The Life of Ludwig van Beethoven, Volume II
by Alexander Wheelock Thayer · English · Gutenberg #43592 · 1,230,772 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Life of Ludwig van Beethoven, Volume II
Author: Alexander Wheelock Thayer
Translator: Henry Edward Krehbiel
Release date: August 29, 2013 [eBook #43592]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN, VOLUME II ***
Transcriber's Note
Bold text is indicated by ~tildes~, and italics by _underscores_.
THE LIFE OF LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
VOLUME II
[Illustration]
[Illustration: BEETHOVEN
After Mähler's Portrait of 1804
From the copy in possession of Mrs. Jabez Fox]
The Life of
Ludwig van Beethoven
~By~ Alexander Wheelock Thayer
Edited, revised and amended from the original
English manuscript and the German editions
of Hermann Deiters and Hugo Riemann, concluded,
and all the documents newly translated
By
Henry Edward Krehbiel
Volume II
Published by
The Beethoven Association
New York
~SECOND PRINTING~
Copyright, 1921.
By Henry Edward Krehbiel
From the press of G. Schirmer, Inc., New York
Printed in the U. S. A.
Contents of Volume II
PAGE
CHAPTER I. The Year 1803--Cherubini’s Operas in Vienna
and Rivalry between Schikaneder and the Imperial
Theatres--Beethoven’s Engagement at the Theater-an-der-Wien
--“Christus am Ölberg” again--Bridgetower
and the “Kreutzer” Sonata--Career of the
Violinist--Negotiations with Thomson for the Scottish
Songs--New Friends--Willibrord Mähler’s Portrait of
Beethoven--Compositions of the Year--A Pianoforte
from Erard 1
CHAPTER II. The Year 1804--Schikaneder Sells His
Theatre and is then Dismissed from the Management--
Beethoven’s Contract Ended and Renewed by
Baron Braun--The “Sinfonia Eroica”--Prince Louis
Ferdinand of Prussia--Quarrel between Beethoven
and von Breuning--The “Waldstein” Sonata--Sonnleithner,
Treitschke and Gaveaux--Paër and His Opera
“Leonora”--“Fidelio” Begun--Beethoven’s Growing
Popularity--Publications of the Year 22
CHAPTER III. The Year 1805--Schuppanzigh’s First Quartet
Concerts--First Public Performance of the
“Eroica”--Pleyel--The Opera “Leonore,” or “Fidelio”;
Jahn’s Study of the Sketchbook--The Singers and the
Production--Vienna Abandoned by the Aristocracy as
French Advance--Röckel’s Story of the Revision of the
Opera--Compositions and Publications of the Year 41
CHAPTER IV. The Year 1806--Repetitions of “Fidelio”:
A Revision of the Book by von Breuning--Changes
in the Opera--The “Leonore” Overtures--A Second
Failure--Beethoven Withdraws the Opera from the
Theatre--Marriage of Karl Kaspar van Beethoven--A
Journey to Silesia--Beethoven Leaves Prince Lichnowsky’s
Country-seat in Anger--George Thomson and
His Scottish Songs--Compositions and Publications of
the Year--The “Appassionata” Sonata and Rasoumowsky
Quartets--Reception of the Quartets in Russia and
England--The Concerto for Violin 57
CHAPTER V. Beethoven’s Friends and Patrons in the
First Lustrum of the Nineteenth Century--Archduke
Rudolph, an Imperial Pupil--Count Andreas Rasoumowsky--
Countess Erdödy--Baroness Ertmann--Marie
Bigot--Therese Malfatti--Nanette Streicher--Doctor
Zizius--Anecdotes 78
CHAPTER VI. Princes and Counts as Theatrical Directors:
Beethoven Appeals for an Appointment--Vain
Expectations--Subscription Concerts at Prince Lobkowitz’s--
The Symphony in B-flat--Overture to “Coriolan”--Contract
with Clementi--Errors in the Dates of Important Letters--
The Mass in C--A Falling-out with Hummel--The “Leonore”
Overtures again--Performances of Beethoven’s Works at the
“Liebhaber” Concerts--The Year 1807 98
CHAPTER VII. The Year 1808--Johann van Beethoven
Collects a Debt and Buys an Apothecary Shop in
Linz--Wilhelm Rust--Plans for New Operas--Sketches
for “Macbeth”--Imitative Music and the “Pastoral”
Symphony--Count Oppersdorff and the Fourth Symphony--A
Call to Cassel--Organization of Rasoumowsky’s
Quartet--Appreciation of Beethoven in Vienna:
Disagreement with Orchestral Musicians--Mishaps at
the Performance of the Choral Fantasia 114
CHAPTER VIII. Jerome Bonaparte’s Invitation--A New
Plan to Keep Beethoven in Vienna--The Annuity Contract--
Ries’s Disappointment--Farewell to Archduke
Rudolph in a Sonata--The Siege and Capitulation of
Vienna--Seyfried’s “Studies”--Reissig’s Songs--An
Abandoned Concert--Commission for Music to “Egmont”--
Increased Cost of Living in Vienna--Dilatory
Debtors--Products of 1809 135
CHAPTER IX. The Years 1807-09: a Retrospect--Beethoven’s
Intellectual Development and Attainments: Growth after
Emancipation from Domestic Cares--His Natural Disposition--
Eager in Self-Instruction--Interest in Oriental Studies--His
Religious Beliefs--Attitude towards the Church 163
CHAPTER X. The Year 1810--Disappointing Decrease in
Productivity--The Music for “Egmont”--Money from
Clementi, and a Marriage Project--A New Infatuation
Prompts Attention to Dress--Therese Malfatti--Beethoven’s
Relations with Bettina von Arnim--Her
Correspondence with Goethe--A Question of Authenticity
Discussed--Beethoven’s Letter to Bettina--An
Active Year with the Publishers 170
CHAPTER XI. The Year 1811--Bettina von Arnim--The
Letters between Beethoven and Goethe--The Great
Trio in B-flat--Music for a New Theatre in Pesth:
“The Ruins of Athens” and “King Stephen”--Compositions
and Publications of the Year 196
CHAPTER XII. The Year 1812--Reduction of Income from
the Annuity--The Austrian “Finanzpatent”--Legal
Obligation of the Signers to the Agreement--First
Performance of the Pianoforte Concerto in E-flat--A
Second Visit to Teplitz--Beethoven and Goethe--Amalie
Sebald--Beethoven in Linz--He Drives His
Brother Johann into a Detested Marriage--Rode and
the Sonata Op. 96--Spohr--The Seventh and Eighth
Symphonies--Mälzel and His Metronome--A Canon
and the Allegretto of the Eighth Symphony 211
CHAPTER XIII. The Year 1813--Beethoven’s Journal--Illness
of Karl Kaspar van Beethoven--He Requests
the Appointment of His Brother as Guardian of His
Son--Death of Prince Kinsky--Obligations under the
Annuity Agreement--Beethoven’s Earnings--Mälzel
and “Wellington’s Victory”--Battle Pieces and Their
Popularity--Postponement of the Projected Visit to
London--The Seventh Symphony--Spohr on Beethoven’s
Conducting--Concerts, Compositions and Publications
of the Year 239
CHAPTER XIV. The Year 1814--Success of “Wellington’s
Victory”--Umlauf Rescues a Performance--Revival
and Revision of “Fidelio”--Changes Made in the
Opera--Success Attained--The Eighth Symphony--Beethoven
Plays in the Great Trio in B-flat--Anton
Schindler Appears on the Scene--The Quarrel with
Mälzel--Legal Controversy and Compromise--Moscheles
and the Pianoforte Score of “Fidelio”--The Vienna Congress--
Tribute from a Scottish Poet--Weissenbach--Tomaschek--
Meyerbeer--Rasoumowsky’s Palace Destroyed by Fire 261
CHAPTER XV. The Year 1815--New Opera Projects Considered--
“Romulus and Remus”--Settlements with the Heirs of Prince
Kinsky--Unjust Aspersions on the Conduct of Kinsky and
Lobkowitz--“The Mount of Olives” in England--Negotiations with
English Publishers--Diabelli--Charles Neate--Death of Karl
Kaspar van Beethoven--His Wishes with regard to the
Guardianship of His Son--Growth of Beethoven’s Intimacy
with Schindler--Compositions and Publications of the Year 304
CHAPTER XVI. The Year 1816--A Commission from the Gesellschaft
der Musikfreunde--Guardianship of Nephew
Karl--Giannatasio del Rio--Beethoven’s Music in
London--The Philharmonic Society--Three Overtures
Composed, Bought and Discarded--Birchall and
Neate--The Erdödys--Fanny Giannatasio--“An die
ferne Geliebte”--Major-General Kyd--Accusations
against Neate--Letters to Sir George Smart--Anselm
Hüttenbrenner--The Year’s Productions 329
CHAPTER XVII. The Year 1817--Beethoven and the
Public Journals of Vienna--Fanny Giannatasio’s Journal--
Extracts from Beethoven’s “Tagebuch”--The
London Philharmonic Society again--Propositions Submitted
by Ries--Nephew Karl and His Mother--Beethoven’s
Pedagogical Suggestions to Czerny--Cipriani
Potter--Marschner--Marie Pachler-Koschak--Another
Mysterious Passion--Beethoven and Mälzel’s Metronome--An
Unproductive Year 358
CHAPTER XVIII. The Year 1818--Gift of a Pianoforte
from John Broadwood--The Composer Takes Personal
Charge of His Nephew--His Unfitness as Foster-father
and Guardian--Abandonment of His Projected Visit
to London--The Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde’s
Oratorio--The Nephew and a Mother’s Legal Struggle
for Possession of Her Son--The Case Reviewed--The
Predicate “van” and Beethoven’s Nobility--Archduke
Rudolph Becomes Archbishop of Olmütz--Work on the
Mass in D, Ninth Symphony and Grand Trio in B-flat 390
Chapter I
The Year 1803--Cherubini’s Operas in Vienna--Beethoven’s Engagement
at the Theater-an-der-Wien--“Christus am Ölberg” again--Bridgetower
and the “Kreutzer” Sonata---Negotiations with Thomson--New
Friends--Mähler’s Portrait of Beethoven.
Kotzebue, after a year of activity in Vienna as Alxinger’s successor in
the direction, under the banker Baron von Braun, of the Court Theatre,
then a year of exile in Siberia (1800), whence he was recalled by that
semi-maniac Paul, who was moved thereto by the delight which the little
drama “Der Leibkutscher Peters III.” had given him--then a short time
in Jena, where his antagonism to Goethe broke out into an open quarrel,
established himself in Berlin. There he began, with Garlieb Merkel
(1802), the publication of a polemical literary journal called the
“Freymüthige,” Goethe, the Schlegels and their party being the objects
of their polemics. Spazier’s “Zeitung für die Elegante Welt” (Leipsic)
was its leading opponent, until the establishment of a new literary
journal at Jena.
At the beginning of 1803, Kotzebue was again in Vienna on his way to
Italy. Some citations from the “Freymüthige” of this time have an
especial value, as coming, beyond a doubt, from his pen. His position
in society, his knowledge from experience of theatrical affairs
in Vienna, his personal acquaintance with Beethoven and the other
persons mentioned, all combine to enable him to speak with authority.
An article in No. 58 (April 12) on the “Amusements of the Viennese
after Carnival,” gives a peep into the salon-life of the capital, and
introduces to us divers matters of so much interest, as to excuse the
want of novelty in certain parts.
... Amateur concerts at which unconstrained pleasure prevails are
frequent. The beginning is usually made with a quartet by Haydn or
Mozart; then follows, let us say, an air by Salieri or Paër, then
a pianoforte piece with or without another instrument ~obbligato~,
and the concert closes as a rule with a chorus or something of
the kind from a favorite opera. The most excellent pianoforte
pieces that won admiration during the last carnival were a new
quintet[1] by Beethoven, clever, serious, full of deep significance
and character, but occasionally a little too glaring, here and
there ~Odensprünge~ in the manner of this master; then a quartet by
Anton Eberl, dedicated to the Empress, lighter in character, full
of fine yet profound invention, originality, fire and strength,
brilliant and imposing. Of all the musical compositions which have
appeared of late these are certainly two of the best. Beethoven has
for a short time past been engaged, at a considerable salary, by
the Theater-an-der-Wien, and will soon produce at that playhouse
an oratorio of his composition entitled “Christus am Ölberg.”
Amongst the artists on the violin the most notable are Clement,
Schuppanzigh (who gives the concerts in the Augarten in the summer)
and Luigi Tomasini. Clement (Director of the orchestra an-der-Wien)
is an admirable concert player; Schuppanzigh performs quartets
very agreeably. Good dilettanti are Eppinger, Molitor and others.
Great artists on the pianoforte are Beethofen [~sic~], Hummel,
Madame Auernhammer and others. The famous Abbé Vogler is also here
at present, and plays fugues in particular with great precision,
although his rather heavy touch betrays the organist. Among the
amateurs Baroness Ertmann plays with amazing precision, clearness
and delicacy, and Fräulein Kurzbeck touches the keys with high
intelligence and deep feeling. Mesdames von Frank and Natorp,
formerly Gerardi and Sessi, are excellent singers.
A few words may be added to this picture from other sources. Salieri’s
duties being now confined to the sacred music of the Imperial Chapel,
Süssmayr being far gone in the consumption of which he died on Sept.
16 (of this year--1803), Conti retaining but the name of orchestral
director (he too died the next year), Liechtenstein and Weigl were now
the conductors of the Imperial Opera; Henneberg and Seyfried held the
same position under Schikaneder, as in the old house, so now in the new.
Schuppanzigh’s summer concerts in the Augarten, and Salieri’s Widows
and Orphans concerts at Christmas and in Holy Week, were still the
only regular public ones. Vogler had come from Prague in December, and
Paër, who had removed to Dresden at Easter, 1802, was again in Vienna
to produce his cantata “Das Heilige Grab,” at the Widows and Orphans
Concert. It was a period of dearth at Vienna in operatic composition.
At the Court Theatre Liechtenstein had failed disastrously; Weigl had
not been able to follow up the success of his “Corsär,” and several
years more elapsed before he obtained a permanent name in musical
annals by his “Schweizerfamilie.” Salieri’s style had become too
familiar to all Vienna longer to possess the charms of freshness
and novelty. In the Theater-an-der-Wien, Teyber, Henneberg, Seyfried
and others composed to order and executed their work satisfactorily
enough--indeed, sometimes with decided, though fleeting, success. But
no new work, for some time past, composed to the order of either of
these theatres, had possessed such qualities as to secure a brilliant
and prolonged existence. From another source, however, a new, fresh and
powerful musical sensation had been experienced during the past year at
both: and in this wise:
[Sidenote: CHERUBINI’S OPERAS IN VIENNA]
Schikaneder produced, on the 23rd of March, a new opera which had
been very favorably received at Paris, called “Lodoiska,” the music
composed “by a certain Cherubini.” The applause gained by this opera
induced the Court Theatre to send for the score of another opera
by the same composer, and prepare it for production on the 14th of
August, under the title “Die Tage der Gefahr.” Schikaneder, with
his usual shrewdness, meantime was secretly rehearsing the same
work, of which Seyfried in the beginning of July had made the then
long journey to Munich to obtain a copy, and on the 13th--one day
in advance of the rival stage--the musical public was surprised and
amused to see “announced on the bill-board of the Wiener Theater the
new opera ‘Graf Armand, oder Die zwei unvergessliche Tage.’” In the
adaptation and performance of the work, each house had its points of
superiority and of inferiority; on the whole, there was little to
choose between them; the result in both was splendid. The rivalry
between the two stages became very spirited. The Court Theatre selected
from the new composer’s other works the “Medea,” and brought it out
November 6. Schikaneder followed, December 18, with “Der Bernardsberg”
(“Elise”), “sadly mutilated.” Twenty years later Beethoven attested
the ineffaceable impression which Cherubini’s music had made upon him.
While the music of the new master was thus attracting and delighting
crowded audiences at both theatres, the wealthy and enterprising Baron
Braun went to Paris and entered into negotiations with Cherubini, which
resulted in his engagement to compose one or more operas for the Vienna
stage. Besides this “a large number of new theatrical representations
from Paris” were expected (in August, 1802) upon the Court stage.
“Baron Braun, who is expected to return from Paris, is bringing the
most excellent ballets and operas with him, all of which will be
performed here most carefully according to the taste of the French.”
Thus the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung.”
These facts bring us to the most valuable and interesting notice
contained in the article from the “Freymüthige”--the earliest record of
Beethoven’s engagement as composer for the Theater-an-der-Wien.
Zitterbarth, the merchant with whose money the new edifice had
been built and put in successful operation, “who had no knowledge
of theatrical matters outside of the spoken drama,” left the stage
direction entirely in the hands of Schikaneder. In the department
of opera that director had a most valuable assistant in Sebastian
Meier--the second husband of Mozart’s sister-in-law, Mme. Hofer, the
original ~Queen of Night~--a man described by Castelli as a moderately
gifted bass singer, but a very good actor, and of the noblest and
most refined taste in vocal music, opera as well as oratorio; to whom
the praise is due of having induced Schikaneder to bring out so many
of the finest new French works, those of Cherubini included. It is
probable, therefore, that, just now, when Baron von Braun was reported
to have secured Cherubini for his theatre, and it became necessary
to discover some new means of keeping up a successful competition,
Meier’s advice may have had no small weight with Schikaneder. Defeat
was certain unless the operas, attractive mainly from their scenery and
grotesque humor, founded upon the “Thousand and One Nights” and their
thousand and one imitations, and set to trivial and commonplace tunes,
should give place to others of a higher order, quickened by music more
serious, dignified and significant.
Whether Abbé Georg Joseph Vogler was really a great and profound
musician, as C. M. von Weber, Gänsbacher and Meyerbeer held him to
be, or a charlatan, was a matter much disputed in those days, as the
same question in relation to certain living composers is in ours.
Whatever the truth was, by his polemical writings, his extraordinary
self-laudation, his high tone at the courts whither he had been called,
his monster concerts, and his almost unperformable works, he had made
himself an object of profound curiosity, to say the least. Moreover,
his music for the drama “Hermann von Staufen, oder das Vehmgericht,”
performed October 3, 1801, at the Theater-an-der-Wien (if the same as
in “Hermann von Unna,” as it doubtless was), was well fitted to awaken
confidence in his talents. His appearance in Vienna just now was,
therefore, a piece of good fortune for Schikaneder, who immediately
engaged him for his theatre.
[Sidenote: ENGAGED TO COMPOSE AN OPERA]
Whether Beethoven had talents for operatic composition, no one
could yet know; but his works had already spread to Paris, London,
Edinburgh, and had gained him the fame of being the greatest living
instrumental composer--Father Haydn of course excepted--and this much
might be accepted as certain: viz., that his name alone, like Vogler’s,
would secure the theatre from pecuniary loss in the production of ~one~
work; and, perhaps--who could foretell?--he might develop powers in
this new field which would raise him to the level of even Cherubini! He
was personally known to Schikaneder, having played in the old theatre,
and his “Prometheus” music was a success at the Court Theatre. So he,
too, was engaged. The correspondent of the “Zeitung für die Elegante
Welt” positively states, under date of June 29th: “Beethoven is
composing an opera by Schikaneder.” There is nothing very improbable in
this, though circumstances intervened which prevented the execution of
such a project. Still the fact remains, that Schikaneder--that strange
compound of wit and absurdity; of poetic instinct and grotesque humor;
of shrewd and profitable enterprise and lavish prodigality; who lived
like a prince and died like a pauper--has connected his name honorably
with both Mozart and Beethoven.
These plain and obvious facts have been so misrepresented as to
make it appear that this engagement of Beethoven was a grand stroke
of policy conceived and executed by Baron von Braun, who, at the
Theater-an-der-Wien (“newly built and to be opened in 1804”), had
suddenly become aware of a genius and talent, to which, notwithstanding
the “Prometheus” music, at the Imperial Opera, he had been oblivious
during the preceding ten years! The date of the transaction is a
sufficient confutation of this; as also of the notion that the success
of the “Christus am Ölberg” led to his engagement. On the contrary,
it was his engagement that enabled Beethoven to obtain the use of the
Theater-an-der-Wien to produce that work in a concert to which we now
come.
The “Wiener Zeitung” of Saturday, March 26 and Wednesday, March 30,
1803, contained the following
NOTICE
On the 5th (not the 4th) of April, Herr Ludwig van Beethoven will
produce a new oratorio set to music by him, “Christus am Ölberg,”
in the R. I. privil. Theater-an-der-Wien. The other pieces also to
be performed will be announced on the large bill-board.
Beethoven must have felt no small confidence in the power of his name
to awaken the curiosity and interest of the musical public, for he
doubled the prices of the first chairs, tripled those of the reserved
and demanded 12 ducats (instead of 4 florins) for each box. But it was
his first public appearance as a dramatic vocal composer, and on his
posters he had several days before announced with much pomp that all
the works would be of his composition. The result, however, answered
his expectations, “for the concert yielded him 1800 florins.”
The works actually performed were the first and second Symphonies,
the Pianoforte Concerto in C minor and “Christus am Ölberg”; some
others, according to Ries, were intended, but, owing to the length
of the concert, which began at the early hour of six, were omitted
in the performance. As no copy of the printed programme has been
discovered, there is no means of deciding what these pieces were;
but the “Adelaide,” the ~Scena et Aria~ “Ah, perfido!” and the trio
“Tremate, empj, tremate,” suggest themselves, as vocal pieces well
fitted to break the monotony of such a mass of orchestral music.
It seems strange--knowing as we do Beethoven’s vast talent for
improvisation--that no extempore performance is reported.
“The symphonies and concertos,” says Seyfried, “which Beethoven
produced for the first time (1803 and 1808) for his benefit at the
Theater-an-der-Wien, the oratorio, and the opera, I rehearsed according
to his instructions with the singers, conducted all the orchestral
rehearsals and personally conducted the performance.”[2]
The final general rehearsal was held in the theatre on the day of
performance, Tuesday, April 5. On that morning, as was often the
case when Beethoven needed assistance in his labors, young Ries was
called to him early--about 5 o’clock. “I found him in bed,” says Ries,
“writing on separate sheets of paper. To my question what it was he
answered, ‘Trombones.’ At the concert the trombone parts were played
from these sheets. Had the copyist forgotten to copy these parts?
Were they an afterthought? I was too young at the time to observe the
artistic interest of the incident; but probably the trombones were an
afterthought, as Beethoven might as easily have had the ~uncopied parts
as the copied~.” The correspondent of the “Zeitung für die Elegante
Welt” renders a probable solution of Ries’s doubt easy. He found the
music to the “Christus” to be “on the whole good, and there are a few
admirable passages, an air of the ~Seraph~ with trombone accompaniment
in particular being of admirable effect.” Beethoven had probably found
the aria “Erzittre, Erde” to fail of its intended effect, and added
the trombone on the morning of the final rehearsal, to be retained or
not as should prove advisable upon trial.[3] Ries continues:
[Sidenote: PRODUCTION OF “THE MOUNT OF OLIVES”]
The rehearsal began at 8 o’clock in the morning. It was a terrible
rehearsal, and at half after 2 everybody was exhausted and more
or less dissatisfied. Prince Karl Lichnowsky, who attended the
rehearsal from the beginning, had sent for bread and butter, cold
meat and wine in large baskets. He pleasantly asked all to help
themselves and this was done with both hands, the result being that
good nature was restored again. Then the Prince requested that the
oratorio be rehearsed once more from the beginning, so that it
might go well in the evening and Beethoven’s first work in this
genre be worthily presented. And so the rehearsal began again.
Seyfried in the article above quoted gives a reminiscence of this
concert:
At the performance of the Concerto he asked me to turn the pages
for him; but--heaven help me!--that was easier said than done. I
saw almost nothing but empty leaves; at the most on one page or
the other a few Egyptian hieroglyphs wholly unintelligible to me
scribbled down to serve as clues for him; for he played nearly all
of the solo part from memory, since, as was so often the case, he
had not had time to put it all on paper.[4] He gave me a secret
glance whenever he was at the end of one of the invisible passages
and my scarcely concealable anxiety not to miss the decisive moment
amused him greatly and he laughed heartily at the jovial supper
which we ate afterwards.
The impression made on reading the few contemporary notices of this
concert is that the new works produced were, on the whole, coldly
received. The short report (by Kotzebue?) in the “Freymüthige” said:
Even our doughty Beethofen, whose oratorio “Christus am Ölberg”
was performed for the first time at surburban Theater-an-der-Wien,
was not altogether fortunate, and despite the efforts of his many
admirers was unable to achieve really marked approbation. True,
the two symphonies and single passages in the oratorio were voted
very beautiful, but the work in its entirety was too long, too
artificial in structure and lacking expressiveness, especially in
the vocal parts. The text, by F. X. Huber, seemed to have been as
superficially written as the music. But the concert brought 1800
florins to Beethofen and he, as well as Abbé Vogler, has been
engaged for the theatre. He is to write one opera, Vogler three;
for this they are to receive 10 per cent. of the receipts at the
first ten performances, besides free lodgings.
The writer in the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” alone speaks of
the “Christus” as having been received with “extraordinary approval.”
Three months afterwards another correspondent flatly contradicts this:
“In the interest of truth,” he writes, “I am obliged to contradict
a report in the ‘Musikalische Zeitung’; Beethoven’s cantata did not
please.” To this Schindler remarks: “Even the composer agreed with
this to this extent--that in later years he unhesitatingly declared
that it had been a mistake to treat the part of ~Christ~ in the modern
vocal style. The abandonment of the work after the first performance,
as well as its tardy appearance in print (about 1810), permit us to
conclude that the author was not particularly satisfied with the manner
in which he had solved the problem, and that he probably made material
changes in the music.” The “Wiener Zeitung” of July 30, 1803, gives
all the comment necessary on the “abandonment” and probable changes in
the work, by announcing that “the favorable reception” of the oratorio
had induced the Society of Amateur Concerts to resolve to repeat it on
August 4. Moreover, Sebastian Meier’s concert of March 27, 1804, opened
with the second Symphony of Beethoven and closed with “Christus am
Ölberg,” being its fourth performance in one year.[5]
A few days after this public appearance we have a sight of Beethoven
again in private life. Dr. Joh. Th. Helm, the famous physician and
professor in Prague, then a young man just of the composer’s age (he
was born December 11, 1770), accompanied Count Prichnowsky on a visit
to Vienna. On the morning of the 16th of April these two gentlemen
met Beethoven in the street, who, knowing the Count, invited them to
Schuppanzigh’s, “where some of his pianoforte sonatas which Kleinhals
had transcribed as string quartets were to be rehearsed. We met,”
writes Held, in his manuscript autobiography (the citations were
communicated to this work by Dr. Edmund Schebek of Prague)
a number of the best musicians gathered together, such as the
violinists Krumbholz, Möser (of Berlin), the mulatto Bridgethauer,
who in London had been in the service of the then Prince of
Wales, also a Herr Schreiber and the 12 years’ old[6] Kraft who
played second. Even then Beethoven’s muse transported me to
higher regions, and the desire of all of these artists to have
our musical director Wenzel Praupner in Vienna confirmed me in
my opinion of the excellence of his conducting. Since then I have
often met Beethoven at concerts. His piquant conceits modified the
gloominess, I might say the lugubriousness, of his countenance. His
criticisms were very keen, as I learned most clearly at concerts of
the harpist Nadermann of Saxony and Mara, who was already getting
along in years.
[Sidenote: BRIDGETOWER AND THE “KREUTZER SONATA”]
The “Bridgethauer,” mentioned by Held--whose incorrect writing of the
name conveys to the German its correct pronunciation--was the “American
ship captain who associated much with Beethoven” mentioned by Schindler
and his copyists.
George Augustus Polgreen Bridgetower--a bright mulatto then 24 years
old, son of an African father and German or Polish mother, an applauded
public violinist in London at the age of ten years, and long in the
service, as musician, of the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV--was
never in America and knew as much probably of a ship and the science of
navigation as ordinary shipmasters do of the violin and the mysteries
of musical counterpoint. In 1802 he obtained leave of absence to visit
his mother in Dresden and to use the waters of Teplitz and Carlsbad,
which leave was prolonged that he might spend a few months in Vienna.
His playing in public and private at Dresden had secured him such
favorable letters of introduction as gained him a most brilliant
reception in the highest musical circles of the Austrian capital, where
he arrived a few days before Held met him at Schuppanzigh’s. Beethoven,
to whom he was introduced by Prince Lichnowsky, readily gave him aid
in a public concert. The date of the concert has not been determined
precisely; it was probably on May 24th. It has an interest on account
of Beethoven’s connection with it; for the day of the concert was the
date of the completion and performance of the “Kreutzer” Sonata.
The famous Sonata in A minor, Op. 47, with concertante violin,
dedicated to Rudolph Kreutzer in Paris [says Ries on page 82 of the
“Notizen”], was originally composed by Beethoven for Bridgetower,
an English artist. Here things did not go much better (Ries is
referring to the tardiness of the composition of the horn sonata
which Beethoven wrote for Punto), although a large part of the
first Allegro was ready at an early date. Bridgetower pressed
him greatly because the date of his concert had been set and he
wanted to study his part. One morning Beethoven summoned me at
half after 4 o’clock and said: “Copy the violin part of the first
Allegro quickly.” (His ordinary copyist was otherwise engaged.)
The pianoforte part was noted down only here and there in parts.
Bridgetower had to play the marvellously beautiful theme and
variations in F from Beethoven’s manuscript at the concert in the
Augarten at 8 o’clock in the morning because there was no time to
copy it. The final Allegro, however, was beautifully written,
since it originally belonged to the Sonata in A major (Op. 30),
which is dedicated to Czar Alexander. In its place Beethoven,
thinking it too brilliant for the A major Sonata, put the
variations which now form the finale.[7]
Bridgetower was thoughtful enough to leave in his copy of the Sonata a
note upon that first performance of it, as follows:
Relative to Beethoven’s Op. 47.
When I accompanied him in this Sonata-Concertante at Wien, at the
repetition of the first part of the Presto, I imitated the flight,
at the 18th bar, of the pianoforte of this movement thus:
[Illustration: 1^{ma} volta
2^{da} volta]
He jumped up, embraced me, saying: “Noch einmal, mein lieber
Bursch!” (“Once again, my dear boy!”) Then he held the open pedal
during this flight, the chord of C as at the ninth bar.
Beethoven’s expression in the Andante was so chaste, which always
characterized the performance of all his ~slow movements~, that it
was unanimously hailed to be repeated twice.
George Polgreen Bridgetower.
[Sidenote: THE CAREER OF BRIDGETOWER]
Bridgetower was mentioned in a letter from Beethoven to Baron von
Wetzlar, in this language, under date May 18:
Although we have never addressed each other I do not hesitate
to recommend to you the bearer, Mr. Brishdower, a very capable
virtuoso who has a complete command of his instrument.
Besides his concertos he plays quartets admirably. I greatly
wish that you make him known to others. He has commended himself
favorably to Lobkowitz and Fries and all other eminent lovers (of
music).
I think it would be not at all a bad idea if you were to take him
for an evening to Therese Schönfeld, where I know many friends
assemble and at your house. I know that you will thank me for
having made you acquainted with him.
Bridgetower, when advanced in years, talking with Mr. Thirlwall about
Beethoven, told him that at the time the Sonata, Op. 47, was composed,
he and the composer were constant companions, and that the first copy
bore a dedication to him; but before he departed from Vienna they had a
quarrel about a girl, and Beethoven then dedicated the work to Rudolph
Kreutzer.[8]
[Sidenote: SUMMER LODGINGS AT DÖBLING]
When Beethoven removed from the house “am Peter” to the theatre
building, he took his brother Karl (Kaspar) to live with him,[9] as
twenty years later he gave a room to his ~factotum~ Schindler. This
change of lodgings took place, according to Seyfried, before the
concert of April 5--which is confirmed by the brother’s new address
being contained in the “Staats-Schematismus” for 1803--that annual
publication being usually ready for distribution in April.[10] At the
beginning of the warm season Beethoven, as was his annual custom,
appears to have passed some weeks in Baden to refresh himself and
revive his energies after the irregular, exciting and fatiguing city
life of the winter, before retiring to the summer lodgings, whose
position he describes in a note to Ries (“Notizen,” p. 128) as “in
Oberdöbling No. 4, the street to the left where you go down the
mountain to Heiligenstadt.”
The Herrengasse is still “die Strasse links” at the extremity of the
village, as it was then; but the multiplication of houses and the
change in their numbers render it uncertain which in those days bore
the number 4. At all events it had, in 1803, gardens, vineyards or
green fields both in front and rear. True, it was half an hour’s walk
farther than from Heiligenstadt to the scenes in which he had composed
the second Symphony, the preceding summer; but, to compensate for this,
it was so much nearer the city--was in the more immediate vicinity
of that arm of the Danube called the “Canal”--and almost under its
windows was the gorge of the Krottenbach, which separates Döbling from
Heiligenstadt, and which, as it extends inland from the river, spreads
into a fine vale, then very solitary and still very beautiful. This
was the house, this the summer, and these the scenes, in which the
composer wrought out the conceptions that during the past five years
had been assuming form and consistency in his mind, to which Bernadotte
may have given the original impulse, and which we know as the “Heroic
Symphony.”[11]
Let us turn to Stephan von Breuning and a new friend or two. Archduke
Karl, by a commission dated January 9, 1801, had been made Chief
of the “Staats- und Konferenzial-Departement für das Kriegs- und
Marine-Wesen,” and retained the position still, notwithstanding his
assumption of the functions of Hoch- und Deutsch-Meister. He undertook
to introduce a wide-reaching reform at the War Department, which
demanded an increase in the number of Secretaries and scriveners.
Stephan von Breuning is the second in the list of five appointed in
1804, Ignatz von Gleichenstein the fifth. It is believed, that the
Archduke had discovered the fine business talents, the zeal in the
discharge of duty and the perfect trustworthiness of Breuning at the
Teutonic House, and that at his special invitation the young man this
year exchanged the service of the Order for that of the State. There
is abundant evidence, that the young Rhinelanders then in Vienna were
bound to each other by more than the usual ties: most of them were
fugitives from French tyranny, and liable to conscription if found in
the places of their birth, though this was not the case with Breuning.
There was, in addition to the ordinary feeling of nationality, a common
sense of exile to unite them. Between Breuning and Gleichenstein
therefore--two amiable and talented young men thus thrown into daily
intercourse--an immediate and warm friendship would naturally spring
up; and an introduction of the latter to Breuning’s friend Beethoven
would inevitably follow, in case they had not known each other in the
old Bonn days.
[Sidenote: ASSOCIATION WITH W. J. MÄHLER]
Another young Rhinelander, to whom Beethoven became much attached,
and who returned the kindness with warm affection for him personally
and a boundless admiration for his genius, became known to the
composer also just at this time. Willibrord Joseph Mähler, a native of
Coblentz--who died in 1860, at the age of 82 years, as pensioned Court
Secretary--was a man of remarkably varied artistic talents, by which,
however, since he cultivated them only as a dilettante and without
confining himself to any one art, he achieved no great distinction.
He wrote respectable poetry and set it to correct and not unpleasing
music; sang well enough to be recorded in Boeckh’s “Merkwürdigkeiten
der Haupt- und Residenz-Stadt Wien” (1823) as “amateur singer,” and
painted sufficiently well to be named, on another page of Boeckh,
“amateur portrait painter.” He painted that portrait of the composer,
about 1804-5, which is still in possession of the Beethoven family, and
a second 1814-15--(Mr. Mähler could not recall the precise date)--once
owned by Prof. Karajan. Several of the portraits now in possession of
the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna are from his pencil; but
two or three of the very best specimens of his skill have been sold to
a gentleman in Boston, U.S.A.[12]
Soon after Beethoven returned from his summer lodgings to his apartment
in the theatre building, Mähler, who had then recently arrived in
Vienna, was taken by Breuning thither to be introduced. They found
him busily at work finishing the “Heroic Symphony.” After some
conversation, at the desire of Mähler to hear him play, Beethoven,
instead of beginning an extempore performance, gave his visitors the
finale of the new Symphony; but at its close, without a pause, he
continued in free fantasia for ~two hours~, “during all which time,”
said Mr. Mähler to the present writer, “there was not a measure which
was faulty, or which did not sound original.” He added, that one
circumstance attracted his particular notice; viz.: “that Beethoven
played with his hands so very still; wonderful as his execution was,
there was no tossing of them to and fro, up and down; they seemed to
glide right and left over the keys, the fingers alone doing the work.”
To Mr. Mähler, as to most others who have recorded their impressions of
Beethoven’s improvisations, they were the ~non plus ultra~ of the art.
There was, however, be it noted in passing, a class of good musicians,
small in number and exceptional in taste, who, precisely at this time,
had discovered a rival to Beethoven, in this his own special field.
Thus Gänsbacher writes, as cited by Frölich in his “Biographie Voglers”:
Sonnleithner gave a musical soirée in honor of Vogler and invited
Beethoven among others. Vogler improvised at the pianoforte on a
theme given to him by Beethoven, 4-1/2 measures long, first an
Adagio and then fugued. Vogler then gave Beethoven a theme of
three measures (the scale of C major, ~alla breve~). Beethoven’s
excellent pianoforte playing, combined with an abundance of the
most beautiful thoughts, surprised me beyond measure, but could
not stir up the enthusiasm in me which had been inspired by
Vogler’s learned playing, which was beyond parallel in respect of
its harmonic and contrapuntal treatment.
An undated note of Beethoven, to Mähler, which belongs to a somewhat
later period--since its date is not ascertainable nor of much
importance--may be inserted here, as an introduction to Mr. Mähler’s
remarks upon the portrait to which it refers:
I beg of you to return my portrait to me as soon as you have made
sufficient use of it--if you need it longer I beg of you at least
to make haste--I have promised the portrait to a lady, a stranger
who saw it here, that she may hang it in her room during her stay
of several weeks. Who can withstand such charming importunities, as
a matter of course a portion of the lovely favors ~which I shall
thus garner~ will also fall to ~you~.
To the question what picture is here referred to, Mr. Mähler replied
in substance: “It was a portrait, which I painted soon after coming
to Vienna, in which Beethoven is represented, at nearly full length,
sitting; the left hand rests upon a lyre, the right is extended, as
if, in a moment of musical enthusiasm, he was beating time; in the
background is a temple of Apollo. Oh! If I could but know what became
of the picture!”
“What!” was the answer, to the great satisfaction of the old gentleman,
“the picture is hanging at this moment in the home of Madame van
Beethoven, widow, in the Josephstadt, and I have a copy of it.”[13]
The extended right hand--though, like the rest of the picture, not very
artistically executed--was evidently painted with care. It is rather
broad for the length, is muscular and nervous, as the hand of a great
pianist necessarily grows through much practice; but, on the whole, is
neatly formed and well proportioned. Anatomically, it corresponds so
perfectly with all the authentic descriptions of Beethoven’s person,
that this alone proves it to have been copied from nature and not drawn
after the painter’s fancy. Whoever saw a long, delicate hand with
fingers exquisitely tapering, like Mendelssohn’s, joined to the short
stout muscular figure of a Beethoven or a Schubert?
A few of Beethoven’s letters belonging to this period must be
introduced here. The first, dated September 22, 1803, addressed to
Hoffmeister, is as follows:
Herewith I declare all the works concerning which you have written
to me to be your property; the list of them will be copied again
and sent to you signed by me as your confessed property. I also
agree to the price, 50 ducats. Does this satisfy you?
Perhaps I may be able to send you instead of the variations for
violin and violoncello ~a set of variations for four hands~ on a
song of mine with which you will also have to print the poem by
Goethe, as I wrote these variations in an album as a souvenir and
consider them better than the others; are you content?
The ~transcriptions~ are not by me, but I revised them and improved
them in part, therefore do not come along with an announcement that
I had arranged them, because if you do you will lie, and, I haven’t
either time or patience for such work. Are you agreed?
Now farewell, I can wish you only large success, and I would
willingly give you everything as a gift if it were possible for
me thus to get through the world, but--consider, everything about
me has an official appointment and knows what he has to live on,
but, good God, where at the Imperial Court is there a place for a
~parvum talentum com ego~?
[Sidenote: CORRESPONDENCE WITH GEORGE THOMSON]
In this year began the correspondence with Thomson. George Thomson,
a Scotch gentleman (born March 4, 1757, at Limekilns, Dunfermline,
died at Leith, February 18, 1851), distinguished himself by tastes and
acquirements which led to his appointment, when still a young man,
as “Secretary to the Board of Trustees for the Encouragement of Arts
and Manufactures in Scotland”--a Board established at the time of the
Union of the Kingdoms, 1707 (not the Crowns, 1603), of England and
Scotland--an office from which he retired upon a full pension after
a service of fifty years. He was, especially, a promoter of all good
music and an earnest reviver of ancient Scotch melody. As one means
of improving the public taste and at the same time of giving currency
to Scotch national airs, he had published sonatas with such melodies
for themes, composed for him by Pleyel in Paris, and Koželuch in
Vienna---two instrumental composers enjoying then a European reputation
now difficult to appreciate. The fame of the new composer at Vienna
having now reached Edinburgh, Thomson applied to him for works of
a like character. Only the signature of the reply seems to be in
Beethoven’s hand:
A Monsieur
George Thomson, Nr. 28 York Place
Edinburgh. North Britain
Vienna le 5. 8^{bre} 1803.
Monsieur!
J’ai reçu avec bien de plaisir votre lettre du 20 Juillet. Entrant
volontiers dans vos propositions je dois vous declarer que je suis
prêt de composer pour vous six sonates telles que vous les desirez
y introduisant même les airs ecossais d’une manière laquelle la
nation Ecossaise trouvera la plus favorable et le plus d’accord
avec le genie de ses chansons. Quant au honoraire je crois que
trois cent ducats pour six sonates ne sera pas trop, vu qu’en
Allemagne on me donne autant pour pareil nombre de sonates même
sans accompagnement.
Je vous previens en même tems que vous devez accelerer votre
declaration, par ce qu’on me propose tant d’engagements qu’après
quelque tems je ne saurois peutêtre aussitôt satisfaire à vos
demandes.--Je vous prie de me pardonner, que cette reponse est si
retardée ce qui n’a été causée que par mon sejour à la campagne et
plusieurs occupations tres pressantes.--Aimant de preference les
airs eccossais je me plairai particulierement dans la composition
de vos sonates, et j’ose avancer que si nos interêts s’accorderront
sur le honoraire, vous serez parfaitement contenté.
Agréez les assurances de mon estime distingué.
Louis van Beethoven.
Mr. Thomson’s endorsement of this letter is this:
50 D. 1803. Louis van Beethoven, Vienna, demands 300 ducats for
composing six Sonatas for me. Replied 8th Nov. that I would give no
more than 150, taking 3 of the Sonatas when ready and the other 3
in six months after; giving him leave to publish in Germany on his
own account, the day after publication in London.
The sonatas were never composed. Not long afterwards, on October
22, Beethoven, enraged at efforts to reprint his works, issued the
following characteristic fulmination in large type, filling an entire
page of the journal:
WARNING.
Herr Carl Zulehner, a reprinter at Mayence, has announced an
edition of all my works for pianoforte and string instruments. I
hold it to be my duty hereby publicly to inform all friends of
music that I have not the slightest part in this edition. I should
not have offered to make a collection of my works, a proceeding
which I hold to be premature at the best, without first consulting
with the publishers and caring for the correctness which is wanting
in some of the individual publications. Moreover, I wish to call
attention to the fact that the illicit edition in question can
never be complete, inasmuch as some new works will soon appear
in Paris, which Herr Zulehner, as a French subject, will not be
permitted to reprint. I shall soon make full announcement of a
collection of my works to be made under my supervision and after a
severe revision.[14]
[Sidenote: MEISSNER’S ORATORIO TEXT REJECTED]
Alexander Macco, the painter, after executing a portrait of the Queen
of Prussia, in 1801, which caused much discussion in the public press
but secured to him a pension of 100 thalers, went from Berlin to
Dresden, Prague, and, in the summer of 1802, to Vienna. Here he became
a great admirer of Beethoven, both as man and artist, and claimed
and enjoyed so much of his society as the state of his mind and body
would allow him to grant to any stranger. Macco remained but a few
months here and then returned to Prague, whence he wrote the next year
offering to Beethoven for composition an oratorio text by Prof. A. G.
Meissner--a name just then well known in musical circles because of
the publication of the first volume of the biography of Kapellmeister
Naumann. If Meissner had not removed from Prague to Fulda in 1805, and
if Europe had remained at peace, perhaps Beethoven might, two or three
years later, have availed himself of the offer; just now he felt bound
to decline it, which he did in a letter dated November 2, 1803. In it
he said:
I am sorry, too, that I could not be oftener with you in Vienna,
but there are periods in human life which have to be overcome
and often they are not looked upon from the right point of view,
it appears that as a great artist you are not wholly unfamiliar
with such, and so--I have not, as I observe, lost your good will,
of which fact I am glad because I esteem you highly and wish
that I might have such an artist ~in my profession~ to associate
with. Meissner’s proposal is very welcome, nothing could be more
desirable than to receive such a poem from him, who is so highly
honored as a writer and who understands musical poetry better than
any other German author, but at present it is impossible for me to
write this oratorio because I am just ~beginning my opera~ which,
together with the performance, may occupy me ~till Easter~--if
Meissner is not in a hurry to publish his poem I should be glad
if he were to leave the composition of it to me, and if the poem
is not completed I wish he would not hurry it, since before or
after Easter I would come to Prague and let him hear some of my
compositions, which would make him more familiar with my manner of
writing, and either--inspire him further--or perhaps, make him stop
altogether, etc.
Was, then, the correspondent of the “Zeitung für die Elegante Welt”
right? Had Beethoven really received one of Schikaneder’s heroic texts?
This much is certain: that in the words “because I am just beginning
my opera,” no reference is made to the “Leonore” (“Fidelio”). They may
only express his expectation of beginning such a work immediately;
or they may refer to one already begun, of which a fragment has
been preserved. In Rubric II of the sale catalogue of Beethoven’s
manuscripts and music, No. 67, is a “vocal piece with orchestra,
complete, but not entirely orchestrated.” It is an operatic trio[15];
the dramatis personæ are ~Porus~, ~Volivia~, ~Sartagones~; the
handwriting is that of this part of the composer’s life; and the music
is the basis of the subsequent grand duet in “Fidelio,” “O namenlose
Freude.” The temptation is strong to believe that Schikaneder had
given Beethoven another “Alexander,” the scenes laid in India--a
supplement to that with which his new theatre had been opened two years
before. However this was, circumstances occurred, which prevented its
completion, or indeed the composition by Beethoven of any text prepared
by Schikaneder.
The compositions which may safely be dated 1803, are few in
comparison with those of 1802. The works published in the course
of the year were the two Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. 31, Nos. 1 and
2 (in Nägeli’s “Répertoire des Clavecinistes”); the three Violin
Sonatas, Op. 30 (Industrie-Comptoir); the two sets of Variations,
Op. 34 and 35 (Breitkopf and Härtel); the seven Bagatelles, Op. 33
(Industrie-Comptoir); the Romanza in G for Violin, Op. 40 (Hoffmeister
and Kühnel); the arrangement for Pianoforte and Flute (or Violin)
Op. 41 of the Serenade (Op. 25), which was not made by Beethoven but
examined by him and “corrected in parts” (Hoffmeister and Kühnel);
the two Preludes for Pianoforte, Op. 39 (Hoffmeister and Kühnel); two
songs, “La Partenza” and “Ich liebe dich” (Traeg); a song, “Das Glück
der Freundschaft,” Op. 88 (Löschenkerl in Vienna and Simrock in Bonn),
of which Nottebohm found a sketch amongst the sketches for the “Eroica”
Symphony in the book used in 1803 and which, therefore, though it may
have been an early work, was probably rewritten in 1803; and the six
Sacred Songs by Gellert, dedicated to Count Browne (Artaria). The two
great works of the year were the “Kreutzer” Sonata for Violin and the
“Sinfonia Eroica.” The title of the former, “Sonata per il Pianoforte
ed un Violino obligato in uno stilo (~stile~) molto concertante quasi
come d’un Concerto,” is found on the inner side of the last sheet of
the sketchbook of 1803 described by Nottebohm. Beethoven wrote the
word “brillante” after “stilo” but scratched it out. It is obvious
that he wished to emphasize the difference between this Sonata and its
predecessors. Simrock’s tardiness in publishing the Sonata annoyed
Beethoven. He became impatient and wrote to the publisher as follows,
under date of October 4, 1804:
[Sidenote: KREUTZER AND HIS SONATA]
Dear, best Herr Simrock, I have been waiting with longing for the
Sonata which I gave you--but in vain--please write me what the
condition of affairs is concerning it--whether or not you accepted
it from me merely as food for moths--or do you wish to obtain a
special Imperial ~privilegium~ in connection with it?--well it
seems to me that might have been accomplished long ago.--Where in
hiding is this slow devil--who is to drive out the sonata--you are
generally the quick devil, are known as Faust once was as being in
league with the imp of darkness and for this reason you are ~loved~
by your ~comrades~; but again--where in hiding is your devil--or
what kind of a devil is it that sits on my sonata and with whom
~you~ have a misunderstanding?--Hurry, then, and tell me when I
shall see the sonata given to the light of day--when you have told
me the date I will at once send a little note to Kreutzer, which
you will please be kind enough to enclose when you send a copy (as
you in any event will send your copies to Paris or even, perhaps,
have them printed there)--~this Kreutzer is a dear, good fellow~
who during his stay here[16] gave me much pleasure. I prefer his
unassuming manner and unaffectedness to all the ~Extérieur~ or
~intérieur~ of all the virtuosi--as the sonata is written for a
thoroughly capable violinist, the dedication to him is all the
more appropriate--although we correspond with each other (i. e.,
a letter from me once a year)--I hope he will not have learned
anything about it....
As a proof of the growing appreciation of Beethoven in foreign lands it
may be remarked here that in the summer of 1803 he received an Erard
pianoforte as a gift from the celebrated Parisian maker. The instrument
belongs to the museum at Linz and used to bear an inscription, on the
authority of Beethoven’s brother Johann, that it was given to the
composer by the city of Paris in 1804. The archives of the Erard firm
show, however, that on the 18th of Thermidor, in the XIth year of the
Republic (1803), Sébastien Erard made a present of “un piano forme
clavecin” to Ludwig van Beethoven in Vienna.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Probably the Quintet for Pianoforte and Wind-Instruments, Op. 16,
published in March, 1801.
[2] “Cäcilia.” IX, p. 219.
[3] The English editor of this biography found trombone parts written
out by Beethoven among Mr. Thayer’s posthumous papers; they belonged
to the Trio in the Scherzo of the Ninth Symphony, and Beethoven’s
instructions to the copyist where to introduce them in the score
plainly showed that they were an afterthought.
[4] It was not the case this time, for the manuscript of this Concerto
bears in the composer’s hand the date “1800.”
[5] In a Conversation Book from the year 1825, Holz writes that till
then “Christus am Ölberg” had always drawn full houses, but that the
court official in charge of musical affairs (~Hofmusikgraf~) had not
allowed further performances to be given.
[6] Anton Kraft was 14-1/2 years old at the time.
[7] The following observation on the sonata by Czerny is also
interesting: “In the Sonata written for Bridgetower and dedicated to
Kreutzer, Op. 47 (of which the first movement was composed in four
days and the other two [?] added from a sonata already completed), the
concluding passage
[Illustration]
is said to be borrowed from a piece of Kreutzer’s already in print. I
had this assurance immediately after the publication of the Beethoven
Sonata from a French musician (1805). It would be worth while to
investigate the matter. Perhaps therein lies the reason of its
dedication.” And further: “Bridgetower was a mulatto and played very
extravagantly; when he played the sonata with Beethoven it was laughed
at.”
[8] Letters and other documents, some of which were placed in Mr.
Thayer’s hands by Samuel Appleby, Esq., relative to Bridgetower, are
printed in an appendix to Vol. II of the first German edition of
this biography and as foot-notes and otherwise in Vol. III. What is
essential in the memoranda and documents can be put into a much smaller
compass. The subscription for the concert amounted to 1140 florins and
the list was headed by the English envoy. Bridgetower’s father was
known in England as the “Abyssinian Prince,” and Mr. Thayer speculates
whether the title was genuine or but a sobriquet given to him suggested
by Dr. Johnson’s “Rasselas”; but it will appear presently that he was
called an “African Prince,” not an Abyssinian; how his father got to
Biala in Poland, where Bridgetower was born, or whether his mother was
a German or a Pole, remains a mystery which has not yet been cleared
up. The first memorandum of information in Mr. Thayer’s collection was
in the shape of an excerpt from a communication from London written by
Abt Vogler and printed in Bossler’s “Musikalische Correspondenz” on
July 7, 1790. Abt Vogler’s letter bears date London, June 6, 1790; in
it he said:
“Last Wednesday, June 2nd, I attended a concert here in Hanover Square
where two young heroes contested with each other on the violin and
all music-lovers and cognoscenti found most agreeable entertainment
for three hours. The two played concertos alternately and both won
the warmest applause. The quartet, however, which was played by young
virtuosi whose combined ages did not reach 40 years, by virtue of a
fine, cheerful, witty and yet harmonious performance exceeded all the
expectations that experienced players could gratify. The first violin
was played by Clement of Vienna, eight and one-half, the second by
Bridgetower of Africa, ten years of age.”
The Prince of Wales, afterwards King George IV, took the youth into his
service as first violinist in the Pavilion at Brighton. The next piece
of information which reached Thayer told of Bridgetower’s first concert
in Dresden on July 24, 1802. A second concert was given on March 18,
1803, at which a brother of the violinist, who played the violoncello,
took part. A letter from Friedrich Lindemann, a member of the Prince of
Wales’s orchestra, dated January 14, 1803, contained the information
that a letter of Bridgetower’s forwarded to Brighton by a certain
“Billy” Cole had been placed in the hands of the Prince, who read it at
once, appeared to be highly satisfied, and granted the writer’s request
to be permitted to go to Vienna. Thayer did not learn the dates of
Bridgetower’s birth or death, but Dr. Riemann in his revision of the
second Volume says that he died “between 1840 and 1850.” This is an
error.
In the May number for 1908 of “The Musical Times” (London) Mr. F. G.
Edwards printed the results of an investigation into Bridgetower’s
life, and provided some new and definite information from a collection
of letters and documents in the possession of Arthur F. Hill,
F.S.A. From this article it appears that Bridgetower was a pupil of
Barthélemon, Giornovichi, Thomas Attwood and--as he claimed--Haydn.
If he really was a pupil of Haydn, he must, as Mr. Edwards pointed
out, have been in the neighborhood of Vienna before he had completed
his tenth year. To this the present writer adds that if he had been
a pupil of Haydn’s the latter would not have omitted his name in the
list of names which he made of the London musicians on his first visit
to the English metropolis, for he included “Clement ~petit~,” who was
then between ten and eleven years old. (See, “Music and Manners in
the Classical Period,” by H. E. Krehbiel, p. 77.) He made his first
public appearance in Paris at a Concert Spirituel on April 13, 1789.
In the announcement of this concert he was described as “Mr. Georges
Bridgetower, né aux colonies anglaises, âgé de 9 ans.” (Yet his
passport issued by the police authorities, gives Biala in Poland as his
birthplace.) A concert for his benefit was given on May 27, 1789, at
the Salle du Panthéon. Soon thereafter he crossed the channel and, if
his father is to be believed, he played for the first time in England
before George III and his court at Windsor Castle. Next he appears at
Bath, the “Morning Post” of November 25, 1789, reporting “Amongst those
added to the Sunday promenade were the African Prince in the Turkish
attire. The son of this African Prince has been celebrated as a very
accomplished musician.” The same newspaper, on December 8, a fortnight
later, tells of a concert given on the Saturday morning immediately
preceding the publication which was “more crowded and splendid than has
ever been known at this place, upwards of 550 people being present.
Rauzzini was enraptured, and declared that he had never heard such
execution before, even from his friend La Motte, who was, he thought,
much inferior to this wonderful boy. The father was in the gallery, and
so affected by the applause bestowed on his son, that tears of pleasure
and gratitude flowed in profusion.”
It would seem as if the modern methods of advertising musical artists
is far behind the old in the impudent display of charlantanry. The
plain “Georges” of the first Paris concert, the later George Polgreen,
in the announcement of his first concert in Bath becomes George
Augustus Frederick. Why? The Christian name of the Prince of Wales was
George Augustus Frederick. In this announcement he is described as “a
youth of Ten Years old, Pupil of the celebrated HAYDN.” The newspapers
were amiable or gullible, or both.
The lad played a concerto between “the 2d and 3d Acts” of “The Messiah”
at a performance of Handel’s oratorio given for the benefit of Rauzzini
on Christmas eve of the same year. He gave a concert in Bristol on
December 18, 1789, leading the band “with the coolness and spirit
of a Cramer to the astonishment and delight of all present,” and on
New Year’s day, 1790. Next he went to London, where, at Drury Lane
Theatre on February 19, 1790, he played a solo at a performance of
“The Messiah.” Referring to the Lenten concerts of that year, Parke
says in his “Musical Memoirs”: “Concertos were performed on the oboe
by me and on the violin for the first time by Master Bridgetower, son
of an African Prince, who was attended by his father habited in the
costume of his country.” The concert described by Abt Vogler was under
the patronage of the Prince of Wales. At the Handel Commemoration of
1791 in Westminster Abbey, Bridgetower and Hummel, in scarlet coats,
sat on either side of Joah Bates at the organ and pulled out the stops
for him. He played in the orchestra at the Haydn-Salomon concerts in
1791, at several of the Lenten concerts in the King’s Theatre in 1792,
and on May 28 he performed a concerto by Viotti at Mr. Barthélemon’s
concert, the announcement stating that “Dr. Haydn will preside at the
pianoforte.” (Haydn’s note-book contains no mention of the concert,
which would in likelihood have been the case had Bridgetower ever been
his pupil.) He was plainly on terms of intimacy with such musicians as
Viotti, François Cramer, Attwood, and later of Samuel Wesley, who wrote
of him in a tone of enthusiastic appreciation.
In 1802, being then in the Prince of Wales’s band at Brighton, he
obtained leave, as Thayer notes, to visit Dresden and take the baths
at Teplitz and Carlsbad; eventually, too, as we have seen, to visit
Vienna. The passport issued to him in Vienna for his return to London
described him as “a musician, native of Poland, aged 24 years, medium
height, clean shaven, dark brown hair, brown eyes and straight, rather
broad nose.” He seems to have become a resident of London and to have
continued in favor with musical and other notables for a considerable
space, for Dr. Crotch asks his aid in securing the patronage of the
Prince Regent for a concert.
He received the degree of Bachelor of Music, on presentation of the
usual exercise, from the University of Cambridge in 1811. There follow
some years during which his life remains obscure, but in which he lived
on the Continent. He was in Rome in 1825 and 1827; back in London in
1843, when Vincent Novello sent him a letter which he signed “your
much obliged old pupil and professional admirer.” John Ella met him in
Vienna in 1845, but he was again in London in 1846, and there he died,
apparently friendless and in poverty, on February 29, 1860. In the
registry of his death, discovered by Mr. Edwards, his age is set down
as 78 years; but he must have been eighty if he was nine when he played
at the first concert in Paris in 1789. He was born either in 1779 or
1780. He published some pianoforte studies in 1812 under the title
“Diatonica Armonica” which, with a few other printed pieces, are to be
found in the British Museum. A ballad entitled “Henry,” which was “Sung
by Miss Feron and dedicated with permission to Her Royal Highness the
Princess of Wales,” was evidently composed in 1810.
[9] “Hr. Karl v. Beethoven lives auf-der-Wien 26.”
“Staats-Schematismus,” 1803, p. 150; and ~ibid.~ 1804, p. 154. “Hr.
Ludwig van Beethofen, auf-der-Wien 26.”--See “Auskunftsbuch,” 1804,
p. 204. “An-der-Wien, No. 26. Bartolomä Zitterbarth, K. K. Prin.
Schauspielhaus.”--See “Vollständiges Verzeichniss aller ... der
numerirten Häuser, deren Eigenthümer,” etc., etc., Wien, 1804, p. 133.
[10] A letter printed in 1909 by Leopold Schmidt in his collection
from the archives of the Simrock firm, confirms the change of lodgings
to the theatre and also brother Karl’s activity as correspondent
and arranger. In it he offers a grand Sonata for violin, to appear
simultaneously in London, Leipsic, Vienna and Bonn, for 30 florins;
a grand Symphony for 400 florins. When the “Kreutzer” Sonata was
published (it was announced by Träg on May 18, 1805) Karl acknowledged
the receipt of a copy in a letter to Simrock, adding that all the other
publishers sent six copies of the works printed by them and asking for
the remaining five. Simrock took him to task rather sharply for what
he considered a piece of presumption, in a letter which he enclosed to
Ferdinand Ries with the statement that he might read it if he wanted
to. “I bought the Sonata of Louis van Beethoven,” says the indignant
publisher, “and in his letter concerning it there is not a word about
giving him six copies in addition to the fees--a matter important
enough to have been mentioned; I was under the impression that Louis
van Beethoven composed his own works; what I am certain of is that
I have fully complied with all the conditions of the contract and
am indebted to nobody.” In the note to Ries he calls Karl’s conduct
“impertinent and deserving of a harsher treatment, for Herr Karl seems
to me incorrigible.”
[11] Thayer considered the “first street to the left” to be the
Herrengasse. J. Böck (Gnadenau) argued in “Die Musik.” Vol. II, No.
6, that the house in which the “Eroica” was composed was the present
Hauptstrasse No. 92 of Döbling and bore the old No. 4 of the Hofzeile.
In 1890 the owner of the house and the Männergesangsverein of Döbling
placed a tablet on the “Eroica” house, whose occupants “were still in
possession of a tradition concerning Beethoven’s occupation of it.” So
says Dr. Riemann.
[12] Th. von Frimmel discusses the Beethoven portraits in his “Neue
Beethoveniana,” p. 189 ~et seq.~, and “Beethoven-Studien,” Vol. II
(1905).
[13] A copy of this portrait which belonged to Thayer is now in the
possession of Mrs. Jabez Fox, and is presented in photogravure as
frontispiece to the present volume.
[14] The publication of a complete edition of his composition
frequently occupied the mind of Beethoven. In 1806 Breitkopf and Härtel
tried to get all of Beethoven’s works for publication by them; it is
likely that similar efforts on the part of Viennese publishers date
back as far as 1803. Later the plan plays a rôle in the correspondence
with Probst and Simrock. As late as 1824 it was urged by Andreas
Streicher. It has already been said that Beethoven at an early date
desired to make an arrangement with a publisher by which he might be
relieved of anxiety about monetary matters. He wanted to give all his
compositions to one publisher, who should pay him a fixed salary.
[15] Nottebohm, “Skizzenbuch, etc., 1803,” p. 56, says “quartet.”
[16] Kreutzer came to Vienna with Bernadotte in 1789.
Chapter II
The Year 1804--The “Sinfonia Eroica”--Beethoven and Breuning--The
“Waldstein” Sonata--Sonnleithner, Treitschke and Gaveaux--“Fidelio”
Begun--Beethoven’s Popularity.
During the winter 1803-04 negotiations were in progress the result of
which put an end for the present to Beethoven’s operatic aspirations.
Let Treitschke, a personal actor in the scenes, explain:[17]
On February 24, 1801, the first performance of “Die Zauberflöte”
took place in the Royal Imperial Court Theatre beside the
Kärnthnerthor. Orchestra and chorus as well as the representatives
of ~Sarastro~ (Weinmüller), the ~Queen of Night~ (Mme.
Rosenbaum), ~Pamina~ (Demoiselle Saal) and the ~Moor~ (Lippert)
were much better than before. It remained throughout the year
the only admired German opera. The loss of large receipts and
the circumstance that many readings were changed, the dialogue
shortened and the name of the author omitted from all mention,
angered S. (Schikaneder) greatly. He did not hesitate to give free
vent to his gall, and to parody some of the vulnerable passages
in the performance. Thus the change of costume accompanying the
metamorphosis of the old woman into ~Papagena~ seldom succeeded.
Schikaneder, when he repeated the opera at his theatre, sent a
couple of tailors on to the stage who slowly accomplished the
disrobing, etc. These incidents would be trifles had they not been
followed by such significant consequences; for from that time dated
the hatred and jealousy which existed between the German operas
of the two theatres, which alternately persecuted every novelty
and ended in Baron von Braun, then manager of the Court Theatre,
purchasing the Theater-an-der-Wien in 1804, by which act everything
came under the staff of a single shepherd but never became a single
flock.
Zitterbarth had, some months before, purchased of Schikaneder all his
rights in the property, paying him 100,000 florins for the privilegium
alone; and, therefore, being absolute master, “had permitted a
dicker down to the sum of 1,060,000 florins Vienna standard....
The contract was signed on February 11th and on the 16th the
Theater-an-der-Wien under the new arrangement was opened with Méhul’s
opera ‘Ariodante.’”[18]
Zitterbarth had retained Schikaneder as director; but now Baron Braun
dismissed him, and the Secretary of the Court Theatres, Joseph von
Sonnleithner, for the present acted in that capacity.
The sale of the theatre made void the contracts with Vogler and
Beethoven, except as to the first of Vogler’s three operas, “Samori”
(text by Huber), which being ready was put in rehearsal and produced
May 7th.
It was no time for Baron Braun, with three theatres on his hands, to
make new contracts with composers, until the reins were fairly in his
grasp, and the affairs of the new purchase brought into order and in
condition to work smoothly; nor was there any necessity of haste;
the repertory was so well supplied, that the list of new pieces for
the year reached the number of forty-three, of which eighteen were
operas or ~Singspiele~. So Beethoven, who had already occupied the
free lodgings in the theatre building for the year which his contract
with Zitterbarth and Schikaneder granted him, was compelled to move.
Stephan von Breuning even then lived in the house in which in 1827 he
died. It was the large pile of building belonging to the Esterhazy
estates, known as “das rothe Haus,” which stood at a right angle to
the Schwarzspanier house and church, and fronted upon the open space
where now stands the new Votiv-Kirche. Here also Beethoven now took
apartments.[19]
It is worth noting, that this was the year--October, 1803 to October,
1804--of C. M. von Weber’s first visit to Vienna, and of his studies
under Vogler. He was then but eighteen years old and “the delicate
little man” made no very favorable impression upon Beethoven. But at
a later period, when Weber’s noble dramatic talent became developed
and known, no former prejudice prevented the great symphonist’s due
appreciation and hearty acknowledgment of it.
[Sidenote: CLEMENTI COMES TO VIENNA]
Among the noted strangers who came to Vienna this spring was Clementi.
“He sent word to Beethoven that he would like to see him.” “Clementi
will wait a long time before Beethoven goes to him,” was the reply.
Thus Czerny.
When he came (says Ries) Beethoven wanted to go to him at once, but
his brother put it into his head that Clementi ought to make the
first visit. Though much older Clementi would probably have done
so had not gossip begun to concern itself with the matter. Thus it
came about that Clementi was in Vienna a long time without knowing
Beethoven except by sight. Often we dined at the same table in the
Swan, Clementi with his pupil Klengel and Beethoven with me; all
knew each other but no one spoke to the other, or confined himself
to a greeting. The two pupils had to imitate their masters, because
they feared they would otherwise lose their lessons. This would
surely have been the case with me because there was no possibility
of a middle-way with Beethoven. (“Notizen,” p. 101.)
[Sidenote: THE “EROICA” AND NAPOLEON]
Early in the Spring a fair copy of the “Sinfonia Eroica” had been
made to be forwarded to Paris through the French embassy, as Moritz
Lichnowsky informed Schindler.
In this symphony (says Ries) Beethoven had Buonaparte in his mind,
but as he was when he was First Consul. Beethoven esteemed him
greatly at the time and likened him to the greatest Roman consuls.
I as well as several of his more intimate friends saw a copy of
the score lying upon his table, with the word “Buonaparte” at the
extreme top of the title-page and at the extreme bottom “Luigi van
Beethoven,” but not another word. Whether, and with what the space
between was to be filled out, I do not know. I was the first to
bring him the intelligence that Buonaparte had proclaimed himself
emperor, whereupon he flew into a rage and cried out: “Is then he,
too, nothing more than an ordinary human being? Now he, too, will
trample on all the rights of man and indulge only his ambition. He
will exalt himself above all others, become a tyrant!” Beethoven
went to the table, took hold of the title-page by the top, tore it
in two and threw it on the floor. The first page was rewritten and
only then did the symphony receive the title: “Sinfonia eroica.”
There can be no mistake in this; for Count Moritz Lichnowsky, who
happened to be with Beethoven when Ries brought the offensive news,
described the scene to Schindler years before the publication of the
“Notizen,”
The Acts of the French Tribunate and Senate, which elevated the
First Consul to the dignity of Emperor, are dated May 3, 4, and 17.
Napoleon’s assumption of the crown occurred on the 18th and the
solemn proclamation was issued on the 20th. Even in those days,
news of so important an event would not have required ten days to
reach Vienna. At the very latest, then, a fair copy of the “Sinfonia
Eroica,” was complete early in May, 1804. That it was a copy, the
two credible witnesses, Ries and Lichnowsky, attest. Beethoven’s
own score--purchased at the sale in 1827, for 3 fl. 10 kr., Vienna
standard (less than 3-1/2 francs), by the Vienna composer Hr. Joseph
Dessauer--could not have been the one referred to above. It is, from
beginning to end, disfigured by erasures and corrections, and the
title-page could never have answered to Ries’ description. It is this:
(At the top:) N. B. 1. Cues for the other instruments are to be
written into the first violin part.
~Sinfonia Grande~
[Here two words are erased]
___
804 im August
del Sigr
Louis van Beethoven
Sinfonie 3 Op. 55
(At the bottom:) N. B. 2. The third horn is so written that it
can be played by by [~sic~] a ~primario~ as
well as a ~secundario~.
A note to the funeral march, is evidently a direction to the copyist,
as are the remarks on the title-page:
N. B. The notes in the bass which have stems upwards are for the
violoncellos, those downward for the bass-viol.
One of the two words erased from the title was “Bonaparte”; and just
under his own name Beethoven wrote with a lead pencil in large letters,
nearly obliterated but still legible, “Composed on Bonaparte.”
It is confidently submitted, therefore, that all the traditions derived
from Czerny, Dr. Bertolini and whomsoever, that the opening Allegro
is a description of a naval battle, and that the ~Marcia funebre~
was written in commemoration of Nelson or Gen. Abercrombie,[20] are
mistakes, and that Schindler is correct; and again, that the date “804
im August,” is not that of the composition of the Symphony. It is
written with a different ink, darker than the rest of the title, and
may have been inserted long afterwards, Beethoven’s memory playing him
false. The two “violin adagios with orchestral accompaniment” offered
by Kaspar van Beethoven to André in November, 1802, cannot well be
anything but the two Romances, yet that in G, Op. 40, bears the date
1803. Perhaps Kaspar wrote before it was complete. But what can be
said to this? It is perfectly well known that Op. 124 was performed
on October 3, 1822; yet the copy sent to Stumpff in London bore this
title: “Overture by Ludwig van Beethoven, composed for the opening
of the Josephstadt Theatre, towards the end of September, 1823, and
performed for the first time on October 3, 1824, Op. 124.” That the
“804 im August” may be an error, is at all events possible, if not
established as such. “Afterwards,” continues Ries, “Prince Lobkowitz
bought this composition for several years’ [?] use, and it was
performed several times in his palace.”
There is “an anecdote told by a person who enjoyed Beethoven’s
society,”[21] in Schmidt’s “Wiener Musik-Zeitung” (1843, p. 28),
according to which, as may readily be believed, this work, then so
difficult, new, original, strange in its effects and of such unusual
length, did not please. Some time after this humiliating failure
Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia paid a visit to the same cavalier
(Lobkowitz) in his countryseat.... To give him a surprise, the new
and, of course, to him utterly unknown symphony, was played to the
Prince, who “listened to it with tense attention which grew with
every movement.” At the close he proved his admiration by requesting
the favor of an immediate repetition; and, after an hour’s pause, as
his stay was too limited to admit of another concert, a second. “The
impression made by the music was general and its lofty contents were
now recognized.”
To those who have had occasion to study the character of Louis
Ferdinand as a man and a musician, and who know that at the precise
time here indicated he was really upon a journey that took him near
certain estates of Prince Lobkowitz, there is nothing improbable in
the anecdote. ~If~ it be true, and the occurrence really took place at
Raudnitz or some other “countryseat” of the Prince’s, the rehearsals
and first performances of the Symphony at Vienna had occurred, weeks,
perhaps months, before “804 im August.” However this be, Ries was
present at the first rehearsal and incurred the danger of receiving a
box on the ear from his master.
In the first Allegro occurs a wicked whim (~böse Laune~) of
Beethoven’s for the horn; in the second part, several measures
before the theme recurs in its entirety, Beethoven has the horn
suggest it at a place where the two violins are still holding a
second chord. To one unfamiliar with the score this must always
sound as if the horn player had made a miscount and entered at the
wrong place. At the first rehearsal of the symphony, which was
horrible, but at which the horn player made his entry correctly,
I stood beside Beethoven, and, thinking that a blunder had been
made I said: “Can’t the damned hornist count?--it sounds infamously
false!” I think I came pretty close to receiving a box on the
ear. Beethoven did not forgive the slip for a long time. (P. 79,
“Notizen.”)
It was bad economy for two young, single men, each to have and pay
for a complete suite of apartments in the same house, especially for
two who were connected by so many ties of friendship as Breuning and
Beethoven. Either lodging contained ample room for both; and Beethoven
therefore very soon gave up his and moved into the other. Breuning
had his own housekeeper and cook and they also usually dined together
at home. This arrangement had hardly been effected when Beethoven was
seized with a severe sickness, which when conquered still left him the
victim of an obstinate intermittent fever.
[Sidenote: A QUARREL WITH VON BREUNING]
Every language has its proverbs to the effect that he who serves not
himself is ill served. So Beethoven discovered, when it was too late,
that due notice had not been given to the agent of Esterhazy, and that
he was bound for the rent of the apartments previously occupied. The
question, who was in fault, came up one day at dinner in the beginning
of July, and ended in a sudden quarrel in which Beethoven became so
angry as to leave the table and the house and retire to Baden with the
determination to sacrifice the rent here and pay for another lodging,
rather than remain under the same roof with Breuning. “Breuning,”
says Ries, “a hot-head like Beethoven, grew so enraged at Beethoven’s
conduct because the incident occurred in the presence of his brother.”
It is clear, however, that he soon became cool and instantly did his
best to prevent the momentary breach from becoming permanent, by
writing--as may be gathered from Beethoven’s allusions to it--a manly,
sensible and friendly invitation to forgive and forget. But Beethoven,
worn with illness, his nerves unstrung, made restless, unhappy,
petulant by his increasing deafness, was for a time obstinate. His
wrath must run its course. It found vent in the following letters to
Ries, and then the paroxysm soon passed.
The first of the letters was written in the beginning of 1804,
Dear Ries: Since Breuning did not scruple by his conduct to present
my character to you and the landlord as that of a miserable,
beggarly, contemptible fellow I single you out first to give my
answer to Breuning by word of mouth. Only to the one and first
point of his letter which I answer only in order to vindicate my
character in your eyes. Say to him, then, that it never occurred
to me to reproach him because of the tardiness of the notice, and
that, if Breuning was really to blame for it, my desire to live
amicably with all the world is much too precious and dear to me
that I should give pain to one of my friends for a few hundreds
and more. You know yourself that altogether jocularly I accused
you of being to blame that the notice did not arrive on time. I am
sure that you will remember this; I had forgotten all about the
matter. Now my brother began at the table and said that he believed
it was Breuning’s fault; I denied it at once and said that you
were to blame. It appears to me that was plain enough to show that
I did not hold him to blame. Thereupon Breuning jumped up like a
madman and said he would call up the landlord. This conduct in the
presence of all the persons with whom I associate made me lose my
self-control; I also jumped up, upset my chair, went away and did
not return. This behavior induced Breuning to put me in such a
light before you and the house-steward, and to write me a letter
also which I have answered only with silence. I have nothing more
to say to Breuning. His mode of thought and action in regard to me
proves that there never ought to have been a friendly relationship
between him and me and such certainly will not exist in the future.
I have told you all this because your statements degraded all my
habits of thinking and acting. I know that if you had known the
facts you would certainly not have made them, and this satisfies me.
Now I beg of you, dear Ries! immediately on receipt of this letter
go to my brother, the apothecary, and tell him that I shall leave
Baden in a few days and that he must engage the lodgings in Döbling
immediately you have informed him. I was near to coming to-day;
I am tired of being here, it revolts me. Urge him for heaven’s
sake to rent the lodgings at once because I want to get into them
immediately. Tell it to him and do not show him any part of what
is written on the other page; I want to show him from all possible
points of view that I am not so small-minded as he and wrote to him
only after this (Breuning’s) letter, although my resolution to end
our friendship is and will remain firm.
Your friend
Beethoven.
Not long thereafter there followed a second letter, which Ries gives as
follows:
Baden, July 14, 1804.
If you, dear Ries, are able to find better quarters I shall be
glad. I want them on a large quiet square or on the ramparts....
I will take care to be at the rehearsal on Wednesday. It is not
pleasant to me that it is at Schuppanzigh’s. He ought to be
grateful if my humiliations make him thinner. Farewell, dear Ries!
We are having bad weather here and I am not safe from people; I
must flee in order to be alone.
[Sidenote: END OF A FRIENDSHIP THREATENED]
From a third letter, dated “Baden, July 24, 1804,” Ries prints the
following excerpt:
... No doubt you were surprised at the Breuning affair; believe
me, dear (friend), my eruption was only the outburst consequent on
many unpleasant encounters between us before. I have the talent in
many cases to conceal my sensitiveness and repress it; but if I am
irritated at a time when I am more susceptible than usual to anger,
I burst out more violently than anybody else. Breuning certainly
has excellent qualities, but he thinks he is free from all faults
and his greatest ones are those which he thinks he sees in others.
He has a spirit of pettiness which I have despised since childhood.
My judgment almost predicted the course which affairs would take
with Breuning, since our modes of thinking, acting and feeling
are so different, but I thought these difficulties might also be
overcome;--experience has refuted me. And now, no more friendship!
I have found only two friends in the world with whom I have never
had a misunderstanding, but what men! One is dead, the other still
lives. Although we have not heard from each other in nearly six
years I know that I occupy the first place in his heart as he
does in mine. The foundation of friendship demands the greatest
similarity between the hearts and souls of men. I ask no more than
that you read the letter which I wrote to Breuning and his letter
to me. No, he shall never again hold the place in my heart which
once he occupied. He who can think a friend capable of such base
thoughts and be guilty of such base conduct towards him is not
worth my friendship.
The reader knows too well the character of Breuning to be prejudiced
against him by all these harsh expressions written by Beethoven in a
fit of choler of which he heartily repented and “brought forth fruits
meet for repentance.” But, as Ries says, “these letters together
with their consequences are too beautiful a testimony to Beethoven’s
character to be omitted here,” the more so as they introduce, by the
allusions in them, certain matters of more or less interest from the
“Notizen” of Ries. Thus Ries writes:
One evening I came to Baden to continue my lessons. There I found
a handsome young woman sitting on the sofa with him. Thinking
that I might be intruding I wanted to go at once, but Beethoven
detained me and said: “Play for the time being.” He and the lady
remained seated behind me. I had already played for a long time
when Beethoven suddenly called out: “~Ries, play some love music~”;
a little later, “~Something melancholy!~” then, “~Something
passionate!~” etc.
From what I heard I could come to the conclusion that in some
manner he must have offended the lady and was trying to make
amends by an exhibition of good humor. At last he jumped up
and shouted: “Why, all those things are by me!” I had played
nothing but movements from his works, connecting them with short
transition-phrases, which seemed to please him. The lady soon went
away and to my great amazement Beethoven did not know who she was.
I learned that she had come in shortly before me in order to make
Beethoven’s acquaintance. We followed her in order to discover her
lodgings and later her station. We saw her from a distance (it
was moonlight),[22] but suddenly she disappeared. Chatting on all
manner of topics we walked for an hour and a half in the beautiful
valley adjoining. On going, however, Beethoven said: “I must find
out who she is and you must help me.” A long time afterward I met
her in Vienna and discovered that she was the mistress of a foreign
prince. I reported the intelligence to Beethoven, but never heard
anything more about her either from him or anybody else.
The rehearsal at Schuppanzigh’s on “Wednesday” (18th) mentioned in
the letter of July 14th, was for the benefit of Ries, who was to play
in the first of the second series of the regular Augarten Thursday
concerts which took place the next day (19th) or, perhaps, the 26th.
Ries says on page 113 of the “Notizen”:
Beethoven had given me his beautiful Concerto in C minor (Op. 37)
in manuscript so that I might make my first public appearance ~as
his pupil~ with it; and I am the only one who ever appeared as such
while Beethoven was alive.... Beethoven himself conducted, but
he only turned the pages and never, perhaps, was a concerto more
beautifully accompanied. We had two large rehearsals. I had asked
Beethoven to write a cadenza for me, but he refused and told me to
write one myself and he would correct it. Beethoven was satisfied
with my composition and made few changes; but there was an
extremely brilliant and very difficult passage in it, which, though
he liked it, seemed to him too venturesome, wherefore he told me to
write another in its place. A week before the concert he wanted to
hear the cadenza again. I played it and floundered in the passage;
he again, this time a little ill-naturedly, told me to change it. I
did so, but the new passage did not satisfy me; I therefore studied
the other, and zealously, but was not quite sure of it. When the
cadenza was reached in the public concert Beethoven quietly sat
down. I could not persuade myself to choose the easier one. When
I boldly began the more difficult one, Beethoven violently jerked
his chair; but the cadenza went through all right and Beethoven was
so delighted that he shouted “Bravo!” loudly. This electrified the
entire audience and at once gave me a standing among the artists.
Afterward, while expressing his satisfaction he added: “But all the
same you are willful! If you had made a slip in the passage I would
never have given you another lesson.”
A little farther on in his book Ries writes (p. 115):
The pianoforte part of the C minor Concerto was ~never completely
written out~ in the score; Beethoven wrote it down on separate
sheets of paper expressly for me.
This confirms Seyfried, as quoted on a preceding page.
“Not on my life would I have believed that I could be so lazy as I am
here. If it is followed by an outburst of industry, something worth
while may be accomplished,” Beethoven wrote at the end of his letter
of July 24. He was right. His brother Johann secured for him the
lodging at Döbling where he passed the rest of the summer, and where
the two Sonatas Op. 53 and 54, certainly “something worth while,” were
composed. In one of the long walks, previously described by Ries,
in which we went so far astray that we did not get back to Döbling,
where Beethoven lived, until nearly 8 o’clock, he had been all the
time humming and sometimes howling, always up and down, without
singing any definite notes. In answer to my question what it
was he said: “A theme for the last movement of the sonata has
occurred to me.” When we entered the room he ran to the pianoforte
without taking off his hat. I took a seat in a corner and he soon
forgot all about me. Now he stormed for at least an hour with the
beautiful finale of the sonata. Finally he got up, was surprised
still to see me and said: “I cannot give you a lesson to-day, I
must do some more work.”
[Sidenote: THE F MINOR SONATA, OP. 57]
The Sonata in question was that in F minor, Op. 57. Ries had in the
meantime fulfilled Beethoven’s wish for a new lodging on the ramparts,
by engaging for him one on the Mölkerbastei three or four houses only
from Prince Lichnowsky in the Pasqualati house--“from the fourth
storey of which there was a beautiful view,” namely, over the broad
Glacis, the northwestern suburb of the city and the mountains in the
distance. “He moved out of this several times,” says Ries, “but always
returned to it, so that, as I afterwards heard, Baron Pasqualati was
good-natured enough to say: ‘The lodging will not be rented; Beethoven
will come back.’” To what extent Ries was correctly informed in this
we will not now conjecture. The lessons of Förster’s little boy had
been interrupted so long as his teacher dwelt in the distant theatre
buildings; they were now renewed, the first being particularly
impressed upon his memory by a severe reproof from Beethoven for
ascending the four lofty flights of stairs too rapidly, and entering
out of breath: “Youngster, you will ruin your lungs if you are not more
careful,” said he in substance.
The two new Sonatas were finished and were now made known to
Beethoven’s intimates. In the one in C major, Op. 53, there was a
long Andante. A friend of Beethoven’s said to him that the Sonata was
too long, for which he was terribly taken to task by the composer.
But after quiet reflection Beethoven was convinced of the correctness
of the criticism. The Andante was therefore excluded and its place
supplied by the interesting Introduction to the Rondo which it now has.
A year after the publication of the Sonata it also appeared separately.
In these particulars Ries is confirmed by Czerny, who adds: “Because
of its popularity (for Beethoven played it frequently in society) he
gave it the title ‘Andante favori.’ I am the more sure of this since
Beethoven sent me the proof together with the manuscript for revision.”
The arrangement for string quartet may have been made much later,
probably by Ries (?).
This Andante (Ries continues) has left a painful memory in me. When
Beethoven played it for the first time to our friend Krumpholtz and
me, it delighted us greatly and we teased him until he repeated it.
Passing the door of Prince Lichnowsky’s house (by the Schottenthor)
on my way home I went in to tell the Prince of the new and glorious
composition of Beethoven’s, and was persuaded to play it as well
as I could remember it. Recalling more and more of it the Prince
urged me to repeat it. In this way it happened that the Prince also
learned a portion of the piece. To give Beethoven a surprise the
Prince went to him the next day and said that he too had composed
something which was not at all bad. In spite of Beethoven’s remark
that he did not want to hear it the Prince sat down and to the
amazement of the composer played a goodly portion of the Andante.
Beethoven was greatly angered, and this was the reason why I ~never
again heard Beethoven play~.
Prince Louis Ferdinand, now on his way into Italy, made a short stay
at Vienna, renewing his acquaintance with Beethoven; but of their
intercourse few particulars are known. Ries relates (“Notizen,” p.
111), that an old countess gave a little musical entertainment “to
which, naturally, Beethoven was invited. When the company sat down to
supper, plates for the high nobility only were placed at the Prince’s
table--none for Beethoven. He flew into a rage, made a few ugly
remarks, took his hat and went away. A few days later Prince Louis gave
a dinner to which some members of the first company, including the old
countess, were invited. When they sat down to table the old countess
was placed on one side of the Prince, Beethoven on the other, a mark of
distinction which Beethoven always referred to with pleasure.”
[Sidenote: BEETHOVEN AND BREUNING RECONCILED]
The Pianoforte Concerto in C minor was then in the hands of the
engraver; upon its publication in November, Prince Louis Ferdinand’s
name appeared upon the title. Concerning the compositions of the
Prince, Beethoven remarked: “Now and then there are pretty bits in
them”--so said Czerny. Before this time Beethoven and Breuning “met
each other by accident and a complete reconciliation took place
and every inimical resolve of Beethoven’s, despite their vigorous
expression in the two letters, was wholly forgotten.”--(Ries.)
And not this alone; he “laid his peace offering on the altar of
reconciliation.” It was the best picture of himself which exists from
those years, a beautiful miniature painted upon ivory by Hornemann,
still in the possession of Breuning’s heirs. With it he sent the
following letter:
Let us bury behind this picture forever, my dear Steffen, all
that for a time has ~passed between us~. I know that I broke your
heart. The feelings within me which you must have noticed have
sufficiently punished me for that. It was not ~wickedness~ that
I felt towards you; no, if that were so I should never again be
worthy of your friendship; passion on ~your part~ and ~on mine~;
but mistrust of you arose in me; men came between us who are not
worthy of ~you~ and ~me~. My portrait was long ago intended for
you; you know that I always intended it for somebody. To whom could
I give it with so warm a heart as to you, faithful, good, noble
Steffen! Forgive me if I have pained you; I suffered no less. When
I no longer saw you near me I felt for the first time how dear to
~my~ heart you are and always will be.
Surely you will come to my arms again as in past days.
Nor was the reconciliation on Breuning’s part less perfect. On the 13th
of November he writes to Wegeler and, to excuse his long silence, says:
He who has been my friend from youth is often largely to blame that
I am compelled to neglect the absent ones. You cannot conceive,
my dear Wegeler, what an indescribable, I might say, fearful
effect the gradual loss of hearing has had upon him. Think of the
feeling of being unhappy in one of such violent temperament; in
addition reservedness, mistrust, often towards his best friends,
in many things want of decision! For the greater part, with only
an occasional exception when he gives free vent to his feelings on
the spur of the moment, intercourse with him is a real exertion,
at which one can scarcely trust to oneself. From May until the
beginning of this month we lived in the same house, and at the
outset I took him into my rooms. He had scarcely come before he
became severely, almost dangerously ill, and this was followed
by an intermittent fever. Worry and the care of him used me
rather severely. Now he is completely well again. He lives on the
Ramparts, I in one of the newly-built houses of Prince Esterhazy in
front of the Alstercaserne, and as I am keeping house he eats with
me every day.
Not a word about the quarrel! Not a word to intimate that Beethoven had
not occupied his rooms with him until at the usual time for changing
lodgings he had crossed the Glacis to Pasqualati’s house; not a word of
complaint--nothing but deepest pity and heartiest sympathy.
In December the famous Munich oboist Ramm was in Vienna and took part
with Beethoven in one of Prince Lobkowitz’s private concerts. Beethoven
directed the performance of the “Sinfonia Eroica” and in the second
part of the first Allegro, “where the music is pursued for so many
measures in half-notes against the beat,” he, as Ries says, threw the
orchestra into such confusion that a new beginning had to be made.
On the same evening he played his Quintet for Pianoforte and
Wind-instruments with Ramm as oboist. In the last Allegro there
are several holds before the theme is resumed. At one of these
Beethoven suddenly began to improvise, took the Rondo for a theme
and entertained himself and the others for a considerable time,
but not the other players. They were displeased and Ramm even
very angry. It was really very comical to see them, momentarily
expecting the performance to be resumed, put their instruments
to their mouths only to put them down again. At length Beethoven
was satisfied and dropped into the Rondo. The whole company was
transported with delight.
Turn we again to the Theater-an-der-Wien, for a new contract has been
made with Beethoven, by which his operatic aspirations and hopes are
again awakened, with a better prospect of their gratification. At the
end of August Sonnleithner retired from the direction and Baron Braun
took the extraordinary step of reinstating his former rival and enemy,
Schikaneder--a remarkable proof of the Baron’s high opinion of his tact
and skill in the difficult business of management.
When one calls to mind the extraordinary praises which have been
bestowed upon Baron Braun for his supposed patronage of Beethoven,
it is worth noting, as a coincidence if nothing more, that now when
Schikaneder finds himself in a strait for novelty and new attractions
for his stage, the project of appealing to Beethoven’s genius is
revived.
Before proceeding, a word upon Sonnleithner and Treitschke may be
permitted.
[Sidenote: SONNLEITHNER AND TREITSCHKE]
The eldest son, born 1765, of Christoph Sonnleithner, Doctor of Laws
and Dean of the Juridical Faculty at Vienna, Joseph Ferdinand by
name, was educated to his father’s profession, and early rose to the
positions of Circuit Commissioner and Royal Imperial Court Scrivener
(~Kreis-Kommissär und K. K. Hof-Concipist~). All the Sonnleithners,
from Dr. Christoph down to the excellent and beloved representative of
the family, Leopold, his grandson who died in 1878, have stood in the
front ranks of musical dilettanti, as composers, singers, instrumental
performers and writers on topics pertaining to the art. Joseph
Ferdinand was no exception. He gave his attention particularly to
musical and theatrical literature, edited the Court Theatre Calendars,
1794-5, so highly lauded by Gerber, and prepared himself by appropriate
studies to carry out Forkel’s plan of a “History of Music in Examples,”
which was to reach the great extent of 50 volumes, folio. To this end
he spent nearly three years, 1798-1802, in an extensive tour through
northern Europe making collections of rare, old music. Upon his return
to Vienna, resigning this project again into the hands of Forkel, he
became one of the earliest partners, if not one of the founders, of the
publishing house known as the “Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir” (Bureau
d’Arts et d’Industrie), of which Schreyvogel was the recognized head.
The latter had been appointed Secretary of the Court Theatre in 1802,
but resigned, and, on February 14, 1804, Sonnleithner “was appointed,
and on this account was most honorably retired from his former post
as Court Scrivener.” On what grounds he has been called an “actor”
(~Schauspieler~) is unknown.
One of his colleagues in the various offices of the Court Theatres
was Georg Friedrich Treitschke, born in 1776, a native of Leipsic,
who came to the Court Theatre in 1800 as an actor, but whose talents
and fine character raised him in the course of the next two years to
the position of poet and stage-manager of the German Court Opera,
a post which he still and for many years continued to hold. He was
therefore now (1804) in close business relations with Baron Braun and
Sonnleithner; and, until some proof be adduced of lapse of memory--for
his known probity forbids all suspicion of intentional or careless
misrepresentation--his statements in regard to them may be accepted
with perfect confidence.
Treitschke wrote thus in the “Orpheus” of 1841 (p. 258):
At the end of 1804 Baron von Braun, the new owner of the Royal
Imperial priv. Theater-an-der-Wien, commissioned Ludwig van
Beethoven, then in the full strength of youth, to write an opera
for that playhouse. Because of his oratorio, “Christus am Ölberg,”
it was believed that the master might do as much for dramatic music
as he had done for instrumental. Besides his honorarium[23] he was
offered free lodgings in the theatre buildings. Joseph Sonnleithner
undertook to provide the text, and chose the French book, “L’Amour
conjugal,” although it had already been set by Gaveaux and to
Italian words as “Leonora” by Paër, but had been translated from
both dramatizations into German. Beethoven had no fear of his
predecessors and went to work with eager delight, so that the opera
was nearly finished by the middle of 1805.[24]
Such is Treitschke’s simple and compendious statement of the facts; a
statement which has been affirmed to contain “manifold errors,” yet, in
truth, not a single point in it can be controverted.
In Paris, at the close of the 18th century, Shakespeare’s “being taken
by the insolent foe and redemption thence” was by far the most popular
subject for the stage. Doubtless so many facts stranger than fiction
in recent narratives of escape from dungeon and guillotine, rendered
doubly fascinating by beautiful exhibitions of disinterested affection,
exalted generosity and heroic self-sacrifice, were not without their
effect upon public taste. Certain it is that no other class of subjects
is so numerously represented in the French drama of that precise period
as this. “Les deux Journées” by J. N. Bouilly stands confessedly at
its head. In Beethoven’s opinion in 1823, this and “La Vestale” were
the two best texts then ever written. Two years before the “Deux
Journées”--that is, on February 19th, 1798--the same poet had produced
another of that class of texts, which, if less abounding in pleasing
and exciting scenes, still contained one supreme moment that cannot
readily find its like. This was “Léonore, ou l’Amour conjugal”; the
seventeenth and last in Fétis’ list of Pierre Gaveaux’s thirty-five
operas and operettas.
[Sidenote: THE FRENCH ORIGINAL OF “FIDELIO”]
Gaveaux was a singer at the Théâtre Feydeau in Paris--a man of no great
musical science, but gifted with a natural talent for melody and for
pleasing though not always correct instrumentation, which secured the
suffrages of the Feydeau audience for nearly all the long list of his
productions. These were mostly short pieces in one act, in which he
wrote the principal tenor part for himself. His “Le petit Matelot”
(1794), as “Der kleine Matrose,” became immediately popular throughout
Germany; Rellstab at Berlin published a pianoforte arrangement of it
in 1798; and it so endured the fluctuations in public taste as still
to be performed at Frankfort-on-the-Main in 1846. This was followed by
his “L’Amour filial,” and others, so that, in short, whatever faults
the critics found in his music, he was one of those French composers,
to whose productions the managers of German opera houses ever had an
eye. As the “Léonore” was published in score soon after its production,
the names of its authors, Bouilly and Gaveaux, as well as its success
at the Théâtre Feydeau, ensured its becoming known in Germany, and, but
for the use of its subject by Paër, it might perhaps have been simply
translated and performed with the original music. Rewritten in Italian,
it was one of the first texts put into Paër’s hands after his removal
to Dresden, and was produced on the 3d of October, as the opening piece
of the winter season 1804-5.
The first performance was another triumph for Paër, who, satisfied with
it, departed for Vienna next day on his way to Italy. It requires no
great sagacity to perceive, on the one hand, that the Directors of the
Imperial Italian Opera--on whose stage at the least eleven of Paër’s
works had been given, several of them originally written for it--would
not fail to secure a copy of the new composition; and, on the other,
that the composer would seek the fame and profit of its reproduction
there.[25] Jahn in his preface to Beethoven’s “Leonore” has discussed
the great inferiority of the Dresden Italian text to the original;
its defects would be equally apparent to Sonnleithner; and this
consideration, with perhaps later news from Dresden, would convince him
that the performance of Paër’s composition at Vienna would be at best a
doubtful venture.[26]
[Sidenote: POPULARITY OF BEETHOVEN’S MUSIC]
At this point, when the first of the solo sonatas written for the
enlarged pianoforte (Op. 53) is ready for the press; when the
Pianoforte Concerto in C minor has just been published; the “Sinfonia
Eroica,” with its daring novelties of ideas and construction is
awaiting public performance, and the composer has entered the lists to
compete with Cherubini in another form of the art--here seems to be the
fitting place for a few notes upon the degree of popularity, and the
extent of circulation, to which his previous compositions had already
attained.
We have not written very lucidly, if it be not sufficiently clear that,
at Vienna, the works of no other of the younger generation of composers
had so ready and extensive a sale as Beethoven’s, notwithstanding their
most attractive qualities to many, were repellent to others. That was
a question of taste. But in these last weeks of 1804, a proof of their
general popularity was in preparation by Schreyvogel and Rizzi, which,
so far as the present writer has examined the German periodical press
from 1790 to 1830, is without a parallel. It was a complete classified
catalogue of the “Works of Herrn Ludwig van Beethoven,” published as an
advertisement, January 30, 1805, in the “Wiener Zeitung,” announcing
them as “to be had at the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir at Vienna in
the Kohlmarkt, No. 269.”
At the end of 1796--a few sets of Variations excepted--only the first
three of Beethoven’s ~opera~ had appeared. Four years afterwards the
first publishing houses of Leipsic contend with those of Vienna for his
manuscripts, notwithstanding the worse than contemptuous treatment of
his works by the newly founded musical journal.
In January, 1801, at Breslau “the pianoforte players gladly venture
upon Beethoven and spare neither time nor pains to conquer his
difficulties.” In June, Beethoven has “more commissions, almost, than
it was possible to fill” from the publishers--he “demands and they
pay.” In 1802, Nägeli of Zürich, passing all the older composers by,
applies to him for sonatas with which to introduce to the public his
costly enterprise of the “Répertoire des Clavecinistes.” In 1803,
although Simrock, of Bonn, had a branch house at Paris, and printed
editions of his townsman’s more important works for circulation in
France, Zulehner of Mayence finds the demand for them sufficient to
warrant the announcement of a complete and uniform edition of the
“Works for Pianoforte and String Instruments.” In May of the same
year the “Correspondence des Amateurs-Musiciens” informs us that at
Paris a part of the pianoforte virtuosos play only Haydn, Mozart and
Beethoven, and spite of the difficulties offered by their works there
are “quelquefois des Amateurs qui croient les jouer”; and, soon after
this, an application comes to Beethoven from distant Scotland for half
a dozen sonatas, on Scotch themes.[27]
The first two Concertos for Pianoforte and Orchestra, published in
1801, are reported to have been played in public within two years
at Berlin and Frankfort-on-the-Main; the third, advertised in
November, 1804, was produced the next month at Berlin. The first
Symphony had hardly left Hoffmeister’s press, when it was added to
the repertory of the Gewandhaus Concert, at Leipsic, and during the
three following years was repeatedly performed at Berlin, Breslau,
Frankfort-on-the-Main, Dresden, Brunswick and Munich; the second,
advertised in March, 1804, was the opening symphony of Schick and
Bohrer’s (Berlin) concerts in the Autumn. The “Prometheus” overture was
played in the same concerts, December 2, 1803--ten days earlier than
the oldest discovered advertisement of its publication. The instant
popularity of the Septet in all its forms is well known.
A public performance of the Horn Sonata, March 20, 1803, at the concert
of Dulon, the blind flute player, is worth noting, because the pianist
was “young Bär”--Meyerbeer.
In our day and generation, to offer so meagre a list of public
productions as a proof of popularity in the case of a new author of
orchestral works, would be ridiculous. In the multiplication of musical
journals and the greatly extended interest taken in musical news
wherever an orchestra exists equal to the performance of a symphony,
there is also someone to report its doings. This is as it should be.
Then, except in the larger capitals, this was rarely so. Hence the few
notes above, compiled from the correspondence of the single musical
journal of the time, are more than suggestive--they are proof--of many
an unrecorded production of the works they name. But more noteworthy
than the statistics given by the various correspondents, is this: that,
whatever praises they bestow upon the concertos and symphonies of
others, they rank Beethoven alone with Haydn and Mozart; and this they
do, even before the publication of the third Concerto and the Second
Symphony.
Beethoven, then, though almost unknown personally beyond the limits
of a few Austrian cities--unaided by apostles to preach his gospel,
owing nothing to journalist or pamphleteer, disdaining, in fact, all
the arts by which dazzling but mediocre talent pushes itself into
notoriety--had, in the short space of eight years, by simple force of
his genius as manifested in his published works, placed himself at the
head of all writers for the pianoforte, and in public estimation risen
to the level of the two greatest of orchestral composers. The unknown
student that entered Vienna in 1792, is now in 1804 a recognized
member of the great triumvirate, to whose names in 1870, in spite of
all the polemics of preachers of a new gospel, the world still persists
in giving the place of highest honor in the roll of instrumental
composers. Then, as now--now, as then--they are Haydn, Mozart and
Beethoven.
The lists of the ascertained compositions and publications for the year
1804 are surprisingly short; but as no really sufficient reason for the
fact can be given, none shall be attempted.[28] The former are only the
two Sonatas, Op. 53 and Op. 54, and the “Andante favori”; but the final
revision of the “Sinfonia Eroica” probably was made at the beginning of
the year.
The publications were these:
1--Second Symphony, D major, Op. 36, dedicated to Prince Carl
Lichnowsky, advertised by the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir,
Vienna, March 10.
The arrangement of this Symphony for pianoforte, violin and
violoncello, which was published by the same firm in 1806, is
indirectly claimed by Ries as his work, notwithstanding the title
bears the words “par l’auteur même.” Czerny confirms Ries in these
terms: “The arrangement of the second Symphony as a Pianoforte Trio
was made by Ries; Beethoven gave it to me for correction of certain
things with which he was dissatisfied.”
2--Song with pianoforte accompaniment: “Der Wachtelschlag,”
advertised with the preceding.
3--VII Variations on “God save the King,” for Pf., advertised with
the preceding.
4--III Marches for Pf., four hands. Op. 45, dedicated to Princess
Esterhazy, advertised with the preceding.
5--V Variations for Pf., on “Rule Britannia,” advertised by the
same, June 20th.
6--Sonata in E-flat major, Op. 31, No. 3, published by Nägeli in
his “Répertoire des Clavecinistes,” Cat. II.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] “Orpheus,” 1841, p. 248.
[18] Allg. Mus. Zeit. XXIV, p. 320.
[19] But Ries says that Beethoven hired these lodgings besides those in
the theatre.
[20] See, in the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” III, a criticism of “Nelson’s Great
Seabattle,” for pianoforte, violin and violoncello by Ferd. Kauer.
Years afterward this piece may have been confounded with the Symphony
in Dr. Bertolini’s memory. From Otto Jahn’s papers we learn that Dr.
Bertolini told him that the first idea of the “Sinfonia eroica” was
suggested to Beethoven by Bonaparte’s expedition to Egypt (May, 1798);
and the rumor of Nelson’s death at the battle of Aboukir (June 22),
at which Nelson was wounded in the head, was the cause of the funeral
march. Czerny wrote: “According to Beethoven’s long-time friend, Dr.
Bertolini, the first idea of the ‘Sinfonia eroica’ was suggested by
the death of the English general Abercrombie; hence the naval (not
land-military) character of the theme and the entire first movement.”
Music of a naval character to celebrate the death of an army officer!
Czerny seems to have been at least temporarily weak either in history
or logic.
[21] Dr. Schmidt is of opinion that this anecdote was contributed to
his journal by Hieronymus Payer, certainly good authority.
[22] “Full moon, July 22,” almanac of 1804.
[23] This honorarium was a share in the receipts.
[24] In the second (German) edition of Thayer’s “Life,” etc., Dr.
Riemann amends this statement in the text as follows: These statements
of Treitschke’s prove to be inaccurate, inasmuch as it has definitively
been determined that Beethoven began work on “Leonore” before Paër’s
opera had been produced in Dresden, i. e., October 3, 1804. This is
proved by the discovery of sketches for the early numbers of the opera
among sketches for the “Eroica” symphony, and is confirmed by Ries.
The latter says: “When he composed ‘Leonore’ he had free lodgings for
a year in the Wiedener Theatre; but as these opened on the courtyard
they were not agreeable to him. He therefore hired, ~at the same time~,
quarters in the Rothes Haus on the Alserkaserne.” “Now,” Nottebohm
continues, “Beethoven lived in the Theater-an-der-Wien in May, 1803,
and later in the Rothes Haus in the spring of 1804.” Consequently he
must have worked on the opera ~before~ the spring of 1804. Nottebohm
assumes that between the abandonment of work on Schikaneder’s text
and the beginning of work on “Leonore” there could not be more than
a quarter of a year. It is very probable that Beethoven dropped
work on Schikaneder’s text when the latter’s activity as director
came to an end on February 11, 1804; but it does not follow that he
may not already have approached the setting of Bouilly’s text, as
translated into German by Sonnleithner, who now undertook the work
of administration. At any rate it is an error to assert that the
commission to compose the book was not offered to him until the fall
of 1804. Indeed, the question is whether or not Beethoven’s occupancy
of lodgings in the theatre was interrupted at all. It ought also to be
borne in mind that in view of his relations with Baron von Braun and
Sonnleithner, Beethoven may have known before the conclusion of the
contract that Schikaneder’s direction was to be terminated--reasons
enough for believing that there is nothing improbable in the theory
that the composer began work on “Leonore” before the end of 1803.
[25] Dr. Riemann here inserts: “If this was not the case the
explanation lies in the fact that the attention of Sonnleithner, who
had to provide texts for both Beethoven and Cherubini, had previously
been directed to the ‘Léonore’ of Bouilly and Gaveaux, and Beethoven
had already begun work on it.”
[26] It was not until February 8, 1809, that Paër’s opera was performed
in Vienna, long after Beethoven had withdrawn his opera and when Baron
von Braun was no longer Intendant. The story to which Ferdinand Hiller
gave currency about the production of Paër’s opera and the attendance
of Beethoven upon it in company with the composer must be rejected for
chronological reasons. (Riemann.)
[27] In September, 1804, Muzio Clementi, who was not only a fine
musician but also a clever business man, made an arrangement with
Breitkopf and Härtel, by which he secured all the compositions which
Beethoven might bring that firm, for England at one-half the honorarium
paid to the composer. (See an article by Max Unger in “The Monthly
Record,” Nov.-Dec., 1908.)
[28] Nottebohm’s researches (~cf.~ “Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 416 ~et
seq.~) show that Beethoven sketched all the movements of the Triple
Concerto, Op. 56, in 1804; that the beginning of the work on the
“Waldstein” Sonata. Op. 53, dates back to 1803, or at the latest the
early part of 1804; sketches for Op. 54 are missing, but the three
numbers of Op. 57 are so fully represented among the opera sketches
that Schindler’s statement that the so-called “Appassionata” Sonata was
composed at Count Brunswick’s in 1806 is to be understood as referring
only to its definitive working out and the making of a fair copy; the
date of the performance of “Leonore” (“Fidelio”), taken in connection
with a revision of the air in E major, show that the “Leonore”
sketchbook, between which and the book of 1803 there seems to have been
another, of which no trace has been found, may have extended to the
beginning of 1805.
Chapter III
The Year 1805--First Public Performance of the “Heroic
Symphony”--The Opera “Leonore,” or “Fidelio”--A Study of the
Sketchbook--The Singers and the Production.
The life of an author or composer, when absorbed in the study of a
great work, falls into a routine of daily labor that presents few
salient points to the biographer. Thus it was with Beethoven during
the first two-thirds of the year 1805. What has been preserved of his
correspondence is very little in quantity and of slight value. Ries
was away with Lichnowsky in Silesia during all the warm season, and,
very soon after his return, was forced to depart again from Vienna
for Bonn; hence the “Notizen” fail us in perhaps the most interesting
period of the young man’s four years of pupilage under Beethoven--that
of the composition of “Leonore,” or “Fidelio.” The history of the year
is, in the main, the history of that work; and unfortunately a very
unsatisfactory one. Not to break the thread of the story hereafter, the
few events of the first half of the year unconnected with it, shall
first be disposed of.
Schuppanzigh had discovered and taught a boy of great genius for the
violin, Joseph Mayseder by name (born October 16, 1789), who was
already, in his sixteenth year, the subject of eulogistic notices
in the public press. With this youth as second, Schreiber, “in the
service of Prince Lobkowitz,” for the viola, and the elder Kraft,
violoncellist, Schuppanzigh during the winter 1804-5 gave quartets “in
a private house in the Heiligenkreuzerhof, the listeners paying five
florins in advance for four performances.” Up to the end of April the
quartets given were by Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Eberl, Romberg, with
“occasionally larger pieces. Of the latter great pleasure was given by
the beautiful Beethoven Sextet in E-flat, a composition which shines
resplendent by reason of its lively melodies, unconstrained harmonies,
and a wealth of new and surprising ideas.” So it is reported in the
“Allg. Mus. Zeit.,” VII, 535, of the Sextet for wind-instruments, which
afterwards received the opus number 71, but was composed “in 1796 at
the latest,” says Nottebohm, and, not improbably in its original form,
in Bonn.
It was to the discredit of Vienna, where instrumental performers
of rare ability so abounded, that for several years regular public
orchestral concerts, save those at the Augarten in summer, had been
abandoned. Sensible of this, the bankers Würth and Fellner during
the winter of 1803-4 “had gathered together on all Sunday mornings a
select company (nearly all dilettanti) for concerts restricted for the
greater part to pieces for full orchestra, such as symphonies (among
them Beethoven’s First and Second), overtures, concertos, which they
played in really admirable style.” There were also “some overtures by
a certain Count Gallenberg” who “imitated, or rather copied, Mozart
and Cherubini so slavishly, following them even in the details of keys
and modulations so faithfully, that it was easy to tell the titles of
the overtures over whose lasts his had been made with the greatest
certainty.” Thus the correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” (VI, 467).
In these concerts Clement of the Theater-an-der-Wien was director.
They were renewed the present winter, and new performances of
Beethoven’s first two Symphonies, and the Concerto in C minor (Op.
37)--pianoforte part by Ries[29]--prepare the way for the production
of “an entirely new symphony”--“a long composition extremely difficult
of performance, in reality, a tremendously expanded, daring and wild
fantasia”; wanting “nothing in the way of startling and beautiful
passages, in which the energetic and talented composer must be
recognized; but often it loses itself in lawlessness”; the writer
“belongs to Herr van Beethoven’s sincerest admirers, but in this
composition he must confess that he finds too much that is glaring and
bizarre, which makes a survey too difficult; and the principle of unity
is almost wholly lost sight of.” It was the “Sinfonia Eroica”--its
first semi-public production. Its first really public performance
was in the Theater-an-der-Wien, on Sunday evening, April 7th, where
it began the second part of a concert given for his own benefit by
Clement. The programme announces it thus: “A new grand symphony in
D-sharp by Herrn Ludwig van Beethoven, dedicated to his Serene Highness
Prince Lobkowitz. The composer has kindly consented to conduct the
work.”
[Sidenote: PUBLIC PERFORMANCE OF THE “EROICA”]
Czerny remembered, and told Jahn, that on this occasion “somebody
in the gallery cried out: ‘I’ll give another kreutzer if the thing
will but stop!’” This is the key-note to the strain in which the
Symphony was criticized in communications to the press, that are now
among the curiosities of musical literature. The correspondent of the
“Freymüthige” divided the audience into three parties.
Some, says he, Beethoven’s particular friends, assert that it is
just this symphony which is his masterpiece, that this is the true
style for high-class music, and that if it does not please now,
it is because the public is not cultured enough, artistically, to
grasp all these lofty beauties; after a few thousand years have
passed it will not fail of its effect. Another faction denies
that the work has any artistic value and professes to see in it
an untamed striving for singularity which had failed, however, to
achieve in any of its parts beauty or true sublimity and power. By
means of strange modulations and violent transitions, by combining
the most heterogeneous elements, as for instance when a pastoral
in the largest style is ripped up by the basses, by three horns,
etc., a certain undesirable originality may be achieved without
much trouble; but genius proclaims itself not in the unusual and
the fantastic, but in the beautiful and the sublime. Beethoven
himself proved the correctness of this axiom in his earlier works.
The third party, a very small one, stands midway between the
others--it admits that the symphony contains many beauties, but
concedes that the connection is often disrupted entirely, and that
the inordinate length of this longest, and perhaps most difficult
of all symphonies, wearies even the cognoscenti, and is unendurable
to the mere music-lover; it wishes that H. v. B. would employ his
acknowledgedly great talents in giving us works like his symphonies
in C and D, his ingratiating Septet in E-flat, the intellectual
Quintet in D (C major?) and others of his early compositions which
have placed B. forever in the ranks of the foremost instrumental
composers. It fears, however, that if Beethoven continues on his
present path both he and the public will be the sufferers.... The
public and Herr van Beethoven, who conducted, were not satisfied
with each other on this evening; the public thought the symphony
too heavy, too long, and Beethoven himself too discourteous,
because he did not nod his head in recognition of the applause
which came from a portion of the audience.
This clear, compendious and valuable statement of the conflicting
opinions of the first auditors of the “Eroica” renders farther
citations superfluous; but a story--characteristic enough to be
true--may be added: that Beethoven, in reply to the complaints of too
great length, said, in substance: “If ~I~ write a symphony an hour
long it will be found short enough!” He refused positively to make any
change in the work, but deferred to public opinion so far, as, upon
its publication, to affix to the title of the Symphony a note to the
effect, that on account of its great length it should be played near
the beginning of a concert, before the audience was become weary.
Beethoven, though choleric and violent in his anger, was placable.
The theft of the Quintet in C dedicated to Count Fries, as related by
Ries, and Beethoven’s warning against the pirated edition, will be
remembered. Nottebohm has sufficiently established the fact that the
engraved plates were not destroyed, as supposed by Ries, but afterwards
again used with the composer’s consent and even his corrections. A
short letter to the offending publisher (June 1) shows that his wrath
was already appeased, and seems to indicate a purpose to grant him the
copyright of a new quintet--a purpose which, under the pressure of his
opera, and the subsequent invasion of the French, remained unexecuted.
Ignatz Pleyel, born in 1757, the twenty-fourth child of a schoolmaster
at Ruppersthal, a village a few miles from Vienna, a favorite pupil
of Haydn and just now the most widely known and popular living
instrumental composer except his master, came from Paris this season to
revisit, after many years’ absence, the scenes of his youth. He brought
with him his last new quartets, “which,” writes Czerny,
were performed before a large and aristocratic society at the house
of Prince Lobkowitz. At the close, Beethoven, who was also present,
was requested to play something. As usual he let himself be begged
for an infinitely long time and at last almost dragged by two
ladies to the pianoforte. In an ill humor he grabs a second violin
part of the Pleyel quartet from a music desk, throws it on the rack
of the pianoforte and begins to improvise. He had never been heard
to improvise more brilliantly, with more originality and splendor
than on this evening! but through the entire improvisation there
ran through the middle voices like a thread or ~cantus firmus~ the
notes, in themselves utterly insignificant, which he found on the
accidentally opened page of the quartet, upon which he built up the
most daring melodies and harmonies in the most brilliant concerto
style. Old Pleyel could show his amazement only by kissing his
hands. After such improvisations Beethoven was wont to break out
into a ringing peal of amused laughter.
Beethoven’s abandonment (if there really was one) of the rooms in the
theatre in the spring of 1804, and his subsequent relinquishment of the
apartments in “das Rothe Haus” to share those of Breuning, compelled
his brother Kaspar to seek a lodging of his own, which he found for the
present on the Hohen Markt. But the new contract, with Baron Braun,
gave the composer again a right to the apartments in the theatre
building, which he improved, at the same time retaining the dwelling in
the Pasqualati house. The city directory for 1805 gives his address
at the theatre, and there he received visitors; at the Pasqualati
house he was accustomed to seclude himself for work, forbidding his
servant to admit any person whatever. In the summer he retired to
Hetzendorf, and wrought out his opera, sitting in the same crotched
oak in the Schönbrunn Garden where, four years before, he had composed
the “Christus am Ölberg.” Thus again he had three lodgings at the same
time, as in the preceding summer; with this difference, that now one
was no expense to him. The thousand times repeated story of Ries, that
in 1804 he had ~four~ dwellings at once, is a mistake.
[Sidenote: THE SKETCHES FOR “FIDELIO”]
Before his migration to Hetzendorf--say about the middle of
June--Beethoven had completely sketched the music of his opera. This
is made sufficiently certain by one of those whimsical remarks that he
was in the habit of making on the blank spaces of whatever manuscript
he happened to have before him. In this case he writes: “June 2d Finale
always simpler. All pianoforte music also. God knows why my pianoforte
music always makes the worst impression, especially when it is badly
played.” This is in the midst of sketches to the final chorus of the
opera, and is written upon the upper outer corner of page 291 of the
“Leonore” sketchbook which became the property of Mr. Paul Mendelssohn,
of Berlin. The principal value of this manuscript lies of course in
the insight which it gives the musician into the master’s methods of
composition;[30] but for the biographer the volume is by no means
without its value. Its striking confirmation of the previously formed
opinion, that two current notions in relation to the composition of
the opera are erroneous, well repays the toil of studying it through.
First: A misinterpreted sentence in Jahn’s article on “Leonore,
oder Fidelio,” has originated and given currency to the idea that
Beethoven’s “daring enthusiasm for the welfare of men and their rights”
led him to begin his sketches for the opera with the “second finale,
with its hymn-like character.” But the sketchbook, if it proves
anything, proves this: that Beethoven began at the beginning and took
up all the principal numbers in order, as they stood in Sonnleithner’s
text; that the final choruses were the last to be sketched; and
that this sketchbook happens to begin in the midst of the chorus of
prisoners (originally the second finale) because the previous studies
are wanting.
This volume contains the first sketches of Nos. 11, 18, 15a, 17a and
18a (appendix) of Jahn’s edition; Nos. 1 and 5 occur, but not in the
original studies; Nos. 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10 are either entirely
wanting or only come up in mere fragmentary afterthoughts, as No. 9,
on page 51, where Beethoven has written at the top of the page: “in
the duet between P. and R.” and just below: “dann schleich ich,” with
a hint (4 bars of music unisono) for the accompaniment. Afterthoughts
for the duet “Um in die Ehe”--~Fidelio~ and ~Marcelline~--occur also
on pages 23, 344, and possibly one or two others, but not more.
The studies for ~Fidelio’s~ recitative “Ach brich noch nicht” and
aria “Komm Hoffnung” (No. 11), which are found near the end of the
volume, seem to form a marked exception to the rule; but if these are
really the first sketches, their appearance after the final scenes is
explained by two remarks in Beethoven’s hand on page 344: “Duetto with
Müller (~Marcelline~) and ~Fidelio~ aside,” and “Aria for ~Fidelio~,
another text which agrees with her.” These notes clearly indicate a
change of plan in connection with the duet, and that the beautiful air,
“Komm Hoffnung,” did not stand in Sonnleithner’s original text.
[Sidenote: PATIENT LABOR ON THE OPERA]
The other current error thoroughly exploded by the sketchbook is
this, namely, that the noblest passages in the opera are a sort of
spontaneous outpouring in music of feelings and sentiments awakened,
or rendered intense and vivid, by the unfortunate love-affairs of the
composer. Now, there is nothing from the first page to the last of this
manuscript that conveys the impression of any such spontaneity. Every
number, as it now stands complete in the score, was the tardy result of
persevering labor--of the most painstaking study.
Where Jahn says: “I have not had an opportunity to study many of
Beethoven’s sketchbooks, but I have found no instance in which one was
not compelled to recognize that the material chosen was not the best,
or to deplore that the material which he rejected had not been used,”
he might have added, with truth, that some of the first ideas noted to
passages, now among the gems of the opera, are commonplace and trivial
to such a degree, that one can hardly attribute them to Beethoven. Yet,
there they are in his own hand. Jahn’s compendious general description
of the contents of this manuscript cannot be improved, except in a
single passage, in which, probably trusting his memory a little too
much, he conveys the mistaken (as we think) impression, that the aria
of ~Marcelline~ is here first sketched.
The sketches [says he] are, naturally enough, of very different
kinds; in part they are widely varying efforts to give musical
expression to the same text, and many numbers, like the airs
of ~Marcelline~ and ~Pizarro~, the grave duet, a few striking
passages, appear for the first time with motivi wholly different
from those now to be found in the opera.... At other times, whole
pieces are written down in a breath essentially as they have
remained.
This is rather too strongly expressed, unless Jahn had in mind the
arias of ~Rocco~ and ~Marcelline~.
By the side of such passages are examples of indefatigable detail
work, which cannot find a conclusion, of turning not only single
motivi and melodies but the tiniest elements of them this way and
that, and out of all conceivable variations to draw out the form
that is best. One is amazed at this everlasting experimentation
and cannot conceive how it will be possible to create an organic
whole out of such musical scraps. But if one compares the completed
art-work with the chaos of sketches one is overwhelmed with wonder
at the creative mind which surveyed its task so clearly, grasped
the foundation and the outlines of the execution so firmly and
surely that with all the sketches and attempts in details the
whole grows naturally from its roots and develops. And though
the sketches frequently create the impression of uncertainty
and groping, admiration comes again for the marvelously keen
self-criticism, which, after everything has been tested with
sovereign certainty, retains the best.[31]
In the notices of the “Leonore” sketchbook, made for use in this
work, are copied ~eighteen~ different beginnings to ~Florestan’s~
air, “In des Lebens Frühlingstagen,” and ten to the chorus, “Wer ein
holdes Weib”; others being omitted, because illegible or little more
than repetitions. The studies for that wondrous outburst of joy, “O
namenlose Freude,” are numerous; but the first bars of the duet are the
same in all of them, having been taken by Beethoven from an “old opera.”
It certainly seems a little like cold-blooded cruelty thus ruthlessly
to demolish the structure of romance which has been rising for thirty
years on the sandy foundation laid by Schindler in his story of the
Countess Guicciardi, and of which, through some fancied connection, the
opera “Leonore” has become an imposing part. But facts are stubborn
things, and here they are irreconcilable with the romance.
Inborn genius for musical composition, untiring industry, and the
ambition to rival Cherubini in his own field, sufficiently explain the
extraordinary merits of this work of Beethoven; want of practice and
experience in operatic writing, its defects.
Beethoven’s seclusion at Hetzendorf from June to September (probably)
and his labor of reducing the chaos of the sketchbook into the
order and beauty of the score of “Leonore”--on which, as he told
Schindler, he wrought in the bright summer days, sitting in the
shades of Schönbrunn--are unbroken for us except by his first meeting
with Cherubini. Some time in July--for that master arrived in Vienna
after the 5th of that month, and Vogler was in Salzburg before the
28th--“Cherubini, Beethoven and Vogler were gathered together at
Sonnleithner’s; everybody played, Vogler first, and without ceasing,
so that the company meanwhile sat down to table. Beethoven was full
of attention and respect toward Cherubini.” Such is Jahn’s note of a
communication to him by Grillparzer; and Czerny told him: “B. did not
give Cherubini a friendly reception in 1805, as the latter complained
to Czerny later.”
At the end of the summer season Beethoven returned to town with his
opera ready to be put in rehearsal. Here Ries found him. “He was really
fond of me,” says he, “and gave me a comical proof of the fact in one
of his fits of absentmindedness”; and Ries goes on to relate in the
“Notizen”:
When I came back from Silesia, where, on Beethoven’s
recommendation, I had spent a considerable time as pianoforte
player for Prince Lichnowsky on his estate, I went into his room;
he was about to shave and had lathered himself up to the eyes (for
his fearful beard extended so far). He jumped up, embraced me
cordially and, behold! he had transferred the soap from his left
cheek to my right so completely that there was nothing left of it
on him. Didn’t we laugh!
With all his kindness to Ries, Beethoven had neither forgotten nor
forgiven the affair of the “Andante favori”:
One day when a small company including Beethoven and me breakfasted
with Prince (Lichnowsky) after the concert in the Augarten (8
o’clock in the forenoon), it was proposed that we drive to
Beethoven’s house and hear his opera “Leonore,” which had not
yet been performed. Arrived there Beethoven demanded that I go
away, and inasmuch as the most urgent appeals of all present were
fruitless, I did so with tears in my eyes. The entire company
noticed it and Prince Lichnowsky, following me, asked me to wait
in an anteroom, because, having been the cause of the trouble, he
wanted to have it settled. But the feeling of hurt to my honor
would not admit of this. I heard afterward that Prince Lichnowsky
had sharply rebuked Beethoven for his conduct, since only love for
his works had been to blame for the incident and consequently for
his anger. But the only result of these representations was that
Beethoven refused to play any more for the company.
It so happened, that Ries thus lost his only opportunity ever to hear
the “Leonore-Fidelio” music in its original form; but this Beethoven
could not anticipate, as he could have no suspicion that they were
so soon to be parted. Bonn, being now under French rule, Ries was
liable to conscription, and notice came that he was among the first
drawn. “He was therefore,” says the ‘Harmonicon,’ “obliged to return
home immediately, for his disobedience would have exposed his father
and family to the risk of ruin.” Before Ries’ departure from Vienna,
Beethoven, himself unable to afford him pecuniary assistance, again
proved his kindly feelings towards his pupil by giving him a letter
commending him to the benevolence of Princess Liechtenstein.
“To Beethoven’s rage,” says Ries, “the letter was not delivered, but I
kept the original, written on an unevenly cut quarto sheet, as a proof
of Beethoven’s friendship and love for me.” Three years will elapse
before we meet Ries again in Vienna--the greater part of which period
he passed at Paris in such discouraging circumstances, that he thought
seriously of abandoning his profession.
[Sidenote: FIRST PERFORMANCE OF “FIDELIO”]
At the Theater-an-der-Wien none of the new operas produced this season
had long kept the stage; although two of them--Schikaneder’s “Swetard’s
Zaubergürtel,” music by Fischer, and his “Vesta’s Feuer,” music by
J. Weigl--were brought out “with very extraordinary splendor of
decorations and costumes.” It was now Autumn and the receipts did not
cover the expenses of the theatre. “From the distance,” says Treitschke,
the storm of war rolled towards Vienna and robbed the spectators of
the calm essential to the enjoyment of an art-work. But just for
this reason all possible efforts were made to enliven the sparsely
attended spaces of the house. “Fidelio” was relied upon to do its
best, and so, under far from happy auspices, the opera was produced
on November 20 (1805). It was possible efficiently to cast only the
female parts with Mlles. Milder and Müller; the men left all the
more to be desired.
Anna Milder (born December 13, 1785), now just completing her
twentieth year, was that pupil of Neukomm to whom Haydn had said half
a dozen years before: “My dear child! You have a voice like a house!”
Schikaneder gave her her first engagement and she began her theatrical
career April 9, 1803, in the part of ~Juno~ in Süssmayr’s “Spiegel von
Arkadien,” with a new grand aria composed for her by him. Beethoven
had now written the part of ~Fidelio~ for her. In later years it was
one of her grand performances; though, judging from the contemporary
criticisms, it was now somewhat defective, simply from lack of stage
experience. Louise Müller, the ~Marcelline~, “had already (in April,
1805) developed in a few years into a tasteful and honest singer,
although she did not have the help of a voice of especial volume.” She
became, in the opinion of Castelli, “a most amiable actress and good
singer, particularly in the comic genre.”
Demmer, “trained in Cologne,” is reported in 1799, when singing at
Frankfort-on-the-Main, as having “a firm, enduring voice with a high
range; he played semi-comic rôles admirably. He was best in airs
in which there was little agility and more sustained declamation.”
Castelli praises him; but all contemporary accounts agree that he was
not equal to the part of ~Florestan~, for which he was now selected.
Sebastian Meier, brother-in-law to Mozart (the musical reformer of
this theatre), “was insignificant as a singer, but a valiant actor,”
says Castelli, who knew him most intimately. Schindler has an anecdote
of him as ~Pizarro~, apparently derived from Beethoven, to the effect
that he had a high opinion of his own powers; that he used to swear by
Mozart and confidently undertake everything. In view of this Beethoven
resolved to cure him of his weakness, and to this end wrote the passage
in Pizarro’s air:
[Illustration: Pizarro
Bass
Bald wird sein Blut verrinnen
Bald krümmet sich der Wurm
]
the voice moves over a series of scales, played by all the strings,
so that the singer at each note which he has to utter, hears an
appogiatura of a minor second from the orchestra. The ~Pizarro~
of 1805 was unable with all his gesticulation and writhing to
avoid the difficulty, the more since the mischievous players in
the orchestra below maliciously emphasized the minor second by
accentuation. ~Don Pizarro~, snorting with rage, was thus at the
mercy of the bows of the fiddlers. This aroused laughter. The
singer, whose conceit was thus wounded, thereupon flew into a rage
and hurled at the composer among other remarks the words: “My
brother-in-law would never have written such damned nonsense.”
Weinkopf (~Don Fernando~) had “a pure and expressive bass voice,”
but his part was too meagre and unimportant to affect the success or
failure of the opera.
Caché (~Jaquino~), according to Castelli, was a good actor,
who was also made serviceable in the opera because Meyer, the
stage-manager, knew that good acting, in comic operas, was
frequently more effective than a good voice. It was necessary to
fiddle his song-parts into his head before he came to rehearsals.
Rothe (~Rocco~) was so inferior both as actor and singer, that his name
is not to be found in any of the ordinary sources of Vienna theatrical
history.
One can well believe that very considerable difficulties attended
the performance, as Treitschke states. His words, in a passage above
cited, as well as certain expressions of Beethoven’s a few months
later, indicate that the opera was hurriedly put upon the stage, and
the inadequacy of the singers thus increased by the lack of sufficient
rehearsals. Seyfried says, “I directed the study of the parts with
all the singers according to his suggestions, also all the orchestral
rehearsals, and personally conducted the performance.” In 1805 Seyfried
was young, talented, ambitious, zealous, and nothing was wanting on his
part to insure success.
[Sidenote: INCIDENTS AT THE REHEARSALS]
Speaking of the rehearsals recalls to mind one of those bursts
of puerile wrath, which were passed over with a smile by some of
Beethoven’s friends, but gave serious offense to others. Mähler
remembered that at one of the general rehearsals the third bassoon
was absent; at which Beethoven fretted and fumed. Lobkowitz, who was
present, made light of the matter: two of the bassoons were present,
said he, and the absence of the third could make no great difference.
This so enraged the composer, that, as he passed the Lobkowitz Place,
on his way home, he could not restrain the impulse to turn aside and
shout in at the great door of the palace: “Lobkowitzian ass!”
There were various stumbling-blocks in the vocal score of “Leonore.”
Schindler on this point has some judicious remarks (in his third
edition), and they are borne out by his record of conversations with
Cherubini and Anna Milder. During his years of frequent intercourse
with Beethoven and subsequently, “Leonore” was a work upon whose origin
and failure he took much pains to inform himself, and its history as
finally drawn up by him is much more satisfactory and correct than
others of greater pretensions.
Outside the narrow circle of the playhouse, weightier matters than a
new opera now occupied and agitated the minds of the Viennese. On the
20th October, Ulm fell. On the 30th Bernadotte entered Salzburg, on
his way to and down the Danube. Vienna was defenceless. The nobility,
the great bankers and merchants--all whose wealth enabled and whose
vocations permitted it--precisely those classes of society in which
Beethoven moved, which knew how to appreciate his music, and of whose
suffrages his opera was assured, fled from the capital. On November 9th
the Empress departed. On the 10th the French armies had reached and
occupied the villages a few miles west of the city. On November 13th,
about 11 o’clock in the forenoon, the vanguard of the enemy, Murat and
Lannes at the head, 15,000 strong, representing all branches of the
service, entered Vienna in order of battle, flags flying and music
sounding.
On the 15th, Bonaparte issued his proclamation from Schönbrunn, which
he made his headquarters. Murat quartered himself in the palace of
Archduke Albert; General Hulin, in that of Prince Lobkowitz. It was
just at this most unlucky of all possible periods that Beethoven’s
opera was produced; on November 20, 21 and 22.
Beethoven’s friend, Stephan von Breuning, prepared a pretty surprise
for him by printing a short complimentary poem and having it
distributed in the theatre at the second performance. It is preserved
in the “Notizen” (p. 34).[32] Beethoven desired to retain the original
title of the opera, “Leonore,” and the directors of the theatre have
been severely censured from that day to this for persisting in giving
and retaining the title “Fidelio”; but unjustly; for, considering the
relations in which Paër stood to Baron Braun, it was surely enough to
have taken his subject, without stealing his title.
[Sidenote: RECOLLECTIONS OF A SINGER]
A young man, educated at the University of Munich, had for some time
past been private secretary to the Bavarian ~Chargé des Affaires~ at
Salzburg. The approach of the French armies after the fall of Ulm
made his position and prospects very uncertain. It was just then that
an agent of Baron Braun came thither in search of a young, fresh
tenor to succeed Demmer, whose powers were fast yielding to time. The
engagement was offered him and thus it came about, that J. A. Röckel,
in the Autumn of 1805, became first tenor in the Theater-an-der-Wien.
After appearing in divers characters with much success, considering
his inexperience, he was offered the part of ~Florestan~ in the
contemplated revival of “Fidelio.” A conversation with the singer at
Bath in April, 1861, is authority for these particulars, and a letter
from him dated February 26 of the same year adds more. Röckel wrote:
It was in December, 1805--the opera house An-der-Wien and both
the Court theatres of Vienna having been at that time under the
intendance of Baron Braun, the Court Banker--when Mr. Meyer,
brother-in-law to Mozart and Regisseur of the opera An-der-Wien,
came to fetch me to an evening meeting in the palace of Prince
Charles Lichnowsky, the great patron of Beethoven. “Fidelio” was
already a month previously performed An-der-Wien--unhappily just
after the entrance of the French, when the city was shut against
the suburbs. The whole theatre was taken up by the French, and
only a few friends of Beethoven ventured to hear the opera. These
friends were now at that soirée, to bring Beethoven about, to
consent to the changes they wanted to introduce in the opera in
order to remove the heaviness of the first act. The necessity of
these improvements was already acknowledged and settled among
themselves. Meyer had prepared me for the coming storm, when
Beethoven should hear of leaving out three whole numbers of the
first act.
At the soirée were present Prince Lichnowsky and the Princess, his
lady, Beethoven and his brother Kaspar, [Stephan] von Breuning,
[Heinrich] von Collin, the poet, the tragedian Lange (another
brother-in-law to Mozart), Treitschke, Clement, leader of the
orchestra, Meyer and myself; whether Kapellmeister von Seyfried was
there I am not certain any more, though I should think so.
I had arrived in Vienna only a short time before, and met Beethoven
there for the first time.
As the whole opera was to be gone through, we went directly to
work. Princess L. played on the grand piano the great score of the
opera and Clement, sitting in a corner of the room, accompanied
with his violin the whole opera by heart, playing all the solos
of the different instruments. The extraordinary memory of Clement
having been universally known, nobody was astonished by it, except
myself. Meyer and I made ourselves useful, by singing as well as
we could, he (basso) the lower, I the higher parts of the opera.
Though the friends of Beethoven were fully prepared for the
impending battle, they had never seen him in ~that~ excitement
before, and without the prayers and entreaties of the very delicate
and invalid princess, who was a second mother to Beethoven and
acknowledged by himself as such, his united friends were not likely
to have succeeded in this, even to themselves, very doubtful
enterprise. But when after their united endeavors from seven
till after one o’clock, the sacrifice of the three numbers was
accomplished, and when we, exhausted, hungry and thirsty, went to
restore ourselves by a splendid supper--then, none was happier and
gayer than Beethoven. Had I seen him before in his fury, I saw him
now in his frolics. When he saw me, opposite to him, so intently
occupied with a French dish, and asked me what I was eating, and I
answered: “I don’t know!” with his lion-voice he roared out: “He
eats like a wolf--without knowing what! Ha, ha, ha!”
The condemned three numbers were:
1. A great aria with chorus of ~Pizarro~;
2. A comic duo between ~Leonore~ (~Fidelio~) and ~Marcelline~, with
violin and violoncello solo;
3. A comic terzetto between ~Marcelline~, ~Jacquino~ and ~Rocco~.
Many years after, Mr. Schindler found the scores of these three
pieces amongst the rubbish of Beethoven’s music, and got them as a
present from him.
A question has been raised as to the accuracy of Röckel’s memory in
his statement of the numbers cancelled on this occasion; to which it
may be remarked, that the particulars of this first and extraordinary
meeting with Beethoven would naturally impress themselves very deeply
upon the memory of the young singer; that the numbers to be condemned
had been previously agreed upon by the parties opposed to the composer
in the transaction, and doubtless made known to Röckel; that Röckel’s
relations to Meyer were such as to render it in the highest degree
improbable, that he should confound ~Rocco’s~ gold aria with either of
the ~Pizarro~ airs with chorus belonging to Meyer’s part; that both of
these belong to the first and second original acts--i. e., to the first
act of the opera as Röckel knew it; that he (Röckel) in his letter
to the writer is not reporting upon the pieces actually omitted in
the subsequent performance three or four months later, but upon those
which, at this meeting, Beethoven was with great difficulty persuaded
to omit: that the objections made to them were not to the music, but
because they retarded the action; and, therefore, that the decision
now reached was by no means final, provided the end desired could be
attained in some other way. Perhaps it may yet appear that Beethoven,
now cunningly giving way, succeeded in winning the game, and retaining
all three of the pieces condemned.
Outside theatrical circles we catch also a glimpse or two of Beethoven
in these months. Pierre Baillot, the violinist, was in Vienna just
before the French invasion on his way to Moscow, and was taken by Anton
Reicha to see Beethoven.
They did not find him in his lodgings but in a by no means
elegant inn in the Vorstadt. What first attracted the attention
of the Frenchman was that Beethoven did not have the bulldog,
gloomy expression which he had expected from the majority of
his portraits; he even thought he recognized an expression of
good-nature in the face of the composer. The conversation had just
got well under way when it was interrupted by a terrific snore. It
came from a stableman or coachman who was taking his little nap in
a corner of the room. Beethoven gazed at the snorer a few moments
attentively and then broke out with the words: “I wish I were as
stupid as that fellow.”[33]
Schindler closes his account of these last five years in Beethoven’s
life with great propriety and elegance by quoting a passage copied by
the master from Christian Sturm’s “Betrachtungen.” It is made up of
scattered sentences which may be found on page 197 of the ninth edition
(Reutlingen, 1827):
To the praise of Thy goodness I must confess that Thou hast tried
all means to draw me to Thee. Now it hath pleased Thee to let me
feel the heavy hand of Thy wrath, and to humiliate my proud heart
by manifold chastisements. Sickness and misfortune hast Thou sent
to bring me to a contemplation of my digressions. But one thing
only do I ask, O God, cease not to labor for my improvement. Only
let me, in whatsoever manner pleases Thee, turn to Thee and be
fruitful of good works.
[Sidenote: WORKS PUBLISHED IN 1805]
The publications for the year 1805 were the Two Easy Sonatas, G minor
and G major, Op. 49, advertised by the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir,
on January 23; Trio (arranged from the Septet) for Pf., Violin (or
Clarinet) and Violoncello, E-flat, Op. 38, advertised by the same
institution on the same date; Prelude for the Pf., F minor, advertised
by the same on January 30; Romance for Violin and Orchestra, F major,
Op. 50, advertised by the same on May 15; Sonata in C major for Pf.,
Op. 53, dedicated to Count Waldstein, advertised with the Romance;
song, “An die Hoffnung,” Op. 32, advertised by the same on September
18; Six Variations for Pf. four hands, on “Ich denke Dein,” advertised
by the same on January 23; Minuet in E-flat for Pf., advertised by same
on January 30; Scene and Air, “Ah, perfido! spergiuro,” in pianoforte
score, published by Hoffmann and Kühnel.
The compositions which were completed were the opera “Leonore”
(“Fidelio”) in its first form; the Concerto for Pf. and Orchestra, G
major, Op. 58 (this on the authority of Nottebohm); the Pf. Sonata in F
major. Op. 54; perhaps also may be added the Concerto for Pf., Violin
and Violoncello, C major. Op. 56. It was sketched at the beginning of
the year and was written, as Schindler states, for Archduke Rudolph,
Seidler, violin, and Kraft, violoncello; it may well have been
completed so as to be played by the winter of 1805-1806.
FOOTNOTES:
[29] Again played by him at the opening of Schuppanzigh’s Augarten
concerts in the Spring.
[30] See Nottebohm’s study of the sketches for “Fidelio” in “Zweite
Beethoveniana,” p. 409 ~et seq.~; also what Jahn has to say, and the
results of Erich Prieger’s labors in connection with the reprint of the
original form of the opera.
[31] Jahn, “Gesammelte Schriften,” p. 244.
[32] To the opinions of the reviewers some attention must be given; it
does not seem advisable to quote them ~in extenso~. The “Freymüthige”
describes the military occupation of Vienna, the officers quartered
in the city proper, the private soldiery in the suburbs. At first
the theatres were empty, but gradually the French began to visit
them and at the time of writing were more numerous in the playhouses
than the Austrians. “Fidelio,” the new opera by Beethoven, did not
please. It was given a few times only and the house was empty after
the first performance. The music did not meet the expectations of
the cognoscenti and music-lovers, lacking the passionate expression
which is so compelling in Mozart and Cherubini. The music is beautiful
in places, but as a whole the opera is far from being a perfect or
successful work. The “Zeitung für the Elegante Welt” records that the
music is “ineffective and repetitious,” and did not add to the writer’s
opinion of Beethoven’s talent for vocal writing formed on hearing his
cantata (“Christus am Ölberg”). In its issue of January 8, 1806, the
correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” says that he had expected
something very different, in view of Beethoven’s undisputed talent.
Beethoven had often sacrificed beauty to newness and singularity and
therefore something new and original had been expected, but these were
the qualities which were least noticeable. The music is distinguished
neither by invention nor execution. The overture is not comparable
with that of “Prometheus.” As a rule there is nothing new in the
vocal parts; they are generally too long, the text is ceaselessly
repeated and the characterization misses fire, as, for instance, in
the duet after the recognition. A canon in the first act and an aria
in F [E] are more successful, though the pretty accompaniment with
its three horns ~obbligato~ and bassoon is somewhat overloaded. The
choruses, especially the song of the prisoners, are a failure. Dr.
Henry Reeve, of Norwich, England, one of the earliest collaborators
on the “Edinburgh Review,” then a young man of 25, was in Vienna at
the time of the French invasion and attended the second representation
of the opera on November 21st. Sir George Grove sent a copy of a page
from his journal to Thayer. He thought the plot a sad mixture of bad
action and romantic situations, but the airs, duets and choruses worthy
of all praise. The “overtures,” of which there was one for every act,
were too artificial to be generally agreeable and an appreciation of
their beauties would require frequent hearing. Beethoven sat at the
pianoforte and conducted the performance--a little, dark, young-looking
man, who wore spectacles.
[33] “Signale für die Musikalische Welt,” June 21, 1866.
Chapter IV
The Year 1806--Repetition of “Fidelio”--Changes in the Opera--Its
Withdrawal--Journey to Silesia--Correspondence with Thomson--The
Scottish Songs.
Excerpts from a letter written on June 2, 1806, by Stephan von Breuning
to his sister and brother-in-law, make a fair opening for the story
of the year 1806. In it he reports on “Fidelio.” The letter, though
written in the middle of the year, has reference to the period between
the original performance late in 1805 and the repetition in the spring
of 1806, a period in which it would seem, from the absence of all
epistolary writings, Beethoven was in no mood, or too much occupied
otherwise, for correspondence. Von Breuning writes:
Nothing, perhaps, has caused Beethoven so much vexation as
this work, the value of which will be appreciated only in the
future.... Beethoven, who had also observed a few imperfections
in the treatment of the text in the opera, withdrew it after
three representations. After order had been restored he and I
took it up again. I remodelled the whole book for him, quickening
and enlivening the action; he curtailed many pieces, and then it
was performed three[34] times with great success. Now, however,
his enemies in the theatre arose, and as he had offended several
persons, especially at the second representation, they succeeded in
preventing further performances. Before this, many obstacles had
been placed in his way; to let one instance stand as proof for the
others, he could not even get permission to secure an announcement
of the opera under the changed title “Fidelio,” as it is called in
the French original, and as it was put into print after the changes
were made. Contrary to promise the first title “Leonore” appeared
on the poster. This is all the more unpleasant for Beethoven since
the cessation of the performances on which he was depending for
his honorarium, which consists in a percentage of the receipts,
has embarrassed him in a financial way. He will recover from the
set-back all the more slowly since the treatment which he has
received has robbed him of a great deal of his pleasure in and love
for work....
The words “Fidelio” and “Leonore” are here misplaced, interchanged,
whether by Breuning or his copyist is not known. The letter is a
reflection of Beethoven’s disappointment and indignation at fancied
injuries; it was written in ignorance of divers material facts, and
contains inaccuracies, which--since its publication by Wegeler in
1838--have colored many attempts to write the early history of the
opera.
It is a circumstance, noteworthy and not easily to be explained, that
Breuning, instead of Sonnleithner, revised the text and made the new
disposition of the scenes. For the alterations and suppressions, both
in the text and the music, made at this time, the reader is referred
to the edition of “Leonore” prepared by Otto Jahn, and published by
Breitkopf and Härtel in 1852, and the preface to the edition of the
“Fidelio” of 1805 published by Erich Prieger.
At the performances in November, the effect of the overture had been
ruined by a passage in the Allegro, which was too difficult for the
wood-wind instruments. “Instead of simply removing this obstacle (31
measures),” says Schindler, “Beethoven thought it advisable to rewrite
the whole, inasmuch as he was already engaged upon a revision of other
parts of the work. He retains the motivi of the Introduction as well
as the Allegro, has the motivo of the latter played by violoncellos
and violins simultaneously for the sake of greater sonority, and on
the existing foundation rears a new structure, including several new
thoughts.”[35]
[Sidenote: THE OVERTURES TO “FIDELIO”]
And thus for Beethoven the winter passed. To compete with successful
new works which Schikaneder offered the Vienna audiences of 1806,
was no light matter; and it is easy to imagine, that Beethoven felt
this, and determined, at all events in his own field of instrumental
composition, to leave no doubt who was master. Hence, that monumental
work, the great overture to “Leonore” in its second form. He was, as
usual, dilatory in meeting his engagements. January and February passed
and March drew to its close, and the overture was not ready. This was
too much for Baron Braun’s patience. He, therefore, selected the best
night of the season--Saturday, March 29, the last before the closing
of the theatre for Holy Week and Easter--and gave Beethoven distinctly
to understand, that if the opera was not performed on that evening, it
should not be given at all. This was effectual and the new score was
sent in; but so late, as Röckel well remembered, as to allow but two or
three rehearsals with pianoforte and one only with orchestra; and these
were directed by Seyfried--the composer appearing at neither.
Beethoven and Breuning supposed that a change of title from “Fidelio”
to “Leonore” had been agreed to by the directors, and indeed the new
text-book and Breuning’s poem on the occasion were so printed; but
it was determined otherwise. By the new arrangement of the scenes,
the number of acts was reduced to two. The new playbill therefore
substitutes “Opera in two Acts” for “three”; excepting this, the
change of date, and of Röckel’s for Demmer’s name as ~Florestan~, it
is a facsimile of the previous ones, and announces: “Fidelio oder die
Eheliche Liebe.” For this determination the directors may well have
urged, not only a proper regard for the composer of “Sargino” and the
(Italian) “Leonore,” but the manifest impropriety of misleading the
public by giving a new title to a work which remained essentially
unchanged. As on the original production, Breuning wrote a poem: “To
Herr Ludwig van Beethoven, on the occasion of the reproduction of the
opera composed by him and first performed on November 20, 1805, now
given under the new title ‘Leonore.’”
[Sidenote: UNSUCCESSFUL PERFORMANCES]
The correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.,” under date of April 2,
writes: “Beethoven has again produced his opera ‘Fidelio’ on the
stage with many alterations and abbreviations. An entire act has been
omitted, but the piece has benefited and pleased better.” On Thursday,
the 10th, it was given again. The following letters from Beethoven
to Sebastian Meier, referring to this performance, complain of “many
blunders” in the choruses, ask for new rehearsals, and say:
Please ask Mr. Seyfried to conduct my opera to-day, I want to look
at and hear it from a distance, thus at least my patience will not
be so greatly tried as if I were to hear my music bungled close
at hand! I cannot think otherwise than that it is done purposely.
I will say nothing about the wind-instruments, but that all ~pp~,
~crescendo~, all ~decres.~ and all ~forte~, ~ff~, have been elided
from my opera; at any rate they are not played. All delight in
composing departs when one hears it (one’s music) played ~thus~!
Seyfried’s autograph record of all performances in the
Theater-an-der-Wien, through a long series of years, gives “Sargino”
instead of “Fidelio,” for Saturday the 12th--and “Agnes Bernauer”
for the Sunday and Monday following. That this old, well-known drama
was so repeated affords a strong presumption that an opera--we think
“Fidelio”--was withdrawn “because obstacles had suddenly appeared”
after it was too late to supply its place with another. At all events,
the production of “Fidelio” on Thursday, April 10th, was the last; for
which fact, two explanations are given--that in Breuning’s letter, and
one by Röckel in his letter to the author. Breuning attributes it to
the composer’s enemies--to a cabal, to “several persons whom Beethoven
had offended, especially at the second representation”; Röckel, to
Beethoven’s own imprudence and folly.
Breuning, a Secretary in the War Office, could have had little leisure
for theatrical matters in those melancholy days during the French
occupation and immediately after; it is a cause of surprise, that
he found time for the revision of the “Fidelio” text; his record,
therefore, could hardly have been made except upon the representations
of his friend--the last man to admit that he was in fault. But
Röckel was behind the scenes in a double sense: he sang the part of
~Florestan~ and while Beethoven’s “friends were, most of them, married
men, not able to walk and dine out with him (as he writes) like myself,
another bachelor, to whom he took a fancy--I could call upon him in the
morning and in fine weather stroll and dine with him in the country.”
Breuning and Röckel are alike men of unimpeachable veracity; but the
latter speaks from personal knowledge and observation.
Breuning’s statement is improbable. Who were Beethoven’s enemies? Who
formed the cabal? Baron Braun, Schikaneder, Seyfried, the Stage-manager
Meier, Director Clement, the solo singers (Mlle. Milder, Weinkopf,
Röckel), were all his friends; and, for anything now known, so were
Mlle. Müller, Rothe and Caché. As to orchestra and chorus, they might
refuse to play under Beethoven as conductor--nothing more; and, as he
had already conducted four if not five times, this would create no
great difficulty, as the baton would necessarily pass into the hands
of Seyfried at the first or second subsequent performance. Moreover,
now that the opera was fairly upon the stage and making its way, it
was for the interest of all parties, from Baron Braun down to the
scene-shifters, to continue it so long as it would draw an audience.
That it was making its way is proved not only by all the contemporary
accounts, but by this: that notwithstanding the necessarily empty
houses in November, Beethoven’s percentage of the receipts finally
amounted to nearly 200 florins.
[Sidenote: THE COMPOSER IN A RAGE]
In the second of the notes to Meier, Beethoven is guilty of monstrous
injustice. A moment’s reflection shows this. The orchestra and chorus
had duly rehearsed and three times publicly performed “Fidelio” as
first written. Since then (see Jahn’s edition) most of the numbers,
perhaps every one, had been more or less changed. Now every musician
knows that it is easier to play a piece of new music correctly at
sight, than a well-known composition in which material alterations
have been made. And yet, because some forty men--playing on a dozen
different instruments, and after a single rehearsal at which the
composer was not present to explain his intentions--did not effect
the impossibility of reading the music correctly and at the same time
note all the marks of expression, Beethoven writes: “I cannot think
otherwise than that is done purposely!”
All things considered, there can be no hesitation in preferring the
testimony of the singer of ~Florestan~, to that of the Court War
Councillor.
When the opera was produced in the beginning of the following
year (writes Röckel) it was exceedingly well received by a select
public, which became more numerous and enthusiastic with each new
representation; and no doubt the opera would have become a favorite
if the evil genius of the composer had not prevented it, and as
he, Beethoven, was paid for his work by a percentage, instead of
a mere honorarium, an advantage which none enjoyed before him,
it would have considerably advanced his pecuniary arrangements.
Having had no theatrical experience, he was estimating the receipts
of the house much higher than they really were; he believed
himself cheated in his percentage, and without consulting his real
friends on such a delicate point, he hastened to Baron Braun--that
high-minded and honorable nobleman--and submitted his complaint.
The Baron, seeing Beethoven excited and conscious of his ~one
susceptibility~ (i. e., suspicious temper), did what he could to
cure him of his suspicions against his employees, of whose honesty
he was sure. Were there any fraud, the Baron said, his own loss
would be beyond comparison more considerable than Beethoven’s. He
hoped that the receipts would increase with each representation;
until now, only the first ranks, stalls and pit were occupied; by
and by the upper ranks would likewise contribute their shares.
“I don’t write for the galleries!” exclaimed Beethoven.
“No?” replied the Baron, “My dear Sir, even Mozart did not disdain
to write for the galleries.”
Now it was at an end. “I will not give the opera any more,” said
Beethoven, “I want my score back.” Here Baron Braun rang the bell,
gave orders for the delivery of the score to the composer, and
the opera was buried for a long time. From this encounter between
Beethoven and Baron Braun one might conclude that the former’s
feelings had been injured by the comparison with Mozart; but since
he revered Mozart highly, it is probable that he took offence
more at the manner in which they were uttered than at the words
themselves.--He now realized plainly that he had acted against his
own interests, and in all probability the parties would have come
to an amicable understanding through the mediation of friends if
Baron Braun had not very soon after retired from the management of
the united theatres, a circumstance that led to a radical change of
conditions.
In truth, Beethoven had overshot the mark. The overture was too novel
in form and grand in substance to be immediately understood; and, in
1806, there was not an audience in Europe able to find, in the fire and
expression of the principal vocal numbers, an adequate compensation
for the superficial graces and melodic beauties of the favorite operas
of the time, and which seemed to them to be wanting in “Fidelio.” Even
Cherubini, who was all this time in Vienna, failed to comprehend fully
a work which, though a first and only experiment, was destined to an
ever-increasing popularity, when nearly all his own then universally
admired operas had disappeared from the stage. Schindler records that
he “told the musicians of Paris concerning the overture that because of
its confusion of modulations he was unable to recognize the principal
key.” And farther, that he (Cherubini), in listening to “Fidelio,” had
come to the conclusion that till then Beethoven had paid too little
heed to the art of singing, for which Salieri was not to blame.
In 1836, Schindler conversed with the ~Fidelio~ of 1805-06, Madame
Milder-Hauptmann, on the subject: “She said, among other things, that
she, too, had had severe struggles with the master chiefly about the
unbeautiful, unsingable passages, unsuited to her voice, in the Adagio
of the air in E major--but all in vain, until, in 1814, she declared
that she would never sing the air again in its then shape. That worked.”
Anselm Hüttenbrenner, who became a pupil of Salieri a dozen years
later, wrote in a letter to Ferdinand Luib, under date February 21,
1858: “Speaking of Beethoven Salieri told me the composer had submitted
‘Fidelio’ to him for an opinion: he had taken exception to many
things and advised Beethoven to make certain changes; but Beethoven
had ‘Fidelio’ performed just as he had written it--and never visited
Salieri again.” These last words are too strong; Beethoven’s pique
against his old master was in time forgotten; for Moscheles (also in a
letter to Luib) writes on February 28, 1858: “I cannot recall seeing
Schubert at Salieri’s, but I do remember the interesting circumstance
that once I saw a sheet of paper lying at Salieri’s on which in great
letters written by Beethoven were the words: ‘~The pupil Beethoven was
here!~’”
A letter by Beethoven to Baron von Braun refers to the incidents just
described and asks permission to get from the theatre orchestral parts,
as follows:
~Flauto primo~, the three trombones and the four horn parts of my
opera. I need these parts, but only for a day, in order to have a
few trifles copied for myself which ~could not be written into the
score for want of room~, also because ~Prince Lobkowitz~ thinks ~of
giving the opera at his house~ and has asked it of me.
There were other reasons why Beethoven desired to render his score
perfect. Whether the opera was performed in the Lobkowitz palace is not
recorded; but Breuning ends his letter of June 2nd thus: “I will not
write you the news that Prince Lichnowsky has now sent the opera to the
Queen of Prussia, and that I hope the performances in Berlin will show
the Viennese what they have at home.”
Breuning’s hope was vain; the opera was not given in Berlin.
[Sidenote: MARRIAGE OF KARL KASPAR VAN BEETHOVEN]
The order of time requires a passing notice of a family event which
proved in the end a cause of infinite trouble and vexation to Beethoven
and all connected with him by the ties of kindred or friendship.
Whether his brother Kaspar’s salary was increased above 250 florins,
before his appointment in 1809 as Liquidators’-Adjunct with 1000
florins and 160 fl. for lodgings, does not appear; beyond a doubt it
had been. But, be this as it may, he now found himself in a position to
marry, and on the 25th of May “a marriage contract was closed between
Carl Caspar v. Beethoven, R. I. Officer of the Revenue, and of this
city (Vienna) and Theresia Reiss, daughter of Anton Reiss, civilian,
upholsterer.” Their only child, a son, was born--according to the
baptismal certificate--on September 4th, 1806.
Reiss was a man of considerable wealth, for one in his sphere of life,
and able, it is said, to give his daughter a marriage portion of 2000
florins; it appears, too, that the valuable house in the Alservorstadt,
owned by Karl at the time of his death, was an inheritance of his wife
from her father’s estate; indeed, half the right to the property was
legally secured to her. So much has been wantonly and falsely written
upon this marriage and its consequences, as to render it proper to add
here: Karl van Beethoven’s character and temperament were not fitted to
render a wife permanently happy; on the other hand his wife, before her
husband’s death, dishonored him by an intrigue with a medical student;
but there is no reason whatever to believe that the marriage, at the
time it took place, was not considered a good one for, and by, all
parties concerned.
The notices of Beethoven’s own movements during this year are scanty.
“Fidelio” and studies to instrumental works employed him during the
winter (1805-6), but not to the exclusion of the claims of social
intercourse, as one of his characteristic memoranda indicates. It is
written with lead pencil on a page of the new quartet sketches: “Just
as you are now plunging into the whirlpool of society--just so possible
is it to compose ~operas~ in spite of social obstacles. Let your
deafness no longer be a secret--even in art.”
Breuning’s report (June 2), that Beethoven “had lost a great deal of
his pleasure in and love for work,” had even then ceased to be true.
On the 26th of May, the first of the Rasoumowski Quartets had been
begun--and with it began a series of works which distinguished the
year 1806 as one of astonishing productiveness--but more on this point
in due time. It is quite certain that he took no summer lodgings: this
and other considerations confirm Schindler’s statement, that, when the
revision of a copy of his opera for Berlin had been finished, he went
into Hungary to enjoy “a short rest with his friend Count Brunswick.”
Thence he journeyed into Silesia to the seat of Prince Lichnowsky near
Troppau.
[Sidenote: NEGOTIATIONS WITH BREITKOPF AND HÄRTEL]
Two documents now come up for consideration which fill a hiatus left by
the author in the original edition of this work. They are the letters
to which reference was made by the English editor in his comments
on Beethoven’s love-affairs (Vol. I, p. 344). Both are addressed to
Breitkopf and Härtel, the first dated “Vienna, July 5, 1806,” the
second “Grätz, den 3ten Heumonath, 1806”--“Heumonath” meaning July.
The inaccuracy of the latter date is too obvious to call for extended
comment; Beethoven could not apologize on the third day of the month
for tardiness in replying to a letter in answer to one which he had
dispatched on the fifth. It is not permissible to play fast and loose
with Beethoven’s dates, despite their frequent faultiness; we must
accept them when they are upheld by corroborative evidence, but reject
them when it is plainly impossible to conceive them as correct. In
explanation of the obvious incorrectness of the second date it is
suggested that when Beethoven wrote “Heumonath,” i. e., July, he meant
to write “Herbstmonath,” i. e., September. Irrespective of their dates,
however, the letters furnish evidence of Beethoven’s creative activity
during the summer of 1806. The first letter is as follows:
Vienna, July 5, 1806.
I inform you that my brother is going to Leipsic on business of
his chancellary and I have given him to carry the overture to my
opera in pianoforte arrangement, my oratorio and a new pianoforte
concerto--you may also negotiate with him touching some new violin
quartets of which I ~have already completed one~ and am purposing
to devote myself almost wholly to this work. As soon as you have
come to an understanding with my brother I will send you the
pianoforte arrangement of my opera--you may also have the score.
I hear that the symphony which I sent you last year and ~which you
returned to me~ has been roundly abused in the Musikal. Zeitung,
I have not read it, if you think that you do ~me~ harm by this
you are mistaken, on the contrary you bring your newspaper into
discredit by such things--all the more since I ~have not made any
secret~ of the fact that you sent back ~this symphony~ and other
compositions--Please present my compliments to Herr V. Rochlitz, I
hope his bad blood toward me has become a little diluted, say to
him that I AM BY NO MEANS SO IGNORANT of foreign literature not to
know that ~Herr v. Rochlitz has written some very pretty things~,
and if I should ever come to Leipsic I am convinced that we shall
become right good friends without ~causing injury or loss to his
criticisms~....
The pianoforte concerto referred to is that in G major, Op. 58; the
Quartets, the set Op. 59; the symphony, the “Eroica.” The second letter
was written from Prince Lichnowsky’s castle, Grätz, near Troppau in
Silesia. Breitkopf and Härtel’s endorsement shows that it was received
and answered in September:
Grätz, Heu-Monath 3rd, 1806.
Rather too much to do and the little journey here I could not
answer your letter at once--although I at once decided to accept
your offer, since my comfort, too, will be promoted by such an
arrangement and many unavoidable disorders obviated--I willingly
obligate myself not to sell any more of my works to any one except
you nor abroad except in the cases now specified, viz: whenever
advantageous offers are made to me by foreign publishers I will
inform you of the fact; and if you are otherwise inclined I will at
once arrange that you shall have ~the same work for Germany~ for
a smaller honorarium.--The second case is this: if I should leave
Germany, which is easily possible, that you may ~still participate
as above~, if you so desire--If these conditions are agreeable to
you write me--I believe the plan mutually helpful--as soon as I
learn your opinion of the matter--you may have at once 3 violin
quartets, a new pianoforte concerto, a new symphony, the score of
my opera and my oratorio.
My present place of sojourn is here in Silesia so long as autumn
lasts--with Prince Lichnowsky--who sends greetings to you--My
address is L. v. Beethoven in Troppau.
Breitkopf and Härtel’s endorsement is as follows: “~Resp.~ (i. e.,
~responsum~). Let him propose the honorarium; if acceptable we will
send him a contract for three years.” In reply to this Beethoven wrote
a letter dated Vienna, Nov. 18, 1806, in which he said:
Partly my distractions in Silesia, partly the events which have
taken place in your country, were to blame that I did not answer
your letter before now--should the present condition of affairs
prevent your entering into an engagement with me, you are not bound
to anything--only I beg you to answer at once by post, so that in
case you do not care to make a contract with me--I need not let
my works lie idle. With regard to a contract for three years I am
disposed to enter into it with you at once if you will agree that
I sell several works to England or Scotland. It is understood of
course ~that the works which you have received from me or which
I sold you belong only to you, namely are your sole property and
have nothing to do with those of France, England or Scotland--but
I must have the privilege to dispose of other works in those
countries--But in Germany, you and no other publisher would be
the owner of my works~. I would willingly renounce the sale of my
works in those countries, but I have received from Scotland such
weighty offers and such an honorarium as I could not ask of you,
besides a connection with foreign countries is always important
for the fame of an artist and in the event of his travelling--As,
for instance, in the case of Scotland, I have the right to sell
the same works in Germany and France, I would gladly let you have
them for Germany and France--so that only London and Edinburgh (in
Scotland) would be lost to your sales.... For the present I offer
you three quartets and a pianoforte concerto--I cannot give you the
promised symphony yet--because a gentleman of quality has taken it
from me, but I have the privilege of publishing it in half a year.
I ask of you 600 florins for the three quartets and 300 fl. for the
concerto, ~both amounts~ in Convention Florins according to the 20
florin scale.
The negotiations were without result and the compositions mentioned
were published by the Industrie-Comptoir. The symphony referred to was
doubtless the fourth, in B-flat, and the “gentleman of quality” in all
likelihood Count von Oppersdorff, to whom it was dedicated.
In October Breuning wrote to Wegeler: “Beethoven is at present in
Silesia with Prince Lichnowsky and will not return till near the end of
this month. His circumstances are none of the best at present, since
his opera, owing to the cabals of his opponents, was performed but
seldom, and therefore yielded him nothing. His spirits are generally
low and, to judge by his letters, the sojourn in the country has not
cheered him.” This visit to the Prince came to an abrupt termination in
a scene which has been a fruitful theme for the silly race of musical
novelette writers. The simple truth is related by Seyfried in the
appendix to his “Studien” (page 23) and is here copied literally except
for a few additional words interspersed, derived by the present writer
from a conversation with the daughter of Moritz Lichnowsky:
When he (Beethoven) did not feel in the mood it required repeated
and varied urgings to get him to sit down to the pianoforte.
Before he began playing he was in the habit of hitting the keys
with the flat of his hand, or running a single finger up and down
the keyboard, in short, doing all manner of things to kill time
and laughing heartily, as was his wont, at the folly. Once while
spending a summer with a Mæcenas at his countryseat, he was so
pestered by the guests (French officers), who wished to hear him
play, that he grew angry and refused to do what he denounced as
menial labor. A threat of arrest, made surely in jest, was taken
seriously by him and resulted in Beethoven’s walking by night to
the nearest city, Troppau, whence he hurried as on the wings of the
wind by extra post to Vienna.[36]
In the “Grenzboten,” Vol. XVI, No. 14, April 3, 1857, Fräulein
Giannatasio del Rio relates that, in 1816, Beethoven told how once
during the invasion when the Prince had a number of Frenchmen as
his guests, he (the Prince) repeatedly tried to coerce him to
play for them on the pianoforte and that he had stoutly refused;
which led to a scene between him and the Prince, whereupon B.
indiscreetly and suddenly left the house.--He once said that it
is easy to get along with nobility, but it was necessary to have
something to impress them with.
To propitiate him for the humiliation which he had suffered, the bust
of his patron had to become a sacrifice; he dashed it into pieces from
its place on a cabinet to the floor. Alois Fuchs recorded an anecdote
which illustrates the feeling which made Beethoven so unwilling to play
before the French officers. After the battle at Jena (October 14, 1806)
Beethoven met his friend Krumpholz, to whom he was warmly attached,
and, as usual, asked him, “What’s the news?” Krumpholz answered
that the latest news was the report just received that the great
hero Napoleon had won another decisive victory over the Prussians.
Greatly angered, Beethoven replied to this: “It’s a pity that I do not
understand the art of war as well as I do the art of music, I would
conquer him!”
A very natural query arises here: how did Beethoven meet the expenses
of these costly journeys? In answer it may be said that there is good
reason to believe that he borrowed and used his brother Johann’s scanty
savings.
[Sidenote: THOMSON AND SCOTTISH SONGS]
A letter by Beethoven, dated November 1, introduces a new topic. At
the time of the Union of the Kingdoms of England and Scotland, 1707,
a “Board of Trustees for the Encouragement of Arts and Manufactures
in Scotland” was established. About 1785 George Thomson became its
Secretary. He had some knowledge of musical science, and was an
enthusiastic lover of Scottish airs and melodies. His official position
brought him into correspondence with educated and influen
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