Chapter VI: Introduction (2)

In all Germany, and particularly in Vienna, music was much cultivated, and that chiefly good music (because then there was not so much bad produced as succeeding years have brought forth); for the lower classes, among whom there had previously been many attentive auditors, began to pay more and more attention to the divine art, but at the same time rarely possessed high mental cultivation, or had a just conception of the nature of music and its sublimest object, and upon the whole was still full of prejudices against every art;--when the number of composers was not yet swollen to legion, and was confined to those who were really qualified by Nature, though not always endowed with the lofty powers of genius. But all these persons meant honestly by art, which, now-a-days, is too rarely the case; and, to mean honestly by a matter to which one dedicates one's abilities, tends greatly to promote its success. The magicians of those days, Herder, Wieland, Lessing, Göthe, and many more; together with Gluck, Sebastian Bach and his sons, Mozart, Haydn, Salieri, and the aspiring Beethoven, had exercised such a beneficial influence on the nobler, the intellectual cultivation, especially of the superior classes, that art and science were reckoned by very many among the highest, the chief requisites of intellectual existence. In the German Opera, which, through Gluck and Mozart, had attained its acme, and arrived at the same degree of perfection and estimation as the Italian, truth of expression, dignity, and sublimity in every point, were far more highly prized than the mere fluency of throat, hollow pathos, and excitements of sense, studied in that of the present day. These two institutions operated powerfully on all who were susceptible of what is truly beautiful and noble. Haydn's "Creation," and Handel's Oratorios, attracted unprecedented auditories, and afforded the highest gratification, with bands of one hundred and fifty, or at most two hundred performers; whereas, in our over-refined times, from six to eight hundred, nay, even upwards of a thousand, are required by people in order to enjoy the din which this legion produces, while little or no attention is paid to the main point.[21] In short, at that time people thankfully accepted great things offered with small means, sought mind and soul in music as the highest gratification, and had no conception of that materialism which now-a-days presides over musical matters, any more than they had of the tendency of the gradual improvements in the mechanism of musical instruments and their abuse to lower taste. The dillettantism of that period remained modestly in its place, and did not offer itself for hire, as at the present day, in every province and in every country, paid sincere respect to art and artists, and arrogated to itself no position which the accomplished professional man alone should have occupied--a mal-practice now so common in many places. In a word, people really loved music without ostentation; they allowed it to operate upon them with its magic charms, no matter whether it was executed by four performers or by four hundred, and employed it in general as the surest medium for improving heart and mind, and thus giving a noble direction to the feelings. The German nation could still derive the inspiration of simple greatness, genuine sensibility, and humane feelings from its music; it still thoroughly understood the art of drawing down from the magic sphere of harmony the inexpressible and the spiritually sublime, and securing them for itself.

In and with those times, and among their noblest and best, lived Beethoven, in cheerful Vienna, where his genius found thousand-fold encouragement to exert its power, free and unfettered, and exposed to no other misrepresentations and enmity than those of envy alone.

This was a splendid era of art, such an era as may perhaps never recur; and, with special reference to Beethoven, the golden age. Under such circumstances, surrounded and beloved by persons of such delicate sentiments, he ought to have been completely happy; and he certainly would have been so but for a hardness of hearing, which, even then,--that is to say, in the latter years of this first period of his life,--began to afflict him, and was sometimes of long continuance. This complaint, which affected his temper, was subsequently aggravated into a dreadful disease, which rendered him inexpressibly miserable.

SECOND PERIOD.

FROM 1800 TO OCTOBER, 1813.

General View of the Second Period of Beethoven's Life--Composition
of his "Christ on the Mount of Olives" and "Fidelio"--His brothers,
Carl and Johann; their mischievous influence--His severe
Illness--Remarkable Will addressed to them--His "Sinfonia Eroica,"
in honour of Napoleon--Count Moritz von Lichnowsky--Opera of
"Fidelio"--Beethoven's Neglect of Vocal Performers--Their Intrigues
and Cabals--His Passion for Julia--Letters to her--Disappointed
Love--Countess Marie Erdödy--Beethoven as Director of the
Orchestra--Animadversions on Statements of Ferdinand
Ries--Beethoven forms a friendship with Count Franz von Brunswick
and Baron Gleichenstein--Prices paid for his Compositions during
the Second Period--Misconduct of his Brothers--Defence of his
Character against the charge of Cowardice--Annuity settled upon
him, to keep him in Austria--His dislike of, and reconciliation
with, Hummel--Foreign Visitors--Bettina
Brentano--Göthe--Beethoven's frequent change of Residence--His
Domestic Circumstances.

This second period is, from beginning to end, a complete labyrinth, in which the great composer was lost, and where the biographer, too, might lose his way along with him, if he were not to hold all the threads of this drama firmly and tightly in his hands, and if he were not intimately acquainted with the characters of all the actors in it. The "evil principle," in the shape of his two brothers, Carl and Johann, incessantly besets him, and pursues him wherever he goes. Fate deprives him of hearing, and thus bars the access to word or tone. A host of friends and admirers of all classes throng around him for the purpose of delivering him from both these evils; they pour their counsels into the ear of poor Beethoven, who listens only to those of the last friend, which, however, the "evil principle" is always at hand to counteract. The entanglements multiply: envy, intrigue, and all sorts of passions, strive to perform their parts to the best of their power, and close every avenue and outlet. With regret, the biographer is obliged here to inform the reader beforehand, that this drama unfortunately is not concluded in this second period: at the same time he admits with pleasure that, in the thousand conflicts and collisions, the sacred Muse conducted her high-priest with protecting hand, since she caused him to meet with several excellent friends, who found means to secure his confidence for a length of time, and assisted to bring him as unharmed as could be expected out of this labyrinth of human frailties and passions to the third period of his life.[22]

The scene before us shows but too plainly how difficult a task is here imposed upon the biographer, to unravel this tangled web, and, with its threads, to continue to weave the history with a due regard to truth and justice. He shall therefore be obliged to treat very summarily of the greater part of those unhappy circumstances, together with their causes; and to throw them overboard, wherever it can be done, as superfluous ballast, entreating the reader to have recourse to his own imagination for filling up the details of many a scene.

In the year 1800 we find Beethoven engaged in the composition of his "Christ on the Mount of Olives," the first performance of which took place on the 5th of April, 1803. He wrote this work during his summer-residence at Hetzendorf, a pleasant village, closely contiguous to the gardens of the imperial palace of Schönbrunn, where he passed several summers of his life in profound seclusion. There he again resided in 1805, and wrote his "Fidelio." A circumstance connected with both these great works, and of which Beethoven many years afterwards still retained a lively recollection, was, that he composed them in the thickest part of the wood in the park of Schönbrunn, seated between the two stems of an oak, which shot out from the main trunk at the height of about two feet from the ground. This remarkable tree, in that part of the park to the left of the Gloriett, I found with Beethoven in 1823, and the sight of it called forth interesting reminiscences of the former period. With respect to the above-mentioned Oratorio, I ought not to omit mentioning the circumstance, that Beethoven, in the last year of his life, found fault with himself for having treated the part of Christ too dramatically, and would have given a great deal to be able to correct that "fault." Towards the end of the autumn of 1800 his Second Symphony, and the Concerto in C minor, were performed for the first time.

It was during this period that his brother Carl (his real name was Caspar), who had some years previously followed him to Vienna, began to govern him, and to make Beethoven suspicious of his sincerest friends and adherents, from wrong notions, or, perhaps, even from jealousy. It was only the still undiminished authority of Prince Lichnowsky over Beethoven and his true interests, that intimidated the latter, and somewhat checked the perversity of his brother Carl, and thereby peace was still for a short time ensured to our Beethoven and those around him. At any rate, here already commences the history of Beethoven's sufferings, which terminated only with his death, and which originated not only in the conduct of his brother, but also in his own gradually increasing deafness, and the distrust which it engendered. This first brother was joined in time by a second, Johann, whose sentiments soon became identified with those of Carl; so that the mass of the counterpoise to the scale containing what was truly necessary and salutary for Beethoven became too compact, and defied all who were acquainted with his noble disposition and his aspiring genius, and who had striven to elevate the latter by means of the former. And how did Beethoven behave amidst the innumerable contradictions and contrasts that already everywhere pursued him? Like a boy, who, having dropped from an ideal world upon the earth, utterly destitute of experience, is tossed like a ball from hand to hand, consequently is entirely under the influence of others; and such was Beethoven's case throughout his whole life.

Let this serve the reader for a key to many an enigma that will hereafter present itself to him in regard to Beethoven's conduct. We perceive from this explanation how complicated those circumstances are already becoming, which must necessarily operate upon his mental and intellectual exertions, and ultimately on his whole physical existence. But, at the same time, we see how much depends on those about such a man, who continues in a sort of childhood, but whose mind attains a greatness that cannot harmonise with anything about him; whose will in everything becomes absolute law, even for the purpose of trying and condemning himself. Such was Beethoven throughout his whole life. Hence his never-ceasing opposition to every existing political institution; for, in his ideal world, everything was different--everything better; and whoever coincided in these notions, to him he attached himself, and frequently with the warmest affection. Such impressions, however, were but transient, owing, in many cases, to a too ready accordance with his notions, when this appeared to be the result not of conviction, but of personal respect for himself. This he termed _flattery_, and to him it was at all times particularly offensive.

In the first months of 1802, Beethoven was attacked by a severe illness, in which he was attended by Dr. Schmidt, the celebrated physician, whom he numbered among his esteemed friends, and to whom, in token of gratitude, he dedicated the Septett arranged by himself as a Trio. On his recovery he removed to Heiligenstadt, a village about seven miles distant from Vienna, where he passed the whole of the summer. There he wrote that remarkable will, which I sent after his death to the editor of the _Wiener Theater Zeitung_, and to M. Rochlitz, at Leipzig, for the _Musikalische Zeitung_, of that city. That document, which must not be omitted here, is to this effect:[23]--

"_For my Brothers, Carl and ... Beethoven._

"O ye, who consider or declare me to be hostile, obstinate, or
misanthropic, what injustice ye do me!--ye know not the secret
causes of that which to you wears such an appearance. My heart and
my mind were from childhood prone to the tender feelings of
affection. Nay, I was always disposed even to perform great
actions. But only consider that, for the last six years, I have
been attacked by an incurable complaint, aggravated by the
unskilful treatment of medical men, disappointed from year to year
in the hope of relief, and at last obliged to submit to the
endurance of an evil, the cure of which may last perhaps for years,
if it is practicable at all. Born with a lively, ardent
disposition, susceptible to the diversions of society, I was forced
at an early age to renounce them, and to pass my life in seclusion.
If I strove at any time to set myself above all this, O how cruelly
was I driven back by the doubly painful experience of my defective
hearing! and yet it was not possible for me to say to
people--'Speak louder--bawl--for I am deaf!' Ah! how could I
proclaim the defect of a sense, that I once possessed in the
highest perfection, in a perfection in which few of my colleagues
possess or ever did possess it! Indeed, I cannot! Forgive me, then,
if ye see me draw back when I would gladly mingle among you. Doubly
mortifying is my misfortune to me, as it must tend to cause me to
be misconceived. From recreation in the society of my
fellow-creatures, from the pleasures of conversation, from the
effusions of friendship, I am cut off. Almost alone in the world, I
dare not venture into society more than absolute necessity
requires. I am obliged to live as in exile. If I go into company, a
painful anxiety comes over me, since I am apprehensive of being
exposed to the danger of betraying my situation. Such has been my
state, too, during this half year that I have spent in the country.
Enjoined by my intelligent physician to spare my hearing as much as
possible, I have been almost encouraged by him in my present
natural disposition; though, hurried away by my fondness for
society, I sometimes suffered myself to be enticed into it. But
what a humiliation, when any one standing beside me could hear at a
distance a flute that I could not hear, or any one heard the
shepherd singing and I could not distinguish a sound! Such
circumstances brought me to the brink of despair, and had well nigh
made me put an end to my life: nothing but my art held my hand. Ah!
it seemed to me impossible to quit the world before I had produced
all that I felt myself called to accomplish. And so I endured this
wretched life--so truly wretched, that a somewhat speedy change is
capable of transporting me from the best into the worst condition.
Patience--so I am told--I must choose for my guide. I have done so.
Stedfast, I hope, will be my resolution to persevere, till it shall
please the inexorable Fates to cut the thread. Perhaps there may be
amendment--perhaps not; I am prepared for the worst--I, who so
early as my twenty-eighth year, was forced to become a
philosopher--it is not easy--for the artist, more difficult than
for any other. O! God, thou lookest down upon my misery; thou
knowest that it is accompanied with love of my fellow-creatures and
a disposition to do good! O, men! when ye shall read this, think
that ye have wronged me: and let the child of affliction take
comfort on finding one like himself, who, in spite of all the
impediments of nature, yet did all that lay in his power to obtain
admittance into the rank of worthy artists and men. You, my
brothers, Carl and ..., as soon as I am dead, if Professor Schmidt
be yet living, request him, in my name, to write a description of
my disease, and to that description annex this paper, that after my
death the world may, at least, be as much as possible reconciled
with me. At the same time, I declare both of you the heirs of the
little property (if it can be so called) belonging to me. Divide it
fairly; agree together, and help one another. What you have done to
grieve me, that, you know, has long been forgiven. Thee, brother
Carl, I thank in particular, for the affection thou hast shown me
of late. My wish is that you may live more happily, more exempt
from care, than I have done. Recommend virtue to your children;
that alone--not wealth--can give happiness; I speak from
experience. It was this that upheld me even in affliction; it is
owing to this and to my art that I did not terminate my life by
suicide. Farewell, and love one another. I thank all friends,
especially Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmidt. I wish that
Prince L.'s instruments may remain in the possession of one of you;
but let no quarrel arise between you on account of them. In case,
however, they can be more serviceable to you in another way,
dispose of them. How glad I am to think that I may be of use to you
even in my grave! So let it be done! I go to meet death with joy.
If he comes before I have had occasion to develop all my
professional abilities, he will come too soon for me, in spite of
my hard fate, and I should wish that he had delayed his arrival.
But even then I am content, for he will release me from a state of
endless suffering. Come when thou wilt, I shall meet thee with
firmness. Farewell, and do not quite forget me after I am dead; I
have deserved that you should think of me, for in my lifetime I
have often thought of you to make you happy. May you ever be so!

"LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN,
m. p. (L.S.)

"_Heiligenstadt, October 6th, 1802._"

On the outside was the following:--

"For my brothers, Carl and ..., to read and to execute after my
demise.

"_Heiligenstadt, October 10th, 1802._

"Thus, then, I take my leave of thee, and that with sorrow. Yes,
the fond hope that I brought hither with me of cure, at least to a
certain point, will now entirely forsake me. As the leaves of
autumn fall withered to the ground, so is that hope become withered
for me. Nearly as I came hither do I go away; even that lofty
courage, which frequently animated me in the fine days of summer,
has abandoned me. O, Providence! grant that a day of pure joy may
once break for me! How long have I been a stranger to the
delightful sound of real joy! When, O, God! when can I again feel
it in the temple of Nature and of men?--never? Nay that would be
too hard!"[24]

It was not till the autumn of 1802 that his state of mind had so far improved as to permit him to resume a plan which he had formed of doing homage to Napoleon, the hero of the day, in a grand instrumental work, and to set about its execution. But it was not till the following year that he applied himself in good earnest to that gigantic composition, known by the title of "_Sinfonia Eroica_," which, however, in consequence of various interruptions, was not finished till 1804. In the mean time Beethoven wrote several Sonatas and Quartetts, which were bespoken by various noble personages and publishers. The original idea of that Symphony is said to have been suggested by General Bernadotte, who was then French ambassador at Vienna, and had a high esteem for our Beethoven. So I was informed by several of his friends. Count Moritz Lichnowsky, (brother of Prince Lichnowsky), who was frequently with Beethoven in Bernadotte's company, and who is my authority for many circumstances belonging to this second period, gave me the same account. He was always about Beethoven, and was not less attached to him than his brother.[25] The particulars relative to this subject, communicated to me by Beethoven himself, I shall reserve for the third period, where I shall have occasion to make mention of a letter addressed, in 1823, to the King of Sweden, formerly General Bernadotte.

In his political sentiments Beethoven was a republican; the spirit of independence natural to a genuine artist gave him a decided bias that way. Plato's "Republic" was transfused into his flesh and blood, and upon the principles of that philosopher he reviewed all the constitutions in the world. He wished all institutions to be modelled upon the plan prescribed by Plato. He lived in the firm belief that Napoleon entertained no other design than to republicanise France upon similar principles, and thus, as he conceived, a beginning would be made for the general happiness of the world. Hence his respect and enthusiasm for Napoleon.

A fair copy of the musical work for the first consul of the French republic, the conqueror of Marengo, with the dedication to him, was on the point of being despatched through the French embassy to Paris, when news arrived in Vienna that Napoleon Bonaparte had caused himself to be proclaimed Emperor of the French. The first thing Beethoven did on receiving this intelligence was to tear off the title-leaf of this Symphony, and to fling the work itself, with a torrent of execrations against the new French Emperor, against the "new tyrant," upon the floor, from which he would not allow it to be lifted.[26] It was a long time before Beethoven recovered from the shock, and permitted this work to be given to the world with the title of "Sinfonia Eroica," and underneath it this motto: "Per festegiare il sovvenire d'un gran uomo."[27] I shall only add that it was not till the tragic end of the great Emperor at St. Helena, that Beethoven was reconciled with him, and sarcastically remarked, that, seventeen years before, he had composed appropriate music to this catastrophe, in which it was exactly predicted, musically, but unwittingly--alluding to the Dead March in that Symphony.

In the years 1804 and 1805, Beethoven was almost exclusively engaged in the composition of his Opera "Fidelio," in three acts, which was performed, for the first time, by the title of "Leonore," at the Theater an der Wien, in the autumn of 1805.[28] The fortunes which befel this extraordinary work and its author, till it was rounded into the form in which we now enjoy it, were more singular than perhaps any production of this kind before or since ever experienced; and I fear that I shall be too prolix, even if I relate only the more important circumstances and their consequences to the author.

It was the Overture in the first place that put our master in a painful situation. It was finished, but the composer himself was not thoroughly satisfied with it, and therefore agreed that it should be first tried by a small orchestra, at Prince Lichnowsky's. There it was unanimously pronounced by a knot of connoisseurs to be too light, and not sufficiently expressive of the nature of the work; consequently it was laid aside and never made its appearance again in Beethoven's lifetime.[29] M. Tob. Haslinger, of Vienna, to whom this Overture was transferred, among other things, by his predecessor, published it a few years since, numbered, Op. 138.

The second Overture (in C major, like the first) with which the Opera was first performed upon the stage, is indisputably the cleverest of the four Overtures that Beethoven wrote to Fidelio, and the one which best characterises the subject. But it was too difficult in the part of the wind-instruments, which always executed their task to the great vexation of the composer; it was therefore obliged to give way to a third (that published by Breitkopf and Härtel), which has the same motivo in the introduction as also in the allegro-movement, with small variations; but upon the whole is totally different from the second, which has not yet been published.

In the third Overture, which was substituted 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 circumstance 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 Mass, 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 passion 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 pass 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 gods 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 God! 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 God! 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 misdoubt 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 pass 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. Circumstances 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 God, 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 circumstances, 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 Erdödy, 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 assumed, _à 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 passages 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 coarseness 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]

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 assumption 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 Coriolanus; 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 assert 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 illustrious 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 Mass (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 circumstance 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 circumstance 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 space 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 assurance 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 Göthe, has described what passed, and whose reports of her interviews with Beethoven in _Göthe's Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde_ (Göthe's Correspondence with a Child), must be well known to many of the admirers of the great master. It is the latter circumstance that, for the reason assigned in the Introduction, induces me to make a brief remark on Bettina's statements.

Whoever reads, in the work just mentioned, (_Göthe'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.