Chapter XVII (2)

And did he now sit himself down zealously and perseveringly to work on a ninth and tenth symphony? Not at all. His thoughts had become engaged upon a new pianoforte sonata (in B-flat, Op. 106), and so far as is yet discovered, he did not even resume his work on the Ninth Symphony, some parts of which were already sketched. That “indecision in many things,” noted by Breuning a dozen years before, was only aggravated by the lapse of time; and this now was his bane. There was really nothing to prevent his departing at once except that the new symphonies were still to be written. If his nephew must remain in or near Vienna, he could nowhere be so well placed as in the school and family of the excellent Giannatasios, who had all the necessary legal power to save the boy from the bad influence of his mother. The effects of such a journey; of a stay of some months in England; of the intercourse of cultivated people; of the enthusiastic admiration which awaited him there, and of the great pecuniary rewards for his labors which were certain, could only have been propitious in the highest degree to both his physical and mental health. There was, too, just now a new and powerful motive for accepting and fulfilling this engagement.

[Sidenote: WHAT MIGHT HAVE COME FROM A LONDON VISIT]

Though the depreciation of the redemption certificates never quite touched the point feared by him in his letter to Ries in 1815, it did once amount to 4 for 1; and the Government was again forced to repudiate its obligations in part. It founded that National Bank (seven shares in which Beethoven soon afterwards purchased), and made a contract with a new institution by which the bank assumed the obligation of redeeming the redemption certificates at the rate of 2-1/2 for 1. It went into full operation July 15, 1817, and thenceforth Beethoven’s annuity remained instead of 3,400 florins in that paper, 1,360 florins in silver. But this fatal indecision! Could he have but resolutely taken up any two of the many new symphonies which he had planned, as the sketchbooks show, and once fairly engaged himself upon them, he could not have rested until they were finished; he could, and doubtless would, then have redeemed his promises; and like Handel, Haydn and many other German musicians of far less note, have secured from an admiring and generous London public an ample sufficiency for the future. The standard of excellence was high and catholic in London and musical taste pure and exalted. True, at the first trial of the C minor Symphony by the Philharmonic Society a part of it only was played, for the leader of the violins--really the conductor, as the orchestras were then constituted--declared it “rubbish.” But this leader was a German--our old Bonn acquaintance J. P. Salomon. He, however, repented and made amends. At another trial of it, two or three years afterwards, after the first movement, Salomon laid his violin upon the pianoforte, walked to the front and, turning to the orchestra said (through his nose): “Gentlemen, some years ago I called this symphony rubbish; I wish to retract every word I then said, as I now consider it one of the greatest compositions I ever heard!”

[Sidenote: CIPRIANI POTTER AND BEETHOVEN]

We have had occasion heretofore to refer to several young British Beethoven enthusiasts; another is now added to the list--Cipriani Potter--who came just at this time to Vienna, bringing letters to the composer from Neate, Ries, Rode, Dragonetti and others. He heard so much of Beethoven’s rudeness of manners and moroseness of disposition, and so often noticed how people shook their heads when he or his music was mentioned, that he hesitated to visit him. Two weeks had thus passed when one day, at Streicher’s, he was asked if he had seen Beethoven and if he had letters to him. He therefore explained why he had not seen him. He was told this was all nonsense; Beethoven would receive him kindly. He exclaimed: “I will go out at once!” which he did, namely, to Mödling.[178] He presented a letter or two, one of the first being that of Dragonetti. Upon opening that Beethoven also opened his heart to his visitor and demanded immediately to see some of his compositions. Potter showed him an overture--probably one that had been commissioned and played by the London Philharmonic Society in 1816. Beethoven looked through it so hurriedly that Potter thought he had only glanced at it out of politeness and was greatly astonished when Beethoven pointed to a deep F-sharp in the bassoon part and said it was not practicable. He made other observations of a similar nature and advised him to go to a teacher; he himself gave no lessons but would look through all his compositions. In answer to Potter’s question as to whom he would recommend, Beethoven replied: “I have lost my Albrechtsberger and have no confidence in anybody else”; nevertheless, on Beethoven’s recommendation Potter became a pupil of Aloys Förster, with whom he studied a long time until one day the teacher said to him that he had now studied sufficiently and needed only to practise himself in composition. This brought out the remark from Beethoven that no one ought ever to stop studying; he himself had not studied enough: “Tell Förster that he is an old flatterer!” Potter did so, but Förster only laughed. Beethoven never complimented Potter to his face; he would say: “Very good, very good,” but never give unequivocal praise. Yet at Streicher’s he praised him and expressed his surprise that Potter did not visit him at Mödling.[179] Once Beethoven advised him never to compose sitting in a room in which there was a pianoforte, in order not to be tempted to consult the instrument; after a work was finished he might try it over on the instrument, because an orchestra was not always to be had.

Beethoven used to walk across the fields to Vienna very often and sometimes Potter took the walk with him. Beethoven would stop, look around and give expression to his love for nature. One day Potter asked: “Who is the greatest living composer, yourself excepted?” Beethoven seemed puzzled for a moment, then exclaimed “Cherubini.” Potter went on: “And of dead authors?” Beethoven answered that he had always considered Mozart as such, but since he had been made acquainted with Handel he had put him at the head. The first day that Potter was with Beethoven the latter rushed into politics and called the Austrian government all sorts of names.[180] He was full of going to England and said his desire was to see the House of Commons. “You have heads upon your shoulders in England,” he remarked. One day Potter asked him his opinion of one of the principal pianists then in Vienna (Moscheles). “Don’t ever talk to me again about mere passage players,” came the answer. At another time Beethoven declared that John Cramer had given him more satisfaction than anybody else. According to the same informant, Beethoven spoke Italian fluently but French with less ease. It was in Italian that Potter conversed with him, making himself heard by using his hands as a speaking-trumpet; Beethoven did not always hear everything, but was content when he caught the meaning. Potter considered “Fidelio” the greatest of all operas and once remarked to Beethoven that he had heard it in Vienna, which brought out the remark that he had ~not~ heard it, as the singers then at the opera-house were not able to sing it. He was asked if he did not intend to write another opera. “Yes,” replied Beethoven, “I am now composing ‘Romulus’;[181] but the poets are all such fools; I will not compose silly rubbish.” Potter told him of the deep impression made upon him by the Septet when first he heard it; Beethoven replied in effect that when he wrote the piece he did not know how to compose; he knew now, he thought, and, either then or at another time, he said, “I am writing something better now.” Soon after, the Pianoforte Sonata in B-flat (Op. 106) was published.

Another visitor now, and probably occasionally during the winter following, was Heinrich Marschner, who had come from Carlsbad to Vienna on the invitation of Count Amadée. He was 21 years old, ambitious and eager to get Beethoven’s judgment on some of his compositions, which he carried to the great master in manuscript. Beethoven received him, glanced through the music hurriedly, handed it back with a muttered “Hm,” in a tone more of satisfaction than dispraise, and the words: “I haven’t much time--do not come often--bring me something again.” The young man was grievously disappointed; he had expected so much more. He did not understand Beethoven’s sententious manner, and not until he told the story of his reception to his patron and Prof. Klein of Pressburg, did he recall that Beethoven had looked kindly upon him when he spoke the words and had given him his hand at parting. He had gone to his lodgings in a passion of despondency, torn up the manuscripts, packed his trunk with the resolve to abandon music and return to Leipsic to continue his studies for the profession for which he had been designed. But now, on the advice of his friends, he took a different view of Beethoven’s actions, and continued his intercourse with him. The great man was always gracious, and even occasionally let fall a word of encouragement; but an intimacy never sprang up between them.

[Sidenote: ANOTHER MYSTERIOUS PASSION]

Beethoven’s intercourse with a third new acquaintance was, doubtless, far more delightful than any other; but not at all of the nature assumed by Schindler, who has attributed to it a very exaggerated and, indeed, ludicrous importance. This visitor was Frau Marie Pachler-Koschak, of Gratz, whom Anselm Hüttenbrenner described as the most beautiful maiden and for several years the most beautiful woman in her native town, who was called “heaven’s daughter,” and who “glowed with admiration for Jean Paul, Goethe, Schiller, Beethoven, Mozart and Schubert.” Beethoven had already heard from Prof. Schneller, whose pupil she had been, of her extraordinary beauty, talents, intellectual culture and refinement, and of her genius for music. He had unconsciously the year before borne testimony to this last in this wise: Her brother-in-law, Anton Pachler, ~Dr. jur.~ in Vienna, had at her request showed him for an opinion a fantasia composed by her, but without disclosing the author’s identity. Beethoven looked at the piece carefully and said that it was a good deal from one who had not studied composition, and if the composer were present he would point out the faults in it; it would take too much time to do this in writing and the composer would find them out for himself if he studied diligently. The lady was 24 years old and had been married a little over a year. She had never been in Vienna, Beethoven never in Gratz, and they, of course, had never met. But when they did, it could not be as strangers; for his music had been to her like a new divine revelation, and such noble mental and personal qualities as distinguished her always awakened in him feelings akin to worship. Unfortunately, absolutely nothing is known of their personal association except that Dr. Anton Pachler introduced her to him, that she wrote ten years later that “they were often in each other’s company,” and that Beethoven wrote her two notes “in pencil”--one utterly illegible, the other in terms placing her as a player of his pianoforte music even higher than Frau von Ertmann. He wrote:

I am greatly delighted that you will remain another day, we will
make a lot more music, you will play the sonata in F major and C
minor for me, will you not? I have never yet found anybody who
plays my compositions as well as you do. Not even excepting the
great pianists, they either have nothing but technique or are
affected. You are the true guardian of my intellectual offspring.

Her son has so fully exploded Schindler’s assumption that she was the object of Beethoven’s “autumnal love” that no words need be wasted upon it. It was, no doubt, upon seeing in Beethoven’s papers the letter “M”[182] in this outburst of feeling:

Love alone--yes, only love can possibly give you a happier life--O
God, let me--let me finally find the one--who will strengthen me in
virtue--who will ~lawfully~ be mine.

Baden on July 27

when M drove past and seemed to give a glance at me--

A consideration of the dates given in Dr. Pachler’s pamphlet proves conclusively, however, that this “M” cannot refer to Marie Pachler, for its writer could never have seen her “drive past” on any 27th of July!

There are few unmarried men of highly sensitive nature who have not had the bitter experience of a hopeless passion, who have not felt how doubly grateful at such times is intercourse with a glorious creature like Madame Pachler, and how beneficial in preventing the thoughts from continually dwelling on the impossible, and thus aiding reason and conscience to gain the victory over the heart and fancy. Now it happens that one of Beethoven’s transient but intense passions for a married woman, known to have occurred in this period of his life, has its precise date fixed by these passages in the so-called “Tagebuch” from the years 1816 and 1817. “In the case of T. there is nothing to do but to leave it to God, never to go where one might do a wrong through weakness--to Him, to the all-knowing God, be all this committed.” And again: “But as kind as possible to T. her attachment deserves never to be forgotten even if the results could never prove advantageous to you.” Let the reader recall the passages in his letters showing a strong desire to leave Vienna and read again: “Work during the summer for the journey, only thus can you carry out the great task for your poor nephew, afterwards wander through Italy, Sicily, with a few artists--make plans and be of good cheer for the sake of C....” The last initial is uncertain. Other copies have “L.”; what the original was in Beethoven’s handwriting is not now to be determined. No instance, however, is known of his writing his nephew’s name with a C, and this “C” or “L” was probably T. As the family name of this lady, whose husband was a man of high position and distinction though not noble by birth, is known, it is certain that the T in the above citations is not Therese Malfatti, now Baroness Drosdick; but as her baptismal names have eluded search one can only hint the possibility that the “T” and “M” may indicate the same person, and that this last cry of anguish was written a year or two afterwards when the sight of “M” again, for a moment, tore open a half-healed wound.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND MÄLZEL’S METRONOME]

In numbers 5 to 8 inclusive of the “Neue Musik-Zeitung” appeared, from the pen of J. Kandler, a long article containing historical notices of various attempts to produce a satisfactory instrument for measuring time in music, and closing with an account, taken from the English, of Mälzel’s metronome. To No. 25 (June 19) of the same journal, Gottfried Weber contributed a paper “On a chronometric tempo designation which makes Mälzel’s metronome, as well as all other chronometric instruments, unnecessary,” in which he repeated his idea, already put forth in the Leipsic “Musikzeitung” in 1813, that the simplest and most correct chronometer is a simple pendulum, a bit of thread with a bullet at the end, whose oscillations would mark the duration of measures according to the length of the thread. This article pleased Beethoven, and in one of his variations on the theme of pens he commends it to his “~clarissime amice~” Zmeskall, as the best invention yet made. Zmeskall took up the subject with interest and in two articles in the same journal called attention to the fact that Neate, in London, had described a time measurer of the same kind which was known in England, but had not remained long in use--“a little ball hanging at the end of a thread and below it a line divided into a scale of inches.” Zmeskall approved of Weber’s suggestion in principle but improved upon it by proposing that the oscillations of the pendulum indicate the duration of a note instead of a measure, and that the varying lengths of the pendulum be marked by knots in the thread. Beethoven, to whom Zmeskall seems to have sent his contrivance, was interested and lauded its simplicity, playfully wondering whether or not it might be used in measuring from time to eternity.

Music had already come from the press with Mälzel’s tempo marks, and Weber, who seems to have had no kindly feeling for him, prints an article, in the number of the journal following Zmeskall’s, entitled “Mälzel’s Metronome to be had gratis everywhere,” and gives a table showing the lengths of a pendulum in Rhenish inches and French centimetres corresponding to all the numbers on the metronome. As the months passed, the metronome had come largely into use in England, France and the United States, but not in Germany and Austria. It was of high importance to the manufacturers of the instruments to obtain the countenance and good will of the composers in those countries also--Salieri, Weigl, Beethoven, etc.--and Mälzel came back to Vienna to try the effect of personal effort, taking the risk of any serious consequences arising from the lawsuit between him and Beethoven. But there were none. The matter was amicably adjusted, each party paying half of the legal expenses which had been incurred. This would be incredible had Beethoven had any substantial grounds for the action; for his sanction of the metronome was of such value that Mälzel would readily have conceded much to obtain it; and the whole tone of the composer’s correspondence in this period, so far as relates to his pecuniary affairs, shows how little likely he was to sacrifice any just claim.

Beethoven was at first not well disposed to the instrument, notwithstanding he had joined Salieri and the other composers in strongly recommending the “chronometer” in 1813, which certificate had been used in England ~a fortiori~ for the new metronome. In a letter[183] Mr. Joseph J. Mickley, of Philadelphia, writes: “Mr. Mälzel, with whom I was well acquainted, told me that he had been particularly anxious Beethoven should mark his music by his metronome, and to get his recommendation; that he (B) refused and became quite indignant, saying: ‘It is silly stuff; one must feel the tempos’”; but Beethoven soon yielded to the obvious considerations in favor of the invention. These were presented to the public together with the objections to Weber’s and Zmeskall’s pendulums, clearly, explicitly and cunningly by Mosel in an article in Steiner’s “Musik-Zeitung” on November 27, which put an end to controversy on the topic.

Meanwhile, Beethoven had prepared a table of tempos for his eight symphonies which was printed in the Leipsic “Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung” on December 17 (copied, says Nottebohm, from a little pamphlet published by Steiner and Co. in which also tempos of the Septet were included), and followed this up with a general metronomizing of his works. On the autograph of his song, “Nord oder Süd,” he wrote: “100 according to Mälzel; but this must be held applicable to only the first measures, for feeling also has its tempo and this cannot entirely be expressed in this figure (i. e., 100).”[184]

If the picture of Mälzel drawn by Schindler and his copyists is true, even the most Christian and forgiving spirit could scarcely have demanded more of Beethoven than this public acknowledgement of the value of the metronome by way of heaping coals of fire upon his head; but he did more, by writing to Mosel this very valuable and for us very interesting letter:

I am heartily rejoiced that you agree with me in the opinion
touching the time designations which date back to the barbarous
period in music, for what, for instance, can be more nonsensical
than ~Allegro~, which always means ~merry~ and how often are we
so far from this conception of time that the piece says the very
~opposite of the designation~. As regards these 4 chief speeds
(~Hauptbewegungen~), which by no means have the correctness or
truthfulness of the chief winds, we gladly allow that they be put
aside, it is a different matter with the words used to designate
the character of the composition, these we cannot give up, since
time is really more the body while these have reference to the
spirit. So far as I am concerned I have long thought of giving
up the nonsensical designations ~Allegro~, ~Andante~, ~Adagio~,
~Presto~; Mälzel’s metronome gives us the best opportunity to do
this. I give you ~my word~ that I shall ~never use them again~ in
my new compositions--it is another question if we shall thereby
accomplish the necessary universal use of the instrument--I do
not think so. But I do not doubt that we shall be decried as
~taskmasters~, if the cause might thus be served it would still
be better than to be accused of ~feudalism~--I therefore think
that it would be best, especially in our countries where music has
become a national need and every village schoolmaster ought to use
the metronome, that Mälzel try to dispose of a certain number of
metronomes by subscription at higher prices, and that as soon as
his expenses are thus covered he will be in a position to furnish
the needed metronome for the national need so cheaply that the
greatest universality and ~widest distribution~ may be expected.
It is self-evident that somebody must take the initiative in this
matter so that zeal be aroused. As for me you may count on me and I
await with pleasure the post of duty to which you will assign me.

Still more: he joined with Salieri in a public announcement which was printed in the “Wiener Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” of February 14, 1818, setting forth that the metronome would attest its utility forever, was indispensable to all students of singing, the pianoforte or other instruments, etc. On one of the last days of December, Beethoven writes to Madame Streicher: “Day before yesterday I was busy with Mälzel, who is in a hurry as he is soon to leave here.” What had he so important to do with this “rude fellow, wholly without education or breeding,” to cite his own words? Was it in contemplation to make this sudden zeal for the metronome a source of pecuniary profit? No one knows.

[Sidenote: STUDIES IN HOUSEHOLD ECONOMY]

As the lodging in the Sailerstätte was separated from Giannatasio’s institute by the whole breadth of the Glacis, Beethoven, on his return from Mödling, exchanged it for one in the house “Zum grünen Baum,” first ~étage~, 2nd storey, No. 26, in the Gärtnergasse, suburb Landstrasse. He was now near both his nephew and the Streichers (in the Ungarstrasse), and, with the aid of Madame Streicher, he had at last brought his domestic arrangements into a condition so that he might take his nephew to himself. While making these arrangements, doubtless he asked practical guidance of some unknown friend touching his table. On one side of a large sheet of paper (it is now preserved in the Royal Library in Berlin) he wrote a list of questions which were painstakingly answered, by the friend to whom they were addressed, on the opposite page. The questions were as follows:

What ought one to give 2 servants to eat at dinner and supper both
as to quantity and quality?

How often ought one to give them roast meat?

Ought they to have it at dinner and supper too?

That which is intended for the servants, do they have it in common
with the victuals of the master, or do they prepare their own
separately, i. e., do they have different food from the master?

How many pounds of meat are to be reckoned for 3 persons?

What allowance per day do the housekeeper and maid receive?

How about the washing?

Do the housekeeper and maid get more?

How much wine and beer?

Does one give it to them and when?

Breakfast?

Beethoven announced his intention to take his nephew to himself at the end of the current quarter in a letter to Giannatasio dated November 12, 1817. The step involved not only an increase in his expenses, but also an abandonment of his engagement with the London Philharmonic Society and of all the profits which might thence arise. Giannatasio, moved by his complaints of poverty, and probably also by a desire to aid him in the proposed visit to London, kindly offered to keep the boy at a much reduced rate of remuneration for board and instruction. Beethoven’s reply shows him to be still undecided as to his movements in the coming spring, and it is possible, could he have made ready the required symphonies, that he might have gone to England; but now the new Sonata had got possession of his imagination, and the symphonies must wait.

But one public appearance professionally of Beethoven is recorded this year. At the concert for the Hospital Fund on December 25, the first part was devoted to the Eighth Symphony, which was conducted by the composer. In the second part Seyfried produced C. P. E. Bach’s oratorio, “The Israelites in the Wilderness,” which he had revised, adding to the accompaniments, curtailing the airs, prefixing it with the well-known fugue on B-A-C-H (orchestrated by himself), and concluding it with the double chorus “Holy, holy, holy.” Nottebohm has shown that the sketches for the overture on the name of the great Leipsic cantor which Beethoven once thought of writing, belong to a later period; but it is yet possible, if not likely, that he conceived the idea at this concert. On November 15, Anton Halm gave a concert for the benefit of the poor in the Kärnthnerthor-Theater at which the Choral Fantasia was performed; but we know nothing of Beethoven’s participation in it in any way.

[Sidenote: FUGUES AND THEIR CONTENTS]

It is probable that to this time is to be assigned a portrait in oils painted by Christoph Heckel, who was a student at the Royal Imperial Academy in Vienna from 1814 to 1818. Beethoven, it is said, made the acquaintance of the painter in Streicher’s pianoforte wareroom. There is but little to be added to what has been said about the compositions of this almost sterile year. The transcription of the Pianoforte Trio as a quintet (which was the largest work of the year), and the “Song of the Monks,” written on the death of Krumpholz, have been mentioned. Besides these we have a few short songs with pianoforte accompaniment. “Nord oder Süd” (also known as “So oder So”), the poem by Karl Lappe, was known and widely liked in a setting by K. Klage. “Resignation” (“Lisch aus mein Licht”), words by Count Paul von Haughwitz, was composed towards the end of the Summer, and the sketches show that Beethoven contemplated a setting for four voices. A Fugue in D major, for five stringed instruments, was completed on November 28, 1817, and was designed for the manuscript collection of Beethoven’s works projected by Haslinger, who published it soon after Beethoven’s death in 1827, as Op. 137. Beethoven was particularly interested in fugues at the time. “To ~make~ a fugue requires no particular skill,” he said later to Holz; “in my study days I made dozens of them. But the fancy wishes also to assert its privileges, and to-day a new and really poetical element must be introduced into the old traditional form.” The sketches for the conclusion of the Quintet fugue (Nottebohm, “Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 350) are mixed with notes from Bach and others showing how zealous were his studies in the form at that time. The year also saw work done on the Pianoforte Sonata in B-flat, Op. 106, and the beginning of the Symphony in D minor.

The list of publications for the year is also very small:

1. Sonata for Pianoforte, A major, Op. 101; Steiner and Co.

2. Two Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violoncello, Op. 102, published,
apparently in January, 1817, by Simrock in Bonn, and in 1819 by
Artaria in Vienna.

3. Song: “So oder So”; as supplement in the “Modenzeitung” of
February 25.

4. Song: “Ruf vom Berge”; supplement to Treitschke’s poems, for
which it had been composed at the close of 1816.

5. The canon: “Lerne Schweigen,” written for Neate; supplement to
Kanne’s “Allg. Mus.-Zeit.” March 6, and on June 5 with Payer’s
solution.

6. Volume III of the Welsh songs written for Thomson.

FOOTNOTES:

[172] Mr. Fry was for many years editorial writer and music critic of the “New York Tribune,” with which Mr. Thayer was also associated for a time.

[173] Since Thayer wrote, all these letters have been published in German as well as in English translation and may easily be consulted by the student.

[174] Dr. Herman Deiters, who wrote the concluding two volumes of Thayer’s biography, making use of the material and framework left by the author, devotes twenty-nine pages in the appendix of the fourth volume to Fanny Giannatasio’s notes of Beethoven’s intercourse with her father’s family and her sentiments concerning the composer. These notes, together with a number of letters, had been used by Edward Duboc (Robert Waldmüller) in the preparation of two articles which were published in the “Grenzboten” of April 3 and 10, 1857. A complete transcript of the diary was found by the editor of the present edition of this biography among Thayer’s posthumous papers and forwarded to Dr. Deiters. The circumstances under which the transcript was made deserve to be set forth here. When Thayer took up his permanent abode in Europe for the purpose of prosecuting his researches concerning Beethoven, the manuscript was owned by Frau Pessiak, granddaughter of Kajetan Giannatasio del Rio, daughter of Fanny’s sister Anna, familiarly known as “Nanni.” Through the mediation of Dr. Gerhard von Breuning, Thayer had come into possession of a copy of such passages of the diary as referred to Beethoven. On his first visit to Vienna, Thayer called upon Frau Pessiak, then a prominent teacher of singing in the Austrian capital, to thank her for her kind help. The acquaintance thus made, quickly ripened into a cordial friendship, and when Thayer was about to return to his home, the lady, to his surprise and delight, placed the manuscript into his hands and gave him permission to carry it with him to Trieste for examination at leisure. One reason for the act was, if possible, to obtain a rectification of what she considered a grievous wrong done to her aunt’s memory by Ludwig Nohl. This writer had, some time before, importuned her for the privilege of reading the diary and using it in the preparation of his biography of Beethoven. After many protestations, due to the fact that a number of letters from Beethoven to her grandfather had mysteriously disappeared from the family archives (Thayer found some of them later in the possession of a music publishing house in London), Frau Pessiak yielded to Nohl’s requests. Shortly after the manuscript had been returned to her, there appeared a booklet entitled: “Eine stille Liebe zu Beethoven. Nach dem Tagebuch einer jungen Dame. Von Ludwig Nohl.” (Second edition, Leipsic, 1902), in which excerpts, wrenched from their context, were made the foundation of a story of a romantic, but unconfessed and unrequited passion for the composer on the part of the unnamed author of the diary. Frau Pessiak felt deeply wounded that such unauthorized and unpardonable use had been made of an effusion designed only for the eyes of its writer, and wanted now to learn whether or not the deduction was consistent with the utterances of the diary as a whole. Thayer, after a study of the manuscript and all the circumstances connected with the relations between Beethoven and the family of the writer, thought not; and his conclusion, evidently, was that of Dr. Deiters also, who printed copious extracts compassing all the references to Beethoven found in the manuscript.

[Sidenote: A YOUNG WOMAN’S SENTIMENTAL JOURNAL]

In explanation of the sentimental tinge of some of the young woman’s utterances, which taken alone might easily be interpreted as secret confessions of a deeper feeling than mere admiration, friendship and sympathy, it is urged that Fanny Giannatasio del Rio began her diary, which is not a continuous record, on January 1, 1812, when she was twenty-two years old; she, therefore, was twenty-six when Beethoven became a frequent visitor at her father’s house. She was very musical (so much so that Beethoven did not hesitate to play four-hand pieces with her), and had been an admirer of his music before she met him. Two affairs of the heart, both unhappy in their outcome--(her first lover proved unworthy, her second was an invalid and like an honorable man unwilling to burden her life with his sufferings; he died in 1815)--had left her inclined to the melancholy mood, with a hunger for affection and an almost passionate longing to extend sympathy to those who seemed to her to be in need of care and love. Her outpourings frequently touch on the border of extravagant sentimentality; but calm reflection generally intervenes with its wholesome clog. So that, on the whole, they can be, perhaps ought to be, interpreted as nothing more than a disclosure of a warm interest in the great composer on the part of a generous-souled young woman filled with the literary habits of the period mixed with an overwhelming admiration for his genius and nobility of character and an impulsive desire to bring some cheer into his lonely life. Moreover, after the withdrawal of the nephew from the institute and the cessation of intercourse between Beethoven and the Giannatasio family, his name disappears from the diary, though it was continued till 1824.

The friendship which existed for years between Thayer and Frau Pessiak is attested in two letters from the latter to the former in which the lady’s recollections of her grandparents and their intercourse with Beethoven are set forth. Some of the anecdotes contained in these letters deserve record here. Once, Frau Pessiak relates, there arose a serious disagreement between her grandfather and Beethoven concerning the latter’s nephew, which resulted in the boy’s dismissal from the institute. Thereupon Beethoven wrote to Anna Giannatasio begging her to intercede with her father and get his consent to Karl’s return, but at the same time to keep the fact of the writing secret and to burn the letter as soon as it had been read. The lady respected both wishes, the latter dictated by the composer’s pride, but she burned the letter with a heavy heart. “My mother’s admiration for Beethoven,” adds Frau Pessiak, “was like that of my aunt, so that his wish was to her a command.” While at a picnic party in the environs of Vienna, Beethoven stood beside the writer’s mother on the most beautiful observation point. Suddenly he took out his note-book, tore out a leaf, drew a staff upon it, jotted down the melody of the song, “Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär” (Treitschke’s “Ruf vom Berge,” No. 219, in Thayer’s “Chronological Catalogue”) and handed it to his companion with the words: “Now, Miss Nanni, do you write the bass for it.” “My mother cherished the leaf as a precious souvenir for a long time, then gave it to me because, as she said, I was the most musical one of the family, and would best appreciate the treasure. I have it preserved under a glass and frame.” One day Beethoven brought with him the song from “Faust” beginning: “Es war einmal ein König, der hatt’ einen grossen Floh” (“Once upon a time there was a king who had a large flea”). “Aunt and mother had to try it.” Then Beethoven took his seat at the pianoforte and played the conclusion in which he turned his thumb and with it struck two adjoining keys at the same time, laughed and said: “That’s the way to kill him!” On the occasion of Anna Giannatasio’s birthday, Beethoven came and offered a musical congratulation. Approaching her he sang with great solemnity the melody of a canon to the words: “Above all may you want happiness and health, too,--”. Then he stopped and the lady protested that the wish that she might fail in happiness and health was scarcely a kind one; whereupon Beethoven laughed and finished the sentiment with “at no time.” Here is the canon:

[175] This letter is dated “February 23, 1816”--another obvious blunder of the kind to which Beethoven was prone; it should of course be 1817. In the letter to Steiner last referred to he asks the publisher to keep the dedication a secret, as he intended it to be a surprise. Thayer accepted the date and explained the discrepancy with the suggestion that Beethoven had forwarded a manuscript copy to the baroness. The theory is no longer tenable. The lady could scarcely be surprised by a printed copy if she already had the Sonata in manuscript and also the letter which so plainly shows that the Sonata was written for her. It is also plain that Schindler was in error when he stated that the Sonata had been played in public in February, 1816. According to Nottebohm (“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 344), the autograph of the Sonata bears the inscription: “Neue Sonata für Ham....., 1816, im Monath November.” Its forthcoming appearance in print was announced in Kanne’s “Musik-Zeitung” under date January 23, 1817.

[176] The principal contributions to Beethoven’s biography from Czerny’s pen are in Schmidt’s “Wiener Allg. Mus. Zeitung,” 1845, No. 113; Cock’s “Musical Miscellany,” London, 1852; and manuscript notes in Jahn’s papers.

[177] It is Thayer who is speaking here.

[178] “Mödling,” said Potter in narrating the incidents of his association with Beethoven to Mr. Thayer in 1861; but Potter was nearly 69 years old at the time and his memory of the suburbs of Vienna may have been a trifle faulty. Beethoven was in Mödling in 1818, but it has not been learned that he went thither after his sojourn in Heiligenstadt and Nussdorf in 1817. At any rate, he was in Nussdorf till late September, perhaps early October, and was then on the eve of a new experiment in housekeeping so that he might have his nephew with him, concerning which he wrote to Giannatasio in Vienna on November 12. There is nothing in his letters to Frau Streicher and others at this time to indicate a change to Mödling, whither he went in May of the next year after he had reported Potter’s visits to Ries in March.

[179] This agrees with the theory that the first meetings took place at some other place. To Ries, Beethoven wrote on March 5, 1818: “Botter [~sic~] visited me a few times; he appears to be a good man and has talent for composition.”

[180] Other instances of this nature have been recorded in this biography. In December, 1811, a visitor, Xaver Schnyder von Wartensee, reported to Nägeli in Zürich that Beethoven had said to him: “All Viennese, from the Emperor to the bootblack, are good for nothing.” “I asked him,” von Wartensee continues, “if he took no pupils?” “No,” he replied, “teaching is a disagreeable task; he had only one pupil who gave him a great deal of trouble and whom he would like to get rid of if he could.” “And who is he?” “Archduke Rudolph.”

[181] Treitschke had provided the libretto of “Romulus”; it does not appear that Beethoven ever began its composition.

[182] The letter, which is reproduced in ~facsimile~ in Schindler’s biography, is a more or less fantastic scrawl or flourish which may be read as an “R” as well as an “M.”

[183] The letter to Thayer is dated May 21, 1873. Mälzel, it will be remembered, lived in Philadelphia for some time before his death at sea on July 21, 1838.

[184] Thus copied by Fischoff.