved LUDWIG."

With such a heart as Beethoven's, is that to be believed which M. Ries says of him in his '_Notizen_,' p. 117,--"He" (namely Beethoven) "was very often in love, but these attachments were mostly of very brief duration. One day when I was rallying him on the conquest of a fair lady, he confessed to me that this one had enthralled him longer and more powerfully than any--that is to say, full seven months."

But, with Beethoven's extraordinary susceptibility on the point of love, may he not actually have fared the same as others? How many phenomena pa.s.s before the eyes of a man, and leave behind an impression upon him only for moments or for days; till at length there comes one which instantly strikes deep into his heart, and incessantly goes before him, as his pole-star in all he does! This seemed indeed to be really the case with Beethoven. That he never forgot the lady in question is evident from his having frequently caused inquiries concerning her to be made by myself and others, and from the lively interest that he always took in everything relating to her. Circ.u.mstances forbid me to say more on this subject at present.

Another paper, likewise in his own hand-writing, of a rather later period, attesting his ardent longing for domestic happiness, runs literally thus:--"Love, and love alone, is capable of giving thee a happier life. O G.o.d, let me at length find her--her, who may strengthen me in virtue--who may _lawfully_ be mine!"

It cannot admit of a doubt that, if Beethoven had had the good fortune to meet with a female of like condition with himself, whom he could have called his own, who had thoroughly known and loved him--this, with his eminent qualities for domestic life, would have proved the foundation of his happiness; and that, under these circ.u.mstances, the world would have many more productions of his genius to boast of than it now possesses.

Beethoven needed such a Constanze as Mozart once called his (as artists and literary men in particular ought to have), who could, in like manner, have ventured to say to him, in a tone of kindness, "Stay at home, Ludwig, and work: such and such a one is waiting for what you promised," as Wolfgang's wife is reported to have frequently said to him. Such a woman would have deserved a monument, which he himself had no need of. To say that his deafness caused things to turn out otherwise, and that it was almost the only reason that Beethoven never enjoyed true happiness, is lamentable, but, alas! too true. It is remarkable that, notwithstanding the great confidence which he placed in me, on the subject of his attachments, I never heard anything drop from him but names which seemed to point that way; and it would not have become my youth to have questioned him concerning them. Thus even of the Giulietta, to whom I have adverted above, I have heard only casual mention by himself, and to this tender topic he would not suffer even his oldest friends to make allusion. What I have stated respecting her is nevertheless derived from the most authentic sources. The letters which I have inserted offer moreover incontestable evidence of the truth of what I have mentioned.

It is further said that Beethoven cherished a tender attachment to a Countess Marie Erdody, to whom he dedicated the two splendid Trios, Op.

70. But to me it appears to have been no more than a friendly intimacy between the two.[33] On this subject I know nothing particular, excepting that this lady, who was fond of the arts, erected in honour of her instructor and friend, in the park of one of her seats in Hungary, a handsome temple, the entrance to which is decorated with a characteristic inscription, pertinently expressing her homage to the great composer.

As Beethoven once observed of himself that he was composing several things at the same time, so this continued to be his practice. Thus, in the years 1806, 1807, and 1808, in which the fourth, fifth, and sixth Symphonies--those giants of musical poesy--sprang from his brain, he wrote many other works, as the catalogue attests. His C minor _Symphony_, and the _Pastorale_, were not brought out at the same time, as M. Ries states (p. 83), but at different, distant, intervals, as they were composed. It may be rationally a.s.sumed, _a priori_, that, to bring out for the first time, and close on the heels of each other, three works of such extent--M. Ries even adds to them the _Fantasia for the Piano-forte_, with orchestra and vocal music--at a period when the orchestra had not attained that degree of perfection which it has in our days, borders on the impossible.

In this, as in the former period, Beethoven conducted almost all his greater works himself on their first performance. As director of the orchestra, he was neither good nor bad. His impetuosity did not permit him to arrive at the tranquillity and self-command requisite. Feeling himself what each individual instrument had to do, he strove to make each of the performers equally sensible of it, and lost himself in gesticulations, which caused a wavering in the orchestra. His hardness of hearing, whence his listening for the prescribed falling-in of particular instruments, moreover occasioned frequent delays in pa.s.sages where the director ought to have urged the whole onward. At the time when his hearing was yet perfect, he had not often occasion to come in contact with the orchestra, and especially to acquire practice in the conducting department at the theatre, which is the best school for that purpose. In the concert-room the talent most fitted for this difficult function is never fully developed, and remains one-sided and awkward.

Thus we see composers of eminence incapable of conducting the orchestra in the performance of their own works, if they have not previously acquired the necessary routine, in listening to, and in superintending, numerous bands. If, therefore, Beethoven was frequently involved in unpleasant altercations with his orchestra, this was no more than might have been expected, but never did he descend to coa.r.s.eness and abuse; still less does a creature in Vienna know anything about such occurrences with the orchestra as are related by his friend and pupil, M. Ries (pp. 83 and 84), occurrences which "are said" to have happened in Vienna long after M. Ries had gone to Petersburg. And what conductor is there but sometimes gets into unpleasant squabbles with his orchestra, without any one ever attaching importance to them, or employing them as sources for a characteristic account of the man?[34]

[Ill.u.s.tration: musical notation; _Rhythm of 3 bars._]

This seems to be the proper place for mentioning that it was in this period that the friendships formed by Beethoven were increased by two, which had in general great influence over him, in the persons of Count Franz von Brunswick and Baron J. von Gleichenstein. Though not constantly resident in Vienna, they were frequently there, and Beethoven had opportunities of consulting them on matters of importance. Both possessing superior abilities and rare equanimity, and having penetrated deeply into his whole nature and his works, acquired such a control over Beethoven, without any a.s.sumption on their part, as enabled them to accomplish much that the officiousness of other friends could never have brought about. The former in particular possessed a profound comprehension of Beethoven's genius which I have never met with in so high a degree in any other of his admirers. Beethoven seems to have even then perceived this mental preponderance of that friend over others, when he dedicated to him the gigantic _Sonata_, Op. 57, and the _Fantasia_, Op. 77. "It must be of no ordinary quality," he probably thought, "if I am to honour a worthy friend according to his deserts."[35] To his friend, Baron von Gleichenstein, Beethoven dedicated the grand _Sonata with Violoncello_, Op. 69. Here I must further mention the Imperial Secretary M. von Zmeskall, who was one of Beethoven's warmest friends at that time, and who, like the two just mentioned, exercised considerable influence over him. To all these three excellent men the great master continued to be attached and grateful as long as he lived.

It was not the admiration of his genius, but a decided comprehension and appreciation of it, that attached Beethoven to a friend. For idolatrous admirers his heart was but a broad thoroughfare, along which thousands could go in and out without jostling against one another. And this is a sure sign of the truly superior genius, whose chief desire it is to be understood, and completely understood. Astonishment and admiration will then follow in due time and measure.

It will now be interesting to observe how much Beethoven's works had risen in value since the conclusion of the first and the beginning of the second period. Among his papers there is an agreement between him and Muzio Clementi, dated Vienna, the 20th of April, 1807, signed by both, and witnessed by Baron Gleichenstein. According to this agreement, Beethoven received from M. Clementi for duplicates of the following works:--1st. Three Quartetts; 2nd. The Fourth Symphony; 3rd.

The Overture to Coriola.n.u.s; 4th. The Fourth Concerto for the Piano-forte; 5th. The Violin Concerto--for sale in England, the sum of two hundred pounds sterling. (All these works had already been disposed of to German publishers.) Clementi further engaged by this agreement to pay Beethoven the sum of sixty pounds sterling for three Sonatas that were not yet composed.

The valuable presents that Beethoven received about this time were numerous, but all of them vanished without leaving any traces behind; and I have heard friends of his a.s.sert that the "evil principle" strove to keep not only kindly disposed persons but valuables of every sort away from him. It is said that, when he was asked,--"What is become of such a ring, or such a watch?" he would always reply, after some consideration, "I do not know." At the same time he well knew how it had been purloined from him, but he never would accuse his brothers of such dishonesty; on the contrary, he defended them in all their proceedings, and, in their bickerings with others, even with his most tried friends, he generally admitted, if not loudly, yet tacitly, that his brothers were in the right, and thus confirmed them in their practices against his personal interests. In particular, all that his elder brother Carl did he most obstinately defended, as he was extremely fond of him, and placed great reliance on his abilities.[36]

At the time of the second French invasion, in 1809, Beethoven did not quit Vienna any more than he had done during the first. Had he on this occasion been concerned for his personal safety, and capable of such cowardice as M. Ries leaves the reader to suppose that he betrayed,[37]

he could have taken a thousand opportunities to quit the capital before its occupation; and if, during its bombardment, he retreated to the cellar, he did no more than was done, at that critical moment, by the whole population; and Dr. Wegeler conjectures that he may have been moreover induced to take this precaution by the painful effect of the thunder of the cannon upon his ailing ear. No person that had any opportunity to observe Beethoven closely ever saw him timorous or cowardly; he was precisely the reverse, and knew neither fear nor apprehension: and this was quite in accordance with his natural character. Or is it to be presumed that he was timid and alarmed in the year 1809 alone? Did he not stay in Vienna and bring out his Fidelio during the first occupation of the French in 1805, though it was just as likely to have been preceded by a bombardment of the city?

In the year 1809 Beethoven was offered the appointment of Kapell-meister to the King of Westphalia, with a salary of 600 ducats. This offer of a secure provision was the first and the last he ever received in his life--the last, because his defective hearing incapacitated him for the functions of a director of music. But as it was considered discreditable for Austria to suffer the great composer, whom with pride she called her own, to be transferred to another country, an offer was made to him on the part of the Archduke Rudolph, Prince Kinsky, and Prince Lobkowitz, to settle upon him an annuity of 4000 florins in paper-money so long as he should not have any permanent appointment in the country, on this single condition, that he was not to leave Austria.[38] To this condition Beethoven acceded, and remained. But, so soon as the year 1811, the Austrian finance-patent reduced these 4000 florins to one-fifth; nevertheless Beethoven could not prevail upon his ill.u.s.trious patrons to make any modification in the stipulations of 1809. How he fared in the sequel in regard to this fifth of his pension, how materially it was further diminished, we shall see at the proper place in the third period.

In the year 1810 Beethoven brought out his first Ma.s.s (Op. 86) at Eisenstadt, the summer residence of Prince Esterhazy. M. Hummel was then Kapell-meister to the prince. After the service, Prince Paul Esterhazy, who, it is well known, had a particular predilection for Haydn's church music, received our Beethoven and other eminent persons in his mansion. When the composer entered, the prince said to him in an indifferent tone--"But, my dear Beethoven, what have you been about here again?" in allusion to the work which had just been performed.

Disconcerted by this expression of the prince's, Beethoven was still more so, when he saw Hummel stand laughing by the side of the prince.

Fancying that he was laughing at him, and moreover that he could perceive a malicious sneer in his professional colleague, he could stay no longer in a place where his production was so ill appreciated. He left the prince's residence the same day, without ascertaining whether that obnoxious laugh had applied to him, or whether it might not more probably have been occasioned by the way and manner in which the prince expressed himself. His hatred to Hummel on this account struck such deep root, that I am not acquainted with any second instance of the kind in the course of his life. Fourteen years afterwards, he related this circ.u.mstance to me with as much asperity as though it had happened only the preceding day. But this dark cloud was dispelled by the energy of his mind, and this would have been the case much sooner had Hummel made friendly advances, and not kept continually aloof, which he did, owing to the fact that both had once been in love with the same lady; but Hummel was, and continued to be, the favoured suitor, because he had an appointment, and had not the misfortune to be hard of hearing.

When Beethoven heard, in the last days of his life, that Hummel was expected at Vienna, he was overjoyed, and said--"Oh! if he would but call to see me!" Hummel did call, the very day after his arrival, in company with M. And. Streicher; and the meeting of the old friends, after they had not seen each other for so many years, was extremely affecting. Hummel, struck by Beethoven's suffering looks, wept bitterly.

Beethoven strove to appease him, by holding out to him a drawing of the house at Rohrau in which Haydn was born, sent to him that morning by Diabelli, with the words--"Look, my dear Hummel, here is Haydn's birth-place; it is a present that I received this morning, and it gives me very great pleasure. So great a man born in so mean a cottage!"

Hummel afterwards paid him several visits, and every unpleasant circ.u.mstance that had occurred between them was totally forgotten at the first interview. They agreed to meet again the following summer at Carlsbad, but ten or twelve days afterwards Beethoven expired, and Hummel attended him to the grave.

As it is my intention, as well as my principle, to follow merely the more important incidents in Beethoven's life that stand in direct relation to his individuality, I shall record but one more fact which occurred in the year 1810, and which in its results was important to Beethoven.

That Beethoven was beset by visitors from the most distant countries, and but too often annoyed by them, must appear extremely natural, considering his position with regard to his contemporaries. If s.p.a.ce permitted, I could relate interesting particulars of Germans, Russians, Swedes, Poles, Danes, French, and especially of English, who approached Beethoven with all the deference they would pay to a sovereign, and who, when they were in his presence and saw his unhappy situation, of which they could not before form any conception, were most of them overwhelmed with melancholy. With tears did many a lady of rank inscribe the a.s.surance of her profound respect in his conversation-book, since he could no longer hear her voice; and with tears in their eyes, too, did most of them take leave of him.[39] Many such scenes did I witness while I was about him. Is the reader curious to learn how Beethoven behaved towards such visitors? Always with more than usual kindliness--talkative, cordial, witty--never as a prince in his realm, and never did he allow his visitors to perceive how deeply galling was his misfortune.

Among his female visitors, in 1810, was Bettina Brentano (von Arnim), of Frankfurt on the Mayne, who, in her letters to Gothe, has described what pa.s.sed, and whose reports of her interviews with Beethoven in _Gothe's Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde_ (Gothe's Correspondence with a Child), must be well known to many of the admirers of the great master.

It is the latter circ.u.mstance that, for the reason a.s.signed in the Introduction, induces me to make a brief remark on Bettina's statements.

Whoever reads, in the work just mentioned, (_Gothe's Briefwechsel_, Band ii. 190) what the evidently somewhat over-strained Bettina, in her letter of the 28th of May, 1810, puts into the mouth of Beethoven, cannot fail to set him down for a _bel esprit_ and a most verbose talker, but very erroneously. Beethoven's mode of expressing and explaining himself, on all and every occasion, was throughout his whole life the simplest, shortest, and most concise, both in speaking and writing, as is everywhere proved by the latter. To listen to highly-polished and flowery phrases, or to read anything written in that style, was disagreeable to him, being contrary to his nature; still less was he himself an adept in it: in all respects simple, plain, without a trace of pompousness--such was Beethoven likewise in conversation. That he thought of his art in the way that Bettina describes, that he recognised in it a higher revelation, and placed it above all wisdom and all philosophy; this was a theme on which he did, indeed, often speak, but always very briefly. With what respect he regarded at the same time other arts and sciences, all of which he held to be closely connected with his own art, is peculiarly worthy of remark.

How would Beethoven have been astonished at all the fine speeches which the sprightly Bettina puts into his mouth--which would be well enough in a poetical work on the master--but, given as matter of fact, are indeed contrary to his whole nature! He would undoubtedly say,--"My dear Bettina, you, who have such a flow of words and ideas, must certainly have had a _raptus_ when you wrote in that manner to Gothe."[40]

Beethoven's letters to Bettina also attest the simplicity and unaffectedness of his way of expressing himself.[41] A single example will suffice to show this: Beethoven writes in 1812 from Toplitz, in Bohemia, to her among others--"Kings and princes can, to be sure, make professors, privy councillors, &c., and confer t.i.tles and orders, but they cannot make great men--minds which rise above the common herd[42]--these they must not pretend to make, and therefore must these be held in honour. When two men such as Gothe and I come together, even the high and mighty perceive what is to be considered as great in men like us. Yesterday, on our way home, we met the whole imperial family.

We saw them coming from a distance, and Gothe separated from me to stand aside: say what I would, I could not make him advance another step. I pressed my hat down upon my head, b.u.t.toned up my great-coat, and walked with folded arms through the thickest of the throng. Princes and pages formed a line, the Archduke Rudolph took off his hat, and the Empress made the first salutation. Those gentry know me. I saw to my real amus.e.m.e.nt the procession file past Gothe. He stood aside, with his hat off, and bending lowly. I rallied him smartly for it; I gave him no quarter; flung in his face all his sins, and most of all, that against you, dearest Bettina: we had been just talking about you. Good G.o.d! if it had been my lot to pa.s.s such a time with you as he did, depend upon it, I should have produced many, many more great works. A composer is a poet too; he too can feel himself suddenly transported by a couple of eyes into a fairer world, where greater geniuses make game of him, and set him excessively hard tasks."

The results of the acquaintance with that interesting woman were, however, so important for Beethoven, that they might well excuse a whole volume of such inspired effusions of his and concerning him.

Through her Beethoven became acquainted with the house of Brentano in Frankfort, in which he found a friend indeed. The following lines, addressed by Beethoven to me, in February 1823, show in the clearest manner what the Brentano family was to him:--"Try to find out some humane creature, who will lend me money upon a bank share, that, in the first place, I may not encroach too much on the liberality of my friend Brentano, and that by the delay of this money,[43] I may not get myself into distress, thanks to the notable measures and arrangements of my dearly beloved brother."