Chapter IV (2)

Either this disagreement or some other in a matter in which Schindler acted as Beethoven’s agent brought out a letter from the latter to the former in which he expresses a belief that the business, “so disagreeable to you,” might be brought to a conclusion soon: “moreover I was not, unfortunately, entirely wrong in not wholly trusting Diab.” Schindler, in a gloss on this note, says that the disagreeable business concerned the Mass. Diabelli had made plans which were not only harmful to the work but humiliating as well to Beethoven. Schindler pointed this out and Diabelli became violent and declared that since the contract was as good as closed he would summon Schindler before a court of law if it were not kept. “But,” says Schindler, “the threat did no good; he had to take back the document.” The numerous notes to Schindler about this period are undated and the times at which they were written have been only approximately fixed by Schindler; there is also some vagueness touching the time and order of the written conversations, but the evidence thus far presented, together with a significant remark in a billet to Schindler, to the effect that he had thought of a project which would “act like a pistol-shot on this fellow,” would seem to justify the assumption that Beethoven had entered into the same kind of obligation with Diabelli as he had with Simrock and Peters so far as the Mass was concerned, and that before the execution of a formal contract, which seems to have been considered necessary in this case, which was to include the Variations on the Diabelli Waltz theme, Beethoven had embarked on his enterprise with the sovereigns, which made the speedy publication of the Mass in the ordinary way impossible with honor; further, that a threat to withhold the Variations had been used to bring the irate publisher to terms. In the April Conversation Book Schindler says: “Won’t Diabelli make wry faces when your brother demands the document back almost as soon as he has received it!”

[Sidenote: DUBIOUS ASPECT OF THE NEGOTIATIONS]

To the commercialized mind of to-day it is possible that the picture which has just been presented here of a superlatively great artist hawking his creations in the courts of Europe, appealing to his friends and patrons among the great to act as his go-betweens, railing against the tardy and permitting those who were prompt in payment to wait unconscionable periods for their property, may seem to present as little of the aspect of debasement of genius and its products as it did at a time when great musicians were menials in the households of the highborn, and thrift could only follow fawning. But Beethoven had done much to exalt art and emancipate the artist, and what would have caused little comment in the case of his predecessors amongst court musicians was scarcely venial in him who preached a new ethic as well as artistic evangel. And so, to minds untainted by trade and attuned to a love of moral as well as æsthetic beauty, the spectacle which Beethoven presents in 1823 must be quite as saddening as that disclosed by his dealings with the publishers in the years immediately preceding. A greater measure of commiseration goes out to him now, however, because of the evidence that the new phase cost him greater qualms of conscience and that the exigencies which impelled him were more pressing. His physical ailments were increasing; his deafness had put a stop to his appearances in public as an artist; his eyes were troubling him; there was no lessening of his concern about his ward, but an increase in the cost of his maintenance; his income was continually dwindling because of his lessening productivity, notwithstanding that the fees which he could command for new works (and even the remnants of his youthful activity) had reached dimensions of which he had never dreamed in the heyday of his powers; he felt the oppressive burden of his debts more and more as his unreasoning love for his foster-son prompted him to make provision against the future. The royal subscription was, no doubt, a welcome scheme which, if not suggested by his advisers, was certainly encouraged by them; but it must have cost his proud soul no little humiliation to have his application rejected after he had so deeply bent “the pregnant hinges of the knee.” The publishers gave him less concern. They were his natural enemies and he theirs--“hellhounds who licked and gnawed his brains,” as he expressed it in a letter to Holz in 1825; yet he knew that he would need them, and he knew also that as soon as he went to them, and the mass appeared in print, the manuscript copies which he had sold would be all but worthless. But this may have troubled him little, as he, in all likelihood, shared Schindler’s conviction that there was no permanency of interest in the work on the part of the crowned heads and that they would not be troubled by the appearance of the work in print. Patronage of art is part of the obligation which rests upon royalty, and it would have been little less than a crime to withhold the Mass from the public; but what of the exclusiveness of right which was implied, if not expressed, in the letter to Zelter and presumably also in that to the Cæcilia Society of Frankfort? He had informed the kings, who might not even deign to glance at the Mass, that he had no “present” intention to print the work, leaving them to gather that he would do so later; but he plainly gives Zelter to understand that it is to remain a manuscript. Here, too, the advice of his friends, who could see his need but did not feel the moral responsibility which he may, or ought to, have felt, must have been persuasive and also comforting.[79] The world has too long enjoyed the great work to distress itself about the circumstances of its creation and publication; but the historian and moralist may yet as deeply deplore them as pity the conditions which compelled the composer to yield to them.

[Sidenote: DEALINGS WITH THE LONDON PHILHARMONIC]

Preliminary to the narrative of the other varied incidents of the year 1823, let us set down a brief mention of the fact that on January 20 Beethoven wrote a little piece for voice and pianoforte in the album of Countess Wimpfen, _née_ Eskeles, on the words of Goethe: “Der edle Mensch sei hülfreich und gut,” [_sic_] which was published in facsimile in the “Allgemeine Wiener Musikzeitung” on November 23, 1843. Having traversed the year in our search for material relating to the Mass in D, the next most significant subject is that which concerned the Symphony in D minor, on which he worked industriously and which had been the subject of correspondence between himself and Ries (in London) for some time before the year opened. On April 6, 1822, Beethoven had inquired of his old pupil: “What would the Philharmonic Society be likely to offer me for a symphony?” Ries, evidently, laid the matter before the directors of the society who, at a meeting on November 10, “resolved to offer Beethoven fifty pounds for a MS. symphony.”[80] Ries conveyed the information to Beethoven in a letter dated November 15 and in a reply dated December 20, Beethoven, although he protested that the remuneration was not to be compared with what other nations might give, accepted the offer, adding:

I would write _gratis_ for the first artists of Europe, if I were
not still poor Beethoven. If I were in London, what would I not
write for the Philharmonic Society! For Beethoven can write, God be
thanked, though he can do nothing else in this world. If God gives
me back my health, which has at least improved somewhat, I shall
yet be able to comply with all the requests which have come from
all parts of Europe, and even from North America, and I might yet
feather my nest.

A glimpse into the occupations, cares and perplexities which beset Beethoven at this period is given by the first letter in the series written in the new year--on February 5, which Ries, in his “Notizen,” gives only in part:

I have no further news to give you about the _Sinfonie_ but
meanwhile you may confidently count on it. Since I have made the
acquaintance here of a very amiable and cultivated man, who holds
an appointment in our imperial embassy at London, he will undertake
later to forward the Symphony to you in London, so that _it will
soon be in London_. Were I not so poor that I am obliged to live by
my pen I would accept nothing at all from the Ph. Society; as it is
I must wait until the fee for the Sinfonie is deposited here. But
to give you an evidence of my affection for and confidence in the
society I have already delivered the new Overture referred to in my
last letter, to the gentleman of the Imperial society.[81] As he is
to start from here for London in a few days he will deliver it to
you in person in London. Goldschmidt will no doubt know where you
live; if not, please tell him, so that this accommodating gentleman
will not be obliged long to hunt you. I leave to the Society all
the arrangements about the Overture which, like the Symphony, it
can keep for 18 months. Not until after the lapse of that time
shall I publish it. And now another request: my brother here, who
keeps his carriage, wanted a lift from me and so, without asking
me, he offered the Overture in question to a publisher in London
named Bosey [Boosey]. Let him wait, and tell him that at present
it is impossible to say whether he can have the Overture or not;
I will write to him myself. It all depends on the Philharmonic
Society; say to him please that my brother made a mistake in the
matter of the Overture; as to the other works which he wrote about,
he may have them. My brother _bought them_ of me in order to
traffic with them, as I observe. _O frater!_ I beg of you to write
to me as soon as possible after you have received the Overture,
whether the Philharmonic Society will take it, for otherwise I
shall publish it soon.

I have heard nothing of your _Sinfonie_ dedicated to me. If I did
not look upon the _Dedicat_ as a sort of challenge for which I
might give you _Revanche_ I should long ago have dedicated some
work to you. As it is, I have always thought that I must first
see your work. How willingly would I show you my gratitude in
some manner. I am deeply your debtor for so many proofs of your
affection and for favors. If my health is improved by a bath-cure
which I am to take in the coming summer I will kiss your wife in
London in 1824.

What justification Beethoven had, or imagined he had, for imputing a dishonorable act to his brother, cannot be said; it is noteworthy, however, that he does not even mention him in a letter written twenty days later which reiterates much that had already been set forth, and offers to send the Symphony at once on receiving word from Ries accompanied by a draft. He also intends to send six Bagatelles and asks Ries to traffic, as best he can, with them and two sonatas. Had he received a dedication from Ries, he says, he would at once have inscribed the Overture to him. Not long afterward Beethoven wrote again to Ries. The letter, which has been preserved only in part, is printed with a few omissions and changes in the “Notizen” (p. 154). Its significant remark about the new Symphony is that it is to bear a dedication to Ries; its most valuable contribution, however, refers to the Mass in D and the explanation which it offers of the fact that Beethoven sent no invitation to the English court to subscribe for that work. “In addition to these hardships,” Beethoven writes, “I have many debts to pay, for which reason it would be agreeable to me if you have disposed of the Mass to send me also the check for it, for by that time the copy for London will have been made. There need be no scruples because of the few _souverains_ who are to get copies of it. If a local publisher made no objections, there ought to be still fewer in London; moreover, I bind myself in writing that not a note of it shall appear either in print or otherwise.” The poor Archduke-Cardinal comes in for his customary drubbing, the special complaint now being that Beethoven is obliged to draw his “wretched salary” with the aid of a stamp. The letter was placed for delivery in the hands of the amiable gentleman of the Austrian Embassy whose name we now learn to be Bauer and who was also the bearer of an address to King George IV[82] which Ries was to ask Bauer to read, after which the latter was to see to its delivery into the royal hands and if possible get in return at least a “butcher’s knife or a tortoise”; a printed copy of the “Battle of Vittoria” was to accompany it. The character of the address to the king can be guessed at from the following draft for an earlier letter which was found amongst Schindler’s papers:

[Sidenote: AN APPEAL TO THE KING OF ENGLAND]

In thus presuming, herewith, to submit my most obedient prayer to
Your Majesty, I venture at the same time to supplement it with a
second.

Already in the year 1823, the undersigned took the liberty, at
the frequent requests of several Englishmen then living here, to
send his composition entitled “Wellington’s Battle and Victory at
Vittoria” which no one possessed at that time (to Your Majesty).
The then Imperial Russian Ambassador, Prince Rasoumowsky, undertook
to send the work to Your Majesty by a courier.

For many years the undersigned cherished the sweet wish that Your
Majesty would graciously make known the receipt of his work to him;
but he has not yet been able to boast of this happiness, and had
to content himself with a brief notice from Mr. Ries, his former
worthy pupil, who reported that Y. M. had been pleased graciously
to deliver the work to the then Musical Director, Mr. Salomon
and Mr. Smart for public performance in Drury Lane Theatre. This
appears also from the English journals, which added, as did Mr.
Ries, that the work had been received with extraordinary favor
not only in London but elsewhere. Inasmuch as it was extremely
humiliating to the undersigned to learn all this from indirect
sources, Y. M. will surely pardon his sensitiveness and graciously
permit him to observe that he spared neither time nor cost to lay
this work before your exalted person in the most proper manner in
order to provide a pleasure for Y. M.

From this the undersigned concludes, that it may have been
improperly submitted to Y. M. and inasmuch as the most obedient
petition which is now submitted, enables him again to approach Y.
M., he takes the privilege of handing to Y. M. accompanying printed
copy of the Battle of Vittoria in score, which has been set aside
for this purpose ever since 1815 and which has been retained so
long because of the uncertainty felt by the undersigned concerning
the matter.

Convinced of the lofty wisdom and graciousness which Y. M. has
hitherto shown toward art and artists to their appreciation and
good fortune, the undersigned flatters himself that Your Majesty
will graciously condescend to take all this in consideration and
grant his most humble petition.

[_Convaincu de la haute sagesse dont Votre Majesté a toujours su
apprecier l’art ainsi que de la haute faveur qu’elle accordé a
l’artiste le soussigné se flatte que Votre Majesté prendra l’un
et l’autre en consideration et vaudra en grace condescendre a sa
tres-humble demande._]

_a Vienne le 24 fevrier._

There are other letters to Ries which must be considered later. They do not bear out Schindler’s contention that an estrangement had taken place between former master and pupil, but were it not that Beethoven’s utterances on that point were chronic when negotiating sales of his works it might be said that they show that his burden of debt rested with peculiar grievousness upon him at this time. That it did trouble him more than ordinarily is otherwise evidenced. In April Schindler writes: “Don’t think night and day about your debts. When you are well again you’ll pay them without feeling it.” Steiner, who may have thought that consideration was no longer incumbent on him, now that Beethoven was offering his works to other publishers, pressed him for the money which he had loaned him and threatened to sue him for 800 florins. Beethoven presented a counter-claim and demanded that Steiner publish a number of compositions which he had purchased but had not issued. The debt to Brentano also distressed him. He had as yet received nothing from the royal subscribers to the _Missa Solemnis_. He appealed to his brother Johann to go security for him, but he refused. Then he consulted Dr. Bach, who advised him to dispose of one of the seven shares of bank stock which he had purchased after his stroke of fortune at the time of the Congress of Vienna. Schindler was called on to act as fiscal agent in what must have seemed a complicated matter to Beethoven, since at another time he had wanted to hypothecate a share and, on getting it out of its hiding-place, learned that all he had to do to get the money he needed was to cut off a coupon and collect it. Now he writes to Schindler:

Do not forget the B. A. (bank share); it is highly necessary. I
should not like to be sued for nothing and less than nothing. The
conduct of my brother is worthy of him. The tailor is coming to-day
and I hope to turn him away without unpleasantness.

Another note to the same:

Try to find some philanthropist who will make me a loan on a bank
share, so that, first, I need not put too severe a strain on the
generosity of my only (the word is indistinct) friend v. B. and may
not myself get in need because of the withholding of this money due
to the beautiful arrangement made by my dear brother!

On a separate scrap of paper is written: “It must not appear that the money is needed.” The date of this note is fixed by the circumstance that it is the one in which Beethoven asks Schindler to draw up a list of courts to which the invitations to subscribe to the Mass were to be sent. In still another note he refers to bank shares which evidently were to be hypothecated. It was while in this distressful state concerning his debts that he took the first steps toward making his nephew his legal heir. On March 6, 1823, he wrote to Bach:

Death might come unannounced and give no time to make a legal
will; therefore I hereby attest with my own hand that I declare my
nephew Karl van Beethoven to be my universal heir and that after
my death everything without exception _which can be called my
property shall belong to him_. I appoint you to be his curator, and
if there should be no testament after this you are also authorized
and requested to find a guardian for my beloved nephew--to the
exclusion of my brother Johann van Beethoven--and secure his
appointment according to law. I declare this writing to be valid
for all time as being my last will before my death. I embrace you
with all my heart.

The words excluding Johann from the guardianship were written on the third page of the document and on the first there was this addition: “NB. In the way of capital there are 7 shares of bank stock; whatever else is found in cash is like the bank shares to be his.” Shortly before his death he reiterated this bequest with modifications entailed by changed conditions.

The origin of a canon which Beethoven improvised at the coffee-house “Zur goldenen Birne” on February 20 to the words “Bester Herr Graf, Sie sind ein Schaf” is said by Schindler to have been a discussion between the composer and Count Lichnowsky concerning a contract with Steiner. Obviously, Beethoven and his adviser had disagreed.

[Sidenote: SEEKS APPOINTMENT AS COURT COMPOSER]

In November 1822, Anton Tayber, Imperial Court Composer, died. Beethoven applied for the appointment as his successor and Counts Lichnowsky and Dietrichstein entered the lists for him. Beethoven made a personal appeal to Dietrichstein, who was the “Court Music-Count” who, on February 23, 1823, disclosed the plan which had been conceived to promote Beethoven’s interests with the Emperor in a letter to Lichnowsky:

It would have been my duty long ago to reply to good Beethoven,
since he came to me so trustfully. But after I had spoken with
you I decided to break silence only after I had received definite
information on the subject in question. I can now tell you
positively that the post held by the deceased Tayber--who was not
Chamber but Court Composer--is not to be filled again. I do not
want to write to Beethoven because I do not like to disappoint a
man whom I so sincerely respect, and therefore I beg of you when
occasion offers to let him know the fact and then to inform me when
and where I may meet him, as I have forgotten where he lives.

I am also sending you herewith the score of a mass by Reutter
which Beethoven wished to see. It is true that H. M. the Emperor
is fond of this style, but Beethoven, if he writes a mass, need
not adhere to it. Let him follow the bent of his great genius and
have a care only that the mass be not too long or too difficult
to perform;--that it be a _tutti_ mass and have only short
soprano and alto solos in the voices (for which I have two fine
singing-boys)--but no tenor, bass or organ solos. If he wishes he
may introduce a violin, oboe or clarinet solo.

His Majesty likes to have fugues well worked out but not too long;
the _Sanctus_ and _Osanna_ as short as possible, in order not to
delay the transubstantiation, and--if I may add something on my
own account--the _Dona nobis pacem_ connected with the _Agnus Dei_
without marked interruption, and soft. In two masses by Handel
(arranged from his anthems), two by Naumann and Abbé Stadler, this
makes a particularly beautiful effect. These in brief, as results
of my experience, are the things which are to be considered and
I should congratulate myself, the court and art if our great
Beethoven were soon to take the work in hand.

On March 10 Dietrichstein sent Beethoven three texts for graduals and a like number for offertories from which to choose words to be used in the mass to be composed for the emperor. On the count’s letter Beethoven wrote the memorandum: “Treat the gradual as a symphony with song--does it follow the _Gloria_?” Here we have some light on the subject which came up for thought during the account of Beethoven’s negotiations with publishers for the Mass in D. It would seem to appear that Beethoven was much pleased with the interest manifested in his application by Count Dietrichstein, and looked with auspicious eye upon the latter’s plan to put him into the Emperor’s good books. There can scarcely be a doubt but that he gave considerable thought to the proposed mass even while still at work on the Mass in D. He conceived the plan of accompanying the _Kyrie_ with wind-instruments and organ only in a “new mass,” as he designates it, and sketches for a _Dona nobis pacem_ which have been found “for the mass in C-sharp minor” point to a treatment which may be said to be in harmony, so far as can be seen, with Count Dietrichstein’s suggestions. On one occasion he writes to Peters that he had not made up his mind which mass he should have, and on another that he had three masses, two other publishers having asked for such works. He tells Schindler that reports that the Mass in D was not finished were to be denied because they were not true, the unfinished numbers being additions. So also he writes to the Archduke. These additions were to be a gradual, an offertory, and a setting of the hymn _Tantum ergo sacramentum_, and it is a fair presumption, since appropriate texts for the first two were sent to Beethoven by Count Dietrichstein, that they were contemplated in connection with the mass for the emperor and that possibly after the abandonment of that project they were associated with the Mass in D. Nothing is known of the music which Beethoven had in mind for these additional numbers, but many sketches are lost and there is no knowing how much music which was never written out Beethoven carried in his head.[83]

Beethoven spoke of the “second” mass to others besides the publishers. Nothing came of it, however. He decided to postpone work on the mass for the Emperor, pleading the pressure of other obligations in the letters of thanks which he sent to Counts Lichnowsky and Dietrichstein. They and Archduke Rudolph were greatly disappointed and, if Schindler is to be believed, the Archduke and Lichnowsky rebuked him.[84]

[Sidenote: CONSIDERATION OF OPERATIC SUBJECTS]

In this period, too, the alluring vision of a new opera presented itself, haunted the minds of Beethoven and his friends for a space and then disappeared in the limbo of unexecuted projects. “Fidelio” had been revived on November 3, 1822, at the Kärnthnerthor Theatre. Its success was so great that the management of the theatre offered a commission to Beethoven for a new opera. Beethoven viewed the proposition favorably and his friends hailed it with enthusiasm, especially Count Moritz Lichnowsky. Beethoven’s love for classic literature led him to express a desire for a libretto based on some story of the antique world. He was told that such stories were all worn threadbare. In the Conversation Books we see what suggestions were offered by others: a text by Schlegel; Voltaire’s tragedies; Schiller’s “Fiesco.” Local poets and would-be poets were willing to throw themselves into the breach. Friedrich August Kanne, editor of the musical journal published by Steiner and Co., wrote a libretto which Beethoven sent to Schindler with a note saying that except for the fact that the first act was rather lukewarm it was so admirably written that it really did not require the collaboration of “one of the first composers,” adding, “I do not want to say that it is just the most suitable thing for me, but if I can rid myself of obligations to which I am bound, who knows what might--or will--happen!” Lichnowsky tells Beethoven in February that he is determined to see Grillparzer, with whom he evidently wants to talk about an opera-book on “Macbeth” or “Romeo and Juliet.” Brother Johann brings Beethoven a proposition from Johann Sporchil, historian and publicist, and Sporchil, receiving encouragement, submitted a work act by act to the composer, who wrote comments on the manuscripts but never did more.[85] Lichnowsky hears of an opera on “Alfred the Great,” said to be very beautiful and full of spectacular pomp. He will bring it to the composer in a few days. The Count has also written to Grillparzer, and Beethoven, recalling that he is an old acquaintance, resolves to visit him. Lichnowsky’s suggestion bore fruit of a kind. Grillparzer has left us an account of his attempt to collaborate with Beethoven on an opera in his “Erinnerungen an Beethoven.”[86] The request for a libretto, he says, came to him through Count Dietrichstein and was somewhat embarrassing to him because of his unfamiliarity with the lyric drama and his doubts touching Beethoven’s ability, after his later works, to compose an opera. Finally, however, he decided to make the attempt, and submitted a subject to Beethoven’s friends and then to Beethoven himself. It was a semi-diabolical story drawn from Bohemian legendary history, entitled “Dragomira.” It met with Beethoven’s approval and he agreed to write it, but afterward changed his mind and took up the fairy tale of Melusina. Of the manner in which he treated this subject Grillparzer says:

[Sidenote: GRILLPARZER AND HIS “MELUSINA”]

So far as possible I banished the reflective element and sought,
by giving prominence to the chorus, creating powerful finales and
adopting the melodramatic style for the third act, to adjust myself
to Beethoven’s last period. I avoided a preliminary conference with
the composer concerning the subject-matter, because I wanted to
preserve the independence of my views. Moreover, it was possible to
make alterations, and in the last instance it rested with him to
compose the book or not to compose it, as he listed. In order not
to coerce him in the least I sent him the book by the same channel
which had brought me the call. He was not to be influenced by
personal considerations or embarrassed in any manner whatsoever.

The book appealed to Beethoven, but several conferences between him and the poet were necessary before it was brought into satisfactory shape. Grillparzer had excluded much of the material in the old legend which was unsuited to dramatic treatment, and strengthened the plot with conceits of his own invention. As soon as he had sent the text he went to Beethoven at Schindler’s request. At first blush Beethoven was much pleased with the book, and he wrote Grillparzer a letter which delighted the poet. Grillparzer describes the visit to Beethoven at his lodgings in the Kothgasse which he made in company with Schindler:

I found him lying in soiled night wear on a disordered bed, a book
in his hand. At the head of the bed was a small door which, as I
observed later, opened into the dining-room and which Beethoven
seemed in a manner to be guarding, for when subsequently a maid
came through it with butter and eggs he could not restrain himself,
in the middle of an earnest conversation, from throwing a searching
glance at the quantity of the provisions served--which gave me a
painful picture of the disorder prevailing in his domestic economy.

As we entered Beethoven arose from the bed, gave me his hand,
poured out his feelings of good-will and respect and at once
broached the subject of the opera. “Your work lives here,” said
he, pointing to his heart; “I am going to the country in a few
days and shall at once begin to compose it. Only, I don’t know
what to do with the hunters’ chorus which forms the introduction.
Weber used four horns; you see, therefore, that I must have eight;
where will this lead to?” Although I was far from seeing the need
of such a conclusion I explained to him that without injury to the
rest of the book the hunters’ chorus could be omitted, with which
concession he seemed to be satisfied, and neither then nor later
did he offer any objection to the text or ask that a change be
made. He even insisted on closing a contract with me at once. The
profits of the opera should be divided evenly between us, etc. I
declared to him, and truthfully, that I had not thought of a fee
or anything of the kind while at work.... Least of all was it to
be the subject of conversation between us. He was to do with the
book what he pleased--I would never make a contract with him. After
a good deal of talk (or rather of writing, for he could no longer
hear speech) back and forth, I took my leave, promising to visit
him in Hetzendorf after he had settled himself there.

I had hoped that he had given up all thoughts of business in regard
to the matter; but a few days later my publisher, Wallishauser,
came to me and said that Beethoven insisted upon the execution of
a contract. If I could not make up my mind, Wallishauser suggested
that I assign the property-right in the book to him and he would
arrange with Beethoven, who was already advised of such a step.
I was glad to get rid of the business, let Wallishauser pay me a
moderate sum, and banished the matter from my thoughts. Whether or
not they made a contract I do not know.

Otto Jahn’s notes of a conversation with Grillparzer state that Beethoven made a contract with Barbaja, who was the _de facto_ manager of the Kärnthnerthor Theatre, for 6,000 florins, W. W. (2,500 C. M.). Shortly afterward Barbaja abandoned the contract, saying to Beethoven that he knew that though he was bound by it he could not use the opera. Thereupon Beethoven tore up the document. On April 20, 1824, Duport wrote to Beethoven that Barbaja had sent word from Naples that he would like to have an opera by Beethoven and would give time and terms as soon as he received assurance that his contract for the theatre would be extended from December 1. The extension was not granted. Schindler denied that a contract between manager and composer ever existed.

Grillparzer kept his promise to visit Beethoven at Hetzendorf, going thither with Schindler. Part of his account may best be given in his own words:

We took a promenade and entertained each other as well as was
possible half in conversation, half in writing, while walking.
I still remember with emotion that when we sat down to table
Beethoven went into an adjoining room and himself brought forth
five bottles. He set down one at Schindler’s plate, one at his own
and three in front of me, probably to make me understand in his
wild and simple way that I was master and should drink as much as I
liked. When I drove back to town without Schindler, who remained in
Hetzendorf, Beethoven insisted on accompanying me. He sat himself
beside me in the open carriage but instead of going only to the
edge of the village, he drove with me to the city, getting out
at the gates and, after a cordial handshake, starting back alone
on the journey of an hour and a half homeward. As he left the
carriage I noticed a bit of paper lying on the seat which he had
just vacated. I thought that he had forgotten it and beckoned him
to come back; but he shook his head and with a loud laugh, as at
the success of a ruse, he ran the faster in the opposite direction.
I unrolled the paper and it contained exactly the amount of the
carriage-hire which I had agreed upon with the driver. His manner
of life had so estranged him from all the habits and customs of
the world that it probably never occurred to him that under other
circumstances he would have been guilty of a gross offence. I took
the matter as it was intended and laughingly paid my coachman with
the money which had been given to me.[87]

In a Conversation Book used during the visit to Hetzendorf may be read one side of a conversation about “Melusine” which permits us to observe the poet’s capacity to look into the future:

Are you still of the opinion that something else ought to be
substituted for the first chorus of our opera? Perhaps a few tones
of the hunting-horns might be continued by an invisible chorus of
nymphs. I have been thinking if it might not be possible to mark
every appearance of Melusine or of her influence in the action by a
recurrent and easily grasped melody. Might not the overture begin
with this and after the rushing _Allegro_ the introduction be made
out of the same melody? I have thought of this melody as that to
which Melusine sings her first song.

Grillparzer speaks of “Dragomira,” promises to send the plot to Beethoven in writing and makes many observations concerning music and musicians which must have interested Beethoven even when he did not agree with him. He asserts that on the whole the North Germans know little of music--they will never produce anything higher than “Der Freischütz.” Also he has a good word for Italian opera:

And yet I cannot agree with those who unqualifiedly reject Italian
opera. To my mind there are two kinds of opera--one setting out
from the text, the other from the music. The latter is the Italian
opera. Lablache, and in a degree Fodor, are better actors than the
Germans ever had. Perhaps Mozart formed himself on the Italian
opera. It is worse now. You would have trouble to find singers for
your opera.

[Sidenote: ADVICE SOUGHT FROM FRIENDS]

There are many others with whom Beethoven discussed the opera and who came to him to tell him of their desire to see it written. Duport is greatly interested, wants to read the book with care and asks Beethoven’s terms; Lichnowsky is willing to risk the financial outcome; “I will go security,” he says in October, “for the money which you want for the opera. After selling the opera to the director you can still reserve the right of disposing of it at home and abroad.” And again: “If you do not compose the opera it will be all day with German opera--everybody says that. After the failure of Weber’s opera ‘Euryanthe’ many sent the books back. ‘Freischütz’ is not a genuine opera. If you can use me in any way, you know me and how sincere I am”; and still again, towards the end of November: “You will get incomparably more without a contract; if you want one, the director will make a contract with pleasure at once. Talk it over with Grillparzer; it will also be all one to him. Duport already asked about the opera several days ago.” From other quarters Beethoven is urged to write to Duport after the latter had written to him. In a letter which must have been written late in the year, since Beethoven is back in his town lodgings, he writes to Grillparzer telling him that the management had asked for his (Grillparzer’s) terms and suggesting that he write directly to the management and he would do the same.[88] A later conversation which must have taken place toward the close of the year (and may have been the result of this letter) begins with a complaint by Grillparzer against the censorship for having forbidden his “Ottokar.” Beethoven’s part in the dialogue may easily be supplied by the imagination, and it will be seen that he is still unreconciled to the opening chorus.

You have again taken up “Melusine?” I have already appealed to
the management twice but have had no answer.--I have already
said that I was compelled to ask 100 ducats for it.--Because as
a matter of fact, all the profits of an opera-book remain with
the theatre in which it is performed for the first time.--I could
have made a spoken drama out of the same material which would have
brought me three times as much--I _must_ ask so much in order to
meet my obligations to Wallishauser. For ordinary opera-books
they pay up to 300 florins C. M. Have you already begun to
compose?--Will you please write down for me where you want the
changes made?--Because then, nevertheless, the piece will _have_
to begin with a hunt.--Perhaps the last tones of a vanishing
hunters’ chorus might blend with the introduction without having
the hunters enter.--To begin with a chorus of nymphs might weaken
the effect of the chorus at the close of the first act.--I am
not quite versed in opera texts.--You want to deliver it to the
theatre by September.--The direction wants to make a creditable
showing in the eyes of the public.--Doesn’t the text of the opera
also seem too _long_ to you?--To whom are you thinking of giving
the rôle of _Raimund_?--They are talking of a young tenor who may
have made his début by that time. I believe his name is Cramolini;
besides a handsome figure he is said to have a beautiful voice.--It
is said that the direction is having him educated.--Forti is a
little too gross.--Then I am to expect your written suggestion as
to alterations, soon?--I am not busy at present.--I am ready for
anything.

For a space there is talk about oratorio texts (“Judith”) and the possibility of musical expression in the case of Christ. Then the text of “Dragomira” is referred to, concerning which Beethoven seems to have asked. Grillparzer says:

Dragomira. Great variety--great characters, effects.--The mother
of St. Wenzelaus, the Duke of Bohemia.--One of her sons kills the
other. She herself is a pagan, the better son is a Christian. They
still show the spot in Prague where she was swallowed up by the
earth with horses and equipage.--After I have lost all hope _here_
I shall send it to Berlin.

There is much more talk in the Conversation Book about the opera, but neither sequence nor date can always be determined. Lichnowsky tells him that the management of the theatre is willing to do anything asked of it and is negotiating with Grillparzer. Brother Johann says: “Grillparzer is coming to-morrow--that is no affair of yours.--You wrote to the management to make arrangements with the poet, and to this it was agreed; hence Grillparzer must make terms.” In the same book Schikh, the editor, writes: “Why don’t you compose Grillparzer’s opera? Write the opera first and then we shall be in a position to wish you also to write a Requiem.”

[Sidenote: GRILLPARZER PARTS WITH BEETHOVEN]

Grillparzer says that Beethoven told him in Hetzendorf that his opera was ready (whether he meant in his head or in its essential elements in the numerous sketchbooks, the poet could not say), but after the composer’s death not a single note was found which could indubitably be assigned to their common work. The poet had faithfully adhered to his resolve not to remind the composer of the work in any way and “was never near him again until, clad in black and carrying a burning torch in my [his] hand,” he walked behind his coffin. Grillparzer’s memory is faulty in a few details. He says that he never met Beethoven after the visit to Hetzendorf except once; but the two men were together again in 1824. This, however, is inconsequential; the fact remains that Beethoven did not compose “Melusine.”--Why not? Many reasons must be obvious to those who have followed this narrative closely: illness; vexation of spirit; loss of initiative; a waning of the old capacity to assimilate conceptions and ideas which did not originate in his own consciousness and were not in harmony with his own predilections. Moreover, it was the period of his greatest introspection; he was communing more and more with his own soul, and separating himself more and more from all agencies of utterance except the one which spoke most truthfully and directly within him, and to which he entrusted his last revelations--the string quartet. “Melusine” was not composed, but the opera continued to occupy his attention at intervals until deep into the next year, and unless Holz is in error, some of his last labors were devoted to it. Too literal an acceptance must not, therefore, be given to Schindler’s statement that he “suddenly” abandoned the plan of writing a German opera because he learned that the similarity between the subjects of “Melusine” and “Undine” would embarrass the production of the former in Berlin.

A project which cropped out intermittently during 1823 was the writing of an overture on the musical motive suggested by the letters composing the name of Bach. The thought seems to have become fixed in his mind in 1822, though the device of using as a motive in composition was at least as old as the Leipsic master’s “Art of Fugue,” and no doubt familiar to Beethoven. However, he was deeply engrossed in fugal writing at this period and it is very likely, as Nottebohm suggests, that he conceived an overture on the motive as a tribute to Bach’s genius. Several sketches showing different forms of the theme appear in the books of 1823; and a collateral memorandum, “This overture with the new symphony, and we shall have a concert (_Akademie_) in the Kärnthnerthor Theatre,” amongst sketches for the last quartets in 1825, shows that he clung to the idea almost to the end. Had Beethoven carried out all the plans for utilizing the theme which presented themselves to him between 1822 and 1825, there would have been several Bach overtures; unfortunately, he carried out none.

[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND THE BOY LISZT]

On April 13, 1823, the boy Franz Liszt, who was studying with Carl Czerny and had made his first public appearance on the first day of the year, gave a concert in the small Ridotto room. Together with his father he had been presented to Beethoven by Schindler, but had not been received with any special marks of friendliness. The precocious boy gave expression to the hope that Beethoven would attend his approaching concert.[89] Later in the Conversation Book:

Little Liszt has urgently requested me humbly to beg you for a
theme on which he wishes to improvise at his concert to-morrow. He
will not break the seal till the time comes. The little fellow’s
improvisations do not seriously signify. The lad is a fine pianist,
but so far as his fancy is concerned it is far from the truth
to say that he really improvises (_was Phantasie anbelangt, so
ist es noch weit am Tage bis man sagen kann, er phantasiert_).
Czerny (Carl) is his teacher. Just eleven years. Do come; it will
certainly please Karl to hear how the little fellow plays. It is
unfortunate that the lad is in Czerny’s hands.--You will make good
the rather unfriendly reception of recent date by coming to little
Liszt’s concert?--It will encourage the boy.--Promise me to come.

Did Beethoven attend the concert, and did he afterwards go upon the stage, lift up the prodigy and kiss him? So the world has long believed on the authority of Nohl,[90] who got the story from Liszt himself. Schindler ought to be a good witness in this case, since he pleaded the cause of the little lad before his great friend; but unfortunately Schindler in this instance gives testimony at one time which he impeaches at another. In the second edition of his “Biography of Beethoven” (Münster, 1845, second appendix, page 71, note) he says:

One can never know if a child will grow into a man, and if so what
kind of man; so I could not foresee when I introduced the promising
boy Liszt and his father in 1823, to Beethoven, what kind of
musical vandal would grow out of this young talent. Did Beethoven
have a premonition? The reception was not the usual friendly one
and I had reason at the time not to be particularly satisfied,
since the prodigy had interested me in an unusual degree. Beethoven
himself noticed that he had been somewhat lax in his interest in
little Franz, which made it easy to persuade him to honor the
concert of little Liszt with his presence in order to atone for the
indifference he had first shown.

In the third edition of his book (1860, Part II, p. 178) he says:

The author knows of only one reception to which the term “friendly”
can not be applied. It was in the case of little Franz Liszt, who,
accompanied by his father, was presented by me. This unfriendliness
grew out of the excessive idolization of this truly sensational
talent; but chiefly it was due to the request made of Beethoven
to give the twelve-year-old lad a theme for improvisation at
his farewell concert--a request which was as indiscreet as it
was unreasonable. But hyperenthusiasm always betrays a want of
timeliness. It is not impossible that this enthusiasm, after
Beethoven had declined the request with obvious displeasure, yet
managed to secure from Emperor Franz, or at least Archduke Rudolph,
a theme for the young virtuoso. The idolatry of the wonder-child
gave the master, who had gone through so severe a school of
experience, a text for many observations on the hindrances and
clogs to the equable development of extraordinary talents as soon
as they were made the darlings of the multitude. Sketches of the
life of Liszt have stated that Beethoven attended the farewell
concert of 1823; in Schilling’s encyclopædia it is added that
Beethoven at this concert shook the hand of little Liszt and
thereby designated him as worthy of the name of artist. Beethoven
did _not_ attend the concert; nor any private concert after
1816.[91]

The visit of Louis Schloesser, afterwards chapelmaster in Darmstadt, who delivered the message from the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt, took place in the spring of the year. His description of the visit was printed in the journal “Hallelujah” in 1885 (Nos. 20 and 21). Schloesser revisited him later and met him afterwards in town, walking with him to Steiner, whom he said he was about to take to task for a remissness. “When it comes to the publication of a new work,” Beethoven said, “they would like to postpone it as long as possible, even till after my death, thinking thus to do a better business with it; but I shall checkmate them.” Schloesser was surprised on this occasion to find Beethoven dressed with unwonted elegance and remarked the fact to Mayseder, who explained, with a smile, that it was not the first time that his friends had stolen his old clothes at night and left new ones in their place. Mayseder added that the substitution was never noticed by Beethoven, who donned the garments with perfect calmness. Schloesser observes that he never detected the least sign of absentmindedness in Beethoven.

At the last meeting between the men Schloesser showed Beethoven one of his compositions, a somewhat complicated work. Beethoven looked through it and observed: “You write too much; less would have been better. That’s the way of our young heaven-stormers who think that they can never do enough. But that will change with riper age, and I prefer a superabundance to a paucity of ideas.” To the question how this might be attained Schloesser says Beethoven replied “literally”:

I carry my thoughts about me for a long time, often a very long
time, before I write them down. Meanwhile my memory is so tenacious
that I am sure never to forget, not even in years, a theme that has
once occurred to me. I change many things, discard and try again
until I am satisfied. Then, however, there begins in my head the
development in every direction and, insomuch as I know exactly what
I want, the fundamental idea never deserts me--it arises before me,
grows--I see and hear the picture in all its extent and dimensions
stand before my mind like a cast and there remains for me nothing
but the labor of writing it down, which is quickly accomplished
when I have the time, for I sometimes take up other work, but never
to the confusion of one with the other. You will ask me where I
get my ideas? That I can not tell you with certainty; they come
unsummoned, directly, indirectly,--I could seize them with my hands
out in the open air; in the woods; while walking; in the silence
of the night; early in the morning; incited by moods which are
translated by the poet into words, by me into tones,--sound and
roar and storm about me until I have set them down in notes.

At parting, Beethoven gave Schloesser a sheet containing a canon for six voices on the words, “Edel sei der Mensch, hülfreich und gut,” with the inscription: “Words by Goethe, tones by Beethoven. Vienna, May, 1823.” On the back he wrote: “A happy journey, my dear Herr Schloesser, may all things which seem desirable come to meet you. Your devoted Beethoven.”[92] Judging by the position of the canon in the Rudolphinian Collection, Nottebohm was of the opinion that it was composed at an earlier date, say 1819-20. Beethoven also gave Schloesser, who was going to Paris, a letter of introduction to Cherubini which accomplished his acceptance as a pupil of the Conservatoire.

Our old friend Schuppanzigh, after an absence of seven years, returned to Vienna in 1823. On May 4 he gave a concert at which Piringer conducted the orchestra, and on June 14 the quartet meetings were resumed, with Holz, Weiss and Linke as his associates.

[Sidenote: VARIATIONS ON A WALTZ BY DIABELLI]