Chapter III (2)

Here there is no mention of business matters and hence it may be assumed that the letter dates from an early period in the reunion of the brothers. But business considerations prompt a letter of July 26 in which he tells Johann that his physician had ordered him to go to Baden to take thirty baths and that he would make the journey on August 6 or 7. Meanwhile he would like to have his brother come to him and give him his help and then accompany him to Baden and remain there a week. He was engaged, he said, upon corrections of the Mass for which Peters was to give him 1000 florins. Peters had also agreed to take some smaller works and had sent 300 florins, but he had not yet accepted the money. Breitkopf and Härtel had also sent the Saxon _Chargé d’Affaires_ to him to talk about new works and inquiries had come from Paris and Diabelli in Vienna. Publishers were now struggling for his works: “What an _unfortunate fortunate_ am I!!!--this Berliner has also turned up--if my health would return I might yet _feather my nest_ (_auf einen grünen Zweig kommen_).”

The Archduke-Cardinal is here. I go to him twice a week. Though
there is nothing to be expected from him in the way of magnanimity
or money, I am on such a good and confidential footing with him
that it would be extremely painful not to show him some agreeable
attention; moreover, I do not think that his apparent niggardliness
is his fault.

In the same letter he says he might have had the 1000 florins from Peters in advance but did not want to take them. He did not want to “expose” himself, and he therefore asked his brother for a loan, so that his trip to Baden might not be delayed. There was no risk involved, as he would return the 200 florins in September with thanks. “As a merchant you are a good counsellor,” are some of his words. The Steiners are also crowding him into a corner and trying to force him into a written agreement to let them have all his compositions; but he had declared that he would not enter into such an arrangement until his account had been settled, and to that end he had proposed to them that they take two pieces which he had written for Hungary[58] and which might be looked upon as two little operas. They had before then taken four of the numbers. The debt to the Steiners amounted to 3000 florins, but they had in the “most abominable manner” charged interest, to which he would not consent. Part of the debt had been Karl’s mother’s[59] which he had assumed because he wanted to show himself as kindly disposed as possible, so that Karl’s interests would not be endangered. Again he urges him to come to Baden and to put pantry and cellar in the best of condition against September, for presumably he and his little son would set up headquarters with him and had formed the noble resolve to eat him out of house and home.

In this letter was enclosed a memorandum of the deposit of 300 florins (from Peters) to his credit at Maisl’s; and another of no date, but evidently written at about the same time, stated that the money was at Maisl’s but in case of need he would rather make a loan than draw it, “for the Mass will be ready on the 15th of next month.” He went to Baden on September 1, but before then wrote again to Johann expressing a wish to see him so that the affair with Steiner might be settled, it being necessary to have the music to “The Ruins of Athens”[60] in print by the end of October, when the theatre for which it had been prepared would be opened. A week after his arrival in Baden, on September 8, he writes that he had been disturbed at the delay, partly because of his brother’s ill health, partly because he had had no report on the commission undertaken with Steiner. Simrock had written again about the Mass, but had mentioned the old price; if he were written to, however, he thought he would increase it. Two singers had called on him that day and asked to kiss his hands, “but as they were very pretty I suggested that they kiss my lips.” Another letter obviously written about the same time but a little later tells of his temporary apprehension lest his brother had fallen out with Steiner. He also suspected that his brother might be angered at his not having mentioned the loan. In this dilemma, fearful for the Mass, he had written to Simrock that he would let him have it for 1000 florins. “But as you write that you want the Mass I am agreed, but I do not want you to lose anything by it.” Matters are not yet straightened out at Steiner’s, as appears from a letter which he encloses. Meanwhile the Josephstadt Theatre has given him work to do which will be quite burdensome, in view of his cure, Staudenheimer having advised him to take baths of one and a half hour’s duration. However, he already had written a chorus with dances and solo songs;[61] if his health allows, he will also write a new overture. On October 6, he addresses his brother in a jocular mood: “Best of little Brothers! Owner of all the lands in the Danube near Krems! Director of the entire Austrian Pharmacy!” The letter contains a proposition for Steiner concerning the Josephstadt Theatre music. Steiner has two numbers already and has advertised one of them; there are eight numbers left, including an overture. These Steiner can have at the following rates: the overture 30 (perhaps he could get 40 ducats); four songs with instrumental accompaniment, 20 ducats each; two wholly instrumental numbers, 10 ducats each:--total, 140 ducats. If “King Stephen” is wanted there are twelve numbers of which four are to be reckoned at 20 ducats each, the others at 10 ducats and one at 5 ducats--_summa summarum_ 155 ducats. “Concerning the new overture, you may say to them that the old one could not remain, because in Hungary the piece was given as a postlude, while here the theatre was opened with it.... Ponder the matter of the Mass well, because I must answer Simrock; unless you lose nothing, I beg of you not to undertake it.”

The story of the music composed and adapted for the Josephstadt Theatre will be told in the chronological narrative of incidents belonging to the year; as for the Mass let it be noted that after Johann had expressed a desire to take it in hand we hear nothing more of the correspondence with Peters for a long time. The autograph score was ready; Beethoven had it copied, but continued making alterations in it; not until the next year was it delivered into the hands of the Archduke and new efforts made towards its publication.

At the beginning of 1822, Beethoven still lived at No. 244 Hauptstrasse, Landstrasse, Vienna. The first significant happening to him in the new year was his election as honorary member of the Musik-Verein of Steiermark in Gratz, whose diploma, couched in the extravagantly sentimental verbiage of the day and country, bore date January 1. He noted the conclusion of the C minor Sonata (Op. 111) on the autograph manuscript on January 11. Bernhard Romberg, the violoncello virtuoso, was in Vienna in the beginning of the year, giving concerts with his daughter Bernhardine and a son of 11 years, who was also a budding virtuoso on his father’s instrument. On February 12, Beethoven writes to his old friend that if he was not present at the concert, it would be because he had been attacked with an earache, the pain of which would be aggravated even by the concert-giver’s tones. He concluded the letter with the wish in addition “to the fullest tribute of applause, also the _metallic recognition_ which high art seldom receives in these days.” If Hanslick is correct in his history of concert life in Vienna, Beethoven’s wish was fulfilled: Romberg’s earnings during the Vienna season amounted to 10,000 florins.

[Sidenote: ADVICES FROM LONDON THROUGH NEATE]

When Beethoven went to Oberdöbling he moved into the house Alleegasse 135, but for the time being kept his lodgings in town. In Oberdöbling he began a treatment consisting of taking powders and drinking the waters. He worked on the Mass, the Ninth Symphony, and on smaller compositions from which he expected quicker returns. He was expected to visit Archduke Rudolph twice a week, but the attendance was irregular. Applications for his works came to him from other cities and Breitkopf and Härtel sent the Chargé d’Affaires of the Saxon Legation to him with a letter regretting that the business connection which formerly existed had been discontinued and expressing a desire to renew it with an opera. The messenger was Greisinger, Haydn’s first biographer, who had made Beethoven’s acquaintance as a young man. He was musical, and Beethoven applied to him for advice the next year, when he sent an invitation to the Saxon Court for a subscription to the Mass in D. On September 2, Beethoven received a letter from Charles Neate, which was plainly an answer to an appeal which had been sent by Beethoven, concerning the publication in London of three quartets. Letters from Ries refer to the same quartets, which as yet existed only in Beethoven’s intentions. Neate says that he had found it difficult to obtain subscriptions for the works. He thought, however, that he might still be able to raise £100, but could not get any money before the arrival of the works in London. There was also apprehension that the compositions would be copied in Vienna. Beethoven had referred to a quartet and possibly some successors in his correspondence with Peters, so that it is more than likely that a determination to return to the quartet field had been formed by Beethoven before the practical and material incentive came to him in the last month of the year from Prince Galitzin--the incentive to which we owe three of the last five Quartets.

There must now be recorded some of the facts connected with the visit to Beethoven of a distinguished musical littérateur from Leipsic--Friedrich Rochlitz. Rochlitz arrived in Vienna on May 24 and remained there till August 2. He wrote two letters about his experiences in the Austrian capital, one under date of June 28, the other of July 9. The latter contained his account of his meetings with Beethoven and is reprinted in Vol. IV of his “Für Freunde der Tonkunst.” He had never seen Beethoven in the flesh and was eager for a meeting. A friend to whom he went (it is very obvious that it was Haslinger) told him that Beethoven was in the country and had grown so shy of human society that a visit to him might prove unavailing; but it was Beethoven’s custom to come to Vienna every week and he was then as a rule affable and approachable. He advised Rochlitz to wait, and he did so until the following Saturday. The meeting was a pleasant one and enabled Rochlitz to study Beethoven’s appearance and manner; but the interview was suddenly terminated by Beethoven in the midst of the visitor’s confession of his own admiration and the enthusiasm which Beethoven’s symphonies created in Leipsic. From the beginning Beethoven had listened, smiled and nodded, but after he had curtly excused himself on the score of an engagement and departed abruptly, Rochlitz learned that his auditor had not heard or understood a word of all that he had said. A fortnight later Rochlitz met Franz Schubert in the street, who told him that if he wanted to see Beethoven in an unconstrained and jovial mood he should go along with him to an eating-house where the great man dined. He went and found Beethoven sitting with a party of friends whom the chronicler did not know. Though he got a nod of recognition for his greeting he did not join the party but took a seat near enough to observe Beethoven and hear what he said, for he spoke in a loud voice. It was not a conversation so much as a monologue to which he listened. Beethoven talked almost incessantly; his companions laughed, smiled and nodded approval.

He philosophised and politicised in his manner. He spoke of England
and the English, whom he surrounded with incomparable glory--which
sounded strange at times. Then he told many anecdotes of the French
and the two occupations of Vienna. He was not amiably disposed
towards them. He talked freely, without the least restraint,
seasoning everything with highly original and naïve opinions and
comical conceits.

[Sidenote: CONVERSATION WITH FRIEDRICH ROCHLITZ]

After finishing his meal Beethoven approached Rochlitz and beckoned him into a little anteroom, where conversation was carried on with the help of a tablet which Beethoven produced. He began with praise of Leipsic and its music, especially the performances in church, concert-room and theatre; outside of these things he knows nothing of Leipsic, through which he passed as a youth on his way to Vienna. (No doubt it was the Berlin trip to which Beethoven referred, of which Rochlitz appears to be ignorant.) Praise of Leipsic was followed by violent condemnation of Vienna and its music.

Of my works you hear nothing. Now--in summer.

No; it’s the same in winter. What is there for them to hear?
“Fidelio”? they can’t perform it and do not want to hear it. The
symphonies? For these they have no time. The concertos? Everybody
grinds out his own productions. The solos? They’re out of fashion
long ago--and fashion is everything. At the best, Schuppanzigh
occasionally digs up a quartet, etc.

Rochlitz is here probably helping out his memory by drawing a bit on his fancy; Schuppanzigh was at this time still in Russia, having started on a tour through Germany, Poland and Russia in 1815, from which he did not return till 1823. Rochlitz is interesting, but it is well to revise his utterances by occasional appeals to known facts. He goes on: Beethoven asked him if he lived in Weimar and Rochlitz shook his head. “Then you do not know the great Goethe?” Rochlitz nodded violently in affirmation that he did know the great Goethe. “I do, too; I got acquainted with him in Carlsbad--God knows how long ago!” (But it was not in Carlsbad that Beethoven met Goethe; it was in Teplitz and ten years “ago.”) Beethoven continued: “I was not so deaf then as I am now, but hard of hearing. How patient the great man was with me!... How happy he made me then! I would have gone to my death for him; yes, ten times! It was while I was in the ardor of this enthusiasm that I thought out my music to his ‘Egmont’--and it is a success, isn’t it?” A success, surely; but Beethoven is not likely to have forgotten that the music to “Egmont” was two years old when he met Goethe. Rochlitz, it is to be feared, is indulging his imagination again; but he is probably correct on the whole. Let Beethoven proceed with his monologue:

Since that summer I read Goethe every day, when I read at all. He
has killed Klopstock for me. You are surprised? Now you smile? Aha!
You smile that I should have read Klopstock! I gave myself up to
him many years,--when I took my walks and at other times. Ah well!
I didn’t understand him always. He is so restless; and he always
begins too far away, from on high down; always _Maestoso_, D-flat
major! Isn’t it so? But he’s great, nevertheless, and uplifts the
soul. When I did not understand I divined pretty nearly. But why
should he always want to die? That will come soon enough. Well; at
least he always sounds well, etc. But Goethe:--he lives and wants
us all to live with him. That’s the reason he can be composed.
Nobody else can be so easily composed as he.

Rochlitz had sought Beethoven with a commission from Härtel:--that he compose music for Goethe’s “Faust” like that written for “Egmont.” The psychological moment for broaching the subject was arrived and Rochlitz made the communication on the tablet.

He read. “Ha!” he cried, and threw his hands high in the air. “That
would be a piece of work! Something might come out of that!” He
continued for a while in this manner, elaborating his ideas at once
and with bowed head staring at the ceiling. “But,” he continued,
after a while, “I have been occupied for a considerable time with
three other big works; much of them is already hatched out--i. e.,
in my head. I must rid myself of them first; two large symphonies
differing from each other, and an oratorio. They will take a long
time; for, you see, for some time I can’t bring myself to write
easily. I sit and think, and think. The ideas are there, but they
will not go down on the paper. I dread the beginning of great
works; once begun, it’s all right.”

Most of this is in harmony with what we know from other sources. We have seen how laboriously Beethoven developed the works of large dimensions in this period; we know that he had thought of “Faust” as a subject for composition as early as 1808[62] and that it pursued him in his last years. But Härtel’s proposition sent through Greisinger in the same year was for an opera, and it seems likely that the “Faust” idea was independent of it and possibly an original conceit of Rochlitz’s. Be that as it may, Rochlitz did make one proposition in which his interest was personal. After his return to Leipsic he wrote a letter to Haslinger on September 10, 1822, in which he expressed the wish that Beethoven would give a musical setting to his poem “Der erste Ton,” and, if Schindler is correct, he suggested to Beethoven himself that he write music for his “Preis der Tonkunst.” Nothing came of the suggestions, though it would appear that Rochlitz had discussed both poems with Beethoven. There was a third meeting at which the two, in company with another friend of Beethoven’s (Rochlitz says it was Gebauer), made a promenade through a valley which lasted from ten o’clock in the forenoon till six o’clock in the evening. Beethoven enlivened the walk with conversation full of tirades against existing conditions, humorous anecdotes and drolleries. “In all seriousness, he seems amiable, or, if this word startle you, I say: The gloomy, unlicked bear is so winning and confiding, growls and shakes his hairy coat so harmlessly and curiously, that it is delightful, and one could not help liking him even if he were but a bear and had done nothing but what a bear can do.”

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN’S OPINION OF ROSSINI]

The meeting between Rochlitz and Beethoven took place in Baden; but as we have seen, the latter did not begin his sojourn there until September 1, and Rochlitz’s letter is dated July 9; so it would appear that Beethoven had come from Oberdöbling on a visit to Baden; Schindler says nothing to the contrary. Earlier in 1822 Beethoven received a visit from a man who lies considerably nearer the sympathies of the generation for which this book is written than Rochlitz. This man was Rossini. His operas had been on the current list in Vienna for several years, and with the coming of the composer in person, in the spring of 1822, the enthusiasm for him and his music had grown into a fanatical adoration. Beethoven had seen the score of “Il Barbiere” and heard it sung by the best Italian singers of the period. Moreover, he had a high admiration for the Italian art of song and a very poor opinion of German singers. In Barbaja’s troupe were Lablache, Rubini, Donzelli and Ambroggio, and the Demoiselles Sontag, Ungher, Lalande and Dardanelli. Rossini was on his wedding trip, having but recently married Colbran, and his elegant manners and brilliant conversation had made him the lion of aristocratic drawing-rooms in the Austrian capital. “Zelmira” had been written especially for the Vienna season, though it had been tried at the Teatro San Carlo in Naples in the preceding December. It had its first performance at the Kärnthnerthor Theatre on April 13.[63] Several of Beethoven’s utterances concerning the musician, who no doubt did much to divert the taste of the masses away from the German master’s compositions, have been preserved. Seyfried recorded that in answer to the question. “What is Rossini?” Beethoven replied, “A good scene-painter,” and Seyfried also makes note of this utterance: “The Bohemians are born musicians; the Italians ought to take them as models. What have they to show for their famous conservatories? Behold their idol--Rossini! If Dame Fortune had not given him a pretty talent and pretty melodies by the bushel, what he learned at school would have brought him nothing but potatoes for his big belly!” Schindler says that after reading the score of “Il Barbiere” Beethoven said: “Rossini would have been a great composer if his teacher had frequently applied some blows _ad posteriora_.” To Freudenberg at Baden in 1824 he remarked: “Rossini is a talented and a melodious composer; his music suits the frivolous and sensuous spirit of the times, and his productivity is so great that he needs only as many weeks as the Germans need years to write an opera.”

The Rossini craze was no doubt largely responsible for some of Beethoven’s outbreaks concerning the taste of the Viennese, but on the whole he does not seem seriously to have been disturbed by it. Schindler cites him as remarking on the change in the popular attitude: “Well, they can not rob me of my place in musical history.” As for the Italian singers he thought so much of them that he told Caroline Ungher that he would write an Italian opera for Barbaja’s company.

As for Rossini, he had heard some of Beethoven’s quartets played by Mayseder and his associates, and had enjoyed them enthusiastically. It was therefore natural enough that he should want to visit the composer. Schindler says that he went twice with Artaria to call upon him, after Artaria had each time asked permission, but that on both occasions Beethoven had asked to be excused from receiving him--a circumstance which had given rise to considerable comment in Vienna. The story is not true, but that it was current in Vienna four years afterward appears from an entry in a Conversation Book of August 1826 where somebody asks: “It is true, isn’t it, that Rossini wanted to visit you and you refused to see him?” There is no written answer. We repeat: the story is not true, though both Nohl and Wasielewski accepted it without demur. Twice, at least, Rossini publicly denied it. In 1867 Dr. Eduard Hanslick visited him with two friends in Paris. Concerning the interview, Hanslick wrote:[64]

Suddenly, as if he intentionally wanted to call attention to
something loftier, he asked if the Mozart monument at Vienna
was finished? And Beethoven’s? We three Austrians looked rather
embarrassed. “I remember Beethoven well,” continued Rossini after
a pause, “although it is nearly half a century ago. On my visit to
Vienna I hastened to look him up.”

“And he did not receive you, as Schindler and other biographers
assure us.”

“On the contrary,” said Rossini, correcting me: “I had Carpani, the
Italian poet with whom I had already called upon Salieri, introduce
me, and he received me at once and very politely. True, the visit
did not last very long, for conversation with Beethoven was nothing
less than painful. His hearing was particularly bad on that day
and in spite of my loudest shoutings he could not understand me;
his little practice in Italian may have made conversation more
difficult.”

This confirms what Rossini told Ferdinand Hiller in 1856:[65]

During my sojourn in Vienna I had myself introduced to him by old
Calpani [_sic_]; but between his deafness and my ignorance of
German, conversation was impossible. But I am glad that I saw him,
at least.

[Sidenote: ALLEGED MEETING OF BEETHOVEN AND SCHUBERT]

Quite as inaccurate is a statement of Schindler’s touching a meeting between Schubert and Beethoven in this year. Schindler’s story is to the effect that Schubert, accompanied by Diabelli, went to Beethoven and handed him the variations for pianoforte, four hands, which he had dedicated to him; but that Schubert was so overwhelmed at the majestic appearance of Beethoven that his courage oozed away and he was scarcely able to write the answers to the questions which were put to him. At length, when Beethoven pointed out a trifling error in harmony, remarking that it was “not a mortal sin,” Schubert lost control of himself completely, regained his composure only after he had left the house, and never again had courage enough to appear in Beethoven’s presence. As opposed to this, Heinrich von Kreissle, Schubert’s biographer, adduces the testimony of Joseph Hüttenbrenner, a close friend of Schubert’s, who had it from the song composer himself that he had gone to Beethoven’s house with the variations, but the great man was not at home and the variations were left with the servant. He had neither seen Beethoven nor spoken with him, but learned with delight afterwards that Beethoven had been pleased with the variations and often played them with his nephew Karl. Now, had Schindler been an eyewitness of the scene which he describes, he would have mentioned the fact; but he was not yet living with Beethoven.

While in Baden, Beethoven began the work which was to call him back into public notice. This was the music for the opening of the Josephstadt Theatre, which the director of the theatre, Carl Friedrich Hensler, director also of the combined theatres of Pressburg and Baden, asked of him immediately after his arrival at the watering-place. Hensler (1761-1825) was a popular dramatist as well as manager and an old acquaintance of Beethoven’s, by whom he was greatly respected. He had bought the privilege of the Josephstadt Theatre in Vienna. Carl Meisl, who was a Commissioner of the Royal Imperial Navy, had written two festival pieces for the opening, which had been set down for October 3, 1822, the name-day of the Emperor. The first piece was a paraphrase of Kotzebue’s “Ruins of Athens,” written for the opening of the theatre in Pesth in 1812, for which Beethoven had composed the music. Meisl took Kotzebue’s text and made such alterations in it as were necessary to change “The Ruins of Athens” into “The Consecration of the House.” Nottebohm’s reprint in “Zweite Beethoveniana” (p. 385 _et seq._) enables a comparison to be made with the piece as it left the hands of Meisl and the original. The new words did not always fit the music and caused Beethoven considerable concern. A choral dance:

Wo sich die Pulse
jugendlich jagen,
Schwebet im Tanze
das Leben dahin, etc.

was introduced and to this Beethoven had to write new music, which he did in September. He also revised, altered and extended the march with chorus.[66] Beethoven wrote a new overture also, that known as “Consecration of the House,” putting aside the overture to “The Ruins of Athens” because that play had served as a second piece, or epilogue, at Pesth. Schindler says he began work on this occasional music in July, after the last touches had been given to the Mass; but progress was not as rapid as was desirable because of the extreme hot weather. He also says it was in Baden and that he was there with him. The letters to Johann show, however, that Beethoven did not go to Baden till September 1, having before that been in Oberdöbling. But he wrote the new pieces in Baden. On a revised copy of the chorus “Wo sich die Pulse” Beethoven wrote: “Written towards the end of September, 1823, performed on October 3 at the Josephstadt Theatre.” The 1823 should be 1822, of course, but singularly enough the same blunder was made on a copy of the overture and another composition, the “Gratulatory Minuet,” which was written about the same time. The explanation is probably that offered by Nottebohm, viz.: that Beethoven dated the copies when he sent them to the Archduke. Beethoven’s remark in a letter to Johann that he had finished the chorus with dances and would write the overture if his health allowed, also fixes the date of the composition of the overture in September. This Schindler, though in error about the work done in July, confirms in this anecdote about the origin of the overture:

Meanwhile September was come. It was therefore time to go to work
on the new overture, for the master had long ago seen that that
to “The Ruins of Athens” was for obvious reasons unsuitable. One
day, while I was walking with him and his nephew in the lovely
Helenenthal near Baden, Beethoven told us to go on in advance and
join him at an appointed place. It was not long before he overtook
us, remarking that he had written down two motives for an overture.
At the same time he expressed himself also as to the manner in
which he purposed treating them--one in the free style and one
in the strict, and, indeed, in Handel’s. As well as his voice
permitted he sang the two motives and then asked us which we liked
the better. This shows the roseate mood into which for the moment
he was thrown by the discovery of two gems for which, perhaps, he
had been hunting a long time. The nephew decided in favor of both,
while I expressed a desire to see the fugal theme worked out for
the purpose mentioned. It is not to be understood that Beethoven
wrote the overture “Zur Weihe des Hauses” as he did because I
wanted it so, but because he had long cherished the plan to write
an overture in the strict, expressly in the Handelian, style.

The overture was written. “The newly organized orchestra of the Josephstadt Theatre did not receive it till the afternoon before the opening, and with innumerable mistakes in every part. The rehearsal which took place in the presence of an almost filled parterre, scarcely sufficed for the correction of the worst of the copyist’s errors.” The overture and chorus written for “The Consecration of the House” are “occasionals” and were conceived and wrought out in a remarkably short time for that period in Beethoven’s activities. The first was offered for publication to Steiner and, with other pieces, to Diabelli. The negotiations failed and the overture finally appeared from the press of Schott in 1825, with a dedication to Prince Galitzin.

[Sidenote: OPENING OF THE JOSEPHSTADT THEATRE]

The performance of “The Consecration of the House” took place as projected, on October 3, the eve of the Emperor’s name-day. All of the 400 reserved seats and 14 boxes had been sold several weeks before. Beethoven had reserved the direction for himself and sat at the pianoforte, the greater part of the orchestra within view, his left ear turned towards the stage. He was still able to hear a little with that ear, as we know from the fact related by Schindler, that he was fond of listening to Cherubini’s overture to “Medea” played by a musical clock which stood in a restaurant adjoining the Josephstadt Theatre. Chapelmaster Franz Gläser stood at his right, and Schindler, who had recently abandoned the law, led the first violins. At the dress rehearsal Fanny Heckermann sang timidly and dragged perceptibly in the duet. Beethoven observed this and called the singer to him, pointed out the places in which he wanted more animation, spoke some words of encouragement and advised her to follow the tenor, who was an experienced singer. He then had the number repeated and on its conclusion remarked: “Well done, this time, Fräulein Heckermann!” The tenor was Michael Greiner, with whom Beethoven was acquainted, from Baden, and Fräulein Kaiser sang the part of _Pallas_. The rehearsal and the performance demonstrated plainly, Schindler says, that under no circumstances was Beethoven able longer to conduct large bodies of performers. The representation, despite the enthusiasm of the performers, stimulated by Beethoven’s encouraging speeches, was not a success. Beethoven would take none of the fault to himself, however, though his anxiety led him to hold back the music despite the exertions of his two leaders, whom he admonished against too much precipitancy, of which Schindler protests they were not guilty. There were demonstrations of enthusiasm at the close and Beethoven was led before the curtain by Director Hensler. The work was repeated on October 4, 5 and 6. Beethoven’s friendly feeling for Hensler gave rise to a new orchestral composition a few weeks later. The members of the company paid a tribute to their director on his name-day, November 3. After a performance of Meisl’s drama “1722, 1822, 1922,” the audience having departed, the director was called to the festively decorated and illuminated stage, and surrounded by his company in gala dress. A poetical address was read to him by the stage-manager. After he had gone back to his lodgings, the orchestra and chorus serenaded him, the programme consisting of an overture to “The Prodigal Son” by Chapelmaster Drechsel, a concerto for flute by Chapelmaster Gläser, and what Bäuerle’s “Theaterzeitung” called “a glorious new symphony” composed for the occasion by Beethoven, the whole ending with the march and chorus from Mozart’s “Titus.” The “new symphony” was the “Gratulatory Minuet” of which mention has been made. Nothing is said in the accounts about Beethoven’s presence at the serenade, and as “Fidelio” was performed that night at the Kärnthnerthor Theatre, his absence might easily be explained. On the next day[67] Hensler gave a dinner in the property-room of the theatre at 3 p.m. Beethoven, Gläser, Bäuerle, Gleich, Meisl, Hopp and others were present. Beethoven had a seat directly under the musical clock. Gläser told Reubl (Reichl?) who provided the entertainment to set the clock to the overture to “Fidelio” and then wrote to Beethoven to listen, as he would soon hear it. Beethoven listened and then said: “It plays it better than the orchestra in the Kärnthnerthor.”

The “Gratulatory Minuet” was offered to Peters in the letter of December 20. Beethoven was evidently eager to realize quickly on a work which had cost him but little labor--the product of a period in which his fancy seemed to have regained its old-time fecundity and he his old-time delight in work. He offered it elsewhere and gave a copy (the one that he misdated) to Archduke Rudolph for his collection. Artaria published it in 1835 under the title “Allegretto (Gratulations-Menuet)” with a dedication to Carl Holz. The title on the autograph reads: “Tempo di Minuetto quasi Allegretto.” “Allegro non troppo” was originally written but was scratched out and “Gratulations-Menuet” written in its place.

[Sidenote: UNABLE TO CONDUCT “FIDELIO”]

Beethoven’s absence from the complimentary function to Hensler in the theatre may be explained by the revival of “Fidelio” which took place on the same night, November 3, after an absence from the stage of three years (not eight, as Schindler says), though we do not know that he was present. It was a benefit performance for Wilhelmine Schröder, then 17 years old, afterwards the famous dramatic singer Madame Schröder-Devrient. Haitzinger sang _Florestan_, Zeltner _Rocco_, Forti _Pizarro_. Rauscher _Jaquino_, Nestroy _the Minister_, Fräulein Demmer _Marcelline_ and Fräulein Schröder _Leonore_. Schindler tells a pathetic tale concerning the dress rehearsal. Together with his friends, mindful of the happenings in the Hall of the University in 1819 and in the Josephstadt Theatre only a short time before, Schindler advised Beethoven not to attempt to conduct the performance. He hesitated for a few days, then announced his intention to direct with the help of Umlauf. Schindler escorted him to the rehearsal. The overture went well, the orchestra being well trained in it, but at the first duet it became painfully manifest that Beethoven heard nothing of what was going on on the stage. He slackened his beat and the orchestra obeyed; the singers urged the movement onward. Umlauf stopped the performance at the rappings on the jailor’s lodge-gate but gave no reason to Beethoven. At the same place on the repetition there was the same confusion. Let Schindler continue the narrative, the correctness of which there seems to be no reason to question:

The impossibility of going ahead with the author of the work
was evident. But how, in what manner inform him of the fact?
Neither Duport, the director, nor Umlauf was willing to speak
the saddening words: “It will not do; go away, you unhappy man!”
Beethoven, already uneasy in his seat, turned now to the right
now to the left, scrutinizing the faces to learn the cause of the
interruption. Everywhere silence. I had approached near him in
the orchestra. He banded me his note-book with an indication that
I write what the trouble was. Hastily I wrote in effect: “Please
do not go on; more at home.” With a bound he was in the parterre
and said merely: “Out, quick!” Without stopping he ran towards his
lodgings, Pfarrgasse, Vorstadt Leimgrube. Inside he threw himself
on the sofa, covered his face with his hands and remained in this
attitude till we sat down to eat. During the meal not a word
came from his lips; he was a picture of profound melancholy and
depression. When I tried to go away after the meal he begged me not
to leave him until it was time to go to the theatre. At parting he
asked me to go with him next day to his physician, Dr. Smetana,
who had gained some repute as an aurist.

Some details of the representation may be learned from the account in the “Theaterzeitung” of November 9. The day was the name-day of the Empress; the square about the Opera-house was illuminated; the national hymn, “Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser,” was sung; the overture received such applause that it had to be repeated; the great duet and the canon quartet also, and the soprano and tenor were recalled at the end of the opera. Was Beethoven present? The question cannot be answered. Alfred von Wolzogen in his biography of Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient quotes from Claire von Glümer, who had access to the singer’s notes, in his account of the affair. The incident of the rehearsal is told with a variation which strengthens Schindler’s narrative. At the performance, Claire von Glümer says, Beethoven sat behind the chapelmaster in the orchestra so deeply wrapped in his cloak that only his gleaming eyes were visible. The youthful prima donna was unspeakably alarmed, but scarcely had she uttered her first words than she felt her whole body infused with marvellous power. Beethoven--the public--everything vanished from view. She forgot that she had studied the rôle--she was transformed into _Leonore_--she lived, she suffered the part, scene after scene. Beethoven, the story proceeds, though he had heard not a word but had observed the soul of her singing in her transfigured face, had recognized his _Leonore_ in her.

After the performance he went to her; his usually threatening
eyes smiled upon her, he patted her cheeks, thanked her for her
_Fidelio_ and promised to compose a new opera for her--a promise
which, unfortunately was never fulfilled. Wilhelmine never met the
master again, but of all the evidences of homage paid to the famous
woman in later years her most precious recollection were the words
of appreciation which Beethoven spoke to her.

The tale is amiable, and plausible enough; standing alone there would seem to be no ground for doubting its correctness. But there are circumstances which give our credence pause. Schindler, who was Beethoven’s constant companion in those days, who presents the story of the rehearsal so convincingly, and who waited until it was time to go to the theatre, says not a word about Beethoven’s presence at the representation. Would he, after suffering such a heartbreaking humiliation at the rehearsal, have gone to the theatre and taken a conspicuous place in the orchestra? It does not seem likely. Moreover, in a letter published in the “Neue Berliner Musikzeitung” of July 30, 1851, Schindler, discussing an impersonation of _Fidelio_ by Frau Köster-Schlegel in Frankfort, says: “It may be remarked in passing that Beethoven never saw Schröder-Devrient as _Fidelio_, but was dissatisfied with her conception of the character as he had learned to know it from the public prints and oral communications. His ideal was not an operatic heroine, etc.” This would seem to be conclusive, were there not evidence that Schindler’s memory had played him false again. “Fidelio” was repeated on November 4, and also on November 26 and December 17, 1822, and March 3 and 18, 1823, and Bäuerle’s “Theaterzeitung” distinctly states that “Beethoven attended the second performance, sitting in a box in the first tier.” Moreover, Louis Schlösser, who was at this performance, adds confirmation by telling how he saw Beethoven leaving the theatre in the company of Schindler and von Breuning. Beethoven may not have been able to form an opinion of a performance which he could not hear, but the testimony of Schindler that he never saw Schröder-Devrient in the role of _Fidelio_ is greatly weakened by this proved fact. But would he have made such a statement if Beethoven had been present at the first performance and paid so spectacular a tribute to the singer? It is easier to imagine that Schindler’s memory was treacherous concerning a later performance. At best, the evidence is inconclusive, because contradictory. In March, 1823, Chapelmaster Reuling remarks in a Conversation Book: “I saw you in the theatre at the first performance of ‘Fidelio’.” Did he mean the first performance in November, 1822, or the first of the two performances in the month in which he was writing--March, 1823? Schröder-Devrient in her prime is reputed to have been the greatest of all _Fidelios_; but she did not reach her full artistic stature until after Beethoven’s death.

[Sidenote: TREATMENT FOR DEAFNESS RESUMED]

Following Schindler’s narrative we learn that Beethoven’s woeful experience at the rehearsal led to a resolution on his part to make another effort to be healed of his deafness. He went to Dr. Smetana, who prescribed medicaments to be taken inwardly, thereby indicating, as Schindler asserts, that he had no expectation of effecting a cure, but wanted only to occupy Beethoven’s mind, knowing what to expect from so impatient, wilful and absent-minded a patient; for Beethoven was as unready to follow a physician’s advice as a musician’s, and was more likely to injure himself with overdoses of drugs than to invite the benefit which the practitioner hoped for by obedience to the prescription. The usual thing happened; not only with Dr. Smetana’s treatment, but also with that of the priest, Pater Weiss, whom he had consulted some 18 years before and to whom he now returned. For a while he thought that the oil which the priest dropped into his ears was beneficial, and Pater Weiss himself expressed the belief that the left ear, at least, might permanently be helped; but Beethoven grew skeptical, as he always did unless he experienced immediate relief, his work monopolized his attention, and despite the priest’s solicitations he abandoned the treatment and yielded himself to his fate. Thenceforward no one heard him lament because of his deafness.

The compositions which were in Beethoven’s hands at the close of the year were those which had occupied him in the earlier months. The Mass, several times completed but never complete so long as it was within reach, received what must now be looked upon as its finishing touches; progress was made on the Ninth Symphony and thought given to a quartet, perhaps several quartets. The Bagatelles for Pianoforte grouped under Op. 119, some of which had been published a year before (Nos. 7-11), were finished; Nos. 1 to 6 were ready for the publisher by the end of 1822--the autograph manuscript bearing the inscription “Kleinigkeiten, 1822 Novemb.” Nottebohm thinks that Nos. 2 to 5 were conceived between 1800 and 1804; a sketch for No. 5 (C minor, _Risoluto_) is found among sketches made in 1802 for the Sonata in C minor Op. 30; Lenz says sketches for No. 3 (in D, _a l’Allemande_) are among sketches for the last movement of the “Eroica” Symphony; No. 6 (G major) is sketched on a sheet containing experimental studies for a passage in the _Credo_ of the Mass; sketches for Nos. 2 and 4 are among suggestions of a melody for Goethe’s “Erlkönig,” indicating an early period which cannot be determined. Of Nos. 7-11, enough has been said in a previous chapter. The piece published as No. 12 and added to the set by Diabelli after Beethoven’s death was originally a song with pianoforte accompaniment and had its origin in 1800 at the latest. Whether or not Beethoven made the pianoforte piece out of the projected song, on which point nothing of significance can be said, it is certain that it does not belong to the set, which consists of 11 numbers only in the old editions and in the manuscripts of the Rudolphinian Collection.

Beethoven offered a number of Bagatelles to Peters--at first four, then a larger number; he sent six to the publisher on February 15, 1823. Peters returned them--Beethoven receiving them on March 19--with the remark that they were not worth the price asked for them and that Beethoven ought to consider it beneath his dignity to waste his time on such trifles; anybody could write them. Schindler says that Peters’s action aggrieved Beethoven, which is easily believed; but Schindler confounded the Bagatelles Op. 119 with the set, Op. 126, works of distinctly a higher order which were not composed at the time. On February 25, 1823, Beethoven sent 11 Bagatelles to Ries in London with instructions to sell them as best he could. Naturally, Op. 119 is meant. On May 7, 1823, six were offered to Lissner in St. Petersburg. Schlesinger published the set in Paris at the end of 1823, as Op. 112, and Sauer and Leidesdorf issued them almost simultaneously in Vienna with the same opus number. The number 119 appears to have been assigned to the set after an agreement had been reached with Steiner concerning the works now numbered 112 to 118. The last known song by Beethoven, “Der Kuss,” was finished at this time, though written down practically as we know it in 1798. Sketches involving the few changes made are found among some for the overture “The Consecration of the House” and the Ninth Symphony. The autograph is dated “December, 1822.” It was sent to Peters, who did not print it; in 1825 it was sent to the Schotts, numbered 128, and they published it.

[Sidenote: GALITZIN AND AN ORATORIO FOR BOSTON]

In the last weeks of the year a connection was established which was destined to be of great influence in Beethoven’s final creative activities. Prince Nicolas Boris Galitzin, born in 1795, who as a young man had taken part in the Napoleonic wars, was an influential factor in the musical life of St. Petersburg. He played the violoncello, and his wife (_née_ Princess Saltykow) was an admirable pianist. Prince Galitzin was an ardent admirer of Beethoven’s music and had arranged some of the works written for the pianoforte for strings. Whether or not he had made the personal acquaintance of Beethoven has not been established, but wanting to have as his private property some composition by the master whom he revered, he addressed a letter to Beethoven on November 9, 1822, saying that as a passionate amateur of music and an admirer of the master’s talent he asked him to compose for him one, two or three string quartets, for which he would be pleased to pay any sum demanded and that he would accept the dedication of the works with gratitude. Beethoven’s answer, dated January 25, 1823, has not been found but it is known that he accepted the commission and fixed the honorarium at 50 ducats each. This is the prologue to the story of the last Quartets.

In Charles C. Perkins’s “History of the Handel and Haydn Society, of Boston,” Vol. I, p. 87, the author writes: “The most interesting matter connected with the history of the society in the year 1823 ... is the fact that Beethoven was commissioned to write an oratorio for it.” The date is obviously wrong; it should be 1822, for in a letter dated December 20, 1822, as will appear in the next chapter of this work, Beethoven tells Ries that he has received requests from all parts of Europe “and even from North America.” The historian of the Boston Society adds:

That the commission was given is certain, but as it is not
mentioned in the records, Mr. A. W. Thayer is probably right in
thinking that it was given unofficially by Richardson and two or
three other members. In October 1854 Mr. Thayer wrote a letter to
Mr. J. S. Dwight, the well-known editor of the “Musical Journal,”
to say that he had questioned Schindler, Beethoven’s biographer,
on the subject and had learned from him that in 1823 a Boston
banker, whose name was unknown to him, having occasion to write
to Geymüller, a Viennese banker, had sent an order to the great
musician to compose an oratorio for somebody or some society in
Boston and it was forwarded to its destination.... Wishing to know
the truth about the matter I wrote to Mr. Thayer, then, as now, U.
S. Consul at Trieste, for information, and in reply learned that in
one of Beethoven’s note books he had found this passage: “Bühler
writes: ‘The oratorio for Boston?’ (Beethoven) ‘I cannot write what
I should like best to write, but that which the pressing need of
money obliges me to write. This is not saying that I write only for
money. When this period is past I hope to write what for me and for
art is above all--Faust.’”

The passages cited are from a Conversation Book used in the early days of April, 1823. In the fall of that year, on November 5, the “Morgenblatt für Gebildete Leser” closed an article on Beethoven with the words: “A symphony, quartets, a Biblical oratorio, sent to him in English by the consul of the United States, observe the United States, and possibly one of Grillparzer’s poems, may be expected.”

FOOTNOTES:

[42] For this arraignment and defence (if defence it be) of Beethoven the present Editor wishes to assume entire responsibility. Thayer’s notes fail him here, but the indictment, he is convinced, is not only demanded by historical truth but also wholly within the spirit of Thayer as manifested in the earlier volumes of this work. Dr. Deiters makes no effort to conceal the facts, though he does not marshal them so as to present the moral delinquency in the strong light in which it appears when Beethoven’s words and deeds are brought sharply into juxtaposition; nevertheless, after presenting a plea in extenuation fully and fairly, he says: “We pay the tribute of our profoundest sympathy for Beethoven under these circumstances; we know sufficiently well the noble impulses of his soul in all other fields; we are aware of the reasons which compelled him to try everything which promised to better his condition; but the conscientious reporter cannot ignore facts which lie notoriously before him, and, hard as it may be, can not acquit Beethoven of the reproach that his conduct was not in harmony with the principles of strict justice and uprightness.”

[43] This has been made possible for the editor by the courtesy of the present representatives of the venerable house in Bonn, viz.: N. Simrock G. m. b. H. in Berlin, who in 1909 issued a handsome book containing all the letters which passed between N. Simrock and Beethoven in a period beginning in 1794 and ending in 1823. Nicolaus Simrock, the reader may be reminded, was a friend of Beethoven in his childhood and a colleague in the orchestra at Bonn.

[44] Youthful works.

[45] Probably “Primo amore,” though it has orchestral accompaniment.

[46] Composed in 1814 in memory of Baroness Pasqualati.

[47] The Romances for Violin Op. 40 and 50 having been published long before, Beethoven must have had another one in mind.

[48] The Trio for wind-instruments, Op. 87, already in print. Beethoven had composed variations on “Là ci darem” from “Don Giovanni” for the same instruments and the composition was called a Terzetto when performed in 1797. This was probably in his mind.

[49] The last three sonatas as we know them being out of the question, Beethoven must have thought himself in readiness to write another if it was desired; there was no lack of material in his sketchbooks.

[50] Degen was a popular aëronaut who had long before excited the interest of Beethoven.

[51] Evidences of the second mass may be found in Nottebohm’s “Zweit. Beeth.,” pages 152 and 541-543.

[52] Beethoven indulges in his propensity for puns: “Wäre mein Gehalt nicht ganz ohne Gehalt.”

[53] A composition written for a serenade given to Hensler, Director of the Josephstädter Theatre, as will appear later.