A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Beethoven, Ludwig van

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BEETHOVEN, Ludwig van[1], born at Bonn, probably Dec. 16, 1770.[2] The earliest form of the name is that with which we are familiar, but it takes many other shapes in the uncertain spelling of the time, such as Biethoffen, Biethofen, Biethoven, Bethoven, Betthoven, and Bethof. He himself appears to have always spelt it as we know it.[3] The family belonged originally to a village near Louvain; thence in 1650 they moved to Antwerp, where in 1685 the name appears in the registers. His father Johann or Jean, and his grandfather Ludwig, were both musicians in the Court band of the Elector of Cologne, at Bonn—the latter a bass-singer, and afterwards Capellmeister, appointed March 1733, the former a tenor singer, March 27, 1756. The grandfather lived till Dec. 24, 1773, when the little Ludwig had just completed his third year. He was a small lively person with extraordinarily bright eyes, much respected and esteemed as a musician, and made an indelible impression on his grandson. His portrait was the only one which Beethoven took from Bonn to Vienna, and he often spoke of it to the end of his life. Beethoven's mother—daughter of the chief cook at Ehrenbreitstein—was married to Johann on Nov. 12, 1767. She was twelve years younger than her husband; her original name had been Keverich, but at the time of the marriage she was a widow—Maria Magdalena Leym or Laym. She died after a long illness on July 17, 1787, a woman of soft heart and easy ways, much beloved by her son. The father, on the other hand, was a severe hard man of irregular habits, who evidently saw his son's ability, gave him the best instruction that his poverty would allow, and kept him to his music with a stern, strict, perhaps cruel, hand. It is perhaps fortunate he did so. The first house they occupied in Bonn, that in which the great composer was born, was 515 in the Bonngasse, now designated by a tablet erected in 1870. Besides their eldest, Ludwig Maria, who was born April 1, 1769, and lived but six days, the Beethovens had three other sons—Caspar Auton Carl, April 7, 1774; Nikolaus Johann, Oct. 1, 1776; and August Franz Georg, Jan. 16, 1781, died Aug. 16, 1783; a daughter, Feb. 23, 1779, who lived only four days, and a second girl, Maria Margaretha Josepha, May 4, 1786. The first of these was the father of the ill-fated youth who gave his uncle so much distress, and was probably the ultimate cause of his death. He died at Vienna, Nov. 5, 1815. The second, Johann, was an apothecary, at Linz and Vienna, the 'Gutsbesitzer' of the well-known anecdote, his brother's bête noire, and the subject of many a complaint and many a nickname. He died at Vienna Jan. 12, 1848. From the Bonngasse the family migrated to 7 or 8 on the Dreieck, and thence to the Rheingasse, No. 934. To the latter they came in 1775 or 76, and there they remained for a few years. Johann Beethoven's income from the Chapel was 300 florins a year (£25)—a miserable pittance, but that of most musicians of the chapel; and this appears to have been his sole means of subsistence, for his voice was nearly gone, and there is no sign of his having had other employment.[4]

According to Beethoven's own statement in the dedication to his earliest publication—the 3 Sonatas for Pianoforte (1781 or 82)—he began music in his fourth year. The few traits preserved of that early period show that, like other children, he did not acquire it without tears. His father was his first teacher, and from him he learned both violin and clavier; reading, writing, arithmetic, and a little Latin he obtained in one of the common public schools, and even this ceased when he was thirteen. At school he was shy and uncommunicative, and cared for none of the ordinary games of boys. Before he was nine his music had advanced so far that his father had no longer anything to teach him, and in 1779 he was handed over to Pfeiffer, a tenor singer who had recently joined the opera in Bonn, and seems to have lodged with the Beethovens, and by whom he was taught, irregularly enough, but apparently with good and lasting effect, for a year. At the same time he fell in with a certain Zambona, who taught him Latin, French, and Italian, and otherwise assisted his neglected education. The organ he learned from Van den Eeden, organist to the Court Chapel, and an old friend of his grandfather's. About this time, 1780, 81, there is reason to believe that the Beethovens found a friend in Mr. Cressener, the English chargé d'affaires, long time resident at Bonn, and that he assisted them with a sum of 400 florins. He died on Jan. 17, 1781, and Beethoven (then just past ten) is said to have written a Funeral Cantata to his memory,[5] which was performed. The Cantata, if it ever existed, has hitherto been lost sight of. One composition of this year we have in 9 Variations on Dressler's March in C minor,[6] which though published in 1783, are stated on the title to be 'composées … par un jeune amateur L. v. B. agé de dix ans. 1780.' In Feb. 1781 Neefe succeeded Van den Eeden as Organist at the Court, and Beethoven became his scholar. This was a great step for the boy, since Neefe, though somewhat over conservative as a musician, was a sensible man, and became a real friend to his pupil.

There is ground for supposing[7] that during the winter of 1781 Ludwig and his mother made a journey in Holland, during which he played at private houses, and that the tour was a pecuniary success. On June 29, 1782, old Van den Eeden was buried, and on the next day the Elector's band followed him to Minister, where as Bishop he had a palace, Neefe leaving Ludwig, then 11½ years old, behind him as his regularly appointed deputy at the chapel organ, a post which, though unpaid, was no sinecure, and required both skill and judgment. This shows Neefe's confidence in his pupil, and agrees with his account of him, written a few months later, as 'playing with force and finish, reading well at sight, and, to sum up all, playing the greater part of Bach's Well-tempered Clavier, a feat which will be understood by the initiated. This young genius,' continues he, 'deserves some assistance that he may travel. If he goes on as he has begun, he will certainly become a second Mozart.'

On the 26th April 1783, Neefe was promoted to the direction of both sacred and secular music, and at the same time Beethoven (then 12 years and 4 months old), was appointed 'Cembalist im Orchester,' with the duty of accompanying the rehearsals in the theatre; in other words of conducting the opera-band, with all the responsibilities and advantages of practice and experience which belong to such a position. No pay accompanied the appointment at first, but the duties ceased when the Elector was absent, so that there was leisure for composition. The pieces published in this year are a song, 'Schilderung eines[8] Mädchens,' and 3 Sonatas for Piano solo,[9] composed, according to the statement of the dedication, in 1781. On Aug. 16, 1783, the youngest boy, August Franz, died, the father's voice began still further to fail, and things generally to go from bad to worse.

The work at the theatre was now rather on the increase. From Oct. 83 to Oct. 85, 2 operas of Gluck, 4 of Salieri, 2 of Sarti, 5 of Paisiello, with a dozen others, were studied and performed; but Ludwig had no pay. In Feb. 84 he made an application for a salary, but the consideration was postponed, and it was probably as a set-off that he was shortly afterwards appointed second Court-organist. Meantime, however, on April 15, 84, the Elector Max Friedrich died, and this postponed still farther the prospect of emolument. The theatrical company was dismissed, and Neefe having only his organ to attend to, no longer required a deputy. The Beethovens were now living at No. 476 in the Wenzelgasse, whither they appear to have moved in 83, and Ludwig played the organ in the Minorite church at the six o'clock mass every morning.

The music of 84 consists of a Rondo for the Piano in A,[10] published early in the year, and a song 'An einen [11]Saugling': a Concerto for Piano and a piece in 3-part harmony, both in MS., are mentioned as probably belonging to this year.[12]

One of the first acts of the new Elector Max Franz, was to examine his establishment, and on June 27, 84, he issued a list of names and salaries of his band,[13] among which Beethoven's father appears with a salary of 300 florins, and Beethoven himself, as second organist, with 150 florins, equivalent to £25 and £13 respectively. A memorandum of the same date[14] shows that an idea was entertained of dismissing Neefe and putting Beethoven into his place as chief organist. In fact Neefe's pay was reduced from 400 to 200 florins, so that 50 florins a year was saved by the appointment of Beethoven. An economical Elector! In the Holy Week of 1785 the incident occurred (made too much of in the books) of Beethoven's throwing out the solo singer in Chapel by a modulation in the accompaniment, which is chiefly interesting as showing how early his love of a joke showed itself.[15] During this year he studied the violin with Franz Ries—father of Ferdinand. The music of 1785 is 3 Quartets for Piano and Strings,[16] a Minuet for Piano in E♭,[17] and a song 'Wenn jernand eine Reise thut' (Op. 52, No. 1).

In 1786 nothing appears to have been either composed or published, and the only incident of this year that has survived, is the birth of a second girl to the Beethovens—Marie Margaretha Josepha, May 4.

In 1787 occurred the first real event in Beethoven's life—his first journey to Vienna. Concerning this there is an absolute want of dates and details. Some one must have been found to supply the means for so expensive a journey, but no name is preserved. As to date, his duties as organist would probably prevent his leaving Bonn before the work of Holy Week and Easter was over. The two persons who were indelibly impressed on his recollection by the visit[18] were Mozart and the Emperor Joseph. From the former he had a few lessons, and carried away a distinct—and not very appreciative[19]—recollection of his playing; but Mozart must have been so much occupied by the death of his father (May 28) and the approaching production of 'Don Giovanni' (Oct. 29) that it is probable they had not much intercourse. The well-known story of Beethoven's introduction to him, when divested of the ornaments[20] of Seyfried and others, stands as follows:—Mozart asked him to play, but thinking that his performance was a prepared piece, paid little attention to it. Beethoven seeing this entreated Mozart to give him a subject, which he did; and the boy, getting excited with the occasion, played so finely that Mozart, stepping softly into the next room, said to his friends there, 'Pay attention to him; he will make a noise in the world some day or other.' His visit seems not to have lasted more than three months, but, as we have said, all certain information is wanting. He returned by Augsburg, where he had to borrow three Carolins (£3) from Dr. von Schaden. His return was hastened by the illness of his mother, who died of consumption July 17, 1787, and his account of himself in a letter[21] to Von Schaden, written seven weeks after that date, is not encouraging. A short time more and the little Margaretha followed her mother, on Nov. 25, so that 1787 must have closed in very darkly. The only compositions known to belong to that year are a Trio in E♭,[22] and a Prelude in F minor for Piano solo.[23] However, matters began to mend; he made the acquaintance of the von Breuning family—his first permanent friends—a mother, three boys, and a girl. He gave lessons to the girl and the youngest boy, and soon became an inmate of the house, a far better one than he had before frequented and on terms of close intimacy with them all. The family was a cultivated and intellectual one, the mother—the widow of a man of some distinction—a woman of remarkable sense and refinement; the children, more or less of his own age. Here he seems to have been first initiated into the literature of his country, and to have acquired the love of English authors which remained with him through life. The intimacy rapidly became strong. He often passed whole days and nights with his friends, and accompanied them on excursions of several weeks duration to their uncle's house at Kerpen, and elsewhere. At the same time he made the acquaintance of Count Waldstein, a young nobleman eight years his senior, an amateur musician, whose acquaintance was peculiarly useful in encouraging and developing Beethoven's talent at a time when it naturally wanted support. On Waldstein Beethoven exercised the same charm that he did later on the proud aristocracy of Vienna. The Count used to visit him in his poor room, gave him a piano, got him pecuniary help under the guise of allowances from the Elector, and in other ways sympathised with him. Either now or shortly afterwards, Beethoven composed a set of variations for 4 hands on a theme of the Count's,[24] and in 1805 made him immortal by dedicating to him the grand sonata (op. 53), which is usually known by his name. Another acquaintance was the Countess of Hatzfeld, to whom he dedicated a set of Variations, which were for long his showpiece.

In the summer of 1788, when Beethoven was 17½ years old, the Elector altered the plan[25] of his music, and formed a national theatre on the model of that of his brother the Emperor Joseph. Reicha was made director, and Neefe pianist and stage-manager. The band was 31 strong, and contains names such as Ries, the two Rombergs, Simrock, Stumpff—which often recur in Beethoven's life. He himself played second viola, both in the opera and the chapel, and was still assistant Hof-organist. In this position he remained for four years; the opera répertoire was large, good, and various, the singers were of the best, and the experience must have been of great practical use to him. Among the operas played in 89 and 90 were Mozart's 'Entführung,' 'Figaro,' and 'Don Giovanni'—the two first apparently often. Meantime Johann Beethoven was going from bad to worse. Stephen Breuning once saw Ludwig take his drunken father out of the hands of the police, and this could hardly have been the only occasion. At length, on Nov. 20, 1789, a decree was issued ordering a portion of the father's salary to be paid over to the son, who thus, before he was nineteen, became the head of the family.

The compositions of 1789 and 90 are 2 Preludes for the Piano (op. 39), 24 Variations on Righini's 'Venni[26] Amore,' a Song 'Der[27] freie Mann,' and probably a Cantata on the death of the Emperor Joseph II, still in MS.[28] The only extra musical event of this year [App. p.533 "1790"] was the visit of Haydn and Salomon on their road to London. They arrived on Christmas Day. One of Haydn's Masses was performed; he was complimented by the Elector, and entertained the chief musicians at dinner at his lodgings. 1791 opened well for Beethoven with a 'Ritter Ballet,' a kind of masked ball, in antique style. Count Waldstein appears to have arranged the plan, and Beethoven composed the music; but his name does not seem to have been connected with it at the time, and it remained unpublished till 1872, when it appeared arranged for piano. In the autumn the troupe accompanied the Elector to Mergentheim, near Aschaffenburg, to a conclave of the Deutschen Orden; the journey was by water along the Rhine and Main, the weather was splendid,—there was ample leisure, and the time long remained in Beethoven's recollection 'a fruitful source of charming images.' At Aschaffenburg he heard a fine player—the Abbé Sterkel, and showed his instant appreciation of the Abbé's graceful finished style by imitating it in extemporising. In Mergentheim the company remained for a month (18 Sept.—20 Oct.). An interesting account of the daily musical proceedings is given by Junker, the Chaplain at Kirchberg,[29] including an account of Beethoven's extempore playing. He compares it with that of Vogler, whom he knew well, and pronounces it to have displayed all Vogler's execution, with much more force, feeling, and expression, and to have been in the highest degree original.

The Beethovens were still living in the Wenzelgasse, Carl learning music, and Johann under the Court Apothecary. Ludwig took his meals at the Zehrgarten[30]—a great resort of the University professors, artists, and literary men of Bonn, and where the lovely Babette Koch, daughter of the proprietress, was doubtless an attraction to him.[31] His intimacy with the Breunings continued and increased; Madame von Breuning was one of the very few people who could manage him, and even she could not always make him go to his lessons in time: when he proved too obstinate she would give up the endeavour with the remark 'he is again in his raptus,' an expression which Beethoven never forgot. Music was their great bond, and Beethoven's improvisations were the delight of the family. His duties at the organ and in the orchestra at this time were not very great; the Elector's absences were frequent, and gave him much time to himself, which he spent partly in lessons, partly in the open air, of which he was already very fond, and partly in assiduous practice and composition. The sketch-books of that time are crammed with ideas, and confirm his statement, made many years later,[32] that he began thus early the method of working which so emphatically distinguishes him.

In July 1792 Haydn again passed through Bonn on his return from London. The Elector's Band gave him a dinner at Godesberg, and Beethoven submitted a cantata to him, 'which Haydn greatly praised, warmly encouraging the composer to proceed with his studies.' What the cantata was is not known, though it is conjectured to have been on the death of the Emperor Leopold II.[33]

The compositions which can be fixed to the years 1791 and 92 consist of Songs (portions of op. 52), a Rondino[34] for Wind instruments, the Trio for Strings, op. 3, an Allegro and Minuet for 2 Flutes (Aug. 23, MS.), and perhaps a set of 14 Variations[35] for Pianoforte, Violin, and Cello, in E♭, published in 1804 as op. 44; 12 Variations[36] for Piano and Violin on 'Se vuol ballare'; 13 ditto for Piano[37] on 'Es war einmal'; and 12 ditto[38] for Piano, 4 hands, on an air of Count Waldstein's.

Hitherto the Elector seems to have taken no notice of the most remarkable member of his orchestra. But in the course of this year—whether prompted by Neefe or Waldstein or by his own observation, or possibly by Haydn's approbation—he determined that Beethoven should visit Vienna in a more permanent manner than before, for the purpose of studying at his expense. Haydn was communicated with, and in the very beginning of November Beethoven left Bonn, as it proved, never to return to it again. His parting words to Neefe are preserved:[39]—'Thank you for the counsel you have so often given me on my progress in my divine art. Should I ever become a great man you will certainly have assisted in it, which will be all the more gratifying to you, since you may be convinced that' etc. The Album in which his friends—Waldstein, the Breunings, the Kochs, Degenhart, and others—inscribed their farewells is still existing[40] and the latest date is Nov. 1. E. Breuning's lines contain allusions to 'Albion,' as if Beethoven were preparing to visit England—possibly with Haydn? Waldstein's entry is as follows:—'Dear Beethoven, you are travelling to Vienna in fulfilment of your long-cherished wish. The genius of Mozart is still weeping and bewailing the death of her favourite. With the inexhaustible Haydn she found a refuge, but no occupation, and is now waiting to leave him and join herself to some one else. Labour assiduously, and receive Mozart's spirit from the hands of Haydn. Your true friend Waldstein. Bonn, October 29, 1792.'

What provision the Elector made for him beyond his modest pay of 150 florins is not known. An entry of 25 ducats (£12 10s.) is found in his notebook shortly after he reached Vienna, but there is nothing to show what length of time that moderate sum represented, or even that it came from the Elector at all.

Thus ended the first period of Beethoven's life. He was now virtually twenty-two. The list of his known compositions to this time has been given year by year. If we add the Bagatelles (op. 33), the 2 easy Sonatas (op. 49), the 2 Violin [App. p.533 "Pianoforte"] Rondos (op. 51), the Serenade Trio (op. 8), and a lost Trio for Piano, Flute, and Bassoon,[41]—all probably composed at Bonn—and compare them with those of other composers of the first rank, such as Mozart, Schubert, or Mendelssohn, it must be admitted that they are singularly few and unimportant. For the orchestra the Ritterballet already referred to is the single composition known, while Mozart—to mention him only—had in the same period written 36 Symphonies, including so mature a masterpiece as the 'Parisian' in D. Against Mozart's 28 Operas, Cantatas, and M asses, for voices and full orchestra, composed before he was 23, Beethoven has absolutely nothing to show. And the same in other departments. That he meditated great works, though they did not come to paper, is evident in at least one case. A resident in Bonn, writing to Schiller's sister Charlotte, on Jan. 26, 1793,[42] says:—'I enclose a setting of the Feuer-farbe on which I should like your opinion. It is by a young man of this place whose talent is widely esteemed, and whom the Elector has now sent to Vienna to Haydn. He intends to compose Schiller's Freude, and that verse by verse. I expect something perfect; for, as far as I know him, he is all for the grand and sublime. Haydn informs us that he shall set him to great operas, as he himself will shortly leave off composing. He does not usually occupy himself with such trifles as the enclosed, which indeed he composed only at the request of a lady.' This letter, which shows how early Schiller's 'Hymn to Joy' had taken possession of Beethoven—there to remain till it formed the finale to the Ninth Symphony thirty years later—is equally interesting for the light it throws on the impression which Beethoven had already made on those who knew him, and who credited him with the intention and the ability to produce great works, although he had not yet produced even small ones. This impression was doubtless due mainly to the force and originality of his extempore playing, which even at this early age was prodigious, and justified his friends in speaking of him[43] as one of the finest pianoforte-players of the day.

By the middle of November Beethoven was settled at Vienna. His first lodging was a garret at a printer's in the 'Alservorstadt'[44] outside the walls, in the direction of the present Votive-Church; but this was soon exchanged for one 'on the ground floor,'[45] of which we have no nearer description. On the journey from Bonn we find him for the first time making notes of little occurrences and expenses—a habit which never left him. In the entries made during his first few weeks in Vienna we can trace the purchase of a wig, silk stockings, boots, shoes, overcoat, writing-desk, seal, and hire of piano. From the same source we can infer the beginning of his lessons. The first payment to Haydn is 8 groschen (say 9½d., we may surely presume for one hour) on Dec. 12. The lessons took place in Haydn's house[46] B (Hamberger Haus, No. 992) now destroyed. They were lessons in 'strict counterpoint,' and the textbook was Fux's 'Gradus ad Parnassum.' Of Beethoven's exercises 245 have been preserved,[47] of which Haydn has corrected 42. Haydn was naturally much occupied, and it is not surprising that Beethoven should have been dissatisfied with his slow progress, and with the cursory way in which his exercises were corrected, and have secretly accepted the offer of additional instruction from Schenk, a well-known Vienna composer. But no open rupture as yet took place. Beethoven accompanied Haydn to Eisenstadt some time in 1793, and it was not until Haydn's departure for England on Jan. 19, 94, that he openly transferred himself to another master. He then took lessons from Albrechtsberger in counterpoint, and from Schuppanzigh on the violin, three times a week each. In the former the text-book was Albrechtsberger's own 'Anweisung zur Composition,' and the subject was taken up where Haydn had left it, and pursued much farther. No less than 263 exercises are in existence under the following heads—Simple strict counterpoint; Free composition in simple counterpoint; Imitation; Simple fugue; Fugued chorale; Double fugue; Double counterpoint in the 8th, 10th, and 12th; Triple counterpoint and Triple fugue; Canon. Nottebohm has pointed out the accuracy and pains which Albrechtsberger bestowed on his pupil, as well as[48] the care with which Beethoven wrote his exercises, and the characteristic way in which he neglected them in practice. He also gives his reasons for believing that the lessons did not last longer than March 1795. The impression they left on Albrechtsberger was not flattering: 'Have nothing to do with him,' said the old contrapuntist to an enquiring lad, 'he has learnt nothing, and will never do anything in decent style.'[49] In fact what was a contrapuntist to do with a pupil who regarded everything in music—even consecutive fifths[50]—as an open question, and also thought it a good thing to 'learn occasionally what is according to rule, that one may hereafter come to what is contrary to rule?'[51] Besides the lessons with Haydn and Albrechtsberger, some exercises exist in Italian vocal composition, dating from 1793 to 1802, and showing that Beethoven availed himself of Salieri's well-known kindness to needy musicians, to submit his pieces to him. Salieri's corrections are chiefly in the division of the Italian syllables. Another musician whom he consulted, especially in his early attempts at quartet writing, was Aloys Förster, to whom he remained long and greatly attached.[52]

Meantime Beethoven kept up communication with Bonn. On Dec. 18, 92, his poor father died, and the 100 thalers applied to the support of his brothers naturally stopped. On Beethoven's application, however, the grant was allowed to go on, in addition to his own pay. Ries drew and transmitted the money for him.[53] The Breunings still held their place in his heart; two letters to Eleonore, full of affection, are preserved, and he mentions having also written twice to one resident of Bonn, and three times to another, in the course of the first twelvemonth. In January 1794 the Elector visited Vienna, and with the March quarter-day Beethoven's allowance ceased. In the following October the Emperor declared war with France, Bonn was taken possession of by the republican army, and the Elector fled. Now that Beethoven is landed in Vienna—as it turns out, never again to leave it and is left to his own resources, it may be convenient to pause in the narrative of his life, and sketch his character and person as briefly as possible. He had already a large acquaintance among the aristocracy of Vienna. Among his kindest friends and most devoted admirers were the Prince and Princess Karl Lichnowsky. They devoured his music, gave him a quartet of valuable instruments[54] for the performance of it, put up with his caprices and eccentricities, gave him an annuity of £60, and made him an inmate of their house for years. He was also frequently at the houses of Baron van Swieten, Prince Lobkowitz, Count Fries, and other noblemen, at once leaders of fashion and devoted amateurs. At these houses he was in the constant habit of playing, and in many of them no doubt he taught, but as to the solid results of this no record remains—nor do we know the prices which he obtained for his published works, or the value of the dedications, at this period of his career. Musical public, like that which supported the numerous concerts flourishing in London at this date,[55] and enabled Salomon to risk the expense of bringing Haydn to England, there was none; musicians were almost directly dependent on the appreciation of the wealthy.

That Beethoven should have been so much treasured by the aristocracy of Vienna notwithstanding his personal drawbacks, and notwithstanding the gap which separated the nobleman from the roturier, shows what an immense power there must have been in his genius, and in the absolute simplicity of his mind, to overcome the abruptness of his manners. If we are to believe the anecdotes of his contemporaries his sensitiveness was extreme, his temper ungovernable, and his mode of expression often quite unjustifiable. At the house of Count Browne, when playing a duet with Ries, a young nobleman at the other end of the room persisted in talking to a lady: several attempts to quiet him having failed, Beethoven suddenly lifted Ries's hands from the keys, saying in a loud voice 'I play no longer for such hogs'; nor would he touch another note nor allow Ries to do so, though entreated by all.[56] On another occasion, when living in the house and on the bounty of the Lichnowskys, the prince, knowing how sensitive Beethoven was to neglect, ordered his servants whenever they heard Beethoven's bell and his at the same time to attend to Beethoven's first. No sooner however did Beethoven discover that such an order had been given than he engaged a servant of his own to answer his bell.[57] During one of the rehearsals of 'Leonora,' the third bassoon was absent, at which Beethoven was furious. Prince Lobkowitz, one of his best friends, tried to laugh off the matter, saying that &f the first and second were there the absence of the third could not be of any great consequence. But so implacable was Beethoven that in crossing the Platz after the rehearsal he could not resist running to the great gate of the Lobkowitz Palace and shouting up the entrance[58] 'Lobkowitzscher Esel'—'ass of a Lobkowitz.' Any attempt to deceive him, even in the most obvious pleasantry, he could never forgive. When he composed the well-known 'Andante in F' he played it to Ries and Krumpholz. It delighted them, and with difficulty they induced him to repeat it. From Beethoven's house Ries went to that of Prince Lichnowsky, and not being able to contain himself played what he could recollect of the new piece, and the Prince being equally delighted, it was repeated and repeated till he too could play a portion of it. The next day the Prince by way of a joke asked Beethoven to hear something which he had been composing, and thereupon played a large portion of his own 'Andante.' Beethoven was furious; and the result was that Ries was never again allowed to hear him play in private. In fact it led in the end to Beethoven's ceasing to play to the Prince's circle of friends.[59] And on the other hand, no length of friendship or depth of tried devotion prevented him from treating those whom he suspected, however unjustly, and on however insufficient grounds, in the most scornful manner. Ries has[60] described one such painful occurrence in his own case à propos to the Westphalian negotiations; but all his friends suffered in turn. Even poor Schindler, whose devotion in spite of every drawback was so constant, and who has been taunted with having 'delivered himself body and soul to Beethoven,' had to suffer the most shameful reproaches behind his back, the injustice of which is most surely proved by the fact that they are dropped as suddenly as they were adopted.[61] When Moritz Lichnowsky, Schuppanzigh, and Schindler were doing their utmost to get over the difficulties of arranging a concert for the performance of the Choral Symphony and the Mass in D, he suddenly suspected them of some ulterior purpose, and dismissed them with the three following notes:[62]—'To Count Lichnowsky. Falsehoods I despise. Visit me no more. There will be no concert. Beethoven.' 'To Heir Schindler. Visit me no more till I send for you. No concert. Beethoven.' 'To Heir Schuppanzigh. Visit me (besuche er mich) no more. I give no concert. Beethoven.'

The style of the last of these three precious productions—the third person singular—in which the very lowest rank only is addressed, seems to open us a little door into Beethoven's feeling towards musicians. When Hummel died, two notes from Beethoven[63] were found among his papers, which tell the story of some sudden violent outbreak on Beethoven's part. 'Komme er (the same scornful style as before) nicht mehr zu mir! er ist ein falscher Hund, und falsche Hunde hole der Schinder. Beethoven.' And though this was followed by an apology couched in the most ultra-affectionate and coaxing terms— 'Herzens Natzerl,' 'Dich küsst dein Beethoven,' and so on—yet the impression must have remained on Hummel's mind. There can be no doubt that he was on bad terms with most of the musicians of Vienna. With Haydn he seems never to have been really cordial. The old man's neglect of his lessons embittered him, and when after hearing his first three Trios, Haydn, no doubt in sincerity, advised him not to publish the third, which Beethoven knew to be the best, it was difficult to take the advice in any other light than as prompted by jealousy. True he dedicated his three Pianoforte Sonatas (op. 2) to Haydn, and they met in the concert-room, but there are no signs of cordial intercourse between them after Beethoven's first twelve months in Vienna. In fact they were thoroughly antagonistic. Haydn, though at the head of living composers, and as original a genius as Beethoven himself, had always been punctilious, submissive, subservient to etiquette. Beethoven was eminently independent and impatient of restraint. It was the old world and the new—De Brézé and Mirabeau[64]—and it was impossible for them to agree. They probably had no open quarrel, Haydn's tact would prevent that, but Haydn nick-named him 'the Great Mogul,' and Beethoven retorted by refusing to announce himself as 'Haydn's[65] scholar,' and when they met in the street their remarks were unfortunate, and the antagonism was but too evident.

For Salieri, Eybler, Gyrowetz, and Weigl, able men and respectable contrapuntists, he had a sincere esteem, though little more intimate feeling. Though he would not allow the term as regarded Haydn, he himself left his characteristic visiting card on Salieri's table as his 'scholar '—'Der Schuler Beethoven war da.'[66] But with the other musicians of Vienna, and the players of his own standing, Beethoven felt no restraint on open war.[67] They laughed at his eccentricities, his looks and his Bonn dialect,[68] made game of his music, and even trampled[69] on it, and he retorted both with speech and hands. The pianoforte-players were Hummel, Woelffl, Lipawsky, Gelinek, Steibelt. Steibelt had distinctly challenged him,[70] had been as thoroughly beaten as a man could wish, and from that day forward would never again meet him. Gelinek, though equally vanquished, compensated himself by listening to Beethoven on all occasions, and stealing his phrases[71] and harmonies, while Beethoven retorted by engaging his next lodging where Gelinek could not possibly come within the sound of his piano. Woelffl and Hummel were openly pitted against him, and no doubt there were people to be found in Vienna in 1795, as there are in London in 1876, to stimulate such rivalry and thus divide artists whom a little care might have united. Hummel is said to have excelled him in clearness, elegance, and purity, and Woelffl's proficiency in counterpoint was great, and his huge hands gave him extraordinary command of the keys; but for fire, and imagination, and feeling, and wealth of ideas in extempore playing, none of them can have approached Beethoven. 'His improvisation,' says Czerny,[72] 'was most brilliant and striking; in whatever company he might chance to be, he knew how to produce such an effect upon every hearer, that frequently not an eye remained dry, while many would break out into loud sobs; for there was something wonderful in his expression, in addition to the beauty and originality of his ideas, and his spirited style of rendering them.' He extemporised in regular 'form,' and his variations—when he treated a theme in that way—were not mere alterations of figure, but real developments and elaborations of the subject.[73] 'No artist,' says Ries,[74] 'that I ever heard came at all near the height which Beethoven attained in this branch of playing. The wealth of ideas which forced themselves on him, the caprices to which he surrendered himself, the variety of treatment, the difficulties, were inexhaustible.' Even the Abbé Vogler's admirers were compelled to admit as much.[75] He required much pressing, often actual force, to get him to the piano, and he would make a grimace or strike the keys with the back of his hand[76] as he sat down; but when there he would extemporise for two hours and even more at a time, and after ending one of his great improvisations, he would burst into a roar of laughter, and banter his hearers on their emotions. 'We artists,' he would say, 'don't want tears, we want applause.'[77] At other times he would behave as if insulted by such indications of sympathy, and call his admirers fools, and spoiled children.

And yet no outbursts of this kind seem to have made any breach in the regard with which he was treated by the nobility—the only unprofessional musical society of Vienna. Certainly Beethoven was the first musician who had ever ventured on such independence, and there was possibly something piquant in the mere novelty; but the real secret of his lasting influence must have been the charm of his personality—his entire simplicity, joined to his prodigious genius. And he enjoyed good society. 'It is good,' said he, 'to be with the aristocracy; but one must be able to impress them.'[78]

This personal fascination acted most strongly on his immediate friends—on Krumpholz (who seems to have played the part of Coleridge's humble follower John Chester[79]), on the somewhat cold and self-possessed Breuning, as well as on Hies, Zmeskall, Schindler, Holz, and others, who had not, like Haslinger or Streicher, anything to gain from him, but who suffered his roughest words and most scurvy treatment, and returned again and again to their worship with astonishing constancy. Excepting Breuning none of these seem really to have had his confidence, or to have known anything of the inner man which lay behind the rough husk of his exterior, and yet they all clung to him as if they had.

Of his tours de force in performance too much is perhaps made in the books. His transposing the Concerto in C into C# at rehearsal was exactly repeated by[80] Woelffl; while his playing the piano parts of his Horn Sonata, his Kreutzer Sonata, or his C minor Concerto without book, or difficult pieces of Bach at first sight, is no more than has been done by Mozart, Mendelssohn, Sterndale Bennett, and many inferior artists. No, it was no quality of this kind that got him the name of the 'giant among players'; but the loftiness and elevation of his style, and his great power of expression in slow movements, which when exercised on his own noble music fixed his hearers and made them insensible to any faults of polish or mere mechanism.

It was not men alone who were attracted by him, he was an equal favourite with the ladies of the Court. The Princess Lichnowsky watched over him—as Madame von Breuning had done—like a mother.[81] The Countesses Gallenberg and Erdödy, the Princess Odescalchi, the Baroness Ertmann, the sisters of the Count of Brunswick, and many more of the reigning beauties of Vienna adored him, and would bear any rudeness from him. These young ladies went to his lodgings or received him at their palaces as it suited him. He would storm at the least inattention during their lessons, and would tear up the music and throw it about.[82] He may have used the snuffers as a toothpick in Madame Ertmann's drawing-room; but when she lost her child he was admitted to console her; and when Mendelssohn saw her[83] fifteen years later she doted on his memory and recalled the smallest traits of his character and behaviour. He was constantly in love, and though his taste was very promiscuous,[84] yet it is probably quite true that the majority of his attachments was for women of rank, and that they were returned or suffered. Unlike poor Schubert, whose love for the Countess Marie Esterhazy was, so carefully concealed, Beethoven made no secret of his attachments. Many of them are perpetuated in the dedications of his sonatas. That in E♭ (op. 7), dedicated to the Countess Babette de Keglevics, was called in allusion to him and to her, 'die verliebte.' To other ladies he writes in the most intimate, nay affectionate style. He addresses the Baroness Ertmann by her Christian name as 'Liebe, werthe, Dorothea Cäcilia,' and the Countess Erdödy—whom he called his confessor—as 'Liebe, liebe, liebe, liebe, liebe, Gräfin.'[85] Thayer's investigations[86] have destroyed the romance of his impending marriage with Giulietta Guicciardi (afterwards Countess Gallenberg); yet the fact that the story has been so long believed shows its abstract probability. One thing is certain, that his attachments were all honourable, and that he had no taste for immorality. 'Oh God! let me at last find her who is destined to be mine, and who shall strengthen me in virtue.' Those were his sentiments as to wedded love.

His dedications have been mentioned. The practice seems virtually to have begun with him,[87] to have sprung from the equal and intimate relation in which he—earliest among musicians—stood to his distinguished friends; and when one looks down the list,[88] from op. 1 to op. 135—unsurpassed even by any later composer—and remembers that the majority were inspired by private friendship,[89] and that only a minority speak of remuneration, it is impossible not to be astonished.

Formal religion he apparently had none; his religious observances were on a par with his manners. It is strange that the Bible does not appear to have been one of his favourite books. He once says to a friend,[90] 'It happens to be Sunday, and I will quote you something out of the Gospel—Love one another'; but such references are very rare. But that he was really and deeply religious, 'striving sacredly to fulfil all the duties imposed[91] on him by humanity, God, and nature,' and full of trust in God, love to man, and real humility, is shown by many and many a sentence in his letters. And that in moments of emotion his thoughts turned upwards is touchingly shewn by a fragment of a hymn—'Gott allein ist unser Herr'—which Mr. Nottebohm[92] has unearthed from a sketchbook of the year 1818, and which Beethoven has himself noted to have been written, 'Auf dem Wege Abends zwischen den und auf den Bergen.' The following passages, which he copied out himself and kept constantly before him, served him as a kind of Creed, and sum up his theology:—

I am that which is.
I am all that is, that was, and that shall be. No mortal man hath lifted my veil.
He is alone by Himself, and to Him alone do all things owe their being.

How he turned his theology into practice is well exemplified in his alteration of Moscheles' pious inscription. At the end of his arrangement of Fidelio Moscheles had written 'Fine. With God's help.' To this Beethoven added, 'O man, help thyself.'[93]

In his early Vienna days he attempted to dress in the fashion, wore silk stockings, perruque, long boots, and sword, carried a double eye-glass and a seal-ring. But dress must have been as unbearable to him[94] as etiquette, and it did not last; 'he was meanly dressed,' says one of his adorers, 'and very ugly to look at, but full of nobility and fine feeling, and highly cultivated.'[95] Czerny first saw him in his own room, and there his beard was nearly half an inch long, his black hair stood up in a thick shock, his ears were filled with wool which had apparently been soaked in some yellow substance, and his clothes were made of a loose hairy stuff, which gave him the look of Robinson Crusoe. But we know that he never wore his good clothes at home;[96] at any rate the impression he usually made was not so questionable as this. Those who saw him for the first time were often charmed by the eager cordiality of his address, and by the absence of the bearishness and gloom[97] which even then were attributed to him. His face may have been ugly, but all admit that it was remarkably expressive. When lost in thought and abstracted his look would naturally be gloomy, and at such times it was useless to expect attention from him; but on recognising a friend his smile was peculiarly genial and winning.[98] He had the breadth of jaw which distinguishes so many men of great intellect; the mouth firm and determined, the lips protruded with a look almost of fierceness: but his eyes were the special feature of the face, and it was in them that the earnestness and sincerity of his character beamed forth. They were black, not large but bright, and when under the influence of inspiration—the raptus of Madame von Breuning—they dilated in a peculiar way. His head was large, the forehead both high and broad, and the hair abundant. It was originally black, but in the last years of his life, though as thick as ever, became quite white, and formed a strong contrast to the red colour[99] of his complexion. Beard or moustache he never wore. His teeth were very white and regular, and good up to his death;[100] in laughing he shewed them much. The portraits and busts of Beethoven are with few exceptions more or less to blame; they either idealise him into a sort of Jupiter Olympus, or they rob him of all expression. It must have been a difficult face to take, because of the constant variety in its expression, as well as the impatience of the sitter. The most trustworthy[101] likenesses are (1) the miniature by Hornemann, taken in 1802, and photographed in Breuning's 'Schwarzspanierhaus' (Vienna, 1874); (2) the head by Latronne, engraved by Höfel, and (badly) by Riedel for the A. M. Z., 1817; (3) the little full length sketch by Lyser, to the accuracy of which Breuning expressly testifies, except that the hat should be straight on the head, not at all on one side.

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He was below the middle height not more than 5 feet 5 inches; but broad across the shoulders and very firmly built—'the image of strength.'[102] His hands were much covered with hair, the fingers strong and short (he could barely span a tenth), and the tips broad, as if pressed out with long practising from early youth. He was very particular as to the mode of holding the hands and placing the fingers, in which he was a follower of Emanuel Bach, whose Method he employed in his earlier days. In extempore playing he used the pedal far more than one would expect from his published sonatas, and this made his quick playing confused, but in Adagios he played with divine clearness and expression.[103] His attitude at the piano was perfectly quiet and dignified, with no approach to grimace, except to bend down a little towards the keys as his deafness increased.[104] This is remarkable, because as a conductor his motions were most extravagant.[105] At a pianissimo he would crouch down so as to be hidden by the desk, and then as the crescendo increased, would gradually rise, beating all the time, until at the fortissimo he would spring into the air with his arms extended as if wishing to float on the clouds. When, as was sometimes the case after he became deaf, he lost his place, and these motions did not coincide with the music, the effect was very unfortunate, though not so unfortunate as it would have been had he himself been aware of the mistake. In the orchestra, as at the piano, he was urgent in demanding expression, exact attention to piano and forte, and the slightest shades of nuance, and to tempo rubato. Generally speaking he was extremely courteous to the band, though to this rule there were now and then exceptions. Though so easily made angry his pains as a teacher must have been great. 'Unnaturally patient,' says one pupil,[106] 'he would have a passage repeated a dozen times till it was to his mind'; 'infinitely strict in the smallest detail,' says another,[107] 'until the right rendering was obtained.' 'Comparatively careless[108] as to the right notes being played, but angry at once at any failure in expression or nuance, or in apprehension of the character of the piece; saying that the first might be an accident, but that the other showed want of knowledge, or feeling, or attention.' What his practice was as to remuneration does not appear, but it is certain that in some cases he would accept no pay from his pupils.

His simplicity and absence of mind were now and then oddly shown. He could not be brought to understand why his standing in his nightshirt at the open window should attract notice, and asked with perfect simplicity 'what those d——d boys were hooting at.'[109] At Penzing in 1823 he shaved at his window in full view, and when the people collected to see him, changed his lodging rather than forsake the practice.[110] Like Newton he was unconscious that he had not dined, and urged on the waiter payment for a meal which he had neither ordered nor eaten. He forgot that he was the owner of a horse until recalled to the fact by a long bill for its keep. In fact he was not made for practical life; never could play at cards or dance, dropped everything that he took into his hands, and overthrew the ink into the piano. He cut himself horribly in shaving. 'A disorderly creature' (ein unordentlicher Mensch) was his own description, and 'ein konfuser Kerl' that of his doctor,[111] who wisely added the saving clause 'though he may still be the greatest genius in the world.' His ordinary handwriting was terrible, and supplied him with many a joke. 'Yesterday I took a letter myself to the post-office, and was asked where it was meant to go to. From which I see that my writing is as often misunderstood as I am myself.'[112] It was the same twenty years before—'this cursed writing that I cannot alter.'[113] Much of his difficulty probably arose from want of pens, which he often begs from Zmeskall and Breuning; for some of his MSS.[114] are as clear and flowing as those of Mozart, and there is a truly noble character in the writing of some of his letters, e.g. that to Mr. Broadwood (see p. 194), of which we give the signature.

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Notwithstanding his illegible hand Beethoven was a considerable letter writer. The two collections published by Nohl contain 721, and these are probably not more than half of those he wrote.[115] Not a large number when compared with those of Mendelssohn or even Mozart—both of whom died so early,—but large under all the circumstances. 'Good letters' they cannot be called. They contain no descriptions or graces of style; they are often clumsy and incorrect. But they are also often eminently interesting from being so brimfull of the writer's personality. They are all concerned with himself, his wants and wishes, his joys and sorrows; sometimes when they speak of his deafness or his ill health, or confess his faults and appeal to the affection of his correspondent, they overflow with feeling and rise into an affecting eloquence, but always to the point. Of these, the letters to Wegeler and Eleanore von Breuning, and that to his brothers (called his 'Will'), are fine specimens. Many of those addressed to his nephew are inexpressibly touching. But his letters are often very short. Partly perhaps from his deafness, and partly from some idiosyncrasy, he would often write a note where a verbal question would seem to have been more convenient. One constant characteristic is the fun they contain. Swift himself never made worse puns with more pleasure, or devised queerer spelling[116] or more miserable rhymes, or bestowed more nicknames on his friends. Krumpholz is 'my fool'; he himself is 'the Generalissimus,' Haslinger 'the Adjutant,' Schindler 'the Samothracian' and 'Papageno'; Schuppanzigh is 'Falstaff'; Bernard, 'Bernardus non Sanctus'; Leidesdorf is 'Dorf des Leides'; Hoffmánn is adjured to be 'kein Hófmann,' Kuhlau is 'Kühl nicht lau,' and so on. Nor are they always comme il faut, as when he addresses Holz as 'lieber Holz vom Kreuze Christi,' or apostrophises 'Monsieur Friederich, nommé Liederlich.' Sometimes such names bite deeply:—his brother Johann is the 'Braineater,' 'Pseudo-brother,' or 'Asinus,' and Caspar's widow the 'Queen of Night.' No one is spared. A canon to Count Moritz Lichnowsky runs 'Bester Herr Graf, du bist ein Schaf.' The anecdote about his brother already alluded to is a case in point.[117] Johann, who lived on his own property, called on him on some jour de fête, and left his card 'Johann van Beethoven, Gutsbesitzer' (land proprietor), which Beethoven immediately returned after writing on the back 'L. van Beethoven, Hirnbesitzer' (brain proprietor). This fondness for joking pervaded his talk also; he liked a home-thrust, and delivered it with a loud roar of laughter. To tell the truth he was fond of horse-play, and that not always in good taste. The stories—some of them told by himself—of his throwing books, plates, eggs, at the servants; of his pouring the dish of stew over the head of the waiter who had served him wrongly; of the wisp of goat's beard sent to the lady who asked him for a lock of his hair are all instances of it. No one had a sharper eye or ear for a joke when it told on another. He was never tired of retailing the delicious story of Simon the Bohemian tenor who in singing the sentence 'Auf was Art Elende' transformed it into 'Au! fwa! Sartellen Thee!'[118] But it must be confessed that his ear and his enjoyment were less keen when the joke was against himself. When at Berlin in 1796 he interrupted Himmel in the middle of an improvisation to ask when he was going to begin in earnest. But when Himmel, months afterwards, wrote to him that the latest invention in Berlin was a lantern for the blind, Beethoven not only with characteristic simplicity did not see the joke, but when it was pointed out to him was furious, and would have nothing more to do with his correspondent.

The simplicity which lay at the root of so many of his characteristic traits, while it gave an extraordinary force and freshness to much that he did and said, must often have been very inconvenient to those who had intercourse with him. One of his most serious quarrels arose from his divulging the name of a very old and intimate friend who had cautioned him privately against one of his brothers. He could see no reason for secresy; but it is easy to imagine the embarrassment which such disregard of the ordinary rules of life must have caused. Rochlitz describes the impression he received from him as that of a very able man reared on a desert island, and suddenly brought fresh into the world. One little trait from Breuning's recollections exemplifies this—that after walking in the rain he would enter the living room of the house and at once shake the water from his hat all over the furniture, regardless, or rather quite unaware, of the damage he was doing. His ways of eating in his later years became quite unbearable.

One fruitful source of difficulty in practical life was his lodgings. His changes of residence were innumerable during the first year or two of his life in Vienna; it is impossible to disentangle them. Shortly after his arrival the Lichnowskys took him into their house, and there for some years he had nominally a pied à terre; but with all the indulgence of the Prince and Princess the restraint of being forced to dress for dinner, of attending to definite hours and definite rules, was too much for him, and he appears very soon to have taken a lodging of his own in the town, which lodging he was constantly changing. In 1803, when an opera was contemplated, he had free quarters at the theatre, which came to an end when the house changed hands early in 1804. A few months later and he was again lodged in the theatre free. At Baron Pasqualati's house on the ramparts he had rooms—with a beautiful look-out[119]—which were usually kept for him, where he would take refuge when composing, and be denied to every one. But even with this he had a separate and fresh quarter nearly every winter.[120] In summer he hated the city, and usually followed the Vienna custom of leaving the hot streets for the delicious wooded environs of Hetzendorf, Heiligenstadt, or Döbling, at that time little villages absolutely in the country, or for Mödling or Baden, further off. To this he 'looked forward with the delight of a child. … No man on earth loves the country more. Woods, trees, and rocks give the response which man requires.' 'Every tree seems to say Holy, [121]Holy.' Here, as already remarked, he was out of doors for hours together, wandering in the woods, or sitting in the fork of a favourite lime-tree in the Schönbrunn gardens[122] sketch-book in hand; here his inspiration flowed, and in such circumstances the 'Mount of Olives,' 'Fidelio,' the 'Eroica Symphony,' and the majority of his great works were sketched and re-sketched, and erased and re-written, and by slow degrees brought far on to perfection.

His difficulties with his lodgings are not hard to understand; sometimes he quarrelled with them because the sun did not shine into the rooms, and he loved the light; sometimes the landlord interfered. Like other men of genius whose appearance would seem to belie the fact, Beethoven was extremely fond of washing[123]. He would pour water backwards and forwards over his hands for a long time together, and if at such times a musical thought struck him and he became absorbed, he would go on until the whole floor was swimming, and the water had found its way through the ceiling into the room beneath. On one occasion he abandoned a lodging for which he had paid heavily in advance, because his landlord, Baron Pronay, insisted on taking off his hat to him whenever they met. One of the most momentous of his changes was in 1804. After he was turned out of his lodgings at the theatre Beethoven and Stephen Breuning inhabited two sets of rooms in a building called the Rothe Haus. As each set was large enough for two, Beethoven soon moved into Breuning's rooms, but neglected to give the necessary notice to the landlord, and thus after a time found that he had both lodgings on his hands at once. The result was a violent quarrel, which drove Beethoven off to Baden, and estranged the two friends for a time. We have Beethoven's version of the affair in two letters to Ries—July, and July 24, 1804—angry implacable letters, but throwing a strong light on his character and circumstances, showing that it was not the loss of the money that provoked him, but an imputation of meanness; showing further that here, as so often elsewhere, his brother was his evil genius; and containing other highly interesting personal traits.

Besides the difficulties of the apartments there were those with servants. A man whose principles were so severe as to make him say of a servant who had told a falsehood that she was not pure at heart, and therefore could not[124] make good soup; who punished his cook for the staleness of the eggs by throwing the whole batch at her one by one, and who distrusted the expenditure of every halfpenny—must have had much to contend with in his kitchen. The books give full details on this subject, which need not be repeated, and indeed are more unpleasant to contemplate than many other drawbacks and distresses of the life of this great man.

In the earlier part of his career money was no object to him, and he speaks as if his purse were always open to his friends.[125] But after the charge of his nephew was thrust upon his hands a great change in this, as in other respects, came over him. After 1813 complaints of want of money abound in his letters, and he resorted to all possible means of obtaining it. The sum which he had been enabled to invest after the congress he considered as put by for his nephew, and therefore not to be touched, and he succeeded in maintaining it till his death.

It is hard to arrive at any certain conclusion on the nature and progress of Beethoven's deafness, owing to the vagueness of the information. Difficulty of hearing appears first to have shown itself about 1798 in singing and buzzing in his ears, loss of power to distinguish words, though he could hear the tones of voice, and great dislike to sudden loud noise. It was even then a subject of the greatest pain to his sensitive nature;[126] like Byron with his club-foot he lived in morbid dread of his infirmity being observed, a temper which naturally often kept him silent; and when a few years later[127] he found himself unable to hear the pipe of a peasant playing at a short distance in the open air, it threw him into the deepest melancholy, and evoked the well-known letter to his brother in 1802, which goes by the name of his Will. Still many of the anecdotes of his behavour in society show that during the early years of the century his deafness was but partial; and Ries, intimate as he was with his master, admits that he did not know it till told[128] by S. Breuning. It is obvious from Schindler's statement that he must have been able to hear the yellowhammers in the trees above him when he was composing the Pastoral Symphony in 1807 and 1808. A few facts may be mentioned bearing on the progress of the malady. In 1805 he was able to judge severely of the nuances in the rehearsal of his opera. In 1807, 1809, 1813 he conducted performances of his own works. In 1814 he played his B flat trio—his last appearance in public in concerted music. From 1816 to 1818 he used an ear trumpet.[129] At the opening of the Josephstadt Theatre in 1822, he conducted the performance—nearly to ruin it is true, but at the same time he was able to detect that the soprano was not singing in time, and to give her the necessary advice. A subsequent attempt (in Nov. 1822) to conduct 'Fidelio' led to his having to quit the orchestra, when his mortification was so great that Schindler treats the occurrence as an epoch in his life.[130] At this time the hearing of the right ear was almost completely gone; what he did hear—amongst other things a musical box[131] playing the trio in 'Fidelio,' and Cherubini's overture to 'Medea'—was with the left ear only. After this he conducted no more, though he stood in the orchestra at the performance of the 'Choral Symphony,' and had to be turned round that he might see the applause which his music was evoking. From this to the end all communication with him was carried on by writing, for which purpose he always had a book of rough paper, with a stout pencil, at hand.

The connexion between this cruel malady and the low tone of his general health was closer than is generally supposed. The post mortem examination showed that the liver was shrunk to half its proper size, and was hard and tough like leather, with numerous nodules the size of a bean woven into its texture and appearing on its surface. There were also marks of ulceration of the pharynx, about the tonsils and Eustachian tubes. The arteries of the ears were athrumatous, and the auditory nerves—especially that of the right ear—were degenerated and to all appearance paralysed. The whole of these appearances are most probably the result of syphilitic affections at an early period of his life.[132] The pains in the head, indigestion, colic, and jaundice, of which he frequently complains, and the deep depression which gives the key to so many of his letters, would all follow naturally from the chronic inflammation and atrophy implied by the state of the liver, and the digestive derangements to which it would give rise, aggravated by the careless way in which he lived, and by the bad food, hastily devoured, at irregular intervals, in which he too often indulged. His splendid constitution and his extreme fondness for the open air must have been of great assistance to him. How thoroughly he enjoyed the country we have already seen, for, like Mendelssohn, he was a great walker, and in Vienna no day, however busy or however wet, passed without its 'constitutional'—a walk, or rather run, twice round the ramparts, a part of the city long since obliterated; or farther into the environs.

Beethoven was an early riser, and from the time he left his bed till dinner which in those days was taken at, or shortly after, noon—the day was devoted to completing at the piano and writing down the compositions which he had previously conceived and elaborated in his sketch-books, or in his head. At such times the noise which he made playing and roaring was something tremendous. He hated interruption while thus engaged, and would do and say the most horribly rude things if disturbed. Dinner—when he remembered it—he took sometimes in his own room, sometimes at an eating-house, latterly at the house of his friends the Breunings; and no sooner was this over than he started on his walk. He was fond of making appointments to meet on the glacis. The evening was spent at the theatre or in society. He went nowhere without his sketch-books, and indeed these seem to distinguish him from other composers almost as much as his music does. They are perhaps the most remarkable relic that any artist or literary man has left behind him. They afford us the most precious insight into Beethoven's method of composition. They not only show—what we know from his own admission—that he was in the habit of working at three, and even four, things at once,[133] but without them we should never realise how extremely slow and tentative he was in composing. Audacious and impassioned beyond every one in extemporising, the moment he takes his pen in hand he becomes the most cautious and hesitating of men. It would almost seem as if this great genius never saw his work as a whole until it actually approached completion. It grew like a plant or tree, and one thing produced another.[134] There was nothing sudden or electric about it, all was gradual and organic, as slow as a work of nature and as permanent. One is prompted to believe, not that he had the idea first and then expressed it, but that it often came in the process of finding the expression. There is hardly a bar in his music of which it may not be said with confidence that it has been re-written a dozen times. Of the air 'O Hoffnung' in Fidelio the sketch-books show 18 attempts, and of the concluding chorus 10. Of many of the brightest gems of the opera, says Thayer, the first ideas are so trivial that it would be impossible to admit that they were Beethoven's if they were not in his own handwriting. And so it is with all his works. It is quite astonishing to find the length of time during which some of his best-known instrumental melodies remained in his thoughts till they were finally used, or the crude vague commonplace shape in which they were first written down. The more they are elaborated the more fresh and spontaneous do they become.

To quote but two instances out of many. The theme of the Andante in the C minor Symphony, completed in 1808, is first found in a sketch-book of the year 1800, mixed with memoranda for the 6 Quartets, and in the following form:[135]

{ \override Score.TimeSignature #'stencil = ##f \time 3/4 \clef bass \key aes \major \partial 4 \relative a { aes8. bes16 c4 c8.[ bes16 aes8. g16] | g4 f bes8. c16 | des8. c16 c8. bes16 bes8. aes16 | aes4 g } }

Another is the first subject of the Allegro in the Sonata Op. 106. It first appears[136] thus—

{ \override Score.TimeSignature #'stencil = ##f \override Score.Rest #'style = #'classical \time 5/4 \key bes \major \relative d''' { d2 d8 d ees d r4 } }

then, with a slight advance,

{ \override Score.Rest #'style = #'classical \override Score.TimeSignature #'stencil = ##f \key bes \major \time 3/2 \clef bass \partial 8 \relative d { d8 d'2 \clef treble r4. d'8 d d ees d d4 r r2 } }

next

{ \override Score.TimeSignature #'stencil = ##f \cadenzaOn \clef bass \relative e, {ees8 \bar "|" ees''1 \clef treble g'8 g[ g aes g] \bar "|" g4 ees r2 \bar "|" } }

then

{ \override Score.TimeSignature #'stencil = ##f \key d \major \relative f''' { \ottava #1 fis2 fis4 g8 fis fis4 d r2 } }

and finally, after several pages more of writing and rewriting, it assumes its present incisive and spontaneous shape.

In these books every thought that occurred to him was written down at the moment; he even kept one by his bedside for use in the night.[137] Abroad or at home it was all the same, only out of doors he made his notes in pencil, and inked them over on his return to the house. It is as if he had no reliance whatever on his memory. He began the practice as a boy[138] and maintained it to the last. In the sale catalogue of his effects more than 50 of such books are included. Many of them have been parted and dispersed, but some remain intact. They are usually of large coarse music paper, oblong, 200 or even more pages, 16 staves to the page, and are covered from beginning to end, often over the margin as well, with close crowded writing. There is something very affecting in the sight of these books,[139] and in being thus brought so close to this mighty genius and made to realise the incessant toil and pains which he bestowed on all his works, small and great. In this he agreed with Goethe, who says, à propos to his 'Ballad,' 'Whole years of reflection are comprised in it, and I made three or four trials before I could bring it to its present shape.'[140] The sketch-books also show how immense was the quantity of his ideas. 'Had he,' says Nottebohm,[141] 'carried out all the symphonies which are begun in these books we should have at least fifty.'

But when, after all this care and hesitation, the works were actually completed, nothing external made him change them. No convenience of singers or players weighed for a moment against the integrity of his finished composition. When Sonntag and Ungher protested against the unsingable passages in the Ninth Symphony, and besought him to bring them within the compass of their voices, 'Nein und immer nein,' was the dry answer.[142] When Kraft, the cellist in the Schuppanzigh Quartet, complained that a passage 'did not lie within his hand,' the answer was 'it must lie'—'muss liegen.'[143]

A man to whom his art was so emphatically the business of his life, and who was so insatiable in his standard of perfection, must have been always advancing. To him more than to any other musician may be applied Goethe's words on Schiller:—'Every week he altered and grew more complete, and every time I saw him he appeared to me to have advanced since the last in knowledge, learning, and judgment.'[144] It is no wonder then that he did not care for his early works, and would sometimes even have destroyed 'Adelaide,'[145] the Septet, and others of his youthful pieces, if he could. Towards the end of his life he heard a friend practising his 32 Variations[146] in C minor. After listening for some time he said 'Whose is that?' 'Yours,' was the answer.' 'Mine? That piece of folly mine?' was his retort; 'Oh, Beethoven, what an ass you were in those days!' A good deal of this may have been momentary caprice; but making all allowance, one can imagine his feelings at the close of his life on receiving a commission from an English amateur for a 'Symphony in the style of his Second or of his Septet,' or on reading the contemporary effusions on the Eroica and C minor Symphonies, in which his honest and well-meaning critics[147] entreated him to return to the clearness and conciseness of his early works.

Hardly less characteristic than the sketch- books are his diaries or journals, in which the most passionate and personal reflections, resolutions, prayers, aspirations, complaints, are mixed up with memorandums of expenses and household matters, notes about his music, rules for his conduct, quotations from books, and every other conceivable kind of entry. These books have been torn up and dispersed as autographs; but a copy of one extending from 1812 to 1818 fortunately exists, and has been edited with copious notes and elucidations by Heir Nohl, the whole throwing great light on that unfortunate period of his life. A ray of light is also occasionally to be gained from the conversation-books already mentioned, some of which have been preserved, though as Beethoven's answers were usually spoken this source is necessarily imperfect.

If now we ask what correspondence there is between the traits and characteristics thus imperfectly sketched and Beethoven's music, it must be confessed that the question is a difficult one to answer. In one point alone the parallel is obvious—namely, the humour, which is equally salient in both. In the finale of the 7th and 8th Symphonies there are passages which are the exact counterparts of the rough jokes and horseplay of which we have already seen some instances. In these we almost hear his loud laugh. The Scherzo of Symphony No. 2, where the F# chord is so suddenly taken and so forcibly held, might almost be a picture of the unfortunate Kellner forced to stand still while the dish of stew was poured over his head. The bassoons in the opening and closing movements of No. 8 are inimitably humorous; and so on in many other instances which will occur to every one. But when we leave humour and go to other points, where in the life shall we look for the grandeur and beauty which distinguish the music? Neither in letters nor anecdotes do we find anything answering to the serene beauty of the slow movements (No. 2, No. 4, No. 9), or the mystic tone of such passages as those of the horns at the end of the Trio of the Eroica or of certain phrases in the finale of the Choral Fantasia and of the Choral Symphony, which lift one so strangely out of time into eternity. These must represent a state of mental absorption when all heaven was before his eyes, and in which he retired within himself far beyond the reach of outward things, save his own divine power of expression.

Equally difficult is it to see anything in Beethoven's life answering to the sustained nobility and dignity of his first movements, or of such a piece as the 'Overture to Leonora, No. 3.' And then if we come to the most individual and characteristic part of all Beethoven's artistic self, the process by which his music was built up—the extraordinary caution which actuated him throughout, the hesitation, the delays, the incessant modification of his thoughts, the rejection of the first impressions—of the second—of the third—in favour of something only gradually attained to, the entire subordination of his own peculiarities to the constant thought of his audience, and of what would endure rather than what pleased him at first—to all this there is surely nothing at all corresponding in his life, where his habit was emphatically a word and a blow. The fact is that, like all musicians, only in a greater degree than any other, in speech Beethoven was dumb, and often had no words for his deepest and most characteristic feelings. The musician has less connexion with the outside world than any other artist, and has to turn inward and seek his art in the deepest recesses of his being only.[148] This must naturally make him less disposed to communicate with others by the ordinary channels of speech and action, and will account for much of the irritability and uncertainty which often characterise his dealings with his fellow men. But the feelings are there, and if we look closely enough into the life we shall be able to detect their existence often where we least expect it. In Beethoven, for example, what was his treatment of his nephew—the strong devotion which seized him directly after his brother's death, and drove him to sacrifice the habits of a lifetime; his inexhaustible forgiveness, his yearning tenderness—what are these, if properly interpreted, but a dumb way of expressing that noble temper which, when uttered in his own natural musical language, helps to make the first movement of the Eroica so lofty, so dignified, and so impressive?

We must now return to the chronicle of the events of Beethoven's life.

His position at Bonn as organist and pianist to the Emperor's uncle, his friendship with Count Waldstein, who was closely related to some of the best families in Vienna, and his connexion with Haydn, were all circumstances sure to secure him good introductions. The moment was a favourable one, as since Mozart's death, a twelvemonth before, there had been no player to take his place; and it was as a player that Beethoven was first known. It is pleasant to know that his show-piece, with which he took the Vienna connoisseurs by storm, was his Variations on 'Venni amore,' which we have already mentioned as composed before he left Bonn. Public concerts in our sense of the word there were few, but a player had every opportunity at the musical parties of the nobility, who maintained large orchestras of the best quality, and whose music-meetings differed from public concerts chiefly in the fact that the audience were better educated, and were all invited guests. Prince Lichnowsky and Baron van Swieten appear to have been the first to secure Beethoven, the former for his regular Friday morning chamber performances, the latter for soirées, when he had either 'to bring his night-cap in his pocket' or else to stay after the other guests had gone, and send his host to bed with half-a-dozen of Bach's fugues as an Abendsegen. The acquaintance probably began shortly after Beethoven's arrival; and after a twelvemonth of unpleasant experience in the Vienna lodgings, the Prince induced him to accept apartments in his house. His wife was a Princess of Thun, famous for her beauty and her goodness; he himself had been a pupil of Mozart; and both were known as the best amateur musicians of Vienna. Beethoven was poor enough to be tempted by such hospitality, but it was an absurd arrangement, and he very soon infringed it by disregarding the Prince's hours, often dining at the Gasthof, having a lodging of his own elsewhere, and other acts of independence. Here however he was frequently heard, and thus became rapidly known in the most musical circles, and Ries's anecdotes show (after making allowance for the inaccuracy of a man who writes 30 years after the events) how widely he was invited, how completely at his ease he was, and how entirely his eccentricities were condoned for the sake of his playing and his great qualities. Not that we are to suppose that Beethoven gave undue time to society. He was too hard a worker for that. His lessons with Haydn and Albrechtsberger (from the latter he had three a week) were alone enough to occupy a great deal of time, and his own studies in counterpoint exist to show that he did not confine himself to the mere tasks that were set him. Moreover his lessons with Albrechtsberger contain sketches for various compositions, such as 'Adelaide,' a part of one of the Trios (op. 1), and the Symphony in C,[149] all showing how eager he was to be something more than a mere player or even a splendid improviser. These sketches afford an early instance of his habit of working at several compositions at one and the same time. The date of one of them, about Feb. 1795, seems to imply either that the story—grounded on Ries's statement—that the Trios were in MS. for many months[150] before they were printed is inaccurate, or, more probably, that Beethoven re-wrote one of the movements very shortly before delivering the work to the publisher, which he did on May 19. In this case it would show the wisdom of the plan which he adopted with most of his early works,[151] of keeping them in MS. for some time and playing them frequently, so as to test their quality and their effect on the hearers, a practice very consistent with his habitual caution and fastidiousness in relation to his music. At any rate the Trios were published first to the subscribers, by July 1795, and then, on Oct. 21, to the public. They were shortly followed by a work of equal importance, the first three Pianoforte Sonatas,[152] which were first played by their author at one of the Prince's Fridays in presence of Haydn, and published on the 9th of the following March as op. 2, dedicated to him. He had not then written a string-quartet, and at this concert Count Appony[153] proposed to Beethoven to compose one, offering him his own terms, and refusing to make any conditions beyond the single one that the quartet should be written—a pleasant testimony to the enthusiasm excited by the new Sonatas, and to the generosity of an Austrian nobleman. In addition to the Trios, the publications of his three first years in Vienna include the 12 Variations on 'Se vuol ballare' (July 1793); the 13 on 'Es war einmal' (early in 1794); the 8 for 4 hands on Count Waldstein's theme (1794); and 9 for Piano Solo on 'Quant' e più bello'[154] (Dec. 30, 1795). The compositions are more numerous, and besides the Trios and Sonatas (op. 1 and 2) include a Trio for Oboes and Corno inglese (op. 87), which remained unpublished till 1806; a Rondo in G for Pianoforte and Violin,[155] which he sent to Eleanore von Breuning, and which remained unpublished till 1808; the two Concertos for Piano and Orchestra, of which 'No. 2' is the earlier, and 'No. 1' was composed before March 29, 95; Songs, 'Adelaide, 'and 'Opferlied,'[156] both to Matthison's words, and 'Seufzer eines Ungeliebten,'[157] all probably composed in 95; Canon 'Im Arm[158] der Liebe,' an exercise with Albrechtsberger ; 12 Minuets and 12 'Deutsche Tänze' for Orchestra,[159] composed Nov. 95.

On March 29, 95, Beethoven made his first appearance before the outside public at the annual concert in the Burg Theatre, for the widows' fund of the Artists' Society. He played his Concerto in C major.[160] The piece had probably been suggested by Salieri, and with it Beethoven began a practice which he more than once followed when the work was bespoken—of only just finishing the composition in time; the Rondo was written on the afternoon of the last day but one, during a fit of colic. At the rehearsal, the piano being half a note too flat, Beethoven played in C#.[161] Two days after he appeared again at the same theatre at a performance for the benefit of Mozart's widow, playing a Concerto of Mozart's between the acts of the 'Clemenza di Tito.'[162]. Later in the year he assisted another benevolent object by writing 12 minuets and 12 waltzes for orchestra for the ball of the 'Gesellschaft der bildenden Künstler' on the a 2nd Nov. He was evidently a favourite with the Artists, who advertise 'the master-hand of Herr Ludwig van Beethoven,' while they mention Süssmayer who also contributed music without an extra word. These dances, after publication, remained in favour for two more seasons, which is mentioned as a great exception to rule. On Dec. 18 he again appeared in public at a concert of Haydn's in the 'little Redoutensaal,' playing a Concerto of his own—but whether the same as before is not stated. The dedication of the Sonatas and his co-operation at Haydn's concert allow us to hope that the ill-feeling already alluded to had vanished. So closed the year 1795. Bonn was at this time in the hands of the Republican army, and Beethoven's brother the Apotheker was serving as a 'pharmacien de 3ème classe.'

1796 was a year of wandering. Haydn and he appeared together at a second concert on January 10.[163] In the interval Beethoven went perhaps to Prague, certainly to Nuremberg. On Feb. 19 he was in Prague again, where he composed the Scena[164] 'Ah! perfido' for Madame Duschek, the friend of Mozart. From thence he travelled to Berlin, played at court, amongst other things the two cello sonatas op. 5, probably composed for the occasion, and received from the King a box of louis d'or, which he was proud of showing as 'no ordinary box, but one of the kind usually presented to ambassadors.' At Berlin his time was passed pleasantly enough with Himmel the composer and Prince Louis Ferdinand. He went two or three times to the Singakademie,[165] heard the choir sing Fasch's psalms, and extemporised to them on themes from those now forgotten compositions. In July the Court left Berlin, and Beethoven probably departed also; but we lose sight of him till Nov. 15, the date of a 'farewell-song'[166] addressed to the volunteers on their leaving Vienna to take part in the universal military movement provoked by Napoleon's campaigns in Italy. The war was driving all Germans home, and amongst others Beethoven's old colleagues the two Rombergs passed through Vienna from Italy, and he played for them at a concert.

The publications of 1796 consist of the 3 Piano Sonatas, op. 2 (March 9); 12 Variations on a minuet à la Vigano[167] (Feb.), and 6 on 'Nel cor piu sento'[168] (Mar. 23); 6 Minuets (also in March) for Piano, originally written for orchestra—perhaps the result of his success with the 'bildender Künstler.'[169] Of the compositions of the year, besides those already named, may be mentioned as probable the Piano Sonata in G,[170] the second of the 2 small ones (op. 49); and another of the same rank in C[171] for Eleanore von Breuning; we may also ascribe to the latter part of this year the Duet Sonata (op. 6); 12 Variations on a Russian dance;[172] the String Quintet (op. 4), arranged from an Octet for wind instruments, very probably of his præ-Vienna time. The Russian Variations were written for the Countess Browne, wife of an officer in the Russian service, and were acknowledged by the gift of the horse which we have already mentioned as affording an instance of Beethoven's absence of mind. But the winter months must have been occupied by a more serious work than variations—the Quintet for piano and wind (op. 16),[173] which Beethoven produced at a concert of Schuppanzigh's on April 6, 1797, and which is almost like a challenge to Mozart on his own ground, and the not less important and far more original Pianoforte Sonata in E♭ (op. 7). This great work, 'quite novel, and wholly peculiar to its author, the origin of which can be traced to no previous creation, and which proclaimed his originality so that it could never afterwards be disputed,' was published on Oct. 7, '97 but must have been often played before that date. The sketches for the 3 Sonatas, op. 10, are placed by Nottebohm in this period, with the Variations on the 'Une fìevre brûlante.' The three String Trios, op. 9, also probably occupied him during some part of the year. The Serenade Trio, op. 8, though published in 1797, more probably belongs with op. 3 to the Bonn date. The Variations on 'See the conquering hero' for Pianoforte and Cello, dedicated to the Princess Lichnowsky,[174] were published during this year, and were probably written at the time.

Vienna was full of patriotism in the spring of 1797. Haydn's 'Emperor's Hymn' had been sung in the theatre for the first time on Feb. 12,[175] and Beethoven wrote a second military Lied, 'Ein grosses deutsches Volk sind wir,'[176] to Friedelberg's words, which is dated April 14, but did not prove more successful than his former one. In May he writes to Wegeler in terms which show that with publications or lessons his pecuniary position is improving; but from that time till Oct. 1—the date of an affectionate entry in Lenz von Breuning's album—we hear nothing whatever of him. A severe illness has to be accounted for,[177] and this is probably the time at which it happened. In November occurred the annual ball of the 'Bildenden Künstler,' and his dances were again played for the third time; the seven Landler,[178] ascribed to this year, were not improbably written for the same ball. His only other publications of 1797 not yet mentioned are the Pianoforte Rondo in C major, which many years afterwards received the opus number 51, and last, but not least, 'Adelaide.' Some variations[179] for 2 Oboes and Corno Inglese on 'La ci darem' were played on Dec. 23 at a concert for the Widows and Orphans Fund, but are still in MS.

The chief event of 1798 is one which was to bear fruit later—Beethoven's introduction to Bernadotte the French ambassador, by whom the idea of the Eroica Symphony is said[180] to have been first suggested to him. Bernadotte was a person of culture, and having R. Kreutzer, the violin-player, as a member of his establishment may be presumed to have cared for music. Beethoven, who professed himself an admirer of Bonaparte, frequented the ambassador's levees; and there is ground for believing that they were to a certain extent intimate. On April 2 Beethoven played his Piano Quintet (op. 16) at the concert for the Widows and Orphans Fund. The publications of this year show that the connexion with the von Brownes indicated by the dedication of the Russian Variations was kept up and even strengthened; the 3 String Trios, op. 9 (published July 21), are dedicated to the Count, and the 3 Sonatas, op. 10 (subscribed July 7, published Sept. 26), to the Countess. The 3rd of these sonatas forms a landmark in Beethoven's progress of equal significance with op. 7. The letter[181] which he appended to the Trios speaks of 'munificence at once delicate and liberal'; and it is obvious that some extraordinary liberality must have occurred to draw forth such an expression as 'the first Mæcenas of his muse' in reference to any one but Prince Lichnowsky. In other respects the letter is interesting. It makes music depend less on 'the inspiration of genius' than on 'the desire to do one's utmost,' and implies that the Trios were the best music he had yet composed. The Trio for Piano, Clarinet, and Cello (op. 11), dedicated to the mother of Princess Lichnowsky, was published on Oct. 3. This is the composition which brought Steibelt and Beethoven into collision, to the sad discomfiture of the former.[182] Steibelt had shown him studied neglect till they met at Count Fries's, at the first performance of this Trio, and he then treated him quite de haut en bas. A week later they met again, when Steibelt produced a new Quintet and extemporised on the theme of Beethoven's Finale—an air from Weigl's 'Amor marinaro.' Beethoven's blood was now fairly up; taking the cello part of Steibelt's quintet he placed it upside down before him, and making a theme out of it played with such effect as to drive Steibelt from the room. Possibly this fracas may account for Beethoven's known dissatisfaction with the Finale.[183] The other publications of 1798 are Variations: 12 for Piano and Cello on an air in the 'Zauberflöte,' afterwards numbered as op. 66; 6, easy,[184] for Piano or Harp, possibly written for some lady friend, and published by his old ally Simrock at Bonn; and 8 on 'Une fièvre brulante.'[185]

This year he again visited Prague, and performed at two public concerts, making an immense impression.[186] After his return, on Oct. 27, he played one of his two Concertos at the Theatre auf den Wieden. Wölfl was in Vienna during this year, and in him Beethoven encountered for the first time a rival worthy of his steel. They seem to have met often at Count Wetzlar's (Wölfl's friend), and to have made a great deal of music together, and always in a pleasant way.[187] It must have been wonderful to hear them, each excited by the other, playing their finest, extemporising alternately and together (like Mendelssohn and Moscheles), and making all the fun that two such men at such an age and in capital company would be sure to make. Wölfl commemorated their meeting by dedicating three sonatas to Beethoven, but met with no response.

But Beethoven did not allow pleasure to interfere with business, as the publications of the following year fully show. The 3 Sonatas for Piano and Violin, dedicated to Salieri (op. 12), published on Jan. 12, 1799, though possibly composed earlier must at any rate have occupied him in correction during the winter. The little Sonata in G minor (op. 49, No. 1) is a child of this time, and is immediately followed in the sketch books by the 'Grande Sonate pathétique'—Beethoven's own title—(op. 13), dedicated to Prince Lichnowsky, as if to make up for the little slight contained in the reference to Count Browne as his 'first Mæcenas.' The well-known Rondo to the Sonata appears to have been originally intended for the third of the String Trios.[188] Of the origin of the 2 Sonatas, op. 14 (published Dec. 21), little is known. The sketches for the first of the two are coincident in time with those for the Concerto in B♭, which was completed in 1794,[189] and there is ground for believing that it was originally conceived as a string quartet, into which indeed Beethoven converted it a few years after. The second is probably much later, and is specially interesting from the fact that Beethoven explained it[190] to be a dialogue between two lovers, he entreating and she resisting. The Sonatas are dedicated to the Baroness Braun.

The other publications of 1799 are variations: 10 on Salieri's 'La Stessa'; 7 on Winter's 'Kind, willst du'; and 8 on Süssmayer's 'Tandeln.'[191] A comparison of the dates of publication with those of the appearance of the operas from which the themes are taken, shows that two of these were written shortly before publication.

Beethoven was now about to attack music of larger dimensions than before. His six string Quartets, the Septet, the 1st Symphony, and the 'Mount of Olives,' are fast approaching, and must all have occupied him more or less during the last year of the century. In fact the sketches for the three first of the quartets (first in date of composition), Nos. 5, 1, 6, are positively assigned to this year, though there is evidence that the earliest of the three had been begun as far back as 94 or 95.[192] And though sketches of the Septet have not yet been made public, yet it is contrary to all Beethoven's habits in the case of so important a piece, and apparently quite spontaneously undertaken, that he should not have been at work at it for a long while before its production. The same with regard to the 1st Symphony. Both were produced on April 2, 1800. Traces of the Symphony, or of a previous one in the same key,[193] are found as early as the beginning of 95, and there is no doubt that two such experiments in a new field must have occupied much time and labour. Besides these he was working on a very important new Sonata in B♭ (op. 22).

The few recorded events of 1800 are all closely connected with music. On Wednesday, April 2, Beethoven gave the first concert which he had attempted in Vienna for his own benefit. It took place at the Burg Theatre, which was given him for the occasion, at 7 p.m., and the progamine was as follows:—I. Symphony, Mozart. 2. Air from the Creation. 3. A grand Pianoforte Concerto, 'played and composed' by Beethoven. 4. The Septet. 5. Duet from the Creation. 6. Improvisation by Beethoven on Haydn's Emperor s Hymn. 7. Symphony, No. 1. The Concerto was doubtless one of the two already known—the Septet had been previously performed at Prince Schwarzenberg's,[194] had pleased immensely, and Beethoven was evidently proud of it. 'It is my Creation,' said he—let us hope not in Haydn's presence. He had not forgotten Bonn, and the theme of the variations is said by Czerny[195] to be a Rhine Volkslied. The work was dedicated in advance to the Empress, and though not published for some time, became rapidly popular. So much for the compositions, but the performance appears from the report in the Leipsic paper[196] to have been shameful; the band disliked Wranitzky the conductor, and vented their dislike on the music. In addition to this it appears that the rehearsal, if it took place at all, was a very imperfect one. A reference in one of Beethoven's letters (April 22, 1801) shows that it was his custom not to write in the piano part into his Concertos, and therefore to play them from memory.

On the 18th of the same month Beethoven appeared again at the concert of Punto the horn-player, with a Sonata for Horn and Piano, composed for the occasion. This he had naturally not been able to touch while preparing for his own concert, and in fact it was written down on the day before the performance.[197] Here again there cannot have been much chance of rehearsal. But with two such players it was hardly needed; and so much did the Sonata delight the hearers, that in defiance of a rule forbidding applause in the Court Theatre the whole work was unanimously encored. On the 27th, the anniversary of the day on which he first entered Bonn, Beethoven's old master, the Elector, returned to the capital. In May Steibelt made his appearance in Vienna from Prague, where his charlatanerie and his real ability had gained him prodigious financial success. We have already alluded to his conflict with Beethoven. In Vienna he does not appear to have succeeded, and in August he was again in Paris.

The announcement of Beethoven's benefit concert names No. 241 'im tiefen Graben,' 3rd storey, as his residence. He had now left Prince Lichnowsky's, and he maintained this lodging for two years. In this year we hear for the first time of his going to the country for the autumn. He selected Unter-Döbling, a village two miles north of Vienna, and his lodging was part of the house occupied by the Grillparzer family. Madame Grillparzer long recollected his fury on discovering her listening to his playing outside the door, and the stern revenge he took.[198]

As regards publications 1800 is a blank, but composition went on with immense energy. If we throw back the Symphony and the Septet into 1797, we have still the Horn Sonata and the Piano Sonata in B♭ (op. 22)—a work of great moment—the Six Quartets, the String Quintet in C, the Piano Concerto in C minor. Of all these very important works we have Beethoven's own mention in a letter of Dec. 15, 1800, in addition to the evidence as to date afforded by the sketch-books.[199] And besides these we are bound to believe that the Ballet of Prometheus, performed March 28, 1801, occupied him at least during the hitter portion of the year. An incident of this summer was Beethoven's letter to Matthison (Aug. 4) sending him his 'Adelaide,' a letter interesting for its courteous and genial tone, for its request for another poem, and for its confession that his early works had already begun to dissatisfy him. After his return to town occurred Czerny's introduction to him. Czerny, then a lad of just upon 10, became Beethoven's pupil in pianoforte playing, and has left a delightful account of his first interview, and of much which occurred after it.[200] Among the letters of this winter and the spring of 1801 are some to Hoffmeister, formerly a composer, and then a music-publisher in Leipsic, which ended in his publishing the Septet, the Symphony in C, the Piano Concerto in B♭, and the Sonata (op. 22) in the same key. The price given for these works was 20 ducats each, except the Concerto, which was 10. The ducat was equal to 10s. English. The Concerto is priced so low because 'it is by no means one of my best, any more than that I am about to publish in C major, because I reserve the best for myself, for my journey'[201] a confession which proves that the Concerto in C minor was already in existence. The letters show keen sympathy with projects for the publication of Bach's works, and of Mozart's sonatas arranged as quartets.[202] They speak of his having been ill during the winter, but the vigorous tone of the expression shows that the illness had not affected his spirits. On Jan. 30, 1801, he played his Horn Sonata a second time, with Punto, at a concert for the benefit of the soldiers wounded at Hohenlinden.

He was now immersed in all the worry of preparing for the production of his Ballet of Prometheus, which came out on March 28 at the Court (Burg) Theatre. Its great success is evident from the fact that it was immediately published in a popular form—Pianoforte Solo,[203] dedicated to Princess Lichnowsky—and that it had a run of 16 nights during 1801, and 13 during the following year. Apart from its individual merits the Prometheus music is historically interesting as containing a partial anticipation of the Storm in the Pastoral Symphony, and (in the Finale) an air which afterwards served for a Contretanz, for the theme of elaborate variations, and for the subject of the last movement of the Eroica Symphony. The Ballet gave occasion for an unfortunate little encounter between Beethoven and Haydn, evidently unintentional on Beethoven's part, but showing how naturally antagonistic the two men were. They met in the street the day after the first performance, 'I heard your new Ballet last night,' said Haydn, 'and it pleased me much.' ‘O lieber Papa,’ was the reply, 'you are too good: but it is no Creation by a long way.' This unnecessary allusion seems to have startled the old man, and after an instant's pause he said 'You are right: it is no Creation, and I hardly think it ever will be?'

The success of 'Prometheus' gave him time to breathe, and possibly also cash to spare: he changed his lodgings from the low-lying 'tiefen-Graben' to the Sailer-stätte, a higher situation, with an extensive prospect over the ramparts.[204] For the summer of 1801 he took a lodging at Hetzendorf, on the south-west side of the city, attracted by the glades and shrubberies of Schönbrunn, outside which the village lies, and perhaps by the fact that his old master the Elector was living in retirement there. It was his practice during these country visits to live as nearly as possible in entire seclusion, and to elaborate and reduce into ultimate form and completeness the ideas which had occurred to him during the early part of the year, and with which his sketch-books were crowded. His main occupation during this summer was 'The Mount of Olives,' which Ries found far advanced when he arrived in Vienna in 1801.[205] The words were by Huber,[206] and we have Beethoven's own testimony[207] that they were written, with his assistance, in 14 days. He was doubtless engaged at the same time, after his manner, with other works, not inferior to that oratorio in their several classes, which are known on various grounds to have been composed during this year. These are 2 Violin Sonatas in A minor and F, dedicated to Count von Fries—originally published together (Oct. 28) as op. 23, but now separated under independent Nos.; the String Quintet in C (op. 29); and not less than 4 masterpieces for the Piano—the Grand Sonatas in A♭ (op. 26) and D (op. 28); the two Sonatas entitled 'Quasi Fantasia' in E♭ and in C# minor (op. 27); which, though not published till 1802, were all four completed during this year. To each of them a word or two is due. The Sonata in A♭—dedicated, like those of op. 1 and 13, to his prime friend Prince Carl Lichnowsky—is said[208] to owe its noble Funeral March to pique at the praises on a march by no means worthy of them in Paer's 'Achille.' That opera—produced at Vienna on the 6th June of this year—is the same about which Paer used to tell a good story of Beethoven, illustrating at once his sincerity and his terrible want of manners. He was listening to the opera with its composer, and after saying over and over again, 'O! que c'est beau,' 'O! que c'est interessant,' at last could contain himself no longer, but burst out 'il faut que je compose cela.'[209] 10 The Grand Sonata in D received its title of 'Pastorale' (more appropriate than such titles often are) from Cranz the publisher, of Hamburg. The Andante, by some thought inferior to the rest of the Sonata, was Beethoven's peculiar favourite, and very frequently played by him.[210] The flyleaf of the autograph of the work contains a humorous duet and chorus—'the praise of the fat,' making fun of Schuppanzigh[211]—'Schuppanzigh ist ein Lump, ein Lump,' etc. The remaining two, qualified as ' Fantasia' by their author, have had very different fates. One, that in E♭, has always lived in the shadow of its sister, and is comparatively little known. The other, the so-called 'Moonlight Sonata,'[212] is as widely played and as passionately loved as any of Beethoven's pianoforte works. It is one of his most original productions. The dedication to the Countess Guicciardi, upon which so much romance has been built, has had a colder light thrown on it by the lady herself. 'Beethoven,' said she, 'gave me the Rondo in G, but wanting to dedicate something to the Princess Lichnowsky he took the Rondo away, and gave me the Sonata in C# minor instead.'[213]

Meantime his deafness, which began with violent noise in his ears, had gradually merged into something more serious. He consulted doctor after doctor, Frank, his friend Wegeler, and Wering, but the malady constantly increased. It gave him the keenest distress; but so great were his resolution and confidence that not even the prospect of this tremendous affliction could subdue him. 'I will as far as possible defy my fate, though there must be moments when I shall be the most miserable of God's creatures.' … 'Not unhappy: no, that I never could endure! I will grapple with fate; it shall never drag me down.' The letters to Wegeler of June 29[214] and Nov. 16, 1801, from which these words are taken, give an extraordinary picture of the mingled independence and sensibility which characterised this remarkable man, and of the entire mastery which music had in him over friendship, love, pain, deafness, or any other external circumstance. 'Every day I come nearer to the object which I can feel, though I cannot describe it, and on which alone your Beethoven can exist. No more rest for him!' 'I live only in my music, and no sooner is one thing done than the next is begun. As I am now writing, I often work at three and four things at once.' How truly this describes the incessant manner in which his ideas flowed may be seen from the sketch-book published by Nottebohm,[215] and which is the offspring of this very period—Oct. 1801 to May 1802. It contains sketches for the Finale of the Second Symphony, for the 3 Violin Sonatas (op. 30); for Piano Sonatas in G and D minor (op. 31); for the Variations in F (op. 34), and in Eb (op. 35); and a large number of less important works, the themes of which are so mixed up and repeated as to show that they were all in his mind and his intention at once.

The spring of 1802 saw the publication of several very important pieces, the correction of which must have added to his occupations—the Serenade (op. 25); the Sonatas in B♭[216] (op. 22), A♭ (op. 20), E&#x266d and C# minor (op. 27); the Variations for Piano and Cello on Mozart's air 'Bei Männern,' and 6 Contretänze. It is curious to notice that up to op. 22 all the Solo Sonatas, as well as the Duet (op. 6) and the 3 with Violin (op. 12) are published 'for Clavecin or Pianoforte.' The Sonata in B♭ is the first to break the rule, which comes to an end with the two quasi-fantasias, op. 27. One would like to know if this is a mere publisher's freak—which, knowing Beethoven's care of details, it is hard to believe—or whether great works like op. 7; op. 10, No. 3; and op. 26 were intended for instruments so unlike the Piano as the whispering Clavichord or the prancing Harpsichord—for 'Clavecin' may mean either. All the works just enumerated were out by April, and were followed in the later months by the Septet, issued in two portions; the Sonata in D (op. 28); 6 Ländler;[217] the Rondo in G (Op. 51, No. 2); and in December by the Quintet in C (op. 29).

Beethoven had recently again changed his doctor. Vering did not satisfy him, and he consulted Schmidt, a person apparently of some eminence, and it was possibly on his recommendation that he selected the village of Heiligenstadt, at that time a most retired spot, lying beyond Unter-Döbling, among the lovely wooded valleys in the direction of the Kahlenberg and Leopoldsberg. Here he remained till October, labouring at the completion of the works mentioned above, which he had sketched early in the year, and which he probably completed before returning to Vienna. Here too he wrote the very affecting letter usually known as 'Beethoven's will,' dated Oct. 6, and addressed to his brothers, to be opened after his death,[218] a letter full of depression and distress, but perhaps not more so than that written by many a man of sensibility under adverse temporary circumstances, and which does not give us a high idea of Dr. Schmidt's wisdom in condemning a dyspeptic patient to so long a course of solitude. At any rate, if we compare it with the genial, cheerful strains of the music which he was writing at the time—take the Symphony in D as one example only—and remember his own words: 'I live only in my music, … letter-writing was never my forte—it loses a good deal of its significance.[219] Once back in town his spirits returned; and some of his most facetious letters to Zmeskall are dated from this time. On returning he changed his residence from the Sailer-Stätte, where we last left him, to the Peters-Platz, in the very heart of the city, and at the top of the house. In the storey above Beethoven lived his old friend Förster, who had won his affection by giving him hints on quartet writing on his first arrival in Vienna. Forster had a little son whom Beethoven undertook to instruct, and the boy, then just 6, long[220] remembered having to get up in the dark in the winter mornings and descend the stairs for his lessons. This winter again there were many proofs to correct—the 2 Piano Sonatas (op. 31, 1 & 2), the 3 Violin ditto, 2 sets of Variations (op. 34, 35), all which appeared early in 1803. The Piano Sonatas he regarded as a change in his style[221]—which they certainly are, the D minor especially. The Variations he mentions[222] as distinct in kind from his earlier ones, and therefore to be included in the series of his large works, and numbered accordingly. In addition there were published 2 Preludes (op. 39), dating from 1789; 7 Bagatelles, some of them as old as 1782, but one at least (No. 6) written within the last twelve months. Also the Romance in G for Violin and Orchestra (op. 40), which was published this year, and 6 Sacred Songs (op. 48), dedicated to his Russian friend Count von Browne. And proofs at that date appear to have been formidable things, and to have required an extraordinary amount of vigilance and labour. Not only had the engravers' mistakes to be guarded against, and the obscurities of Beethoven's writing, but the publishers were occasionally composers and took on themselves to correct his heresies and soften his abruptnesses as they passed through their hands. Thus in the Sonata in G (op. 31, No. 1), Nägeli of Zurich interpolated four bars.[223] Of course Beethoven discovered the addition on hearing Ries play from the proof, and his rage was naturally unbounded. The mistakes were corrected, and an amended proof was transmitted at once to Simrock of Bonn, who soon got out an 'Edition très correcte';—but Nägeli adhered to his own version of Beethoven's music, and editions are still issued[224] containing the four redundant bars. It is needless to say that after Opus 31 he published no more for Beethoven. But even without such intentional errors, correcting in those days was hard work. 'My Quartets,' he[225] complains, 'are again published full of mistakes and errata great and small; they swarm like fish in the sea—innumerable.' The Quintet in C (op. 29), published by Breitkopf, was pirated by Artaria of Vienna, and being engraved from a very hasty copy was extraordinarily full of blunders.[226] Beethoven adopted a very characteristic mode of revenge; fifty copies had been struck off, which he offered Artaria to correct, but in doing so caused Ries to make the alterations with so strong a hand that the copies were quite unsaleable.[227] It was an evil that never abated. In sending off the copies of the A minor Quartet twenty years later, he says, 'I have passed the whole forenoon to-day and yesterday afternoon in correcting these two pieces, and am quite hoarse with stamping and swearing'—and no wonder when the provocation was so great. The noble Sonatas, op. 31, to the first of which one of the above anecdotes refers, were unfortunate in more ways than one. They were promised to Nägeli, but Caspar Beethoven[228] by some blunder—whether for his own profit or his brother's does not appear—had sold them to a Leipsic house.[229] The discovery enraged Beethoven, who hated any appearance of deceit in his dealings; he challenged his brother with the fact, and the quarrel actually proceeded to blows. Knowing how much Beethoven disliked his early works, it is difficult not to imagine that the appearance of the two boyish Preludes, op. 39, and of the Variations, op. 44 (1792 or 3), both published at Leipsic—was due to the interference of Caspar.

A great event in 1803 was the production of 'The Mount of Olives,' his first vocal composition on a larger scale than a scena. The concert took place in the Theatre 'an der Wien' on April 5, and the programme included three new works—the Oratorio, the Symphony in D, and the Pianoforte Concerto in C minor, played by himself. Interesting accounts of the rehearsal (in which Prince Lichnowsky showed himself as friendly as ever) and of the performance will be found in Ries and Seyfried.[230] Difficult as it is to conceive of such a thing, the Symphony appears to have been found too laboured by the critics, and not equal to the former one.[231] The success of the Oratorio is shown by the fact that it was repeated three times (making four performances) by independent parties in the course of the next twelve months. The Sonata for Piano and Violin, now so well known as the 'Kreutzer Sonata,' was first played on May 17, at the Augarten, at 8 a.m. There was a curious bombastic half-caste English violin-player in Vienna at that time named Bridgetower. He had engaged Beethoven to write a sonata for their joint performance at his concert. Knowing Beethoven's reluctance to complete bespoken works, it is not surprising to find him behind time and Bridgetower clamouring loudly for his music. The Finale was easily attainable, having been written the year before for the Sonata in A (op. 30, No. 1), and the violin part of the first movement seems to have been ready a few days before the concert, though at the performance the pianoforte copy still remained almost a blank, with only an indication here and there. But the Variations were literally finished only at the last moment, and Bridgetower had to play them at sight from the blurred and blotted autograph of the composer. Beethoven's rendering of the Andante was so noble, pure, and chaste, as to cause a universal demand for an encore: A quarrel with Bridgetower caused the alteration of the dedication.

Before Beethoven left town this year he made an arrangement to write an opera for Schikaneder, Mozart's old comrade, the manager of the Theatre 'an der Wien.'[232] Beyond the bare fact nothing is known on the subject. It is possible that a MS. Trio[233] preserved in the library of the 'Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde' at Vienna, and afterwards worked up into the duet in 'Fidelio,' is a portion of the proposed work, but this is mere conjecture. The arrangement was announced on June 29, and Beethoven had before that date, perhaps as early as April, taken up his quarters at the theatre with his brother Caspar, who, with all his faults, was necessary to a person so inapt at business as Ludwig. His summer and autumn were again spent—after a few weeks Kur at Baden[234]—at Ober-döbling, and were occupied principally with his third Symphony on 'Napoleon Bonaparte,' the idea of which, since its suggestion in 1798, appears to have ripened with the contemplation of the splendid career of the First Consul as soldier, lawgiver, statesman, and hero, until it became an actual fact.

Of the order in which the movements of this mighty work were composed we have not yet any information, but there is no doubt that when Beethoven returned to his lodgings in the theatre in the autumn of 1803 the Finale was complete enough, at least in its general outlines,[235] to be played through by its author. There are traces of Beethoven being a great deal in society this winter. Two young Rhinelanders—Gleichenstein, a friend and fellow official of Breuning's in the War Office, and Mähler, also a government official and an amateur portrait painter, were now added to his circle.[236] With another painter, Macco, he[237] appears to have been on terms of great intimacy. The Abbé Vogler was in Vienna this season with his pupil Carl Maria von Weber, and a record[238] survives of a soirée given by Sonnleithner, at which Vogler and Beethoven met, and each gave the other a subject to extemporise upon. The subject given by Beethoven to Vogler we merely know to have been 4½ bars long, while that on which he himself held forth was 'the scale of C major, three bars, alla breve.' Vogler was evidently the more expert contrapuntist, but Beethoven astonished even his rival's adherents by his extraordinary playing, and by a prodigious flow of the finest ideas. Noctes cœnœque deorum.—Clementi too was in Vienna about this time, or a little later, with his pupil Klengel. He and Beethoven often dined at the same restaurant, but neither would speak first, and there was no intercourse.[239] Not for want of respect on Beethoven's side, for he had a very high opinion of Clementi, and thought his Method one of the best. This winter[240] saw the beginning of a correspondence which was not destined to bear fruit till some years later—with Thomson the music-publisher of Edinburgh. Thomson had already published arrangements of Scotch airs by Pleyel and Kozeluch, and, with the true eye of a man of business, was now anxious to obtain from a greater and more famous musician than either, six sonatas on Scotch themes. Beethoven replies on Oct. 5, offering to compose six sonatas for 300 ducats (£150). Thomson responded by offering half the sum named, and there for the present the correspondence dropped. The prospect of an opera from Beethoven was put an end to at the beginning of 1804 by the theatre passing out of Schikaneder's hands into those of Baron von Braun, and with this his lodging in the theatre naturally ceased.[241] He moved into the same house with Stephen Breuning—the 'Rothe Haus,' near the present Votive Church, and there the rupture already spoken of took place.

The early part of 1804 was taken up in passing through the press the Symphony No. 2 (dedicated to Prince Carl Lichnowsky), and the three 4-hand Marches, which were published in March—but the real absorbing occupation of the whole winter must have been the completion of the Bonaparte Symphony. At length the work was done, a fair copy was made, the outside page of which contained the [242]words 'Napoleon Bonaparte … Louis van Beethoven,' and it lay on the composer's table for the proper opportunity of official transmission to Paris. On May 3 the motion for making Napoleon emperor passed the Assembly, and on the 18th, after his election by plébiscite, he assumed the title. The news must have quickly reached Vienna, and was at once communicated to Beethoven by Ries. The story need not be given here in detail. In a fury of disappointment and with a torrent of reproaches he tore off the title page and dashed it on the ground. At some future time it received the new name by which we know it, and under which it was published—'Sinfonia eroica per festeggiare il sovvenire d'un gran uomo'—but this was probably an afterthought, and the cover of the MS. now in the Bibliothek at Vienna,—

Sinfonia grande

Napoleon Bonaparte

804 im August

del Sigr.

Louis van Beethoven

Sinfonie 3 Op. 55

an intermediate title. The right to use the Symphony was purchased by Prince Lobkowitz, to whom it is dedicated. It was played at his house during the winter, and remained in MS. till October 1806.

The fracas at Breuning's rooms ended by Beethoven's dashing off to Baden, and then returning to his old quarters at Döbling. There he composed the Grand Sonata in C, which he afterwards dedicated to Count Waldstein, and that in F, op. 54, which though only in two movements and dedicated to no one is not inferior in originality to its longer companion. It is to the Finale of this work, and not that of the 'Appassionato' as usually believed, that Ries's story applies. Ries appears to have often gone out, as he often did, to Döbling—within an easy walk of Vienna—and to have remained with his master all the after part of the day. They went for an immense walk, and did not get home till eight in the evening. During the whole time Beethoven had been humming and growling to himself, but without anything like a tune. On Ries asking him what it was, he replied that it was a theme for the finale of the Sonata. The instant they reached the house he sat down to the piano without taking off his hat, and for more than an hour pounded away at his new idea. Ries sat in a corner listening.—The Sonata in C, just mentioned, contained when completed a long Andante in F—the subject of a very characteristic story, already alluded to (p. 167). This, however, at the advice of some judicious critic, he was induced to take out and replace by the present short introductory Adagio, after which it was published separately, and became the well-known 'Andante favori.'[243] During this summer, on July 19 or 26, there was a concert at the Augarten, at which Beethoven conducted; the Symphony in D was performed, and Ries made his first public appearance as Beethoven's scholar in the C minor Concerto. Ries's story of his cadence is too long for these pages, but should be read.[244] The Pianoforte part having to be written out for Ries, the Concerto was at last ready for publication, and in fact made its appearance in November, dedicated to Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, an amateur of remarkable musical gifts, whose acquaintance Beethoven made when he visited his father's court in 1796, and who while in Vienna at this very time was one of the first to hear and appreciate the new Symphony. When Beethoven came back it was to a new lodging, in a house of Baron Pasqualati's, on the Mölker-Bastion near Prince Lichnowsky's, and in some sense this was his last; for though he left it more than once yet the Baron always forbid the rooms to be let, saying that Beethoven was sure to come back to them again. Breuning and he soon met, and a reconciliation took place which was not interrupted for many years but they never again put their friendship so far to the proof as to live together.

Breuning's attitude through the whole affair is in keeping with his solid sensible character, and does him infinite credit. His letter to Wegeler of November 13 gives no hint of a quarrel, but is full of the deepest sympathy with Beethoven under the affliction of his deafness. In addition to the works already mentioned as published during 1804 must be named the great Sonata in E♭, which ultimately became the 3rd of opus 31; 7 Variations on 'God save the King,'[245] and 5 on 'Rule Britannia'; a song, 'Der Wachtelschlag,'[246] and 'Ah! perfido.' Why he selected these two English airs does not appear. At a later date he said, à propos to its use in his Battle Symphony, 'I must show the English a little what a blessing they have in God save the King.'[247] It is satisfactory to find him so fond of it.—The first trial of the Eroica took place in December[248] at Prince Lobkowitz's. The opinions expressed concerning it are collected by Thayer, and should be read and digested by all who are tempted to regard music from the 'finality' point of view.

Beethoven's connection with the Theatre an der Wien, though interrupted, was not at an end. Baron von Braun took Schikaneder into his service, and one of their first acts was to renew the offer. Bouilly's opera, which had been already set by Gaveaux[249] and Paer,[250] was chosen, and Sonnleithner was employed to make the German translation. Beethoven went back to his rooms at the theatre, and set to work with energy. But, remembering his habit of doing several things at once, we need not suppose that, though at work on an opera, he dropped other compositions. A letter to Artaria shows that on June 1, 1805, he was engaged on a new Quintet, the suggestion of Count Fries.[251] Though he had even proceeded so far as to mention it to the publisher, its ultimate fate must be left to the discovery of Herr Nottebohm; it certainly never arrived at publication. He also completed the Sonata in F (op. 54), and probably entirely composed the Triple Concerto (op. 56). But the opera was his main and absorbing business. During the whole of the spring he was hard at work, and in June he betook himself to Hetzendorf, there to put his sketches into shape, and to get inspiration from his favourite woods and fields. To give an idea of the extraordinary amount of labour and pains which he bestowed on his work, and of the strangely tentative manner in which so great a genius proceeded, we may mention[252] that in the sketch-book which contains the materials for the opera—a thick oblong volume of 300 pages, 16 staves to the page—there are no less than 18 distinct and different beginnings to Florestan's air 'In des Lebens Frühlingstagen,' and 10 to the chorus 'Wer ein holdes Weib.' To reduce these chaotic materials to order, and to score the work, was the entire occupation of these summer months. Closely as he was occupied he could occasionally visit Vienna, and on one occasion in July[253] we find him at Sonnleithner 's rooms with Cherubini and Vogler. Cherubini arrived in Vienna with his wife early in the month, and remained till the following April. His operas had long been favourites on the Vienna stage. The 'Deux Journées' was performed under his direction shortly after his arrival, and 'Faniska' was produced for the first time on Feb. 25, 1806. Beethoven knew them well, and has left on record[254] that he esteemed their author above all then living writers for the stage. He also thought so highly of Cherubim's Requiem as to say that he should borrow largely from it in the event of his writing one. But the influence of Cherubini on Beethoven's vocal music is now[255] acknowledged. The two artists were much together, and agreed as well as two men of such strong character and open speech were likely to agree. Cherubini presented the composer of 'Fidelio' with a copy of the Méthode of the Conservatoire, and the scores of Médée and 'Faniska' are conspicuous in the sale catalogue of Beethoven's scanty library.[256]

One proof that 'Fidelio' was complete before his return to town is afforded by the fact that he allowed others to hear it. On one occasion he played it to a select set of friends,[257] when Ries (as already mentioned) was excluded; and thus—as he was shortly afterwards called to Bonn by the conscription—lost his chance of hearing the opera at all in its first shape. That Beethoven's voice in singing was 'detestable'[258] will not have diminished the interest of the trial. The work of rehearsing the music now began, and was evidently attended with enormous difficulties, especially in regard to the singers. They complained that their passages were unsingable, while Beethoven on his part was determined to make no alterations and apparently none were made.[259] With the band he fared little better. He even invokes his deafness as an assistance. Writing only two days before the first performance, he says,[260] 'Pray try to persuade Seyfried to conduct my opera to-day, as I wish to see and hear it from a distance; in this way my patience will at least not be so severely tried by the rehearsal as when I am close enough to hear my music so bungled. I really do believe it is done on purpose. Of the wind I will say nothing, but—. All pp. cresc., all decresc., and all f. ff. may as well be struck out of my music, since not one of them is attended to. I lose all desire to write anything more if my music is to be so played.' And again,[261] 'the whole business of the opera is the most distressing thing in the world.'

The performance was fixed for Wednesday, Nov. 20. External events could hardly have been more unpropitious. The occupation of Ulm and Salzburg had been followed on Nov. 13 by the entry of the French army into Vienna. Bonaparte took up his quarters at Schönbrunn; the Emperor of Austria, the chief nobility and other wealthy persons and patrons of music had deserted the town, and it was a conquered city tenanted by Frenchmen. It was in such circumstances that 'Fidelio, oder die eheliche Liebe' was produced. The opera was originally in 3 acts. It was performed on the 20th, 21st, and 22nd, and was then withdrawn by the composer.[262] The overture on these occasions appears to have been that known as 'Leonora No. 2'. It was felt by Beethoven's friends that, in addition to the drawbacks of the French occupation and of the advanced character of the music, the opera was too long; and a meeting was held at Prince Lichnowsky's house, when the whole work was gone through at the piano, and after a battle lasting from 7 till 1 in the morning, Beethoven was induced to sacrifice three entire numbers. It is characteristic of Beethoven that though furious and unpleasant to the very greatest degree while the struggle was going on, yet when once the decision was made he was in his most genial temper.[263] The libretto was at once put into the hands of Stephen Breuning, by whom it was reduced to two acts and generally improved, and in this shortened form, and with the revised Overture known as 'Leonora No. 3,' it was again performed on March 29, 1806, but, owing to Beethoven's delays over the alterations, with only one band rehearsal. It was repeated on April 10, each time to fuller and more appreciative houses than before, and then, owing to a quarrel between Beethoven and Baron Braun, the intendant of the theatre, suddenly and finally withdrawn. Attempts were made to bring it out at Berlin, but they came to nothing, and this great work was then practically shelved for seven or eight years.

It is an astonishing proof of the vigour and fertility of the mind of this extraordinary man that in the midst of all this work and worry he should have planned and partly carried out three of his greatest instrumental compositions. We have the assurance of Mr. Nottebohm[264] that the Piano Concerto in G and the Symphony in C minor were both begun, and the two first movements of the latter composed, in 1805. The two last of the String Quartets, op. 59, appear to have been written during this winter before that in F,[265] which now stands first. There are many indications in his letters that his health was at this time anything but good, and the demands of society on him must have been great. Against them he could arm himself by such reflections as the following pencil[266] note in the margin of a sketch-book of this very date. 'Struggling as you are in the vortex of society, it is yet possible, notwithstanding all social hindrances, to write operas. Let your deafness be no longer a secret—even in your Art!'

On April 10, 1806, 'Fidelio' was performed for the last time; on May 25[267] the marriage contract of Caspar Carl Beethoven with Johanna Reis was signed—harbinger of unexpected suffering for Ludwig—and on May 26 he began the scoring of [App. p.533 "he was at work on"] the first of the three Quartets, which were afterwards dedicated to the Russian Ambassador, Count Rasoumoffsky, as op. 59. So says his own writing at the head of the autograph.[268] These Quartets, the Russian airs in which it is natural to suppose were suggested by the Ambassador (a brother-in-law of Prince Lichnowsky), are another link in the chain of connection between the republican composer and the great Imperial court of Petersburg, which originated some of his noblest works.

His favourite summer villages had been defiled by the French, and perhaps for this reason Beethoven did not pass the summer of 1806 at the usual spots, but went to the country-house of his friend Count Brunswick—whose sisters[269] were also his great allies in Hungary. Here he wrote the magnificent Sonata in F minor, than which nothing more impetuous, more poetical, or more enduring ever came from his pen. His letters may have been full of depression—[270]but it vanished when he spoke in music, and all is force, elevation, and romance. In October he left Count Brunswick for the seat of Prince Lichnowsky, near Troppau, in Silesia, 40 miles N.E. of Olmütz. The war was in full progress (Jena was fought on Oct. 16), and the Prince had several French officers quartered upon him. They were naturally anxious to hear Beethoven, but he refused to play to them; and on being pressed by his host and playfully threatened with confinement to the house, a terrible scene took place—he made his escape, went off by night post to Vienna, and on his arrival at home was still so angry as to demolish a bust of the Prince in his possession. He brought back with him not only the Sonata just named, but the Pianoforte Concerto in G, the Symphony in B flat (No. 4), the Rasoumoffsky Quartets, and the 32 Variations in C minor. The Quartets were played frequently in MS. during the winter at private concerts, but the larger orchestral works were not heard till later. The Violin Concerto (op. 61) was first played by Clement—a well-known virtuoso, and at that time principal violin of the Theatre an der Wien—at his concert on Dec. 23, and there is evidence to show, what might have been assumed from Beethoven's habit of postponing bespoken works to the last, that it was written in a hurry, and Clement played his part without rehearsal, at sight. What chance can such great and difficult works, new in spirit and teeming with difficulties, have had of influencing the public when thus brought forward? No wonder that the Concerto was seldom heard till revived by Joachim in our own time. The MS. shows that the solo part was the object of much thought and alteration by the composer—evidently after the performance.

The publications of 1806 consist of the Sonata in F, op 54 (April 9); a trio for two Violins and Viola (April 12), adapted from a trio[271] for two Oboes and Cor Anglais, and afterwards numbered op. 87; the Andante in F (May) already mentioned as having been originally intended for the Waldstein Sonata; and lastly, on October 29, in time for the winter season, the Eroica Symphony, dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz. In addition to these an arrangement of the 2nd Symphony as a Pianoforte trio,[272] by Beethoven's own hand, was published at Vienna.

The first external musical event of 1807 was the performance of the new Symphony, No. 4, which took place before a very select audience in the middle or end of March.[273] The concert was organised for Beethoven's benefit, no doubt to compensate him for his disappointment with the Opera, and was largely subscribed to. No programme of equal length was probably ever put together; it contained the 1st and 2nd Symphonies, the Eroica—hardly known as yet, and in itself a programme—and the new work—2½ hours of solid orchestral music without relief! A second performance of the Symphony was given at a public concert on Nov. 15. The overture to 'Coriolan'—a tragedy by Collin—must have occupied him during the opening of the year, since it is included with the new Symphony, the new Concertos for Violin and Piano, and the 3 String-quartets in a sale of copyrights for England,[274] which Beethoven effected on April 20 to Clementi, who had for some years been at the head of a musical business in London. For these and an arrangement of the Violin Concerto for Piano (dedicated to the wife of Stephen von Breuning), Clementi paid £200 down, Beethoven binding himself to compose three new Sonatas for the sum of £60 more—a part of the bargain which was not carried out. Beethoven's finances were thus for the time flourishing, and he writes in high spirits on his prospects.[275]

Another overture belonging to this period is that in C, known as op. 138, and erroneously styled 'Leonora No. 1,' the fact being that it was written as 'a new Overture' for the production [App. p.533 "proposed production (it appears never have to have taken place"] of 'Fidelio' in Prague in the spring of this year.[276] Another great work approaching completion during the summer was the Mass in C, which was written for Prince Esterhazy, Haydn's patron, and after considerable delay was first sung in the Chapel at Eisenstadt on Sept. 13, the name-day of the Princess Marie of Esterhazy. Beethoven and his old rival Hummel—then the Prince's Chapel-master—were both present. After the mass the Prince, perhaps puzzled at the style of the music, so different from that to which he was accustomed in his Chapel hinted as much to Beethoven, in the strange question 'What have you been doing now?' Hummel overheard the remark, and probably amused at the naïveté of the question (for Hummel can have found nothing to question in the music) unfortunately smiled. Beethoven saw the smile, misinterpreted it, and left the Palace in a fury. This occurrence possibly explains why the name of Esterhazy, to whom the mass is dedicated in Beethoven's autograph, is replaced by that of Prince Kinsky in the published copy (1812).

The date of the C minor Symphony has not yet been conclusively ascertained, but there is good ground for believing that it and the Pastoral Symphony were completed, or at any rate much advanced, during this year, at Heiligenstadt and in the country between that and the Kahlenberg, as Beethoven pointed out to Schindler in 1823[277]—the visit to Eisenstadt being probably undertaken for the sake of the Mass only. Of his activity in town during the winter there are more certain traces. A musical society of amateurs was formed, who held their concerts in the Hall of the Mehlgrube. At one of these, in December, the Eroica Symphony was performed, and the overture to Coriolan played for the first time. At another the B flat Symphony was performed for the second time, with immense appreciation. Beethoven himself conducted both of these concerts. December is also the date of a memorial to the directors of the Court Theatre, praying that he might be engaged at an annual salary of 2400 florins, with benefit performances, to compose one grand opera and an operetta yearly—a memorial evidently not favourably received.

The publications of 1807 are not numerous, they consist of the Sonata in F minor (op. 57), dedicated to Count Brunswick (Feb. 18), and since designated 'Appassionata' by Cranz of Hamburg; the 32 Variations for Piano[278] (April); and the Triple Concerto (op. 56), dedicated to Count Lobkowitz (July 1).

1808 opened with the publication of the overture to 'Coriolan' (op. 62), dedicated to the author of the tragedy, and the 3 new String-quartets (op. 59). There is reason to believe[279] that Beethoven again passed the summer at Heiligenstadt, whence he returned to Vienna, bringing with him ready for performance the two Symphonies, C minor and Pastoral, the two Pianoforte Trios in D and E flat, and the Choral Fantasia, a work new not only in ideas and effects but also in form, and doubly important as the precursor of the Choral Symphony. It and the Symphonies were produced at a Concert given by Beethoven in the theatre an der Wien on Dec. 22. It was announced to consist of pieces of his own composition only, all performed in public for the first time. In addition to the three already mentioned the programme contained the Piano Concerto in G, played by himself; two extracts from the Eisenstadt Mass; [280]'Ah! perfido'; and an extempore fantasia on the pianoforte. The result was unfortunate. In addition to the enormous length of the programme and the difficult character of the music the cold was intense and the theatre unwarmed. The performance appears to have been infamous, and in the Choral Fantasia there was actually a break down.[281]

The Concerto had been published in August, and was dedicated to Beethoven's new pupil and friend the Archduke Rodolph. It commemorates the acquisition of the most powerful and one of the best friends Beethoven ever possessed, for whom he showed to the end an unusual degree of regard and consideration, and is the first of a long series of great works which bear the Archduke's name. The Sonatina in G, the fine Sonata for Piano and Cello in A, and the Piano Fantasia in G minor—the last of less interest than usual—complete the compositions of 1808, and the Pianoforte adaptation of the Violin Concerto,[282] dedicated to Madame Breuning, closes the publications.

Hitherto Beethoven had no settled income beyond that produced by actual labour, except the small annuity granted him since 1800 by Prince Lichnowsky. His works were all the property of the publishers, and it is natural that as his life advanced (he was now 39) and his aims in art grew vaster, the necessity of writing music for sale should have become more and more irksome. Just at this time, however, he received an invitation from Jerome Bonaparte, King of Westphalia, to fill the post of Maître de Chapelle at Cassel, with a salary of 600 gold ducats (£300) per annum, and 150 ducats for travelling expenses, and with very easy duties. The first trace of this offer is found in a letter of his own, dated Nov. 1, 1808; but he never seems seriously to have entertained it except as a lever for obtaining an appointment under the Court of Austria. In fact the time was hardly one in which a German could accept service under a French prince. Napoleon was at the height of his career of ambition and conquest, and Austria was at this very time making immense exertions for the increase of her army with a view to the war which broke out when the Austrians crossed the Inn on April 9. With this state of things imminent it is difficult to imagine that King Jerome's offer can have been seriously made or entertained. But it is easy to understand the consternation into which the possibility of Beethoven's removal from Vienna must have thrown his friends and the lovers of music in general, and the immediate result appears to have been an undertaking on the part of the Archduke Rodolph, Prince Lobkowitz, and Prince Kinsky, dated March 1, 1809, guaranteeing him an annual income of 4000 (paper) florins, payable half-yearly, until he should obtain a post of equal value in the Austrian dominions.[283] He himself, however, naturally preferred the post of Imperial Kapellmeister under the Austrian Government, and with that view drew up a memorial,[284] which however appears to have met with no success, even if it were ever presented. At this time, owing to the excessive issue of bank notes, the cash value of the paper florin had sunk from 2s. to a little over 1s., so that the income secured to Beethoven, though nominally £400, did not really amount to more than £210, with the probability of still further rapid depreciation.

Meantime the work of publication went on apace, and in that respect 1809 is the most brilliant and astonishing year of Beethoven's life. He now for the first time entered into relations with the great firm of Breitkopf & Härtel. Simrock published (in March) the 4th Symphony, dedicated to Count Oppersdorf as op. 60, and Breitkopf and Härtel head their splendid list with the Violin Concerto, dedicated to Breuning as op. 60, and also issued in March. This they followed in April by the C minor and Pastoral Symphonies (op. 67 and 68), dedicated jointly to Prince Lobkowitz and Count Rasoumoffsky, and by the Cello Sonata in A (op. 69), dedicated to the Baron von Gleichenstein, who with Zmeskall shared Beethoven's intimate friendship at this date; and these again in October,[285] by the two Pianoforte Trios (op. 70), dedicated to the Countess Erdödy, in whose house Beethoven had been living since his rupture with [286]Lichnowsky; and lastly on Nov. 22 by a Song, 'Als die Geliebte sich trennen wollte.'[287]

On May 12 the French again entered Vienna; on the 21st Aspern was fought, and Napoleon took possession of the island of Lobau, close to the city. Wagram took place on July 6, and the whole summer, till the peace was concluded on Oct. 14, must have been a very disturbed season for the inhabitants of Vienna. Beethoven's lodging being on the wall was much exposed to the firing. The noise disturbed him[288] greatly, and at least on one occasion he took refuge in the cellar of his brother's house in order to escape it. He had his eyes open however to the proceedings of the French, and astonished a visitor many years afterwards with his recollections of the time.[289] It is remarkable how little external events interfered with his powers of production. As far as quality goes the Piano Concerto in E flat and the String Quartet in the same key—both of which bear the date 1809—are equal to any in the whole range of his works. The 6 Variations in D (op. 76)—the theme afterwards used for the March in the 'Ruins of Athens'—are not remarkable, but the Piano Sonata in F# written in October is very so. Though not so serious as some, it is not surpassed for beauty and charm by any of the immortal 33. It seems to have been a special favourite of the author's. 'People are always talking of the C# minor Sonata,' said he once, 'but I have written better things than that. The F# Sonata is something very different.'[290] A more important (though not more delightful) Sonata had been begun on May 14 to commemorate the departure of the Archduke from Vienna on that day. It is dated and inscribed by Beethoven himself, and forms the first movement of that known as 'Les Adieux, l'Absence et le Retour.' Among the sketches for the Adieux is found a note[291] 'Der Abschied am 4ten Mai—gewidmet und aus dem Herzen geschrieben S. K. H.'—words which show that the parting really inspired Beethoven, and was not a mere accident for his genius to transmute, like the four knocks in the Violin Concerto, or the cook's question in the last Quartet. A March for a military band in F, composed for the Bohemian Landwehr under Archduke Anton, and 3 Songs 'L'amante impaziente' (op. 82, No. 4), ' Lied aus der Feme,'[292] and 'Die laute Klage'[293]—complete the compositions of 1809. Haydn had gone to his rest on May 31, in the middle of the Austrian occupation, but we find no allusion to him in any of Beethoven's journals or letters.

The correspondence with Thomson of Edinburgh, opened in 1806, was renewed this autumn. It began with a letter from Thomson, sending 43 airs, which was promptly answered by Beethoven, and it lasted until Feb. 21, 1818, during which time Beethoven harmonised no less than 164 national melodies. For these he received in all a sum of some £200.[294]

1810 began with the return of the Archduke on Jan. 30, and the completion of the Sonata. The sketch books[295] show that the next few months were occupied with the composition of the music to 'Egmont,' the String Quartet in F minor, Songs of Goethe's (including the Erl King,[296] which, though well advanced, was never completed), and with the preliminary ideas of the B flat Trio. The music to 'Egmont' was first performed on May 24, probably at some private house, as no record of it survives in the theatrical chronicles. It was in May[297] that Beethoven had his first interview with Bettina Brentano, then twenty-five years old, which gave rise to the three well-known letters, the authenticity of which has been so hotly disputed. Knowing Beethoven's extreme susceptibility it is not difficult to believe that the letters are in the main genuine, though some of the expressions have probably been tampered with. Beethoven's relation to the Archduke, and his increasing reputation, were beginning to produce their natural result. He complains[298] that his retirement is at an end, and that he is forced to go too much into society. He has taken up his summer quarter at Hetzendorf as before, but the old seclusion is no longer possible, he has to be in and out of Vienna at the season which he detested, and which hitherto he had always devoted entirely to composition. That he was also at Baden in August is evident from some MS. pieces of military music, all dated Baden, 1810, and one of them August.[299] He seems to have had some prospect of marriage at this time, though the only allusion to it is that it has been broken off.[300] Meantime this winter was a busy one for the publishers of his music. The pianoforte arrangement of 'Fidelio,' as revised for 1806 (without Overture or Finales), was published by Breitkopf in October, and is dedicated to the Archduke Rodolph. In December the same firm issued the Quartet in E♭ (op. 74), inscribed to Prince Lobkowitz, the Variations in D (op. 76), the Fantasia in G minor, the Sonata in F#—dedicated respectively to Count Brunswick, and his sister Therese—and the Sonatina[301] in G; also earlier in the year the Sestet for wind instruments (op. 71), and the Song 'Andenken' (No. 248). Another Sestet (op. 81b)—probably, like that just mentioned, an early work—was issued by Simrock, and four settings of Goethe's 'Sehnsucht,' with a few more songs by other publishers. The frequent appearance of Goethe's name in the music of this year is remarkable, and coupled with the allusion in his letter to Bettina of Aug. 11, implies that the great poet was beginning to exercise that influence on him which Beethoven described in his interview with Rochlitz in 1823.

The Trio in B flat was completed during the winter, and was written down in its finished form between March 3 and 26, [App. p.533 "1811"] as the autograph informs us with a particularity wanting in Beethoven's earlier works, but becoming more frequent in future. The Archduke (to whom it was ultimately inscribed) lost no time in making its acquaintance, and as no copyist was obtainable, seems to have played it first from the autograph.[302] The principal compositions of 1811 were the music to two dramatic pieces written by Kotzebue, for the opening of a new theatre at Pesth, and entitled 'Hungary's first hero,' or 'King Stephen,' and the 'Ruins of Athens.' The Introduction to the Choral Fantasia, which may be taken as a representation of Beethoven's improvisation, inasmuch as it was actually extemporised at the performance—was written down à propos to the publication of the work in July, and a Song 'An die Geliebte'[303] is dated December in the composer's own hand.

The publications of the year are all by Breitkopf, and include the Overture to 'Egmont' in February; the Piano Concerto in Eb, and the Sonata in the same key (op. 81a), in May and July respectively, both dedicated to the Archduke; the Choral Fantasia (op. 80), dedicated to the King of Bavaria (July), and the 'Mount of Olives' (Nov.). The preparation of the last-named work for the press so long after its composition must have involved much time and consideration. There is evidence that an additional chorus was proposed;[304] and it is known that he was dissatisfied with the treatment of the principal character. A note to Treitschke (June 6) aeems to show that Beethoven was contemplating an opera. The first mention of a metronome[305] occurs in a letter of this autumn.

The depreciation in the value of paper money had gone on with fearful rapidity, and by the end of 1810 the bank notes had fallen to less than 1–10th of their nominal value—i.e. a 5-florin note was only worth half a florin in silver. The Finanz Patent of Feb. 20, 1811, attempted to remedy this by a truly disastrous measure—the abolition of the bank notes (Banco-zettel) as a legal tender, and the creation of a new paper currency called Einlösungsscheine, into which the bank notes were to be forcibly converted at 1–5th of their ostensible value, i.e. a 100-florin note was exchangeable for a 20-florin Einlösungsschein. Beethoven's income might possibly have been thus reduced to 800 florins, or £80, had not the Archduke and Prince Lobkowitz agreed to pay their share of the pension (1500 + 700 = 2200 florins) in Einlösungsscheine instead of bank notes. Prince Kinsky would have done the same as to his 1800 florins, if his residence at Prague and his sudden death (Nov. 13, 1812 [App. p.533 "Nov. 3"]) had not prevented his giving the proper instructions. Beethoven sued the Kinsky estate for his claim, and succeeded after several years, many letters and much heart-burning, in obtaining (Jan. 18, 1815) a decree for 1200 florins Einlösungsscheine per annum; and the final result of the whole, according to Beethoven's own statement (in his letter to Ries of March 8, 1816), is that his pension up to his death was 3400 florins in Einlösungsscheine, which at that time were worth 1360 in silver, = £136, the Einlösungsscheine themselves having fallen to between ½ and ⅓rd of their nominal value.

1812 opens with a correspondence with Varenna, an official in Gratz, as to a concert for the poor, which puts Beethoven's benevolence in a strong light. He sends the 'Mount of Olives,' the 'Choral Fantasia,' and an Overture as gift to the Institution for future use—promises other (MS.) compositions, and absolutely declines all offer of remuneration. The theatre at Pesth was opened on Feb. 9 with the music to the 'Ruins of Athens' and 'King Stephen,' but there is no record of Beethoven himself having been present. This again was to be a great year in composition, and he was destined to repeat the feat of 1808 by the production of a second pair of Symphonies. In fact from memoranda among the sketches for the new pair, it appears that he contemplated[306] writing three at the same time, and that the key of the third was already settled in his mind 'Sinfonia in D moll—3te Sinf.' However, this was postponed, and the other two occupied him the greater part of the year. The autograph score of the first of the two, that in A (No. 7), is dated May 13; so that it may be assumed that it was finished before he left Vienna. The second—in F, No. 8—was not completed till October. His journey this year was of unusual extent. His health was bad, and Malfatti, his physician,[307] ordered him to try the baths of Bohemia—possibly after Baden or some other of his usual resorts had failed to recruit him, as we find him in Vienna on July 4, an unusually late date. Before his departure there was a farewell meal, at which Count Brunswick, Stephen Breuning, Maelzel, and others were present.[308] Maelzel's metronome was approaching perfection, and Beethoven said goodbye to the inventor in a droll canon, which was sung at the table—he himself singing soprano[309]—and afterwards worked up into the lovely Allegretto of the 8th Symphony. He went by Prague to Töplitz, and Carlsbad—where he notes the postilion's horn[310] among the sketches for the 8th Symphony—Franzensbrunn, and then Töplitz again;[311] and lastly to his brother Johann's at Linz, where he remained through October and into November, as the inscriptions on the autographs of the 8th Symphony and of three Trombone pieces written for All Souls day demonstrate. The Trombone pieces became his own requiem. At Töplitz he met Goethe, and the strange scene occurred in which he so unnecessarily showed his contempt for his friend the Archduke Rudolph and the other members of the Imperial family.[312] At Töplitz he met Amalie Sebald, and a series of letters[313] to her shows that the Symphony did not prevent him from making love with much ardour. While in Carlsbad he[314]* gave a concert for the benefit of the sufferers in a fire at Baden.[315] The fact of his extemporising at the concert, and hearing the postilion's call, as well as an entry among the sketches for the 8th Symphony, to the effect that 'cotton in his ears when playing took off the unpleasant [316]noise'—perhaps imply that his deafness at this time was still only partial.

One of his first works after returning to Vienna was the fine Sonata for Piano and Violin, published as op. 96. It was completed by the close of the year, and was first played by the Archduke and Rode—whose style Beethoven kept in view in the violin[317] part—at the house of Prince Lobkowitz, on Dec. 29th. A comparative trifle is the 'Lied an die Geliebte,'[318] written during this winter in the album of Regina Lang. The only work published in 1812 is the Mass in C, dedicated—possibly as an acknowledgment of his share in the guarantee—to Prince Kinsky, and issued in Nov. as op. 86 by Breitkopf & Härtel. The state of his finances about this time compelled him to borrrow 2300 florins from the Brentanos of Frankfort, old friends who had known and loved him from the first. A trace of the transaction is perhaps discernible in the Trio in B♭ in one movement,[319] written on June 2, 1812, 'for his little friend Maximiliana Brentano, to encourage her in playing.' The effect of the Bohemian baths soon passed away, the old ailments and depression returned, the disputes and worries with the servants increased, and his spirits became worse than they had been since the year 1803.

The only composition which can be attributed to the spring of 1813 is a Triumphal March, written for Kuffner's Tragedy[320] of 'Tarpeia,' which was produced—with the March advertised as 'newly composed'—on March 26. On April 20 the two new Symphonies appear to have been played through for the first time at the Archduke's.[321] On the advice of his medical men he went at the end of May to Baden, where[322] he was received with open arms by the Archduke. Hither he was followed by his friend Madame Streicher, who remained at Baden for the summer, and took charge of his lodgings and clothes, which appear to have been in a deplorable state. On his return to town he re-occupied his old rooms in the house of Pasqualati, on the Mölk Bastion. The Streichers continued their friendly services; after some time procured him two good servants, and otherwise looked after his interests. These servants remained with him for a year or two, and this was probably the most comfortable time of the last half of Beethoven's life.[323]

As early as April we find him endeavouring to arrange a concert for the production of his two Symphonies; but without success.[324] The opportunity arrived in another way. The news of the great defeat of the French at Vittoria (fought June 21) reached Vienna on July 13, following on that of the disaster of Moscow and the battles of Lutzen and Bautzen (May 2 and 21), and culminating in Leipsic Oct. 19. It is easy to understand how great the sensation was throughout the whole of Germany, and how keenly Beethoven must have felt such events,[325] though we may wonder that he expressed his emotion in the form of the Orchestral programme-music, entitled 'Wellington's Victory, or the Battle of Vittoria,' a work conceived on almost as vulgar a plan as the 'Battle of Prague,' and containing few traces of his genius. This however is accounted for by the fact that the piece was suggested by Maelzel[326] the mechanician, a man of undoubted ability, who knew the public taste far better than Beethoven did. An occasion for its performance soon suggested itself in a concert for the benefit of the soldiers wounded at Hanau (Oct. 30), where the Austrians endeavoured to cut off the retreat of the French after Leipsic. The concert took place on Dec. 8, in the large Hall of the University, and was organised by Maelzel. The programme, like the Battle Symphony itself, speaks of a man who knew his audience. It was of reasonable length and contained the 7th Symphony—in MS. and produced for the first time—two Marches performed by Maelzel's mechanical trumpet, and the Battle Symphony. The orchestra was filled by the best professors of the day Salieri, Spohr, Mayseder,[327] Hummel, Romberg, Moscheles, etc. Beethoven himself conducted, and we have Spohr's testimony that the performance of the Symphony was really a good one. The success of both concerts was immense, and Beethoven addressed a letter of thanks to the performers, which may be read at length in Schindler and elsewhere.

It was probably about this time that Beethoven forwarded a copy of the Battle Symphony to the Prince Regent. The letter which accompanied it has not been preserved, but it was never acknowledged by the Prince, and Beethoven felt the neglect keenly. The work was produced at Drury Lane a year afterwards—Feb. 10, 1815, and had a great run, but this was through the exertions of Sir George Smart, who himself procured the copy from Vienna.

Early in January 1814 a third concert was given in the great Redoutensaal with the same programme and nearly the same performers as before, except that some numbers from the 'Ruins of Athens' were substituted for Maelzel's march; and on the 27th Feb. a fourth, with similar programme and with the important addition of the Symphony in F—placed last but one in the list. The huge programme speaks of Beethoven himself as clearly as the two first did of the more practical Maelzel. The 7th Symphony was throughout a success, its Allegretto being repeated three times out of the four. But the 8th Symphony did not please, a fact which greatly discomposed Beethoven. On April 11 Beethoven played the B♭ Trio at Schuppanzigh's benefit concert, and in the evening a Chorus of his to the words 'Germania, Germania,' was sung as the finale to an operetta of Treitschke's, à propos to the fall of Paris (March 31). Moscheles was present at the concert, and gives[328] an interesting account of the style of Beethoven's playing. Spohr heard[329] the same trio, but under less favourable circumstances. A month later Beethoven again played the B♭ trio—his last public appearance in chamber music. The spring of 1814 was remarkable for the revival of 'Fidelio.' Treitschke had been employed to revise the libretto, and in March we find Beethoven writing to him—'I have read your revision of the opera with great satisfaction. It has decided me once more to rebuild the desolate ruins of an ancient fortress.' This decision involved the entire re-writing and re-arrangement of considerable portions; others were lightly altered, and some pieces were reintroduced from the first score of all. The first performance took place at the Kärnthnerthor Theatre on May 23. On the 26th the new Overture in E was first played, and other alterations were subsequently introduced. On July 18 the opera was played for Beethoven's benefit. A Pianoforte score, made by Moscheles under Beethoven's own direction,[330] carefully revised by him, and dedicated to the Archduke, was published by Artaria in August. One friendly face must have been missed on all these occasions—that of the Prince Lichnowsky, who died on April 15.

During the winter of 1814-15 an unfortunate misunderstanding arose between Beethoven and Maelzel. The Battle Symphony was originally written at the latter's suggestion for a mechanical instrument of his called the Panharmonicon, and was afterwards orchestrated by its author for the concert, with the view to a projected tour of Maelzel in England.[331] Beethoven was at the time greatly in want of funds, and Maelzel advanced him £25, which he professed to regard as a mere loan, while the other alleged it was for the purchase of the work. Maelzel had also engaged to make ear-trumpets for Beethoven, which were delayed, and in the end proved failures. The misunderstanding was aggravated by various statements of Maelzel, and by the interference of outsiders, and finally by Maelzel's departure through Germany to England, with an imperfect copy of the Battle Symphony clandestinely obtained. Such a complication was quite sufficient to worry and harass a sensitive, obstinate, and unbusinesslike man like Beethoven. He entered an action against Maelzel, and his deposition on the subject, and the letter[332] which he afterwards addressed to the artists of England, show how serious was his view of the harm done him, and the motives of the doer. Maelzel's case, on the other hand, is stated with evident animus by Beethoven's adherents,[333] and it should not be overlooked that he and Beethoven appear to have continued friends after the immediate quarrel blew over. If to the opera and the Maelzel scandal we add the Kinsky lawsuit now in progress, and which Beethoven watched intently and wrote much about, we shall hardly wonder that he was not able to get out of town till long past his usual time. When at length he writes from Baden it is to announce the completion of the Sonata in E minor, which he dedicates to Count Moritz Lichnowsky. The letter[334] gives a charming statement of his ideas of the relation of a musician to his patron.

The triumphant success of the Symphony in A, and of the Battle-piece, and the equally successful revival of Fidelio, render 1814 the culminating period of Beethoven's life. His activity during the autumn and winter was very great; no bad health or worries or anything else external could hinder the astonishing flow of his inward energy. The Sonata is dated 'Vienna, 16th August,' and was therefore probably completed—as far as any music of his was ever completed till it was actually printed—before he left town. On Aug. 33 he commemorated the death of the wife of his kind friend Pasqualati in an 'Elegischer Gesang' (op. 118). On Oct. 4 he completed the Overture in C ('Namensfeier,' op. 115), a work on which he had been employed more or less for two years, and which has a double interest from the fact that its themes seem to have been originally intended[335] to form part of that composition of Schiller's 'Hymn to Joy' which he first contemplated when a boy at Bonn, and which keeps coming to the surface in different forms, until finally embodied in the 9th Symphony in 1823. Earlier in the year he had made some progress with a sixth Piano Concerto—in D—of which not only are extensive sketches in existence, but sixty pages in complete score. It was composed at the same time with the Cello Sonatas (op. 102); and finally gave way to them.[336] But there was a less congenial work to do—Vienna had been selected as the scene of the Congress, and Beethoven was bound to seize the opportunity not only of performing his latest Symphonies, but of composing some new music appropriate to so great an occasion.[337] He selected in September[338] a Cantata by Weissenbach, entitled 'Die [App. p.533 "Der"] glorreiche Augenblick'—an unhappy choice, as it turned out—composed it more quickly than[339] was his wont, and included it with the Symphony in A, and the Battle of Vittoria, in a concert for his benefit on Nov. 29. The manner in which this concert was carried out gives a striking idea of the extraordinary position that Beethoven held in Vienna. The two Halls of the Redouten-Saal were placed at his disposal for two evenings by the government, and he himself sent personal invitations in his own name to the various sovereigns and other notabilities collected in Vienna. The room was crowded with an audience of 6000 persons, and Beethoven describes[340] himself as 'quite exhausted with fatigue, worry, pleasure, and delight.' At a second performance on Dec. 2 the hall was less crowded. One of the fêtes provided during the Congress was a tournament in the Riding School on Nov. 23, and for this Beethoven would appear[341] to have composed music, though no trace of it has yet been found. During the continuance of the Congress he seems to have been much visited and noticed, and many droll scenes doubtless occurred between him and his exalted worshippers. The Archduke and Prince Rasoumoffsky, as Russian Ambassador, were conspicuous among the givers of fêtes, and it was at the house of the latter [App. p.533 "the Archduke Rodolph; refer to vol. iii. 77 b, note 2"] that Beethoven was presented to the Empress of Russia.

In addition to the profit of the concerts Schindler implies that Beethoven received presents from the various foreign sovereigns in Vienna. The pecuniary result of the winter was therefore good. He was able for the first time to lay by money, which he invested in shares in the Bank of Austria.[342]

The news of Bonaparte's escape from Elba broke up the Congress, and threw Europe again into a state of perturbation. In Vienna the reaction after the recent extra gaiety must have been great. Beethoven was himself occupied during the year by the Kinsky lawsuit; his letters upon the subject to his advocate Kanka [App. p.533 "Kauka"] are many and long, and it is plain from such expressions as the following that it seriously interrupted his music. 'I am again very tired, having been forced to discuss many things with P——. Such things exhaust me more than the greatest efforts in composition. It is a new field, the soil of which I ought not to be required to till, and which has cost me many tears and much sorrow.' … 'Do not forget me, poor tormented creature that I am.'[343]

Under the circumstances it is not surprising that he composed little during 1815. The two Sonatas for Piano and Cello (op. 102), dated 'July' and 'August'; the Chorus 'Es ist vollbracht,' as finale to a piece of Treitschke's, produced to celebrate the entry into Paris (July 15); the 'Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt,' and a couple of Songs, 'Sehnsucht' and 'Das Geheimniss'[344] are all the original works that can with certainty be traced to this year. But the beautiful and passionate Sonata in A (op. 101), which was inspired by and dedicated to his dear friend Madame Ertmann—'Liebe werthe Dorothea Cecilia'—was probably composed at the end of this year, since it was played in public on Feb. 18, 1816, though not published for a year after. The national airs which he had in hand since 1810 for Thomson of Edinburgh were valuable at such a time, since he could turn to these when his thoughts were too much disturbed for original composition—a parcel of Scotch Songs is dated May 1815.

The publications of 1815 are still fewer than the compositions. The Polonaise in C (op. 89)—dedicated to the Empress of Russia,[345] who had greatly distinguished Beethoven at one of Prince Rasoumoffsky's receptions—appeared in March; the Sonata op. 90, and a Song, 'Kriegers Abschied,' in June. These are all. On June 1 he wrote to Salomon, then resident in London, offering his works from op. 92 to 97 inclusive for sale, with 'Fidelio,' the Vienna Cantata, and the Battle Symphony. And this is followed in November by letters to Birchall, sending various pieces. Salomon died on Nov. 25.

The second quarrel with Stephen Breuning must have occurred in 1815[346]. Some one had urged him to warn Beethoven against pecuniary relations with his brother Caspar, whose character in money matters was not satisfactory. Breuning conveyed the hint to Beethoven, and he, with characteristic earnestness and simplicity, and with that strange fondness for his unworthy brothers which amounted almost to a passion, at once divulged to his brother not only the warning but the name of his informant. A serious quarrel naturally ensued between Breuning and Caspar, which soon spread to Beethoven himself, and the result was that he and Breuning were again separated—this time for several years. The letter in which Beethoven at last asks pardon of his old friend can hardly be omitted from this sketch. Though undated it was written in 1826.[347] It contained his miniature painted by Hornemann in 1802, and ran as follows (the original has Du and dein throughout):—

'Beneath this portrait, dear Stephen, may all that has for so long gone on between us be for ever hidden. I know how I have torn your heart. For this the emotion that you must certainly have noticed in me has been sufficient punishment. My feeling towards you was not malice. No—I should no longer be worthy of your friendship; it was passionate love for you and myself; but I doubted you dreadfully, for people came between us who were unworthy of us both. My portrait has long been intended for you. I need not tell you that I never meant it for any one else. Who could I give it to with my warmest love so well as to you, true, good, noble Stephen? Forgive me for distressing you; I have suffered myself as much as you have. It was only when I had you no longer with me that I first really felt how dear you are and always will be to my heart. Come to my arms once more as you used to do.'

October was passed in Baden, chiefly in bed.

On Nov. 15 of this year Caspar Carl Beethoven died—a truly unfortunate event for Ludwig. Caspar had for long received pecuniary assistance from his brother, and at his death he charged him with the maintenance of his son Carl, a lad between 8 and 9. This boy, whose charge Beethoven undertook with all the simplicity and fervour of his nature, though no doubt often with much want of judgment, was quite unworthy of his great uncle. The charge altered Beethoven's nature, weaned him from his music, embroiled him with his friends, embittered his existence with the worry of continued contentions and reiterated disappointments, and at last, directly or indirectly, brought the life of the great composer to an end long before its natural term.

On Christmas Day, at a concert in the Redouten Saal for the benefit of the Bürger Hospital, Beethoven produced his new Overture and Meerestille, and performed the 'Mount of Olives.' As an acknowledgment for many similar services the municipal council had recently conferred upon him the freedom of the city—Ehrenbürgerthum. It was the first public title that the great roturier had received. He was not even a Capellmeister, as both [348]Mozart and Haydn had been, and his advocate was actually forced to invent that title for him, to procure tie necessary respect for his memorials in the lawsuit which occupied so many of his years after this date.[349] It is a curious evidence of the singular position he held among musicians. He was afterwards made a member of the Philharmonic Societies of Stockholm and Amsterdam, and received Orders from some of the Courts in exchange for his Mass, but the one title he valued was that of Ton-dichter—'Poet in music.'[350]

The resuscitation of his Oratorio is perhaps connected with a desire in Beethoven's mind to compose a fresh one. At any rate he was at this time in communication both with the Tonkünstler Societät and the Gesellschaft der Musik- Freunde of Vienna on the subject. By the latter body the matter was taken up in earnest. Subject and poet were left to himself, and a payment of 300 gold ducats was voted to him for the use of the oratorio for one year. The negotiation dragged on till 1824 and came to nothing, for the same ostensible reason that his second Opera did, that no good libretto was forthcoming.[351]

1816 was a great year for publication. The Battle Symphony in March; the Violin Sonata and the B♭ Trio (op. 96, 97)—both dedicated to the Archduke—in July; the 7th Symphony—dedicated to Count Fries, with a pianoforte arrangement, to the Empress of Russia; the String Quartet in F minor (op. 95)—to Zmeskall; and the beautiful Liederkreis (op. 98) to Prince Lobkowitz; all three in December. These, with the 8th Symphony and three detached Songs, form a list rivalling, if not surpassing, that of 1809. The only compositions of this year are the Liederkreis (April), a Military March in D, 'for the Grand Parade' (Wachtparade), June 4, 1816;[352] a couple of songs; and a trifle in the style of a birthday cantata for Prince Lobkowitz.[353] This is the date of a strange temporary fancy for German in preference to Italian which took possession of him. Some of his earlier pieces contain German terms, as the Six Songs, op. 75, and the Sonata 81a. They reappear in the Liederkreis (op. 98) and Merkenstein (op. 100) and come to a head in the Sonata op. 101, in which all the indications are given in German, and the word 'Hammerklavier' appears for 'Pianoforte' in the title. The change is the subject of two letters to Steiner.[354] He continued to use the name 'Hammerklavier' in the sonatas op. 106, 109, and 110; and there apparently this vernacular fit ceased.[355]

Beethoven had a violent dislike to his brother's widow, whom he called the 'Queen of Night,' and believed, rightly or wrongly, to be a person of bad conduct. He therefore lost no time in obtaining legal authority for taking his ward out of her hands and placing him with Giannatasio del Rio, the head of an educational institution in Vienna; allowing his mother to see him only once a month. This was done in February 1816, and the arrangement existed till towards the end of the year, when the widow appears to have appealed with success against the first decree. The cause had been before the Landrechts court, on the assumption that the van in Beethoven's name indicated nobility. This the widow disputed, and on Beethoven's being examined on the point he confirmed her argument by pointing successively to his head and his heart saving—'My nobility is here and here.' The case was then sent down to a lower court, where the magistrate was notoriously inefficient, and the result was to take the child from his uncle on the ground that his deafness unfitted him for the duties of a guardian. Carl's affairs were then put into the hands of an official, and all that Beethoven had to do was to pay for his education. Against this decree he entered an appeal which was finally decided in his favour, but not till Jan. 7, 1820. Meantime his energies were taken up with the contest and the various worries and quarrels which arose out of it, involving the writing of a large number of long and serious letters. How he struggled and suffered the following entry in his diary of the early part of 1818 will show:—'Gott, Gott, mein Hort, mein Fels, o mein Alles, du siehst mein Inneres und weisst wie wehe mir es thut Jemanden leiden machen müssen bei meinem guten Werke for meinen theuren Karl. O höre stets Unaussprechlicher, höre mich—deinen unglücklichen unglücklichsten aller Sterblichen.' Between the dates just mentioned, of the beginning and ending of the law-suits, he completed no orchestral music at all. Apart from sympathy for a great composer in distress, and annoyance at the painful and undignified figure which he so often presented, we have indeed no reason to complain of a period which produced the three gigantic Pianoforte Sonatas, op. 106,[356] op. 109,[357] and op. no 110[358]—which were the net product of the period; but such works produce no adequate remuneration, and it is not difficult to understand that during the law-suit he must have been in very straitened circumstances, cheap as education and living were in Vienna at that date. His frequent letters to Ries and Birchall in London at this time urging his works on them for the English market are enough to prove the truth of this. One result of these negotiations was the purchase by the Philharmonic Society, through Mr. Neate, under minute of July 11, 1815, of the MS. overtures to the 'Ruins of Athens,' ' King Stephen' and op. 115, for 75 guineas. To make matters worse Prince Lobkowitz died on Dec. 16, 1816, and with him—notwithstanding that here too Beethoven appealed to the law—all benefit from that quarter ceased. His pension was therefore from that date diminished to about £110. The few compositions attributable to this period are an arrangement of his early C minor Trio (op. 1) as a String Quintet (op. 104); two sets of national airs with variations for Piano and Flute (op. 105 and 107), a few songs—'So oder so,' 'Abendlied,' and the Hymn of the Monks in 'William Tell'[359] in memory of his old friend Krumpholz, who died May 2—and others. None of these can have been remunerative; in fact some of them were certainly presented to the publishers.

An incident of this date which gratified him much was the arrival of a piano from Broadwoods. Mr. Thomas Broadwood, the then head of the house, had recently made his acquaintance in Vienna, and the piano seems to have been the result of the impression produced on him by Beethoven. The Philharmonic Society are sometimes credited with the gift, but no resolution or minute to that effect exists in their records. The books of the firm however, show that on Dec. 27, 1817, the grand piano No. 7362[360] was forwarded to Beethoven's address. A letter appears to have been written to him at the same time by Mr. Broadwood, which was answered by Beethoven immediately on its receipt. His letter has never been printed, and is here given exactly in his own strange French.[361]

'A Monsieur Monsieur Thomas Broad vood a Londres (en Angleterre).

Mon très cher Ami Broadvood!

jamais je n'eprouvais pas un plus grand Plaisir de ce que me causa votre Annonce de l'arrivée de cette Piano, avec qui vous m'honorez de m'en faire présent; je regarderai come un Autel, ou je deposerai les plus belles offrandes de mon esprit au divine Apollon. Aussitôt come je recevrai votre Excellent instrument, je vous enverrai d'en abord les Fruits de l'inspiration des premiers moments, que j'y passerai, pour vous servir d'un souvenir de moi à, vous mon très cher B., et je ne souhaits ce que, qu'ils soient dignes de votre instrument.

Mon cher Monsieur et ami recevéz ma plus grande consideration de votre ami et très humble serviteur Louis van Beethoven. Vienne le 3me du mois Fevrier 1818.'

The instrument in course of time reached[362] its destination, was unpacked by Streicher, and first tried by Mr. Cipriani Potter, at that time studying in Vienna. What the result of Beethoven's own trial of it was is not known. At any rate no further communication from him reached the Broadwoods.

A correspondence however took place through Ries with the Philharmonic Society on the subject of his visiting England. The proposal of the Society was that he should come to London for the spring of 1818, bringing two new MS. Symphonies to be their property, and for which they were to give the sum of 300 guineas. He demanded 400,—150 to be in advance.[363] However, other causes put an end to the plan, and on the 5th of the following March he writes to say that health has prevented his coming. He was soon to be effectually nailed to Vienna. In the summer of 1818 the Archduke[364] had been appointed Archbishop of Olmütz. Beethoven was then in the middle of his great Sonata in B♭ (op. 106), and of another work more gigantic still; but he at once set to work with all his old energy on a grand Mass for the installation, which was fixed for March 20, 1820. The score was begun in the autumn of 1818, and the composition went on during the following year, uninterrupted by any other musical work, for the B♭ Sonata was completed for press by March 1819, and the only other pieces attributable to that year are a short Canon for 3 Voices ('Glück zum neuen Jahr'), and 10 Variations of National Airs (op. 107). The Sonata just referred to, the greatest work yet written for the piano, and not unjustly compared with the Ninth Symphony, belonged in a special sense to the Archduke. The first two movements were presented to him for[365] his Name-day; the whole work when published was dedicated to him, and the sketch of a piece for solo and chorus[366] exists in which the subject of the first Allegro is set to the words 'Vivat Rodolphus.' In addition the Archduke is said to have been able to play the Sonata. Beethoven may have hated his 'Dienstschaft,' but there is reason to believe that he was sincerely attached to his clever, sympathetic, imperial pupil.

The summer and autumn of both 1818 and 19 were spent at Mödling. His health at this time was excellent, and his devotion to the Mass extraordinary. Never had he been known to be so entirely abstracted from external things, so immersed in the struggle of composition. Schindler[367] has well described a strange scene which occurred during the elaboration of the Credo—the house deserted by the servants, and denuded of every comfort; the master shut into his room, singing, shouting, stamping, as if in actual conflict of life and death over the fugue 'Et vitam venturi'; his sudden appearance wild, dishevelled, faint with toil and 24 hours fast! These were indeed 'drangvollen[368] Umständen'—wretched conditions—but they are the conditions which accompany the production of great works. During the whole of this time the letters[369] show that his nephew occupied much of his thoughts. While at work on this sublime portion of the Mass[370] just mentioned, he was inspired to write the beautiful Sonata in E major (op. 109), the first of that unequalled trio which terminate that class of his compositions.

It is hardly necessary to say that the Installation went by without Beethoven's Mass, which indeed waa not completed till the beginning of 1822. He announces its termination on Feb. 27,[371] and the perfect copy of the score was delivered into his patrons hands on March 19, exactly two [App. p.533 "1823, three"] years after the day for which it was projected. As the vast work came to an end, his thoughts reverted to his darling pianoforte, and the dates of Dec. 25, 1821, and Jan. 13, 1822, are affixed to the two immortal and most affecting Sonatas, which vie with each other in grandeur, beauty, and pathos, as they close the roll of his large compositions for the instrument which he so dearly loved and so greatly ennobled.

But neither Mass nor Sonatas were sufficient to absorb the energy of this most energetic and painstaking of musicians. The climax of his orchestral compositions had yet to be reached. We have seen that when engaged on his last pair of Symphonies in 1812, Beethoven contemplated a third, for which he had then fixed the key of D minor. To this he returned before many years were over, and it was destined in the end to be the 'Ninth Symphony.' The very characteristic theme of the Scherzo actually occurs in the sketch-books as early as 1815,[372] as the subject of a 'fugued piece,' though without the rhythm which now characterises it. But the practical beginning of the Symphony was made in 1817, when large portions of the first movement—headed 'Zur Sinfonie in D,' and showing a considerable approach to the work as carried out—together with a further development of the subject of the Scherzo, are found in the sketch-books. There is also evidence[373] that the Finale was at that time intended to be orchestral, and that the idea of connecting the 'Hymn to Joy' with his 9th Symphony had not at that time occurred to Beethoven. The sketches continue in 1818,[374] more or less mixed up with those for the Sonata in B♭; and, as if not satisfied with carrying on two such prodigious works together, Beethoven has left a note giving the scheme of a companion symphony which was to be choral in both the Adagio and Finale.[375] Still, however, there is no mention of the 'Ode to Joy,' and the text proposed in the last case is ecclesiastical.

We have seen how 1819, 1820, and 1821 were filled up. The summer and autumn of 1822 were spent at Baden, and were occupied with the Grand Overture in C (op. 124), for the opening of the Josephstadt Theatre at Vienna, whence it derives its title of 'Weihe des Hauses'—and the arrangement of a March and Chorus from the 'Ruins of Athens' for the same occasion, and was followed by the revival of 'Fidelio' at the Kärnthnerthor[376] theatre in November. That the two symphonies were then occupying his mind—'each different from the other and from any of his former ones'—is evident from his conversation with Rochlitz in July 1822, when that earnest critic submitted to him Breitkopf's proposition for music to Faust.[377] After the revival of 'Fidelio' he resumed the Symphony, and here for the first time Schiller's hymn appears in this connexion. Through the summer of 1823 it occupied him incessantly, with the exception of a few extras—the 33 Variations (op. 120), which were taken up almost as a jeu d'esprit, and being published in June must have been completed some time previously, a dozen 'Bagatelles' for the Piano (op. 119, 1-6, and op. 126), which can be fixed to the end of 1822 and beginning of 1823, and a short cantata for the birthday of Prince Lobkowitz (April 13) for soprano solo and chorus, the autograph of which is dated the evening previous to the birthday.[378] He began the summer at Hetzendorf, but a sudden dislike to the civilities of the landlord drove him to forfeit 400 florins which he had paid in advance, and make off to Baden. But wherever he was, while at work he was fully absorbed; insensible to sun and rain, to meals, to the discomforts of his house and the neglect of the servants, rushing in and out without his hat, and otherwise showing how completely his great symphony had taken possession of him. Into the details of the composition we cannot here enter, farther than to say that the subject of the vocal portion, and its connexion with the preceding instrumental movements were what gave him most trouble. The story may be read in Schindler and Nottebohm, and it is full of interest and instruction. At length, on Sept. 5, writing from Baden to Ries, he announces that 'the copyist has finished the score of the Symphony,' but that it is too bulky to forward by post. Ries was then in London, and it is necessary to go back a little to mention that on Nov. 10, 1822, the Philharmonic Society passed a resolution offering Beethoven £50 for a MS. symphony, to be delivered in the March following. This was communicated to Beethoven by Ries, and accepted by him on Dec. 20. The money was advanced, and the MS. copy of the 9th Symphony in the Philharmonic library carries a statement in his autograph that it was 'written for the society.' How it came to pass notwithstanding this that the score was not received by the Philharmonic till after its performance in Vienna, and that when published it was dedicated to the King of Prussia, are facts difficult to reconcile with Beethoven's usual love of fairness and justice.

Notwithstanding the announcement to Ries the process of final polishing went on for some months longer. Shortly before he left Baden, on Oct. 5, he received a [379]visit from Weber and his pupil young Benedict, then in Vienna for the production of Euryanthe. The visit was in consequence of a kind wish for the success of the work expressed by Beethoven to Haslinger, and was in every way successful. In former times[380] he had spoken very depreciatingly of Weber, but since the perusal of Freischütz had [381]changed his mind. No allusion was made to Weber's youthful censures on the 4th and 7th Symphonies; Beethoven was cordial and even confidential, made some interesting remarks on opera books, and they parted mutually impressed. He returned to town at the end of October to a lodging in the Ungergasse, near the Landstrasse gate, and by February 1824 began to appear in the streets again and enjoy his favourite occupation of peering with his double eyeglass into the shop windows,[382] and joking with his acquaintances.

The publications of 1823 consist of the Overture to the 'Ruins of Athens' (op. 114), and the 'Meeresstille' (op. 112), both in February; and the Sonata (op. 111) in April.

The revival of 'Fidelio' in the previous winter had inspired Beethoven with the idea of writing a new German opera, and after many propositions he accepted the 'Melusina' by Grillparzer, a highly romantic piece, containing many effective situations, and a comic servant's part, which took his fancy extremely. Grillparzer had many conferences with him, and between the two the libretto was brought into practical shape. While thus engaged he received a commission from Count Brühl, intendant at the Berlin Theatre, for an opera on his own terms. Beethoven forwarded him the MS. of 'Melusina' for his opinion, but on hearing that a ballet of a somewhat similar character was then being played at Berlin, he at once renounced all idea of a German opera, and broke out in abuse of the German singers for their inferiority to the Italians, who were then playing Rossini in Vienna. In fact this season of 1823 had brought the Rossini fever to its height, no operas but his were played. Beethoven had indeed heard the 'Barbiere' in 1822,[383] and had even promised to write an opera for the Italian company in the same style, a promise which it is unnecessary to say was never redeemed. Like Mendelssohn he was in earnest in pursuit of an opera-book, but, like Mendelssohn, he never succeeded in obtaining one to his mind. What he wanted he told Breuning on his death-bed—something to interest and absorb him, but of a moral and elevating tendency, of the nature of 'Les Deux Journées' or 'Die Vestalin,' which he thoroughly approved; for dissolute stories like those of Mozart's operas had no attraction for him, and he could never be brought to set them. After his death a whole bundle of libretti was found which he had read and rejected.[384]

But opera or no, it was quite a different thing to find the public so taken up with Rossini that no one cared for either his Mass or his new Symphony.[385] He had written early in 1823 to Prussia, France, Saxony, Russia, proposing a subscription for the Mass of 50 ducats from the sovereigns of each of those countries but the answers were slow and the subscriptions did not arrive, and he therefore made use of the opportunity afforded him by Count Brühl to propose the two works to him for production at Berlin. The answer was favourable, and there appeared good prospect of success. But the disgrace of driving their great composer to the northern capital for the production of his last and greatest works was too much for the music-loving aristocracy of Vienna—and an earnest memorial was drawn up, dated February 1824, signed by the Lichnowskys,[386] Fries, Dietrichstein, Palfy, and 25 others of the persons principally concerned with music in that city, beseeching him to produce the Mass and Symphony, and to write a second opera, which should vindicate the claim of classical music, and show that Germany could successfully compete with Italy. Such an address, so strongly signed, naturally gratified him extremely. The theatre 'an der Wien' was chosen, and after an amount of bargaining and delay and vacillation which is quite incredible—partly arising from the cupidity of the manager, partly from the extraordinary obstinacy and suspiciousness of Beethoven, from the regulation of the censorship, and from the difficulties of the music but which was all in time surmounted by the tact and devotion of Lichnowsky, Schindler, and Schuppanzigh, the concert took place in the Kärnthnerthor theatre on May 7.[387] The programme consisted of the Overture in C—'Weihe des Hauses'—the Kyrie, Credo, Agnus and Dona, of the Mass in D, in the form of three hymns,[388] and the 9th Symphony. The house was crowded, and the music, especially the Symphony, excited the greatest enthusiasm. It was on this occasion that the affecting incident occurred of the deaf composer being turned round by Mlle. Ungher that he might see the applause he and his music were evoking. But financially the concert was a failure. The use of the theatre, including band and chorus, cost 1000 florins, and the copying 800 more, but the prices remained as usual, so that the net result to Beethoven was but 420 florins, or under £40. Well might he say that 'after six weeks of such discussion he was boiled, stewed, and roasted.' He was profoundly distressed at the result, would eat nothing, and passed the night in his clothes. The concert, however, was repeated on the 23rd at noon, the theatre guaranteeing Beethoven 500 florins. On the second occasion all the Mass was suppressed but the Kyrie; the trio 'Tremate' and some Italian solos were introduced; the Overture and Symphony remained. The result of this was a loss to the management, and furnishes a curious trait of Beethoven's character. He could not without difficulty be induced to accept the guaranteed sum, but he invited Schindler, Schuppanzigh, and Umlauf to dinner, and then accused them in the most furious manner of having combined to cheat him over the whole transaction! This broke up the party; the three faithful friends went off elsewhere, and Beethoven was left to devour the dinner with his nephew. The immediate effect of the outbreak was to put an end to a promising negotiation which he was carrying on with Neate, who in a letter of Dec. 20, 1823, had, on the part of the Philharmonic Society, offered him 300 guineas and a benefit guaranteed at £500 for a visit to London with a Symphony and a Concerto. The terms had been accepted, and the arrangements for the journey were in a forward state; and although it is probably true that Beethoven's attachment to his nephew was too strong to allow of his leaving him when it came to the point, yet it is equally true that the event just related was the ostensible cause. Four days after he was at his beloved Baden, and craving for music paper.[389]

The subscriptions to the Mass had come in slowly, and in nine months amounted only to 350 ducats (£175) for seven copies.[390] This was too slow to satisfy the wishes of the composer. Indeed he had for some time past been negotiating in a much more mercantile style than before for the sale of Mass, Symphony, and Overture. He offered them to various publishers.[391] It is an unexpected trait in his character, and one for which we may thank his devotion to his nephew, to whom he was now sacrificing everything, that he might leave him well provided for. It resulted in his dealing for the first time with Schott, of Mayence, who purchased the Mass and the Symphony for 1000 and 600 florins respectively on July 19, 1824. He appears at this time to have taken generally a more commercial view of his position than usual, to have been occupied with plans[392] for new collected editions of his works (which however came to nothing), and generally to have shown an anxiety to make money very unlike anything before observable in him. In such calculations he was much assisted by a young man named Carl Holtz, a government employé, a good player on the violin and cello, a clever caricaturist, a bon vivant,[393] and generally a lively agreeable fellow. Holtz obtained an extraordinary influence over Beethoven. He drew him into society, induced him to be godfather to his child, to appoint him his biographer,[394] and amongst other things to forsake his usual sobriety, and to do that which has been absurdly exaggerated into a devotion to drink. That these commercial aims—too absurd if one reflects on the simple unbusinesslike character of Beethoven—and the occasional indulgence to which we have alluded, did not impair his invention or his imagination is evident from the fact that at this time he composed his last Quartets, works which, though misunderstood and naturally unappreciated at the time, are now by common consent of those who are able to judge placed at the head of Beethoven's compositions for individuality, depth of feeling, and expression. The relations with Russia, which Beethoven had originally cultivated through the Count de Browne, and the works dedicated to the Emperor of Russia and the Prince Rasoumoffsky, and which had been deepened by the personal attention shown him in 1814 by the Empress were now to bear their full fruit. Early in 1824 he received a letter from Prince Galitzin, a Russian nobleman living at Petersburg, and subsequently others, requesting him to compose three string quartets to be dedicated to the Prince and handsomely paid for. The first of these, that in E♭, sketched at Baden in the autumn of 1824, was sold to Schott[395] in advance for the sum of 50 ducats, and was completed after his return to Vienna early in October. It was first played on March 6, 1825, and published in the following March. With the Quartet Schott received the Overture op. 124, the 'Opferlied' (op. 121), and 'Bundeslied' (op. 122), an air 'An Chloe' (op. 128), and 11 Bagatelles (op. 126), for which he paid the sum of 130 ducats. The Quartet was played by Schuppanzigh, Weiss, Linke, and Holtz, and it was a humorous idea of the Master's to make each player, after so long an interval, sign a compact 'pledging his honour to do his best, and vie with his comrades in zeal.'[396]

The second Quartet was that which now stands third—in A minor, op. 132. It was first played on Nov. 6, 1825, and was published on Sept. 27 [App. p.533 "published in Sept. 1827"] by Schlesinger. For this he seems to have obtained 80 ducats. In a letter to Peters it is mentioned as 'a Quartet, and a grand one too.'

The third, in B flat (op. 130), originally ended with a fugue of immense length and still greater obscurity, which was afterwards published separately as op. 133. It was completed in 1825, and was played in its first form on March 21, 26. The new finale—so gay and full of spirit—was written (at Artaria's instance) in great discomfort at his brother's house at Gneixendorf on Nov. 26, just before leaving on the journey which cost him his life. It is his last completed composition. The Quartet was published by Artaria, May 7, 1827. The relations between Beethoven and Prince Galitzin have been the subject of much controversy. It will be sufficient here to say that Beethoven is not known to have received the promised payment, and that the quartets were sold by him to the publishers already named.

Beethoven remained at Baden till October 1824. On his return to Vienna his nephew entered the University as a student in philology. The career of this worthy may be summed up in a few lines. He went in for his degree and was plucked, abandoned literature for trade, stood for the necessary examination in the Polytechnic School, and was plucked again; in despair attempted to shoot himself, and failed even to do that. He was then, as a suicide, taken charge of by the police, and after a time ordered out of Vienna at a day's notice, and at last joined the army.[397] And through it all his old uncle clung to him with truly touching affection. He, most simple-minded of men, could not believe that any one should really not desire to do his best; and so on the least appearance of contrition or amendment he forgives and embraces him, he bathes him in tenderness and confidence, only each time to find himself again deceived. The letters which this more than father wrote to his unworthy prodigal son are most affecting—injudicious no doubt, but full of tenderness and simplicity.

The first few weeks of the winter of 1824 were occupied in scoring the E flat Quartet, the composition of which had been the work of the summer, but it was hardly complete before Beethoven was taken with a severe illness in the lower part of the stomach.[398] For this he called in Staudenheim, a surgeon of eminence, who however was soon cashiered as too brusque, and replaced by Braunhofer. The malady hung about him till his next visit to the country; and its disappearance is commemorated in the canzona di ringraziamento in modo lidico offerta alla divinita da un guarito, which forms so noble a feature in the A minor Quartet. His stay at Baden in 1825 was of unusual length, lasting from May 2 till Oct. 15,[399] by which date that Quartet was completely finished. It had already been tried, strictly in private, as early as August at the desire of the publisher, Beethoven sitting close to the players, and perhaps profiting by the rehearsal to make many alterations; and on Nov. 6 was played, still in private but to a densely crowded room,[400] by Schuppanzigh and Linke's quartet party.

The B♭ Quartet was his next work, and it was first performed in public by the party just mentioned on March 21, 1826. The Presto and danza tedesca[401] were encored, but the Cavatina seems to have made no impression, and the fugue, which then served as finale, was universally condemned. In the case of the fugue his judgment agreed with that of his critics; it was published separately (op. 133) and a new finale written; but he did not often give way to the judgments of his contemporaries. 'Your new quartet did not please,' was one of the bits of news brought to him on his death-bed by some officious friend. 'It will please them some day,' was the answer.[402]

Between the date last-mentioned and October 1826 occurred the series of disasters with young Carl already alluded to; and the latter month found both uncle and nephew at Johann Beethoven's residence at Gneixendorf. It is a village near Krems, on the Danube, about 50 miles west of Vienna, and here his brother had settled on the property (Gut) which gave occasion to Ludwig's famous joke (see p. 172a). The party must have been a curiously ill-assorted one. The somewhat pompous money-loving Gutsbesitzer; his wife, a common frivolous woman of questionable character;[403] the ne'er-do-weel nephew, intensely selfish and ready to make game of his uncle or make love to his aunt; and in the midst of them all the great composer—deaf, untidy, unpresentable, setting every household rule and household propriety at defiance, by turns entirely absorbed and pertinaciously boisterous, exploding in rough jokes and horse-laughter, or bursting into sudden fury at some absolute misconception;—such a group had few elements of permanence in it. But nothing could stop the wonderful flow of Beethoven's thoughts. In fact, music being to him the language of his emotions, the more agitated he was the more he composed, arid his very deafness, which fortunately must have made him insensible to much that went on around him, drove him more completely into himself and compelled him to listen to the workings of his own heart unalloyed by anything external. To his deafness we no doubt mainly owe the very individual and original style of the later Quartets. Thanks to Michael Kren,[404] who was engaged by Frau Johann to wait on him, we can see him with our own eyes. 'At half-past 5 he was up and at his table, beating time with hands and feet, singing, humming, and writing. At halfpast 7 was the family breakfast, and directly after it he hurried out of doors, and would saunter about the fields, calling out, waving his hands, going now very slowly, then very fast, and then suddenly standing still and writing in a kind of pocket-book. At half-past 12 he came into the house to dinner, and after dinner he went to his own room till 3 or so; then again in the fields till about sunset, for later than that he might not go out. At half-past 7 was supper, and then he went to his room, wrote till 10, and so to bed.'

During the last three years he had been composing incessantly, and yet all that he had done seemed to him as nothing as a mere prelude to what he was yet to do. As Newton before his death spoke of himself as 'a child picking up a few shells on the shore while the great ocean of truth lay undiscovered before him,' so does Beethoven in somewhat similar strain express himself at the close of his life:—'I feel as if I had written scarcely more than a few notes.'[405] And again—'I hope still to bring a few great works into the world, and then, like an old child, to end my earthly course somewhere amongst good people.'[406] His wish, however, was not fulfilled; he was to die in harness. Either before leaving Vienna or immediately after it he had completed the C# minor Quartet, and before the end of October had finished another, that in F, which is dated with his own hand 'Gneixendorf[407] am 30 Oktober, 1826.' This is the work the finale of which embodies the strange dialogue between Beethoven and his cook, 'Muss es sein?—Es muss sein,' and shows how he could rise from the particular to the universal. A week or two later and he had written a fresh finale to replace the enormously long fugue which originally terminated the B♭ Quartet, and dated it 'Nov. 1826.' And this was his last work. By that time the fine weather, of which he speaks shortly after his arrival,[408] had departed. The economical Gutsbesitzer had forbidden his infirm brother a fire in his room, the food was not to his taste, and he was informed that for both food and lodging a charge would be made; so that he determined to brave the police and return with his nephew to Vienna on Dec. 2. The journey from Gneixendorf to Krems, the post town, is not far,[409] but the close carriage could not be had, and Beethoven was obliged to perform it in an open chaise the weather was cold and damp, and the result was a violent cold in the stomach, which was the beginning of the end. He took to his bed on reaching the Schwarzspanierhaus. His former physicians, Braunhofer and Staudenheim, refused to attend him, and he was in the hands of a Dr. Wawruch who had been casually called to him by a billiard-marker at the rooms frequented by young Carl Beethoven. The cold had developed into an inflammation of the lungs, and on this dropsy supervened. Wawruch, who appears to have been a poor practitioner and a pompous pedant,[410] drenched his patient with herb decoctions, but the malady would probably have ended fatally whatever treatment had been adopted. What the poor patient most required was good nursing and comfort, and this he could not obtain till after the departure of his nephew for his regiment in the latter half of December. Then Schindler and Stephen Breuning came to his bedside, and from this time to the end Gerhard Breuning, the son of Stephen, a boy of eleven, was his constant attendant. He was first tapped on Dec. 18, then again on Jan. 8, and a third time on Jan. 28. It was during one of these operations that on seeing the water he made the characteristic remark 'Better from my belly than from my pen.' The confidence both of Beethoven and his friends in Wawruch now became much shaken, and an application was made to Malfatti, who had attended him years before, but like so many others had parted from him in anger. It was long before Malfatti would answer the appeal, and even then he would only act in conjunction with Wawruch. The treatment was now changed, and iced punch administered in large quantities as a restorative. His faith in Malfatti was only equalled by his disgust at Wawruch. He would watch for the arrival of the former with eagerness, and welcome him as if he were an angel—whereas when Wawruch appeared he would immediately stop talking, turn his face to the wall with the exclamation 'Ach, der Esel!' and only answer his enquiries in the most grumpy manner.[411] Under the change Beethoven's spirits greatly improved, and if permitted he would at once have begun to work. This however was forbidden, and reading only allowed. Walter Scott was recommended him, and he began 'Kenilworth,'[412] but soon threw it down with the exclamation 'the man writes only for money.' He now made acquaintance with some of Schuberts songs[413] for the first time, and was delighted with them—'Truly Schubert has the divine fire,' were his words. Handel's works, in 40 volumes,[414] a present from Stumpff, arrived at this date, and were an unfailing source of interest to him[415] as he lay in bed. A lithograph of Haydn's birthplace gave him the liveliest satisfaction; his delight at receiving it, his wrath at the misspelling of the name, and his curious care in paying for it, may be read in Breuning's narrative (pp. 98-100). During the four months of his last illness he wrote and dictated many letters—24 are published, some of them of considerable length, and others no doubt remain in MS.

His nephew still retained his hold on his affections. A letter to Dr. Bach, his old advocate, of Jan. 3, declares the lad his sole heir, and commits him to Bach's special care. He was continually tormented with anxiety as to their future maintenance. Notwithstanding Prince Galitzin's promise, dated Nov. 10/22, 1826, no portion of the money due from him on the 3 Quartets had yet been received. The seven bank shares he would not allow to be touched, regarding them as the property of his nephew. He therefore wrote to his friends[416] in London, urging the Philharmonic Society to carry out their old intention of giving a concert for his benefit. The reply to this was a letter from Moscheles,[417] dated March 1, sending £100 from the Philharmonic Society on account of the proceeds of a concert shortly to be given. His delight at this response was great, and his answer, dated March 18 (forwarding also the metronome marks of the 9th Symphony), is full of warmth and enthusiasm. Meantime a fourth tapping had taken place on Feb. 27, and a great discharge was caused by his emotion at the receipt of Moscheles' letter on March 17.

During his illness he had a few visitors besides Schindler and the two Breunings, who were his daily attendants, and Holtz, who came frequently. Breuning mentions Johann Beethoven and the nephew (in the early part of the time only), Tobias and Carl Haslinger, Diabelli, Baron Eskeles, Rauch, Dolezalek, Clement. Strangers occasionally arrived, amongst whom Hummel with his pupil Ferdinand Hiller, then a boy of 15, who saw[418] him on March 8, are worthy of note. But the friends of his earlier days—Fries, Erdödy, Ertmann, Brunswick, Gleichenstein, Zmeskall, Seyfried, the Streichers, Czerny, Schuppanzigh, Linke—those who had been honoured by his dedications, or had reaped the glory of producing his compositions were either dead or otherwise occupied; at any rate none appeared. The absence of all trace of the Archduke Rudolph at this time, or of any reference to him in the correspondence of the last few years, is very remarkable.

Neither Beethoven himself nor any of his friends seem to have been aware that death was near. His letter to Moscheles of March 18 is full of projects, and a conversation reported by Breuning (p. 97) shows that he contemplated a tenth Symphony, a Requiem, Music to Faust, and an instruction book for the Piano—'to be something quite different from that of any one else.' To Moscheles he speaks of the Symphony as lying 'in his desk fully sketched,'—much as Coleridge used to talk of works as complete of which the title pages only had been put on paper; for nothing which can be identified with the description has been found. Indeed, the time of both projects and fulfilment was over—the night was come in which no man can work. The accumulation of water increased alarmingly, the wounds inflamed, lying became painful, and it was evident that the end was near. On the 10th he wrote to Schott desiring the dedication of the C# minor Quartet to be altered in favour of Baron von Stutterheim, in token of his obligation to him as colonel of his nephew's regiment. On the 18th, after dictating his letter to Moscheles, he settled the dedication of his last Quartet (in F, op. 135) to Johann Wolfmayer,[419] a Vienna merchant for whom he had much respect. On the following day he spoke of writing to Stumpff and Smart, but was compelled to relinquish the task to Schindler. Plaudite amici, comoedia finita est, said he to his two faithful friends, with a touch of his old good humour—the play was over, the lifelong symphony ended, and it was time to draw the curtain. On the 23rd, with the help of Breuning, he added with his own hand a codicil to his will, appointing his nephew Carl his sole heir, but without power over the capital of the property bequeathed. Thus two of his latest acts were inspired by his nephew. Several people appear to have come in and out during the last few days to look once more at the departing composer. Amongst these Schubert is said to have remained a long time, and to have been recognised by Beethoven, though he failed to understand the signs made by the dying man. He left the room at length deeply moved. On the 24th Beethoven received the Sacraments of the Roman Church, and at about one in the afternoon of the same day he sank into apparent unconsciousness, and a distressing conflict with death began which lasted the rest of that day, the whole of the next, and until a quarter to six on the evening of the 26th, the constant convulsive struggle and the hard rattle in the throat testifying at once too painfully to the strength of his constitution and the fact that he was still alive. Stephen Breuning and Schindler had gone to the Währinger Cemetery to choose the spot for the grave; the little Breuning was away at his lessons; Johann Beethoven's wife and Anselm Hüttenbrenner (the friend of Schubert) alone[420] were in the sick room. As the evening closed in, at a quarter to six, there came a sudden storm of hail and snow, covering the ground and roofs of the Schwarz-spanierplatz, and followed by a flash of lightning, and an instant clap of thunder. So great was the crash as to rouse even the dying man. He opened his eyes, clenched his fist, and shook it in the air above him. This lasted a few seconds while the hail rushed down outside, and then the hand fell, and the great composer was no more. [App. p.534 "He died Monday, March 26, 1827."]

He was 56 years old on the 16th of the previous December.

The seven bank shares (for 1000 florins each) were discovered the next day after long search in a secret drawer in the writing desk, together with the two passionate and mysterious letters so often supposed—though to all appearance inaccurately—to be addressed to the Countess Giulietta Guicciardi.

The post mortem examination was made on the evening of the 27th by Dr. Wagner in the presence of Wawruch. During the 28th the body lay in one of the rooms, and a sketch[421] of the face was made by Danhauser.

The funeral took place on the 29th at 3 p.m., and was attended by an immense mass of people, including all the musicians of the city. From the house to the Church of the Minorites, in the Alsergasse on the glacis, a procession was formed, in which Breuning, Johann van Beethoven, and Mosel, were chief mourners; the coffin was borne by eight members of the Opera, with Eybler, Hummel, Seyfried, Kreutzer, Weigl, Gyrowetz, Gansbacher, and Würfel, and 32 torch bearers—including Czerny, Lablache, and Schubert—round it. A choir of 16 men singers and 4 trombones alternately sang and played two Equali of Beethoven's, originally written for trombones for All Souls Day during his stay in Linz, and arranged to the words of the 'Miserere' and 'Amplius' by Seyfried. The crowd was [422]enormous, soldiers had to be called in to force the way, and it took an hour and a half to pass the short distance from the house to the church. From the church the body was taken in a hearse drawn by four horses, and without music, to the Währinger cemetery, followed by a long string of carriages and many people.

At the gate of the cemetery an address by Grillparzer was recited by Anschütz—who being an actor was not permitted to speak on consecrated ground—and two poems by Castelli and Schlechta were read and distributed. Before the earth was filled in three laurel wreaths were placed on the coffin by Hummel. The grave is against the south wall of the cemetery, near the middle. Schubert is three places off, and Clement and Seyfried lie nearly opposite.

On April 3, the furniture and clothes, with the pianos by Graf and Broadwood, were sold by auction[423] at the lodgings. The same day a solemn mass was performed in the Hofpfarrkirche of the Augustines; Mozart's Requiem was sung, Lablache not only taking the bass part but paying Barbaja a sum of 200 gulden for the cost of the singers. Two days later Cherubim's Requiem was sung at the Karlskirche.

In November[424] [App. p.534 "On Nov. 5 and following days"] the sale of his musical effects took place by auction. Thayer has reprinted the catalogue in his Verzeichniss, p. 173. There were 50 lots of sketch and note-books; 19 autographs of unpublished and 73 autographs of published pieces; 5 MS. copies of published pieces; 40 copies of unpublished works; 10 sets of MS. parts; 17 MS. copies of music by various authors—including Cherubini's 'Faniska' and Mozart's 'Zauberflöte'; 26 lots of printed music; 6 of works on music; 1 autograph symphony of Haydn's; a pianoforte; a medal; and two violins. The produce of the sale was 1193 florins, curiously little[425] when compared with the prices which such treasures would fetch now. This sum, added to the value of the bank shares and the Philharmonic £100, made in all, according to Schindler,[426] a total of 10,232 florins (in silver), or a little over £1000.

In course of time the grave fell into neglect, and in 1863 the Gesellschaft der Musik-freunde undertook to exhume and re-bury[427] the remains of both Beethoven and Schubert. This was done on Oct. 13, and Beethoven's monument now consists of a large flat stone covering the grave, surrounded by an iron railing, and headed by an obelisk in stone bearing a lyre, the usual emblems of eternity, and the simple name Beethoven.

Beethoven's music has been divided by Herr von Lenz[428] into three styles, and the division has evidently some justice in it, or it would not have been so widely accepted as it is even by those who differ about its details. That the division is not chronological is evident from the fact that M. Lenz includes the 2nd Symphony (op. 36), written in 1802, in the first period, while he places the Sonatas op. 26 and 27, which were completed a year earlier, and the 3 Sonatas op. 31, which were written in company with the 2nd Symphony, in the second period. As far as the Sonatas are concerned he ends the first period with op. 22.

But we may go further than that. The first movement of the Solo Sonata in E♭ (op. 7) and the Finale of the Quartet in F, op 18, No. 1, contain examples of the episodes which form one of Beethoven's main characteristics, such as even the first movement of the Eroica can hardly surpass for independence and originality. The Scherzo of Symphony No. 1 and the Scherzo and Finale of Symphony No. 2 contain passages which would be found original and characteristic if met with in the compositions of many years later. Some will find it hard to place the Quartet in F minor, which Mendelssohn thought the most Beethovenish of all Beethoven's works, in anything but the third style; while the overture in C, op. 124, written in 1822, might be classed with the works of an earlier period. And yet on the whole the division is just, as an expression of the fact that Beethoven was always in progress; and that, to an extent greater than any other musician, his style matured and altered as he grew in life. He began, as it was natural and inevitable he should, with the best style of his day—the style of Mozart and Haydn; with melodies and passages that might be almost mistaken for theirs, with compositions apparently moulded in intention[429] on them. And yet even during this Mozartian epoch we meet with works or single movements which are not Mozart, which Mozart perhaps could not have written, and which very fully reveal the future Beethoven. Such are the first two movements of the Sonata in A (op. 2), the Sonatas in E♭ (op. 7) and D (op. 10, No. 3) and B♭ (op. 22), the Scherzos of the 1st and 2nd Symphonies already mentioned, and the Coda of the Finale to the 2nd Symphony. From this youthful period he passes by the 3 Sonatas op. 31—which we have seen him speaking of as a change in his style—by the Kreutzer Sonata (March, 1803), by the Pianoforte Concerto in C minor,[430] and by the Eroica (1804), to his mature period, a time of extraordinary greatness, full of individuality, character, and humour, but still more full of power and mastery and pregnant strong sense.

This splendid and truly astonishing period contains the opera of Leonora-Fidelio, with its 4 overtures; the Mass in C; six Symphonies, from the Eroica to the No. 8 inclusive; the overture to Coriolan; the Egmont music; the Pianoforte Concertos in G and E flat; the Violin Concerto; the Rassoumoffsky Quartets, and those in E♭ and F minor; the 3 later P. F. Trios; the Liederkreis; and last not least, a dozen Sonatas for Piano solo, of which the chiefs are the D minor and the 'Appassionata,' though the others are closely akin and hardly inferior.

From this period of extraordinary force and mastery—though abounding also in beauty and sentiment—he passes by a second transition to his third and final style. This transition is perhaps more obvious than the former. The difference between the 9th Symphony and its predecessors—not only in dimensions and in the use of the chorus, but in elevation and sentiment, and in the total impression produced—is unmistakable. The five Pianoforte Sonatas, op. 101 to 111, are perfectly distinct from any of the earlier ones, not only in individuality—for all Beethoven's works are distinct—but in a certain wistful yearning, a sort of sense of the invisible and vision of the infinite, mingled with their power. The last Quartets, op. 127 to op. 135, have the same characteristics as the Sonatas; but they are also longer, full of changes of time, less observant than before of the traditional forms of expression, less careful to make obvious the links of connection, and still more full of intense personality and of a wild unimprisoned spirit. All the sentiment and earnestness of Schumann, all the grace and individuality of Schubert, are there; with an intensity, breadth, and completeness, which those masters might perhaps have attained if they had bestowed the time and pains on their work which Beethoven did. In this period he passes from being the greatest musician to be a great teacher, and in a manner which no one ever did before and possibly no one will ever do again, conveys lessons which by their intense suggestiveness have almost the force of moral teaching. The cause of this is not far to seek. As we have seen in the preceding portion of this sketch the year 1814 was the culminating period of Beethoven's prosperity. He had produced his latest and then greatest works under such favourable circumstances as no musician had before enjoyed. He had been fêted and caressed by emperors and empresses, and others of the greatest of this world's great; he had for the first time in his life been able to put by money, and feel at all independent of daily labour. Immediately on this came an equally great and sudden reverse—and that not a material reverse so much as a blow to his spirit, and a series of misfortunes to mind and heart such as left all his former sufferings far behind. His brother's death; the charge of the nephew; the collision with the widow and with his other relatives and friends; the law-suits; the attempts to form a home of his own, and the domestic worries and wretchedness consequent thereon; the last stages of his deafness; the appearance of chronic bad health; the actual want of money—all these things, which lasted for many years, formed a Valley of the Shadow of Death, such as few men have been called to traverse, and which must inevitably have exercised a great influence on a nature so sensitive and in some respects so morbid. That this fiery trial did not injure his power of production is evident from the list of the great works which form the third period—from op. 101 inclusive. That it altered the tone and colour of his utterance is equally evident from the works themselves. 'He passes,' as Mr. Dannreuther has finely [431]said, 'beyond the horizon of a mere singer and poet, and touches upon the domain of the seer and the prophet; where, in unison with all genuine mystics and ethical teachers, he delivers a message of religious love and resignation, identification with the sufferings of all living creatures, deprecation of self, negation of personality, release from the world.'

Beyond the individual and peculiar character which distinguishes his works and makes them Beethovenish, as Haydn's are Haydnish and Mozart's Mozartish, though in a greater degree because of the stronger character of the man—there are definite peculiarities in Beethoven's way of working which should be specified as far as possible. That he was no wild radical, altering for the mere pleasure of alteration, or in the mere search for originality, is evident from the length of time during which he abstained from publishing or even composing works of pretension, and from the likeness which his early works possess to those of his predecessors. He began naturally with the forms which were in use in his days, and his alteration of them grew very gradually with the necessities of his expression. The form of the sonata is 'the transparent veil through which Beethoven seems to have looked at all [432]music.' And the good points of that form he retained to the last—the 'triune[433] symmetry of exposition, illustration, and repetition,' which that admirable method allowed and enforced—but he permitted himself a much greater liberty than his predecessors had done in the relationship of the keys of the different movements and parts of movements, and in the proportion of the clauses and sections with which he built them up. In other words, he was less bound by the forms and musical rules, and more swayed by the thought which he had to express, and the directions which that thought took in his mind.

1. The range of keys within which the composers of sonatas and symphonies before Beethoven confined themselves was very narrow. Taking the first movement as an example of the practice, the first theme was of course given out in the tonic, and this, if major, was almost invariably answered in due course by a second theme in the 'dominant' or fifth above; for instance, if the sonata was in C the second subject would be in G, if in D it would be in A. If the movement were in minor, the answer was in the relative major—C minor would be answered by E♭, A minor by C♝, and so on. This is the case 19 times out of 20 in the sonatas and symphonies of Haydn and Mozart. A similar restriction governed the key of the second movement. It was usually in the 'subdominant' or fifth below—in F if the key of the piece were C, in B♭ if the key were F, and so on. If the piece were in a minor key the second movement was in the third below. A little more latitude was allowed here than in the former case; the subdominant now and then became the dominant, or, very rarely, the 'mediant' or third above; and the relative major was occasionally exchanged for the tonic major.

Beethoven, as already remarked, adopted very different relations in respect of the change of key from one movement to another. Out of 81 works in sonata form he makes the transition to the dominant only 3 times; to the subdominant 19 times; to the mediant or 3rd above 4 times; and to the submediant or 3rd below 30 times. From tonic major to tonic minor he changes 12, and from minor to major 8 times. His favourite change was evidently to the submediant or third below that is to say, to a key less closely related to the tonic and more remote than the usual key. He makes it in his first work (Op. 1, No. 2). In his B♭ trio (op. 97) he has it twice, and in his Variations on an original theme (op. 34), each of the first 5 variations is a third below the preceding.

In the relation of his first and second subjects he is more orthodox. Out of 26 of the Pianoforte Sonatas the usual change to the dominant occurs 17 times, to the mediant 3, and to the submediant 3.

2. Another of his innovations had respect to the connection of the different subjects or clauses. His predecessors were in the habit rather of separating their clauses than of connecting them; and this they did by conventional passages of entirely different character from the melodious themes themselves, stuffed in between the themes like so much hay or paper for mere packing. Any symphony of Mozart or Haydn will give examples of this, which Wagner [434]compares to the 'rattling of the dishes at a royal feast.' Mozart also has a way of drawing up and presenting arms before the appearance of the second subject, which tends to cut the movement up into very definite portions. Of these tiresome and provoking intermediate periods Beethoven got rid by the use of phrases which are either parts of the main theme or closely related to it; and he thus gives his movements a unity and consistency as if it were an organic growth, and not a piece of work cunningly put together by art or man's device. How he effects this, and the very tentative and gradual way in which he does it, may be seen in Symphonies i and 2 and the Eroica, in which last all trace of the old plan has almost entirely disappeared.

3. The first movement of the Eroica supplies instances of other innovations on the established forms. Not only in the 'exposition' (before the double bar) are other themes brought in besides the two main subjects, but in the 'illustration,' or, to use the more common term, the 'working out,' there is an unanticipated explosion which, to say the least, is entirely without precedent, followed by an entirely fresh episode as important as anything that has occurred before, and that again by a new feature (the staccato bass) which, while it accompanies and reinforces the main subject, adds materially to the interest of the music. Again, in the 'repetition' we have not only a great departure from regular rule in the keys which the music goes through, but we have a coda of no less than 140 bars long, proclaiming itself by its opening as an independent member of the movement, and though made almost entirely out of previous material, yet quite differently expressed from anything before, and full of fresh meaning. Now none of these alterations and additions to the usual forms were made by Beethoven for their own sake. They were made because he had something to say on his subject which the rules did not give him time and space to say, and which he could not leave unsaid. His work is a poem in which the thoughts and emotions are the first things, and the forms of expression second and subordinate. Still, even in his innovations, how careful he is to keep as near the rules as possible! His chief episodes occur in the working out, where a certain licence was always lawful; and codas were recognised, and had even, as in Mozart's 'Jupiter,' been turned to noble account. The same characteristics are found in the ninth Symphony as in the third, only the mood of mind being entirely different, the mode of expression is different too, but the principle of the perfect subordination of the expression to the thought, while adhering as closely to the 'form' as was consistent with perfect expression, is the same. One or two pieces of his second period may however be named, in which both thought and mode of expression aro so entirely different from anything before them, that they stand quite by themselves. Such movements as the opening Adagio of the Sonata in C# minor, or the Con moto of the Pianoforte Concerto in G—in which Schumann used to see a picture of Orpheus taming brute-nature—have no prototypes; they are pure creations, founded on nothing previous, but absolutely new in style, idea, and form.

In the later quartets, it must be admitted that he wandered further away from the old paths; the thought there seems everything and the form almost nothing. And this fact, as much as the obscurity and individuality of the thoughts themselves and their apparent want of connexion until they have become familiar, is perhaps the cause that these noble works are so difficult to understand. The forms, depend upon it, were founded in reason and nature. They grew through long periods to be what Haydn fixed them at; and as long as the thoughts of composers did not burst their limits they were perfect. Beethoven came, and he first enlarged and modified them, adhering however to their fundamental principle of recurrence and recapitulation, till in the end, withdrawn more and more into himself by his deafness, he wrote down what he felt, often without thinking of the exigences of those who were to hear him. This however only applies to the later Quartets. The ninth Symphony and the last Pianoforte Sonatas are as strictly in form, and as coherent and intelligible, as could be desired.

4. A striking instance of this loyalty is found in Beethoven's treatment of the 'Introduction.' This—a movement in slow time, preceding the first Allegro—forms part of the original design of the overture by Lully, and is found in nine out of ten of Handel's overtures. Haydn often has one in his symphonies, usually 8 to 12 bars long, occasionally as much as 20. Mozart has prefixed similar prefaces to some of his works, such as the Symphony in E flat, the Quintet for Piano and Wind instruments, and the famous Quartet in C, dedicated to Haydn. Beethoven, besides placing one before his Quintet for Piano and Wind (op. 16), which, as already remarked, is like a challenge to Mozart, has one to the Sonata Pathétique and to the first Symphony. In the last of these cases it is 12 bars long. In the 2nd Symphony it expands to 33 bars long, and increases largely in development. But even this is a mere preface when compared with the noble and impressive movements which usher in the Allegros of the 4th and 7th Symphonies—long and independent movements, the latter no less than 80 bars in length, full of important and independent ideas, and of the grandest effect.

In all the instances mentioned—the Succession of Keys, the Episodes, the Coda, the Introduction—Beethoven's modifications seem to have sprung from the fact of his regarding his music less as a piece of technical performance than his predecessors had perhaps done, and more as the expression of the ideas with which his mind was charged. The ideas were too wide and too various to be contained in the usual limits, and therefore the limits had to be enlarged. He regards first what he has to say—his thought—and how he shall convey and enforce and reiterate that thought, so as to express it to his hearer exactly as he thinks it, without being careful to find an old formula in which to couch it. Even consecutive fifths were no hindrance to him—they gave the exact sound in which he wished to convey his idea of the moment; and therefore he used them as naturally, as a speaker might employ at a particular juncture, with the best effect, an expression usually quite inadmissible. No doubt other musicians had used similar liberties; but not to the same extent, because no one before had been gifted with so independent and original a nature. But in Beethoven the fact was connected with the peculiar position he had taken in society, and with the new ideas which the general movement of freedom at the end of the eighteenth century, and the French Revolution in particular, had forced even into such strongholds as the Austrian courts. People who were the servants of archbishops and princes, and moved about with the rest of the establishment in the train of their master, who wore powder and pigtail and red-heeled shoes, and were forced to wait in ante-rooms and regulate their conduct strictly by etiquette, and habitually keep down their passions under decorous rules and forms, could not give their thoughts and emotions the free and natural vent which they would have had without the perpetual curb of such restraints and the habits they must have engendered. But Beethoven, like Mirabeau, had 'swallowed the formulas' of the day; he had thrown over etiquette, and, roturier as he was, lived on absolute equality with the best aristocracy of Vienna. What he felt he said, both in society and in his music, and the result is before us. The great difference is, as we have already remarked, that whereas in his ordinary intercourse he was extremely abrupt and careless of effect, in his music he was exactly the reverse; painstaking, laborious, and never satisfied till he had conveyed his ideas in unmistakeable language.

5. The Scherzo stands perhaps in a different category from the three features already mentioned. It is less of a modification and more of a distinct new creation. The word is met with in Haydn and Mozart, but in a different sense to that in which Beethoven uses it, and apparently neither of those masters have it in a symphony. To both of them the third movement of a symphony was a minuet. All that a minuet could be made they made of it, but it was never given them to go beyond. The minuet remained a dance tune to the end of its days, and is so even in Beethoven's No. 8 Symphony. In fact Haydn actually lamented that he could not make more of it than he had. When discussing a rule of Albrechtsberger's by which fourths were prohibited in strict composition, he [435] said, 'Such trifling is absurd; I wish, instead, that some one would try to compose a really new minuet.' This Beethoven did. The third movement of his first Symphony is what Haydn wished to [436]see. Though labelled 'menuetto' it is quite unlike a minuet. It is in fact a scherzo, and in its little dimensions is the pattern and model of those gigantic movements which in the Eroica, the C minor, the No. 7, and especially the No. 9 of the Symphonies; in the B flat trio; in the Sonata, op. 106; and the first of the Rassoumoffsky Quartets, are so truly astonishing, and so characteristic of their great author.

6. An innovation of great importance in the Finale, for which no precedent can be found, was the introduction of the Chorus. In the Eroica Symphony Beethoven showed how a set of orchestral variations could be employed in a finale. In the Choral Fantasia again he showed with what effect a chorus could be employed in the same part of the work. But in the 9th Symphony he combined the two, by using the chorus in a succession of variations. Mendelssohn has followed his example in the 'Lobgesang,' the vocal portion of which is the last movement of a symphony; but he has not adopted the Variation-form.

7. One of the most striking characteristics of Beethoven's music is the individual variety of each piece and each movement. In the Symphonies every one of the 9 first movements is entirely distinct from the other 8, and the same of the andantes, scherzos, and finales. Each is based on a distinct idea, and each leaves a separate image and impression on the mind. And the same may be said of the majority of the smaller works, of the concertos and quartets and pianoforte trios—certainly of the sonatas, all but perhaps a very few. The themes and passages have no family likeness, and have not the air of having been taken out of a stock ready made, but are born for the occasion. He thus very rarely repeats himself. The theme of the slow movement of the Sonata in F minor and the second theme in the first movement of the Sonata in C (op. 2, Nos. 1 and 3) are adapted from his early pianoforte quartets. The minuet in the Septet is developed from that in the little Sonata in G (op. 49, No. 2). The Turkish March in the 'Ruins of Athens' had already appeared as a theme for Variations in D (op. 76). The theme of the Variations in the Choral Fantasia is a song of his own, 'Seufzer eines Ungeliebten' (No. 253), composed many years before. The melodies of two Contretanze (No. 17a) are employed in the Prometheus music, and one of them is also used in a set of Variations (op. 35) and in the Finale to the Eroica. In the Finale to the Choral Fantasia there are some slight anticipations of the Finale to the Choral Symphony; the Prometheus music contains an anticipation of the storm in the Pastoral Symphony, and the subject of the Allegretto to the 8th Symphony is found in a humorous Canon (No. 256-2)—such are all the repetitions that have been detected. How far he employed Volkelieder and other tunes not invented by himself is not yet known. Certain melodies in the Eroica, Pastoral, and No. 7 Symphonies, are said to have been thus adopted, but at present it is mere assertion.

This is perhaps the most convenient place for noticing a prominent fact about his own melodies, viz. that they often consist wholly or mainly of consecutive notes. This is the case with some of the very finest themes he has written, witness the Scherzo and Finale to the Choral Symphony; and that to the Choral Fantasia; the slow movements of the B♭ Trio and the Symphony in the same key; the Adagio to the Quartet op. 127, and many others.

8. In the former part of this sketch we have mentioned the extraordinary manner in which Beethoven wrote and rewrote until he had arrived at the exact and most apt expression of his thought. The same extraordinary care not to be mistaken is found in the nuances, or marks of expression, with which his works are crowded, and which he was the first to introduce in such abundance. For instance, to compare the 'Jupiter' Symphony—Mozart's last—with Beethoven's first, we shall find that the violin part of the first half of the opening Allegro has in the former (120 bars long) 14 marks of expression, in the latter (95 bars) 42 marks. The Andante to Mozart's Symphony in G minor has 38 marks to 131 bars, while that to Beethoven's No. 2 has 155 marks to 276 bars. In the later works this attention to nuance increases. The Allegro agitato of the Quartet in F minor, 125 bars long, contains 95 marks; the Cavatina in the Quartet in B♭, 66 bars long, contains 58 marks. It is part of the system of unwearied care and attention by which this great man, whose genius was only equalled by his assiduity, brought his works to their actual perfection, and to the certainty that they would produce what he himself calls il suo proprio proposto effetto[437]—their own special and intended effect. How original and splendid the effect of such nuances can be may be seen in the Vivace of the No. 7 Symphony, where the sudden change from ff to pp, accompanying an equally sudden plunge in the melody and abrupt change in the harmony, produces a wild romantic effect which once to hear in never to forget.

In addition, Beethoven here and there gives indications such as the 'Bitte um innern und äussern Frieden' at the 'Dona' in the Mass in D, the 'beklemmt' in the Cavatina of the B♭ Quartet, the 'Arioso dolente' of Sonata op. 110, which throw a very personal colour over the piece. The word 'Cantabile' has a special meaning when he employs it.

9. Beethoven used Variations to a very great extent. For the Pianoforte, Solo and in conjunction with other solo instruments, he has left 29 sets, some on original themes, some on airs by other composers. But besides these several movements in his Sonatas, Quartets, and Trios are variations, so entitled by him. Every one will remember those in the Septet, in the 'Harp' Quartet, in the Kreutzer Sonata, in the Solo Sonata in A flat, and in the two late Sonatas in E and C minor (op. 109 and 111). Many other movements in the same branches of composition are variations, although not so named. The slow movements in the Sonata 'appassionata' and the op. 106 are splendid instances. In the Symphonies the slow movements of the C minor, the Pastoral and the Ninth, are magnificent examples, the last the most splendid of all—while the colossal Finales of the Eroica and the Ninth Symphony are also variations, though of a very different order from the rest and from each other. Of the lowest and most obvious type of variation, in which the tune remains in statu quo all through the piece, with mere changes of accompaniment above, below, and around it—the Herz-Thalberg type—the nearest approach to be found in Beethoven's works, is the 5th variation in op. 26. His favourite plan is to preserve the harmonic basis of the theme and to modify and embellish the melody. Of this type he makes use with astonishing ease and truly inexhaustible originality. It is to be found in some shape or other in nearly every work of his second and third periods. It is not his own invention, for fine instances of it exist in Mozart and Haydn, but no one practised it with such beauty and nobility as he did, unless it be Schubert, who at any rate approaches very near him in its use. Perhaps the finest instance of it is in the Adagio of the Ninth Symphony, in which the melody is varied first in common time and then in 12-8, with a grace, beauty, and strength which are quite unparalleled. There is, however, a [438]third kind of variation which is all Beethoven's own, in which everything undergoes a change—rhythm, melody, and harmony—and yet the individual theme remains clearly present. 'Perhaps one melodious step only of the subject is taken (op. 109; var. 1 and 5); perhaps the fundamental progressions of the harmony alone are retained; perhaps some thorough rhythmical alteration is made, with an entire change of key, as in the Poco Andante, Finale of Eroica; in the B♭ variation alla marcia, of the Ninth Symphony; and in many of the 33 Variations. This is no mere change of dress and decoration, but an actual creation of something new out of the old germ—we see the chrysalis change into the butterfly, and we know it to be the same creature despite the change.' 'In no other form than that of the Variation,' continues Mr. Dannreuther, 'does Beethoven's creative power appear more wonderful, and its effect on the art more difficult to measure.'

10. Of Fugues Beethoven wrote but few, and those near the end of his career, but he always knew how to introduce a fugato or bit of contrapuntal work with the happiest effect. Witness a passage in the working out of the first movement of the Eroica Symphony, and another in the Finale of the same work; or in the middle portion of the Allegretto of No. 7; or the lovely counterpoint for the Bassoon in the opening of the Finale of No. 9. Of complete fugues the only instrumental ones are the finale to the 3rd of the Rassoumoffsky Quartets; the finales to the Cello Sonata op. 102, No. 2, and the Solo Sonatas op. 101, 106, and 110; and the enormous movement in B flat which originally formed the termination to the great String Quartet in the same key. Of the last-named fugue one has no opportunity of judging, as it is never played; but of the others, especially those in the Solo Sonatas, it may be safely said that nothing in the whole of Beethoven's music is associated with a more distinct dramatic intention, whether it be, as has been [439]suggested, a resolution to throw off an affection which was enthralling him, or some other great mental effort.

11. Beethoven did not originate 'programme music,' for Bach left a sonata describing the departure of his brother; and two symphonies are in existence by Knecht—a countryman of Beethoven's, and a few years his senior—entitled 'Tableau musical de la nature,' and 'La joie des Bergers interrompue par l'orage,' which are not only founded on the same idea with his Pastoral Symphony, but are [440]said to contain somewhat similar themes and passages. But, though he did not invent it, he raised it at once to a higher level than before, and his programme pieces have exercised a great effect on the art. 'When Beethoven had once opened the road,' said Mendelssohn, 'every one was bound to follow'; and it is probable that without his example we should not have had Mendelssohn's overtures to 'The Hebrides' or to the 'Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt.' His works in this line, omitting all which did not receive their titles from himself, are:—the 'Sonata pathétique'; 'La Malinconia,' an adagio in the String-quartet, No. 6 ; the 'Eroica' Symphony; the 'Pastoral' ditto; the Battle of Vittoria; the Sonata 'Les Adieux, l'Absence et le Retour'; the movements in the A minor quartet (op. 132) entitled 'Canzona di ringraziamento in modo lidico offerta alia divinita da un guarito,' and 'Sentendo nuova forza'; the movement in the F major quartet (op. 135), entitled 'Der schwergefasste Entschluss—Muss es sein? Es muss sein; and a Rondo à capriccio for Piano (op. 129), the MS. of which is entitled by the composer 'Die Wuth über den verlornen Groschen ausgetobt in einer Caprice.' Beyond these Beethoven made no acknowledged attempts to depict definite scenes or moods of mind in instrumental music. We have already (p. 179a) quoted Schindler's statement that Beethoven intended the Sonatas in op. 14 to be a dialogue between two lovers, and to represent the 'entreating and resisting principle'; and the Sonata in E minor (op. 90) is said to have had direct reference to the difficulties attending Moritz Lichnowsky's passion for the actress whom he ultimately married. The first movement was to have been called 'Kampf zwischen Kopf und Herz,' and the second, 'Conversation mit der Geliebten.' But none of these titles were directly sanctioned by Beethoven himself. In the programme of the concert of Dec. 22, 1808, at which the Pastoral Symphony was produced, he prefixed the following words to the description of the Symphony:—'Pastoral Symphonie: mehr Ausdruck der Empfindung als Malerei'—'more expression of emotions than portraiture,' a canon which should surely be taken as the guide in interpreting all similar works of his.

We have now endeavoured to give the main external characteristics of Beethoven's music; but the music itself, though it resides in them, is beyond and above them all. 'While listening,' says Mr. Dannreuther, 'to such works as the Overture to Leonora, the Sinfonia Eroica, or the Ninth Symphony, we feel that we are in the presence of something far wider and higher than the mere development of musical themes. The execution in detail of each movement and each succeeding work is modified more and more with the prevailing poetic sentiment. A religious passion and elevation are present in the utterances. The mental and moral horizon of the music grows upon us with each renewed hearing. The different movements—like the different particles of each movement—have as close a connection with one another as the acts of a tragedy, and a characteristic significance to be understood only in relation to the whole; each work is in the full sense of the word a revelation. Beethoven speaks a language no one has spoken before, and treats of things no one has dreamt of before: yet it seems as though he were speaking of matters long familiar, in one's mother tongue; as though he touched upon emotions one had lived through in some former existence. … The warmth and depth of his ethical sentiment is now felt all the world over, and it will ere long be universally recognised that he has leavened and widened the sphere of men's emotions in a manner akin to that in which the conceptions of great philosophers and poets have widened the sphere of men's intellectual activity.'[441]



Beethoven's published works may be summed up as follows:—

I. INSTRUMENTAL.

9 Symphonies—in C, D, E♭ (Eroica), B♭, C minor, F (Pastoral), A, F, and D minor (Choral).

The Battle of Vittoria; overture and music to Prometheus; overture and music to Egmont.

9 Overtures—Coriolan; Leonora No. 1; Do. No. 2; Do. No. 3; Fidelio; King Stephen; Ruins of Athens; op. 115 (Namensfeier); op. 124 (Weihe des Hauses).

Allegretto in E♭; March from Tarpein—in C; Military March—in D; 12 Minuets; 12 'deutsche Tänze'; 12 Contratänze; Ritter Ballet.

1 Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in D; 1 fragment of do. in C; and 2 Romances for do.

5 Concertos for Piano and Orchestra—in C, B♭, C minor, G, and E♭; 1 do. arranged from Violin Concerto; Rondo for do. in B♭; 1 Triple Concerto (op. 56); 1 Choral Fantasia for Piano, Orchestra, and Chorus.

Cadences to Pianoforte Concertos.

2 Octets for Wind—both in E♭.

1 Septet for Strings and Wind.

1 Sestet for ditto—in E♭.

1 ditto for Wind—in E♭.

2 Quintets for Strings—in E♭ and C; 1 ditto, fugue (op. 137); 1 ditto arranged from P. F. Trio in C minor.

16 Quartets for Strings—in F, G, D, C minor, A, B♭; in F, E minor, C (Rasoumoffsky); in E♭ (Harfan Q.); in F minor; in E♭; in B♭; in C# minor; in A minor; in F; also Fugue In B♭.

2 Equali for 4 Trombones.

5 Trios for Strings—in E♭; in G, D, C minor; in D (Serenade).

1 ditto Strings and Flute—in D (Serenade).

1 ditto for Wind.

3 Duos for Wind—in C, F, B♭.

1 Quintet for Piano and Wind—in E♭.

1 Quartet for Piano and Strings—after foregoing. 3 ditto (juvenile)—in E♭, D, and C.

8 Trios for Piano and Strings—in E♭, G, C minor; in D, E♭; in B♭; in B♭ (one movement); in E♭ (juvenile); after Symphony in D; Variations in G; 14 ditto in E♭.

1 Trio for Piano, Clar., and Cello in B&#266d;; 1 ditto (after Septet) in E♭.

10 Sonatas for Piano and Violin—in D, A, E♭; in A minor; in F; in A, C minor, G; in A (Kreutzer); in G, 1 Rondo in G; 12 Variations in F.

5 ditto for Piano and Cello—in F, G minor; in A; in C, D. 12 Variations in C; 12 do. in F; 7 do in E♭.

1 ditto for Piano and Horn—in F.

7 books of Variations for Piano and Flute.

1 Sonata for Piano, 4 hands—in D. 3 Marches for ditto—in C, E♭, D; 8 Variations in C and 6 in D.

36 ditto for Piano Solo—in F minor, A, C; in E♭; in C minor, F, D; in C minor (Pathétique); in E, G; in B♭; in A♭; in E♭, C# minor; in D; in G, D minor, E♭; in G minor and G (both small); in C (Waldstein); in F; in F minor (Appassionata); in F#; in G (Sonatina); in E♭ (Adieux, etc.); in E minor; in A; in B♭ (op. 106); in E; in A♭; in C minor; in E♭, F minor, and D (early); in C (easy); in G and F (easy).

Variations for ditto, 21 sets—viz. 6 in F; 15 in E♭ (Eroica); 6 in D (Turkish March); 32 in C minor; 33 in C; 15 in G (easy); and 15 more sets, containing 144 variations.

3 Sets of Bagatelles for ditto—7, 11, 6; 4 Rondos in C, G; in A; and in G (à capriccio); Fantasia in G minor; 3 Preludes; Polonaise; Andante in F (favori); Minuet in E♭; 6 do; 13 Ländlers.

II. VOCAL.

2 Masses—in C, and D (Solemnis).

1 Oratorio—'Christus am Oelberge.'

1 Opera—'Fidelio.'

'The Ruins of Athens.' Arrangement of March and Chorus from do.

'King Stephen.'

2 Patriotic Finales.

'Der glorreiche Augenblick.'

'Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt.'

'Ah perfido!' Soprano and Orchestra. Opferlied; do., do., and Chorus.

'Tremate'; Trio with Orchestra.

Bundeslied; 2 Solos, Chorus, and Wind.

'Elegischer Gesang'; 4 Voices and Strings.

Songs with Piano acct.—66 and 1 Duet.

'Gesang der Mönche'; 3 Voices unacc.

18 Canons.

7 Books of English, Scotch, Irish, Welsh, and Italian Songs for Voice, Piano, Violin, and Cello.

All the above are included in Breitkopf & Härtel's complete edition, except the Ritter-Ballet, the Fragment of a Violin Concerto in C, and the two Equali for Trombones.

The Beethoven literature is very large. I shall confine myself to mentioning those portions of it which appear to have real value for the investigator.

I. His own letters. Of these there are several collections, (1) 'Briefe Beethovens' (Stuttgart, 1865), edited by Dr. Nohl: contains 411. (2) '83 … Original Briefe L. v. B's an den Erzherzog Rudolph,' edited by Köchel (Vienna, 1865). (3) 'Briefe von B. an Gräfin Erdödy und Max Brauchle,' edited by Schöne (Leipzig, 1867). The two last were included with many others in a further collection of 322 'Neue Briefe Beethovens,' edited by Nohl (Stuttgart, 1867). (4) Nohl's first collection and 66 of the letters to the Archduke were translated (I wish I could say carefully translated) by Lady Wallace, and published by Longmans (2 vols. 8vo. 1866).

Other letters are given by Thayer in his 'Beethovens Leben,' and by Pohl in 'Die Gesellschaft der Musik Freunde' (Vienna, 1871), and many others exist in MS. in collections of autographs.

II. Notices of him by friends and contemporaries. Many of these must be taken with reserve, as written long after the event, and with strong bias.

(1) By Seyfried, as Anhang to his edition of Beethoven's 'Studien' in Thorough-bass (Vienna, March 26, 1832)—144 pages, containing biographical sketch, anecdotes and traits, letters (included in Nohl), three conversations, the sale catalogue, the music sung at the funeral, poems and addresses, a catalogue of Beethoven's works, etc.

(2) Wegeler and Ries, 'Biographische Notizen,' etc. (Coblenz, 1838), with 'Nachtrag' by Wegeler alone (Coblenz, 1845). Contains biography, letters, and a host of anecdotes.

(3) Schindler, 'Biographie' (Münster, 1840). This is the first edition of Schindler's work, which was translated into English by Moscheles, and published with many additions and modifications, and with no mention of Schindler on the title page, in 2 vols. 8vo. (Colburn, 1841). It was followed by 'Beethoven in Paris' (Münster, 1842), an account of the performance of some of the symphonies by the 'Societé des Concerts,' with various documents of interest; by a second edition of the Biography (Münster, 1845); and finally by a third edition in two volumes (Münster, 1860). This last has been very inaccurately translated into French by Sowinski (Paris, Garnier, 1865).

(4) Gerhard von Breuning, 'Aus dem Schwarzspanierhaus' (Vienna, 1874)—the recollections of Stephen von Breuning's son, who was 11 years old when Beethoven died, and was much with him during the last years of his life.

III. Smaller and more fragmentary notices are given of him—in 1798 or 99 by Czerny, in Pohl's 'Jahresbericht des Konservatorium … in Wien' (Vienna, 1870); and in later years by the same in Cocks's 'Musical Miscellany' (London, July and Aug. 1852, Jan. 1853); in 1809 by Reichardt in 'Vertraute Briefe' (Amsterdam, 1810); in 1814 by Spohr in his 'Selbstbiographie' (Cassel, 1860), and by Tomaschek in 'Libussa' for 1846; in 1822 by Rochlitz in the A. M. Z., 1828, p. 10, printed in 'Für Freunde der Tonkunst,' vol. iv. p. 348 (Leipzig, 1832); in 1824 [by Mr. Edward Schulz] in the 'Harmonicon,' Jan. 1824; and [by Mrs. Payne, Dr. Burney's niece,] in the 'Harmonicon' Dec. 1825; in 1825 by Rellstab in 'Aus meinem Leben,' ii. 224.

Of later biographies must be mentioned that of M. Fétis in his 'Biographie universelle des Musiciens'; of Wilhelm von Lenz, 'Beethoven, eine Kunst-Studie,' a Life, with an extended critical and historical catalogue of the works; and of Herr Ludwig Nohl, 'Beethovens Leben,' of which the 3rd and last volume was published in Sept. 1876. Nohl is said to be inaccurate, and he is certainly diffuse, but I for one owe him a debt of gratitude for his various publications, the information in which can be found nowhere else. The notes to the biography contain a mass of materials of the greatest interest. Last and best is the 'Ludwig van Beethovens Leben ' of A. W. Thayer (Berlin, 1866, 72), of which the 3rd vol. is on the eve of publication, and which, through the caution, wide research, and unflagging industry of its author has already taken a place far higher than any of its predecessors. Amongst other sources of information Mr. Thayer has inherited the memoranda collected by the late Otto Jahn, who had himself made some progress in a biography of Beethoven. The corrections which this able investigator has made in many most material points, and the light thrown by him on passages hitherto more than obscure, can only be appreciated by those who read his work.

IV. Of more miscellaneous works the following must be named:—W. von Lenz, 'Beethoven et ses trois Styles' (Petersburg, 1852; also Paris, Lavinée, 1855)—a book which, if full of rhapsody, is also full of knowledge, insight, and enthusiasm; Oulibicheff, 'Beethoven, ses critiques et ses glossateurs,' in direct antagonism to the foregoing (Paris, 1857); Berlioz, 'Etude analytique des Symphonies de Beethoven' in his 'Voyage musical,' vol. i. (Paris, 1844); Otto Jahn, three papers in his 'Gesammelte Aufsätze' (Leipzig, 1866), viz. 'Leonore oder Fidelio,' 'B. im Malkasten,' and 'B. und die Ausgaben seiner Werke' ; R. Wagner, 'Beethoven' (Leipzig, 1870); Marx, 'B.'s Leben und Schaffen, 3rd edition (Berlin, 1875); Actenmässige Darstellung der Ausgrabung und Wiederbeisetzung der irdischen Reste von Beethoven und Schubert (Vienna, 1863); Nohl, 'Beethovens Brevier' (Leipzig, 1870), a collection of passages in his favourite authors extracted or marked by Beethoven; 'Die Beethoven Feier' (Vienna, 1871), containing amongst other things Beethoven's diary from 1812 to 1818. The analytical programmes of Beethoven's sonatas by Mr. J. W. Davison, prepared to accompany Mr. Charles Hallés performance in 1861, are full of interest.

V. We now arrive at another class of works of more importance than any yet mentioned, except perhaps the letters, and absolutely indispensable to those who wish to investigate Beethoven's music chronologically, viz. the catalogues, and reprints of the sketch-books.

Catalogues of Beethoven's works were attempted by Artaria, Hofmeister, and Cranz, but the first one worthy of the subject was issued by Breitkopf & Härtel in 1851—'Thematisches Verzeichniss,' etc., large 8vo., 167 pp. The second edition of this, edited and enriched with copious notes, remarks, appendices, indexes, etc. by Mr. G. Nottebohm (Leipzig, 1868, pp. 1–220), leaves little to be desired. It is arranged in the order of the opus numbers of the pieces—where they are numbered—that is to say, in the order of publication. A catalogue from a different point of view in the order of the production of the works, and embracing those unpublished as well as published, was issued by Mr. Thayer, as a precursor, or mémoire pour servir, to his 'Biography,' viz. 'Chronologisches Verzeichniss,' etc. (Berlin, 1865). It is difficult to over-estimate the value of this unpretending list, which contains a vast amount of information not only before inaccessible, but unknown to students. It was followed by a work of equal interest—'Ein Skizzenbuch von B.,' etc., the reprint of one of Beethoven's sketch-books, with such commentary as is necessary fully to elucidate it. This was edited by Mr. Nottebohm, and was succeeded in 1869 by the commencement of a series of articles in the 'Allgemeine musik Zeitung' on various points in Beethoven's works, examined and elucidated chiefly through his sketch-books, and printed with copious quotations, the whole throwing a most interesting light on his method of working. These papers were collected and republished as 'Beethoveniana' (Leipzig, 1872). A further series, entitled 'Neue Beethoveniana,' by the same indefatigable explorer is now (1878) being published in the 'Musikalisches Wochenblatt.' The amount of new and important information on Beethoven's music furnished by these two series no one can tell who has not studied them. They are indispensable for all students of the subject. Mr. Nottebohm has published a new edition of 'Beethoven's Studien,' in which many mistakes in Seyfried's edition are corrected and much additional information given, such as no one who has not the peculiar knowledge possessed by Mr. Nottebohm would be competent to impart.

[App. p.534 "B. & H.'s Complete Edition of the Works was issued between Jan. 1862, and Nov. 1865. Since the publication of the Dictionary Mr. Thayer's 3rd volume has appeared (1879) bringing the life down to 1816.—Before his death in 1882 Mr. Nottebohm issued a second 'Skizzenbuch' (B. & H. 1880), containing the sketches for the Eroica. Early in 1887 appeared 'Zweite Beethoveniana' (Rieter-Biedermann), a volume of 590 pages, containing the 'Neue Beethoveniana' (p. 209 a) and many other articles of the highest interest, the whole completed and edited by E. Mandyczewski.

"While this sheet is at press two works arrive:—'L. van Beethoven, von W. J. v. Wasielewski,' Berlin 1888, 2 vols.; and 'Neue Beethoveniana, von Dr. T. Frimmel,' Vienna, 1888, with 6 illustrations."]

See Appendix for catalogue of printed works.

[ G. ]

  1. Van in Dutch is not, like von or de, a sign of nobility.
  2. The baptism is registered on the 17th, and it was the custom to baptise on the day following birth. Beethoven's own belief was that he was born in 1772, which accounts for an occasional mistake in his estimate of the age at which he wrote his early works.
  3. In his letters; but in an advertisement of his, 31 March, 1804, it is Bethofen (Nottebohm, Beethoveniana, p. 4).
  4. See the register in Thayer, Ludwig van Beethovens Leben, 1. 147.
  5. Thayer, 1 115
  6. B & H. Complete Edition, No. 106.
  7. Thayer 1. 116.
  8. B. & H. No. 228
  9. Ibid. 156–158.
  10. Ibid. 194.
  11. Ibid. 222.
  12. Thayer, I. 128.
  13. Ibid. I. 154.
  14. Ibid. I. 152.
  15. Schindler, Biographia, 1. 7; Thayer, i. 161.
  16. B. & H. 75–77.
  17. Ibid, 198.
  18. Schindler 1. 15.
  19. Thayer II. 363.
  20. See Jahn, in Thayer, 1. 164.
  21. Nohl, Briefe, No. 2.
  22. B. & H. 86.
  23. Ibid. 45.
  24. B. & H. 122.
  25. Thayer, i. 182.
  26. B. & H. 178.
  27. Ibid. 232.
  28. Thayer, i. 232. He died Feb. 20, 1790.
  29. Thayer, i, 209-215.
  30. Ibid, i. 218.
  31. He wrote twice to her within a year after he left Bonn. See his letter to Kleonore Breuing, Nov. 7, 1795
  32. Letter to Archd. Bodolph, July 28, 1815. Sketches of the Bonn date are in the British Museum.
  33. Thayer, i. 232. He died March 1, 1792.
  34. B. & H. No. 60.
  35. Nottebohm, Beethoveniana, III.
  36. B. & H. No. 108.
  37. Ibid. No. 175.
  38. Ibid. No. 122.
  39. Tahyer, i. 237.
  40. Nottebohm, Beethoveniana XXVII.
  41. Thayer, Versiechenies, No 22.
  42. Thayer, Leben i. 237.
  43. Ibid. i. 227 and 215
  44. Ibid. ii. 108.
  45. Ibid. i, 255, 'auf der Erd.'
  46. Ibid. i. 259.
  47. For all the exercises here mentioned and an able faithful commentary, see Nottebohm's invaluable edition of Beethoven's Studien, vol. 1. 1873.
  48. Nottebohm, Beethoven's Studien, p. 196.
  49. Dolezalek, in Thayer, ii. 117.
  50. Ries, Biographische Notizen, p. 87.
  51. Czerny, quoted in note to Lady Wallace's edition of the Letters. ii. 12.
  52. Thayer, i. 281
  53. Ibid. 255, 257
  54. These were in his possession for more than 20 years, and are now in the Bibilothek at Berlin. Pohl. Jahresbricht des Conservatoriums 20. p. 16
  55. See Pohl, Haydn in London, 7–88.
  56. Ries, p. 92.
  57. See also the Letter to Zmeakall on the Countess Erdödy's influences over her servant; Nohl, Briefe Beethovens, No. 54.
  58. Thayer, ii, 299.
  59. Ries, p. 108.
  60. Ibid. p. 95
  61. Schindler, ii. 65.
  62. See Briefe, Nos. 278, 280, 284.
  63. Thayer, ii. 54.
  64. Carlyle's French Revolution, bk v. ch. 2.
  65. Ries, p. 86.
  66. Aus Moscheles' Leben, i. 10.
  67. He calls them his 'deadly enemies.' Letter to Eleanore von Breuning, Nov. 2, 93.
  68. Thayer, ii. 55.
  69. Kozeluch, see Thayer, ii. 108. Romberg did the same thing some years later; and see Spohr's curious story of him, Selbstbiog, 1. 85.
  70. See the story in Ries, p. 81.
  71. Letter to Eleonore v. Breuning, Nov. 2. 1793, with Wegeler's remarks, B. Notizen, p. 59.
  72. Thayer, ii. 10.
  73. Czerny gives the various forms of his improvisations. Thayer, ii. 347.
  74. Notizen, p. 100
  75. Thayer ii, 236.
  76. Ibid. ii. 349, 312.
  77. Conversation with Bettina. Thayer, ii. 19.
  78. Ibid. ii. 313.
  79. 'One of those who were attracted to Coleridge as bees to honey, or bees to the sound of a brass pan." Hazlitt, in The Liberal
  80. Thayer, ii. 26.
  81. 'She would have put me under a glass case if she could,' said Beethoven.
  82. Countess Gallenberg, in Thayer, ii. 172.
  83. Letter of July 14, 1831.
  84. See the anecdote in Thayer, ii. 104: and Ries's remark about the tailor's daughters, Notizen. p. 113.
  85. Noul. Neue Briefe. No. 150
  86. See vol i. 165.
  87. Mozart's six quartets are dedicated to Haydn, but this is quite an exception. Haydn dedicated a Sonata or two in London, but it was not his practice.
  88. As given in Nottebohm's Thematischen Verseichnis, Anhang iv. c.
  89. In dedicating opus 90 to Prince Moritz Lichnowsky he says, that 'anything approaching a gift in return would only distress him, and that he should decidedly refuse it.' See also the letter to Zmeskall (Dec. 16. 1818) dedicating op. 96.
  90. Frau Streicher, Breife, No. 200.
  91. Letter to Archd. Bodolph, July 18, 1821.
  92. Neue Beethoveniana, No. VII.
  93. Moscheles, Leben, I. 18.
  94. 'It is no object to me to have my hair dressed,' says he, à propos to a servant who possessed that accomplishement, Feb. 25, 1818.
  95. Countess Gallenberg, in Thayer, ii. 172.
  96. Letter of June 15, 1825.
  97. Spohr, Selbstbiog. 198. E.B., in Thayer ii, 297.
  98. Bochlitz, Für Freunde d. Tonkwast, iv. 380; and the charming account (by a niece of Dr. Burney) in the Harmonincon, Dec. 1825.
  99. Sir Julius Benedict's recollection.
  100. Breuning, Aus dem Schwarspanierhaus, p. 67.
  101. I heartily wish it were in my power to give these two portraits, so full of character and so unlike the ordinary engravings. The first of the two has a special interest as having been sent by Beethoven to Breuning as a pledge of reconciliation. See the letter p. 192.
  102. Seyfried, Biogr. Notizen, 13.—'In that limited space was concentrated the pluck of twenty battalions.'—Eothen, ch. xviii.
  103. Czerny, in Thayer, ii. 318.
  104. Thayer, ii. 236.
  105. Seyfried, p. 17. confirmed by Spohr. Selbstbiog. I. 201.
  106. Ries, p. 94.
  107. Countess Gallenberg, in Thayer, ii. 172.
  108. Ries, p. 94.
  109. Moscheles, Leben, I. 17.
  110. Breuning, p. 44.
  111. Thayer, ii. 340.
  112. Letter to Zmeskall, Oct. 3, 1818.
  113. Letter to Simrock, Aug. 8, 1794.
  114. For instance a MS. of the B flat Concerto, formerly in possession of Mr. Powell.
  115. Thayer's two vols. contain many not before published.
  116. See Nos. 298, 308 of Nohl's Briefe.
  117. Schinder (1st ed.) 121.
  118. Thayer, ii. 227.
  119. Thayer, ii. 258.
  120. See the list for 1822, 3, and 4, in Breuning, 43–45.
  121. Letter to Mme. von Drossdick. Briefe, No. 61: also to Archd. Bodolph, May 27, 1813, and to Hauschks, No 210. Nohl, Leben, ii. 573.
  122. Thayer, ii. 278.
  123. In a letter to Countess Erdödy accepting an invitation he stipulates for 'a little bath room.'
  124. See Nohl, Leben, iii, 1941.
  125. Letter to Wegeler, June 29, 1801.
  126. Letters to Amanda (1800); Wegeler, June 29 Nov. 16 (1803). Ries, p. 98.
  127. Ries, p. 98
  128. Schindler, ii. 170.
  129. Ibid. 11.
  130. Ibid. 3.
  131. This diagnosis, which I owe to the kindness of my friend Dr. Lander Brunton, is confirmed by the assistance of two prescriptions of which, winse the passage in the text was written, I have been told by Mr. Thayer, who heard of them from Dr. Bartolini.
  132. Letter to Wegeler, June 1800.
  133. Thus the 3-bar rhythm of the Scherzo of the 9th Symphony gradually came as he wrote and re-wrote a fugue subject apparently destined for a very different work. Nottebohm N. B. XXIII
  134. First given by Thayer, Chron. Verseichniss. No. 140. For further information on this interesting subject see Nottebohm's Ein Skissenbuch Beethoven's.
  135. Nottebohm, N. B. VII.
  136. Breuning, 98.
  137. Letter, July 23, 1815.
  138. There is one in the MS. department of the British Museum.
  139. Conversations with Echermann, Oxenford's translation, ii, 112.
  140. Neue Beethoveniana, XIII.
  141. Schindler, p. 154.
  142. Thayer, ii. 58.
  143. Eckermann. Jan, 18, 1825.
  144. Letter to Matthison, Aug. 4, 1800. Czerny, in Thayer, ii. 98; also 195.
  145. Thayer, ii. 324.
  146. See the quotations in Thayer, ii. 275.
  147. Goethe, Wilhem Meisters Wunderjahre, Bk. 11, chap. 9.
  148. See Nottebohm's Beethovens Studien, i, 202.
  149. Haydn left Vienna for London on Jan. 19, '94, and did not return until Sept. '95, when the Trios had been printed and in the subscribers hands for some weeks. If he therefore advise Beethoven not to publish the third it must been before he left Vienna. Ries's statement is so explicit that the alternative suggested in the text seems the only escape from the difficulty.
  150. He maintained this plan till 1802, when he informs Varenne that he never publishes until a year after composition. Letter Feb. 8, 1802.
  151. In the Adagio of No. 1 the corresponding movement in No. 3 of the early Piano Quartets is partially adopted—a rare thing with Beethoven.
  152. Wegeler, p. 29.
  153. B. & H. 167.
  154. Ibid, 112.
  155. B. & H. 253.
  156. Ibid. 258.
  157. Ibid. 256.
  158. Ibid. 16, 17.
  159. Thayer, i. 294
  160. Wegeler, p. 36.
  161. Wismarck. Chronik de Hofburgtheater, p. 98.
  162. Hanslick, Concertwissen in Wien, p. 105.
  163. 'Une grande Scene mise en musique, par L. v. Beethoven, à Prague, 1798,' is Beethoven's own title (Nottebohm, Beethoveniana, p. 1, note).
  164. Fasch's Journal, Thayer ii. 13. Strange that Zelter (Corr. wih Goethe) should not refer to this visit. Mme von Voss's Journal, too, is blank during these very months.
  165. B. & H. 290.
  166. Ibid. 169.
  167. Ibid. 168.
  168. Ibid. 194.
  169. Nottebohm, Catalogue, p. 216.
  170. B. & H. 109.
  171. Ibid. 170.
  172. An unusual combination, which may explain why so fine a work remained in MS. till 1801.
  173. B. & H. 110.
  174. Schmid, Joseph Haydn und N. Zingarelli, etc. (Vienna, 1847), p. 8.
  175. B. & H. 251.
  176. Thayer, ii. 18.
  177. B. & H. 196.
  178. Not the Trio, Op. 87 (Nottebohm, Neue Beethoveniana).
  179. By Schindler, on the statement of Beethoven himself and others.
  180. See Thayer, ii. 33, and Nottebohm's Catalogue, Op. 9. Why are not such interesting matters as this Letter or the Dedications reprinted in all cases with Beethoven's works?
  181. Ries, p. 81.
  182. Thayer, ii. 32, note.
  183. B. & H. 176.
  184. Ibid. 171.
  185. See Tomaschek's interesting account in Thayer, ii. 29.
  186. See Seyfried, Notisen, 6.
  187. Nottebohm, N. B. No. XX.
  188. Nottebohm, N. B. No. II.
  189. Schindler, on Beethoven's authority, Biographie (1840), p. 224, Moscheles' ed. ii. 124.
  190. B. & H. 172, 173, 174.
  191. Nottebohm, N. B. No. XVI.
  192. Ibid. No. XIX.
  193. Thayer, ii. 99.
  194. Thayer, ii. 99
  195. Ibid, ii. 98.
  196. Ries, p. 82.
  197. Thayer, ii. 104
  198. Ibid, ii. 118.
  199. Published by C. F. Pohl, Jahren-Bericht des Conservatoriums der Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Wien, 1870. Also Thayer, ii. 106. The drawback to this, and to so much of the information regarding Beethoven, is that it was not written till many years after the events that it describes.
  200. Letter of Dec. 15, 1800.
  201. In curious contradiction to the strong expressions on the sunject of arrangements in a subsequent letter, quoted by Thayer, ii. 183.
  202. Originally numbered op. 24, but when the Overture was issued in Parts it was numbered op. 43, and op. 24 was given to the Violin Sonata in F.
  203. Thayer, ii. 131.
  204. Thayer (ii. 160) has shown that Ries has mistaken the year, and did not come to Vienna till 1801.
  205. Author of Winter's 'Unterbrochene Opferfest,' and other pieces.
  206. His letter of Jan. 23, 1804, printed by Pohl in Die Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde (Vienna, 1871), p. 57.
  207. Ries, p. 80.
  208. F. Hiller, in Thayer, ii. 134.
  209. Czerny, in Thayer, ii. 134.
  210. Thayer, Verzeichness, No. 91.
  211. This foolish sobriquet is dervied from a criticism on the work by Rellstab mentioning moonlight on the Lake of Lucerne.
  212. Thayer, ii. 172.
  213. No year is given in the date of the letter. Wegeler places it in 1800, but Thayer (ii. 155, 6) has proved it to belong to 1801.
  214. Ein Skiszenbuch von Beethoven, etc. Leipzig, B. & H.
  215. 'Well engraved,' says Beethoven to Hoffmeister, 'but you have been a fine time about it!'
  216. B. & H. 197.
  217. The autograph is in possession of Madame Lind-Goldschmidt, to whom it was given by Ernst.
  218. See the sensible remarks of Thayer, ii. 196.
  219. Thayer, ii. 188, 200.
  220. Ibid. 188.
  221. See his letter (Dec. 26, 1802) in Thayer, ii. 213.
  222. Between the 28th and 27th bars from the end of the first movement.
  223. E.g. that of Holle of Wolfenbüttel. An equally gratuitous alteration has been made in the Sonata op. 81 a. See Thayer, Verseichniss, p. 192.
  224. Letter to Hoffmeister, April 8, 1802.
  225. Ries, 120.
  226. Ries, 120. He issued a notice to the public, cautioning them against this incorrect edition.
  227. Ries, 87.
  228. Caspar had already offered them to Andre of Offenbach. See Thayer, ii. 202.
  229. Ries, 76; Seyfried, Notizen, 19; and see Thayer, ii, 223, 224.
  230. See the report in Thayer, ii, 225.
  231. See Thayer, ii, 221, 222
  232. Nottebohm, Beethoveniana, p. 82.
  233. Not Baden-Baden, but a mineral-water bath 16 or 18 miles south of Vienna.
  234. Thayer, ii. 236.
  235. Ibid. 234.
  236. Ibid. 241.
  237. By Gänsbacher, Ibid. 236.
  238. Ibid. 248.
  239. See the letters and replies in Thayer, ii. 259.
  240. Thayer, ii. 246.
  241. These words can still be made out on the cover of the MS. score at Vienna.
  242. B. & H. 192.
  243. Notizen, p. 114.
  244. B. & H. 179, 180.
  245. Ibid. 234.
  246. In his journal 1812-1818. Nohl, Die Beethoven-Feier {1871), p. 55.
  247. Thayer, ii. 261; and Ries, p. 79.
  248. 'Leonore ou l'amour conjugale, opera comique,' Feb. 18, 1798.
  249. 'Leonora ossia l'amore conjugale,' Dresden, Oct. 3, 1804.
  250. Letter to Ataria, June 1, 1805.
  251. Thayer, ii. 281.
  252. Ibid. 282.
  253. Seyfried, p. 22; also Czerny in Cæcilia. See Thayer, ii. 303.
  254. See Hiller, in Macmillan's Magazine, July 1875; also the report of a conversation with Mendelssohn in Marx's Music of the 19th century. A fragment of a sketch-book of Beethoven's in Mr. Joachim's possession contains the Trio in the 'Deux Journées' and a piece from the 'Zauberflöte,' mixed up with bits of 'Fidelio' and of the Finale of the B flat Symphony.
  255. Thayer, Chron. Verseichniss, pp. 180, 181.
  256. Ries, 102.
  257. Aberheulish; Czerny, in Thayer, ii. 202.
  258. Schindler (1860), 1. 125, 126.
  259. Letter to Meyer.
  260. To Treitschke, im Schindler, i. 136.
  261. Breuning's letter of June 2, 1804.
  262. See Rosckel's account of the whole transaction in Tahyer, ii. 285.
  263. Nottebohm, Catalogue', op. 67 and 68.'
  264. Letter to Brunswick, May 11.
  265. Thayer, ii. 311.
  266. Thayer, ii, 311.
  267. Catalogue, op. 59.
  268. 'Lieber, lieber Brunswick … küsse deine Schwester Therese.' Letter, May 11. His favourite Sonata, op. 78, was dedicated to this lady.
  269. Breuning's letter of October, in Thayer, ii. 312.
  270. Composed in or about 1794. Nottebohm, Catalogue, op. 87.
  271. B. & H. 90.
  272. A. M. Z. ix. 300.
  273. Schindler, i. 142.
  274. To Brunswick, 'an einem Meytage.' Nohl, Neue Briefe, No. 7.
  275. Nottebohm, Beethoveniana, p. 70, etc.
  276. Schindler, i. 153.
  277. B. & H. 181.
  278. Schindler.
  279. Reichardt in Schindler, i, 150 note; and see Beethoven's note to Zmeskall of 'Dec. 1808.'
  280. On this occasion the Introduction to the Choral Fantasia was extemporised; it was not written down for 8 or 9 months later. Nottebohm, N. B. No. V.
  281. B. & H. No. 78.
  282. Schindler, i, 187.
  283. See Nohl. Briefe, No. 48, 49, and Neue Briefe, 41.
  284. See the A. M. Z. for Oct. 18.
  285. See the letter to Oppersdorf just cited, and Reichardt in Nohl, Leben.
  286. B. & H. 235.
  287. Since the above was written Mr. Nottebohm has published an account of a sketch-book of 1809, which shows a good deal of agitation. N. B. No. XXV.
  288. Rochlitz, Für Freunde der Tonkunst, iv. 359.
  289. Thayer, ii. 172.
  290. Nottebohm, N. B. No. V.
  291. B. & H. 236.
  292. Ibid. 254.
  293. See the ample details in Thayer, Chron. Verzeichniss, No. 174-177.
  294. Nottebohm, N. B. XXI.
  295. Ibid. Beethoveniana, XXIII.
  296. See Letter of Aug. 15, 1812.
  297. Letter to Wegeler, May 2, and to Zmeskall, July 10.
  298. Thayer, Verzeichniss, No. 156, 157.
  299. Letter of Breuning, in Wegeler, Nachtrag, 14.
  300. First sketched in C, as 'Sonate facile,' N. B. XXV.
  301. Briefe, No. 70.
  302. B. & H. 248.
  303. To follow the air: Nottebohm, N. B. XXV. This was as far back as 1800
  304. Letter to Zmeskall, Sept. 10—under the name not of 'Metronome' but of 'Zeitmesser.'
  305. Nottebohm, N. B. VI.
  306. Letter to Sehwelger, Köchel, No. 1.
  307. Schindler, i. 195. For the canon see B. & H. 256, No. 2. There is some great error in the dates of this period—possibly there were two journeys. The whole will be settle in Mr. Thayer's new volume.
  308. Conversation-book, Nohl, Leben, iii, 841.
  309. Nottebohm, N. B. VI.
  310. Letter to the Archduke, Aug. 12.
  311. Letter to Bettina, Aug. 15, 1812
  312. Nohl, Neue Briefe, No. 79–85. The lock of hair which she cut from his head is still preserved by her family.
  313. Letter to Zmeskall, Briefe, No. 95. Letter to Archduke, Aug. 12, A. M. Z. xiv, 596.
  314. Notes to Letter of July 4.
  315. Nottebohm, N. B. VI.
  316. Letter to Archduke, Köchel No. 4.
  317. Nottebohm, in the Catalogue. B. & H. 249a.
  318. B. & H. No. 80.
  319. Published in Kuffner's complete works as 'Hersilla.'
  320. Letter to Zmeskall, April 19.
  321. Letter to Archduke
  322. Schindler, i. 187.
  323. Letters to Zmeskall, April 19, 26.
  324. See the note to Thayer, ii. 313. The idea noted in his diary is a far nobler one—a National Hymn, each nation engaged to be represented by a march, and the whole to close with a Te Deum. Nohl, Beethovenfeier, pp. 71, 72.
  325. See Moschele's note to his edition of Schindler, i. 153.
  326. Beethoven's droll note to Hummel (Nohl, Neue Briefe, No. 95) shows that there was no quarrel between them.
  327. Moscheles, Leben, i. 15.
  328. Spohr, Selbstbiog. i, 208. He says it was a new Trio in D, but the Trio in D had been out for five years.
  329. See Moscheles, Leben, i. 17, 18
  330. A. M. Z. 1814, p. 71.
  331. Briefe Nos. 113, 114.
  332. The whole evidence will be given by Mr. Thayer in his forthcoming volume. He assures me that Maelzel has been much sinned against.
  333. Sept. 21, 1814
  334. Nottebohm, Beethoveniana, XIV.
  335. See Nottebohm, N. B. X; and Oriental Palace Programme, Nov. 4, 1875.
  336. Schindler, i. 198.
  337. The glorious Moment. See Nottebohm, Catalogue, op. 136.
  338. Nottebohm, N. B. No. XII.
  339. Letter to Archduke, Köchel, p. 31.
  340. His note to the Archduke, Köchel, p. 29.
  341. Schindler, i. 202.
  342. To Kanka [App. p.533 "Kauka", Feb. 24, 1815.
  343. B. & H. 239 & 245.
  344. The Pianoforte arrangement of the Symphony in A is also dedicated to her.
  345. Schindler (i. 228) says 1817; but it is obvious that it happened before Caspar's death (Breuning, 45).
  346. Schindler, i. 228; ii. 128.
  347. 'Was haben Sie da?' was the enquiry of the 'privilegirie Bettierin' when the hearse drew up with Mozart's body at the gate of the Cemetry, 'Ein Capellmeister' was the answer.
  348. Schindler, i, 202.
  349. See Breuning, 101; and compare letter to Mad. Stericher, Briefe, No. 200; and the use of the word 'gedichtet' in the title of the Oveture Op. 118.
  350. See the very curious letter from Beethoven of Jan 29, 1824, in Pohl's pamphlet, Gesellschaft, etc., 1871.
  351. B. & H. 15.
  352. See Thayer's Catalogue, No. 208.
  353. Briefe, Nos. 167, 68.
  354. The German comes out however when he is deeply moved, as in the 'Bitte fr innern und sssern Frieden,' and the 'Aengstlich' in the 'Dona' of the Mass, the 'beklemmt' in the Cavatina of the B flat Quartet, etc.
  355. Composed 1818-19, and published Sept. 1819.
  356. Composed 1819-20, published Nov. 1821.
  357. Dated Dec. 25, 1821, and published Aug. 1822.
  358. B. & H. 224, 247, 255.
  359. The compass of this instrument was 6 octaves, from C five lines below the Bass stave. A sister piano, No. 7252, of the same compass and qaulity for the Princess Charlotte, and is now at Claremonth. The number of grand pianos (full and concert only) now (Feb. 1878) reached by the firm is 21,150.
  360. This interesting autograph is in the possession of Mr. M. M. Holloway, to whom I am indebted for its presence here.
  361. The note from Broadwood's agent in Vienna which accompanied this letter shows that all freight and charges were paid by the giver of the piano.
  362. Letter to Ries, July 9, 1817; and Hogarth's Philharmonic Society, p. 18.
  363. Schindler, i, 269.
  364. Letter, Köchel, No. 48.
  365. Nottebohm, N. B. VII.
  366. i. 270.
  367. His own words to Ries in describing the production of the Sonata in B♭. Briefe. No. 212.
  368. To Blöchlinger (Sept. 14), to Ataria (Oct. 12), etc.
  369. End of 1819 and beginning of 1920. Nottebohm, Op. 109, in Catalogue.
  370. Letter to the Archduke, Köchel.
  371. Nottebohm, N. B. xxiii.
  372. Ibid.
  373. Ibid.
  374. Ibid.
  375. Schindler, ii. 13. A. M. Z. for 1822, 198.
  376. Rochlitz, Für Freunde der Tonkunst, iv. 207, 2.
  377. Printed by Nohl, Neue Briefe, No. 255.
  378. C. M. von Weber, von Max v. W. ii. 505–511.
  379. Seyfried, 22.
  380. C. M. von Weber, ii. 509.
  381. Schindler, ii. 56.
  382. Schindler, ii. 49.
  383. Breuning, 95, 50 note. He thought the two libretti mentioned the best in existence.
  384. Dietrichstein in Schindler.
  385. The Archduke was away, and so also must Lobkowitz have been.
  386. Schindler, ii. 62–68
  387. These were thus announced, and sung to German words, owing to the interference of the Censure and the clergy. A similar stipulation is still made at Exeter hall. A Mass be announced as a 'Service.' Thus extremes meet.
  388. Letter to Steiner, May 27.
  389. Schindler, ii. 17. The subscribers were the courts of Prussia, France, Saxony, Darmstadt, and Russia; Prince Radziwill, and Mr. Schelbie, the founder of the Schiller Verein at Frankfort.
  390. See Breife, Nos. 237, 246, 255; and Neue Briefe, No. 299 note.
  391. Letter to Peters, June 5, 1822.
  392. Briefe, Nos. 368, 377.
  393. Ibid. No. 379.
  394. Letter of Sept. 17. Here again we are puzzled by the fact that the quartet was sold to Schotts before Prince Galitzin had either paid, or declined to pay, the sum he promised.
  395. Breife, 322.
  396. He died in Vienna, April 13, 1858.
  397. Schindler, ii, 111, 112.
  398. Briefe, Nos. 329 and 372.
  399. A. M. Z. Dec. 21, 1825.
  400. Originally written in A, and intended for the A minor Quartet.
  401. Breuning, 96.
  402. Schindler, in Wallace ii. 148.
  403. Nohl, Leben, iii, 716. Deutsche Musik-Zeitung, Mar. 8, 1862.
  404. Letter to Schott, Sept. 17, 1824.
  405. Letter to Wegeler, Vienna, Oct. 7, 1826.
  406. 'I am at Gneixendorf,' says he to Haslinger. 'The name is something like the breaking of an axletree' (Briefe, No. 383).
  407. Letter to Haslinger, Oct. 13.
  408. Gneixendorf is on the high ground which rises above Krems, 2 miles due north of it.
  409. Breuning, 90.
  410. Ibid. 91, 90.
  411. Schindler ii, 126; but see his letter in Moscheles' Leben, i. 144.
  412. The 'Junge Nonne,' 'Die Burgschaft,' 'Der Taucher,' 'Elisium,' and the Ossian Songs are mentioned by Schindler. But of the these the only one published before Beethoven's death was the first.
  413. See the Sale Catalogue.
  414. Breuning, 94.
  415. Feb. 8 to Stumpff; Feb. 22 to Mocheles and to Smart; March 6 to Smart; and March 14 to Moscheles.
  416. See the account in Moscheles' Leben, i. 138–175.
  417. Hiller's Beethoven (1871), p. 73.
  418. Schindler, ii. 142.
  419. See the Wiener Abendpost, 24 Oct. 1858.
  420. Breuning, 113. Afterwards lithographed, but now rare owing to the stone having broken.
  421. 20,000 says Breuning.
  422. Breuning, 128.
  423. Ibid. 125. The catalogue and valuation are dated August 16.
  424. Autographs of Symphonies fetched 5 florins each; Overtures 2½; Sonatas 2; the Mass in D 7; and so on.
  425. Biographie, ii. 147.
  426. See the Aclammicherige Darstellung der Ausgrahms und Wiederbeisedsung der irdischen Raste von Beethoven und Schubert, Vienna, 1863,
  427. Beethoven et ses trois Styles. Petersbourg, 1892.
  428. Sonata, op. 10, No. 1; melody in working out of 1st movement of Septet; Adagio of op. 31, No. 1; Quintet, op. 16.
  429. In the Finale of this work we almost surprise the change of style in the act of being made.
  430. Macmillan's Magazine, July. 1876.
  431. Ibid.
  432. Ibid.
  433. Music of the Future, translated by Dannreuther, 1873; p. 44.
  434. Griesinger, p. 114.
  435. One would like to know if Haydn ever heard the First or any other of Beethoven's Symphonies, and what his real feelings were about them. He lived on till 1809, and might thus have heard the Eroica and even the C minor.
  436. Preface to the Eroica
  437. Mr. Dannreuther in Macmillan.
  438. Mr. Davison's Analysis of the Sonata op. 106.
  439. Fétis, Biographie, s. v. Knecht.
  440. I have been much indebted in this part of my work to an admirable paper by Mr. Dannreuther in Macmillan's Magazine for July, 1878. I have quoted from it more than once, and if I have not done so still more it is because the style of his remarks is not suited to the bald rigidity of a Dictionary article.