Chapter XXII
The Year 1802—The Heiligenstadt Will—Beethoven’s Views on Arrangements—A Defence of Beethoven’s Brothers—The Slanders of Romancers and Unscrupulous Biographers—Compositions and Publications of the Year.
The impatient Beethoven, vexed at the tardy improvement of his health under the treatment of Vering, made that change of physicians contemplated in his letter to Wegeler. This was done some time in the winter 1801-1802, and is all the foundation there is for Schindler’s story of “a serious illness in the first months of this year for which he was treated by the highly esteemed physician Dr. Schmidt.” The remarkable list of compositions and publications belonging to this year is proof sufficient that he suffered no physical disability of such a nature as seriously to interrupt his ordinary vocations; as is also the utter silence of Ries, Breuning, Czerny, Doležalek and Beethoven himself. The tone of the letters written at the time is also significant on this point.
Concerning the failure of his project to follow the example set in 1800 and give a concert towards the close of the winter in the theatre we learn all we know from a letter from his brother Carl to Breitkopf and Härtel dated April 22, 1802. Therein we read:
My brother would himself have written to you, but he is ill-disposed towards everything because the Director of the Theatre, Baron von Braun, who, as is known, is a stupid and rude fellow, refused him the use of the Theatre for his concert and gave it to other really mediocre artists; and I believe it must vex him greatly to see himself so unworthily treated, particularly as the Baron has no cause and my brother has dedicated several works to his wife.
When one looks down from the Kahlenberg towards Vienna in the bright, sweet springtime, the interesting country is almost worthy of Tennyson’s description:
It lies
Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns
And bowery hollows, crown’d with summer sea.
Conspicuous are the villages, Döbling, hard by the city Nussdorfer line, and Heiligenstadt, divided from Döbling by a ridge of higher land in a deep gorge.
Beethoven at Heiligenstadt
Dr. Schmidt, having enjoined upon Beethoven to spare his hearing as much as possible, he removed for the summer to the place last named. There is much and good reason to believe that his rooms were in a large peasant house still standing, on the elevated plain beyond the village on the road to Nussdorf, now with many neat cottages near, but then probably quite solitary. In those years, there was from his windows an unbroken view across fields, the Danube and the Marchfeld, to the Carpathian mountains that line the horizon. A few minutes’ walk citywards brought him to the baths of Heiligenstadt; or, in the opposite direction, to the secluded valley in which at another period he composed the “Pastoral” symphony. The vast increase of Vienna and its environs in population, has caused corresponding changes; but in 1802, that peasant house seems to have offered him everything he could desire; fresh air, sun, green fields, delightful walks, bathing, easy access to his physician, and yet a degree of solitude which now is not easy to conceive as having been attainable so near the capital.
Part of a letter written hence to Breitkopf and Härtel, but no longer in the possession of that house, affords another illustration of Beethoven’s excellent common sense and discrimination in all that pertained to his art.
... Concerning arrangements I am heartily glad that you rejected them. The unnatural rage now prevalent to transplant even pianoforte pieces to stringed instruments, instruments so utterly opposite to each other in all respects, ought to come to an end. I insist stoutly that only Mozart could arrange his pianoforte pieces for other instruments—and Haydn—and, without wishing to put myself in the class of these great men, I also assert it touching my pianoforte sonatas too, since not only are whole passages to be omitted and changed, but also—things are to be added, and here lies the obstacle, to overcome which one must either be the master himself or at least have the same skill and inventive power—I transcribed a single one of my sonatas for string quartet,128 yielding to great persuasion, and I certainly know that it would not be an easy matter for another to do as well.
The difficulties here mentioned, it will be noticed, are those of transcribing pianoforte music for other instruments; the contrary operation is so comparatively easy, that Beethoven very rarely performed it himself, but left it for the most part to young musicians, whose work he revised and corrected.
There are a great many pieces by Beethoven (says Ries), published with the designation: Arrangé par l’Auteur même; but only four of these are genuine, namely: from his famous Septet he arranged first a violin quintet, and then a Pianoforte Trio; out of his Pianoforte Quintet (with four wind-instruments) he made a Pianoforte Quartet with three string-instruments; finally, he arranged the Violin Concerto which is dedicated to Stephan von Breuning (Op. 61) as a Pianoforte Concerto. Many other pieces were arranged by me, revised by Beethoven, and then sold as Beethoven’s by his brother Caspar.
Without calling in question here the general statement in this citation, it may be remarked, that if Ries is right in respect to the arrangement of the Septet as a Quintet, the work remained in manuscript, for the one published was by Hoffmeister. But the Trio was begun and, as is believed, finished this year. Its history has been told. Ries’s statement is neither exhaustive nor altogether exact touching the arrangements of the Septet. Moreover, in 1806, without Beethoven’s knowledge or consent, he arranged the six Quartets, Op. 18, and the three Trios for strings, Op. 9, as Pianoforte Trios.
An interesting anecdote from the “Notizen” may be introduced here. “Count Browne,” says Ries,
made a rather long sojourn about this time in Baden near Vienna, where I was called upon frequently to play Beethoven’s music evenings in the presence of enthusiastic Beethovenians, sometimes from notes, sometimes by heart. Here I had an opportunity to learn how in the majority of cases a name alone is sufficient to characterize everything in a composition as beautiful and excellent, or mediocre and bad. One day, weary of playing without notes, I improvised a march without a thought as to its merit or any ulterior purpose. An old countess who actually tormented Beethoven with her devotion, went into ecstasies over it, thinking it was a new composition of his, which I, in order to make sport of her and the other enthusiasts, affirmed only too quickly. Unhappily Beethoven came to Baden the next day. He had scarcely entered Count Browne’s room in the evening when the old countess began to speak of the most admirable and glorious march. Imagine my embarrassment! Knowing well that Beethoven could not tolerate the old countess, I hurriedly drew him aside and whispered to him that I had merely meant to make sport of her foolishness. To my good fortune he accepted the explanation in good part, but my embarrassment grew when I was called upon to repeat the march, which turned out worse since Beethoven stood at my side. He was overwhelmed with praise on all hands and his genius lauded, he listening in a perturbed manner and with growing rage until he found relief in a roar of laughter. Later he remarked to me: “You see, my dear Ries, those are the great cognoscenti, who wish to judge every composition so correctly and severely. Only give them the name of their favorite; they will need nothing more.” Yet the march led to one good result: Count Browne immediately commissioned Beethoven to compose three Marches for Pianoforte, four hands.129
Melancholy Influence of Heiligenstadt
The seclusion of Heiligenstadt was of itself so seductive to Beethoven, that the prudence of Dr. Schmidt in advising him to withdraw so much from society, may be doubted; the more, because the benefit to his hearing proved to be small or none. It gave him too many lonely hours in which to brood over his calamity; it enabled him still to flatter himself that his secret was yet safe; it led him to defer, too long for his peace of mind, the bitter moment of confession; and consequently to deprive himself needlessly of the tender compassion and ready sympathy of friends, whose lips were sealed so long as he withheld his confidence. But, in truth, the secret so jealously guarded was already known—but who could inform him of it?—though not long nor generally, as we learn from Ries.
It was well for Beethoven, when the time came for him to return to the city, and to resume the duties and obligations of his profession. To what depths of despondency he sometimes sank in those solitary hours at Heiligenstadt, is shown by a remarkable and most touching paper, written there just before his return to town, but never seen by other eyes until after his death. Although addressed to and intended for both his brothers, it is, as Schindler has remarked, “surprising and singular,” that the name “Johann” is left utterly blank throughout—not even being indicated by the usual.... It is couched in terms of energetic expression, rising occasionally to eloquence—somewhat rude and unpolished indeed, but, perhaps, for that reason the more striking. The manuscript130 is so carefully written, and disfigured by so few erasures and corrections, as to prove the great pains taken with it before the final copy was made. The closing sentences, in which he discovers his expectations of an early death, have acquired double importance since the publication of Schindler’s suicide story, for the decisive manner in which they remove every possible suspicion that, even in his present hypochondria, he could contemplate such a crime.
Ries’s paragraph upon Beethoven’s deafness, in which he relates a circumstance alluded to in the document, is its most fitting introduction:
As early as 1802, Beethoven suffered from deafness at various times, but the affliction each time passed away. The beginning of his hard hearing was a matter upon which he was so sensitive that one had to be careful not to make him feel his deficiency by loud speech. When he failed to understand a thing he generally attributed it to his absent-mindedness, to which, indeed, he was subject in a great degree. He lived much in the country, whither I went often to take a lesson from him. At times, at 8 o’clock in the morning after breakfast he would say: “Let us first take a short walk.” We went, and frequently did not return till 3 or 4 o’clock, after having made a meal in some village. On one of these wanderings Beethoven gave me the first striking proof of his loss of hearing, concerning which Stephan von Breuning had already spoken to me. I called his attention to a shepherd who was piping very agreeably in the woods on a flute made of a twig of elder. For half an hour Beethoven could hear nothing, and though I assured him that it was the same with me (which was not the case), he became extremely quiet and morose. When occasionally he seemed to be merry it was generally to the extreme of boisterousness; but this happened seldom.
Following is the text of the document:
Text of the Heiligenstadt “Will”
For my brothers Carl and —— Beethoven.
O ye men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn or misanthropic, how greatly do ye wrong me, you do not know the secret causes of my seeming, from childhood my heart and mind were disposed to the gentle feeling of good will, I was even ever eager to accomplish great deeds, but reflect now that for 6 years I have been in a hopeless case, aggravated by senseless physicians, cheated year after year in the hope of improvement, finally compelled to face the prospect of a lasting malady (whose cure will take years or, perhaps, be impossible), born with an ardent and lively temperament, even susceptible to the diversions of society, I was compelled early to isolate myself, to live in loneliness, when I at times tried to forget all this, O how harshly was I repulsed by the doubly sad experience of my bad hearing, and yet it was impossible for me to say to men speak louder, shout, for I am deaf, Ah how could I possibly admit an infirmity in the one sense which should have been more perfect in me than in others, a sense which I once possessed in highest perfection, a perfection such as few surely in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed—O I cannot do it, therefore forgive me when you see me draw back when I would gladly mingle with you, my misfortune is doubly painful because it must lead to my being misunderstood, for me there can be no recreation in society of my fellows, refined intercourse, mutual exchange of thought, only just as little as the greatest needs command may I mix with society, I must live like an exile, if I approach near to people a hot terror seizes upon me, a fear that I may be subjected to the danger of letting my condition be observed—thus it has been during the last half year which I spent in the country, commanded by my intelligent physician to spare my hearing as much as possible, in this almost meeting my present natural disposition, although I sometimes ran counter to it yielding to my inclination for society, but what a humiliation when one stood beside me and heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing or someone heard the shepherd singing and again I heard nothing, such incidents brought me to the verge of despair, but little more and I would have put an end to my life—only art it was that withheld me, ah it seemed impossible to leave the world until I had produced all that I felt called upon to produce, and so I endured this wretched existence—truly wretched, an excitable body which a sudden change can throw from the best into the worst state—Patience—it is said I must now choose for my guide, I have done so, I hope my determination will remain firm to endure until it pleases the inexorable parcæ to break the thread, perhaps I shall get better, perhaps not, I am prepared. Forced already in my 28th year to become a philosopher, O it is not easy, less easy for the artist than for any one else—Divine One thou lookest into my inmost soul, thou knowest it, thou knowest that love of man and desire to do good live therein. O men, when some day you read these words, reflect that ye did me wrong and let the unfortunate one comfort himself and find one of his kind who despite all the obstacles of nature yet did all that was in his power to be accepted among worthy artists and men. You my brothers Carl and as soon as I am dead if Dr. Schmid is still alive ask him in my name to describe my malady and attach this document to the history of my illness so that so far as is possible at least the world may become reconciled with me after my death. At the same time I declare you two to be the heirs to my small fortune (if so it can be called), divide it fairly, bear with and help each other, what injury you have done me you know was long ago forgiven. To you brother Carl I give special thanks for the attachment you have displayed towards me of late. It is my wish that your lives may be better and freer from care than I have had, recommend virtue to your children, it alone can give happiness, not money, I speak from experience, it was virtue that upheld me in misery, to it next to my art I owe the fact that I did not end my life by suicide—Farewell and love each other—I thank all my friends, particularly Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmid—I desire that the instruments from Prince L. be preserved by one of you but let no quarrel result from this, so soon as they can serve you a better purpose sell them, how glad will I be if I can still be helpful to you in my grave—with joy I hasten towards death—if it comes before I shall have had an opportunity to show all my artistic capacities it will still come too early for me despite my hard fate and I shall probably wish that it had come later—but even then I am satisfied, will it not free me from a state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt I shall meet thee bravely—Farewell and do not wholly forget me when I am dead, I deserve this of you in having often in life thought of you how to make you happy, be so—
Ludwig van Beethoven.
(seal)
Heiglnstadt,
October 6th,
1802.
For my Brothers Carl and to be read and executed after my death. Heiglnstadt, October 10th, 1802, thus do I take my farewell of thee—and indeed sadly—yes that beloved hope—which I brought with me when I came here to be cured at least in a degree—I must wholly abandon, as the leaves of autumn fall and are withered so hope has been blighted, almost as I came—I go away—even the high courage—which often inspired me in the beautiful days of summer—has disappeared—O Providence—grant me at last but one day of pure joy —it is so long since real joy echoed in my heart—O when—O when, O Divine One—shall I feel it again in the temple of nature and of men—Never? no—O that would be too hard.
A Quick Reversion to Merriment
De profundis clamavit! And yet in that retirement whence came a paper of such profound sadness was wrought out the Symphony in D; a work whose grand and imposing introduction—brilliant Allegro, a Larghetto “so lovely, so pure and amiably conceived,” written in the scenes which gave inspiration to the divine “Pastorale” of which its serene tranquility seems the precursor; a Scherzo “as merry, wayward, skipping and charming as anything possible,” as even Oulibichef admits; and a Finale, the very intoxication of a spirit “intoxicated with fire”—made it, like the Quartets, an era both in the life of its author and in the history of instrumental music. In life, as in music, the more profoundly the depths of feeling are sounded in the Adagio, the more “merry to the verge of boisterousness” the Scherzo which follows. But who, reading that in October that beloved hope had been abandoned and the high courage which had often inspired him in the beautiful days of summer had disappeared, could anticipate that in November, through the wonderful elasticity of his nature, his mind would have so recovered its tone as to leave no trace visible of the so recent depression and gloom? Perhaps the mere act of giving his feelings vent in that extraordinary promemoria may have brought on the crisis, and from that moment the reaction may have begun.
The following letter to Zmeskall (to which the recipient appended the date, November, 1802) is whimsically written on both sides of a strip of very ordinary coarse writing paper fourteen and a half inches long by four and three-quarters wide:
You may, my dear Z., talk as plainly as you please to Walter in the affair of mine, first because he deserves it and then because since the belief has gone forth that I am no longer on good terms with Walter I am pestered by the whole swarm of pianoforte makers wishing to serve me—and gratis, moreover, every one wants to build a pianoforte for me just to my liking; thus Reicha was urgently begged by the man who made a pianoforte for him to persuade me to let him make me one, and he is one of the more honest at whose place I have seen good instruments—make him understand therefore that I will pay him 30 florins, whereas I might have one from all the others for nothing, but I will pay 30 florins only on condition that it be of mahogany and I also want the one string (una corda) pedal—if he does not agree to this make it plain to him that I shall choose one of the others and also introduce him to Haydn—a Frenchman, stranger, is coming to me at about 12 o’clock to-day volti
subito
Herr R(eicha) and I will have the pleasure of displaying my art on a piano by Jakesch—ad notam—if you want also to come we shall have a good time since afterward we, Reicha, our miserable Imperial Baron and the Frenchman, will dine together—you do not need to don a black coat as we shall be a party of men only.
Another letter to Zmeskall (who noted the date November 13, 1802, on it) runs as follows:
Dear Z.—Give up your music at the Prince’s, nothing else can be done. We shall rehearse at your house to-morrow morning early at half past 8 and the production will be at my house at eleven—
ad dio excellent Plenipotentiarius regni Beethovensis
The rascals have been jailed as they deserved in their own handwriting.131
“Production” of what? The next Quintet, Op. 29, no doubt. “At my house”—no longer in the Hamberger House on the Bastion, but in the one pointed out by Czerny: “Beethoven lived a little later (about 1802) on the Petersplatz, the corner house beside the Guard-house, vis-à-vis of my present lodgings, in the fourth (?) storey, where I visited him as often as I did (in the Tiefen Graben). If you will give me the pleasure of a visit (No. 576) beside Daum, second storey, I will show you the windows. There I visited several times every week.”132
What whim could have induced Beethoven to remove to this house with the bells of St. Peter’s on one side and those of St. Stephen’s sounding down upon him on the other, and he so suffering with his ears? Perhaps because friends were in the house. Förster’s earliest recollections of Beethoven date from this winter and this house; for his father’s dwelling was in the third storey above him. He remembers that Beethoven volunteered to instruct him in pianoforte playing, and that he was forced to rise at six in the morning and descend the cold stairs, child as he was, hardly six years of age, to take his lessons; and on one occasion going up again crying because his master had whipped his little fingers with one of the iron or steel needles used in knitting the coarse yarn jackets worn by women in service.
The composition of the Marches for Four Hands (Op. 45), ordered by Count Browne, dates also from the house in the Petersplatz.
He composed part of the second march while giving me a lesson on a sonata which I had to play in the evening at the Count’s house at a little concert—a thing that still seems incomprehensible to me. I was also to play the marches on the same occasion with him. While we were playing young Count P... sitting in the doorway leading to the next room spoke so loudly and continuously to a pretty woman, that Beethoven, after several efforts had vainly been made to secure quiet, suddenly took my hands from the keys in the middle of the music, jumped up and said very loudly, “I will not play for such swine!” All efforts to get him to return to the pianoforte were vain, and he would not even allow me to play the sonata. So the music came to an end in the midst of much ill humor.
In composing Beethoven tested his pieces at the pianoforte until he found them to his liking, and sang the while. His voice in singing was hideous. It was thus that Czerny heard him at work on the four-hand Marches while waiting in a side room.
According to Jahn’s papers this statement came also from Czerny.
Beethoven and His Brothers
It is now necessary to turn back to November and again undertake the annoying and thankless task of examining a broad tissue of mingled fact and misrepresentation and severing the truth from the error; this time the subject is the relations which existed between Beethoven and his brothers in these years. A letter written by Kaspar is the occasion of taking it up here. Johann André, a music publisher at Offenbach-on-the-Main, following the example of Hoffmeister, Nägeli, Breitkopf and Härtel and others, now applied to Beethoven for manuscripts. Kaspar wrote the reply under date November 23, 1802:
... At present we have nothing but a Symphony, a grand Concerto for Pianoforte, the first at 300 florins and the second at the same price, if you should want three pianoforte sonatas I could furnish them for no less than 900 florins, all according to Vienna standard, and these you could not have all at once, but one every five or six weeks, because my brother does not trouble himself with such trifles any longer and composes only oratorios, operas, etc.
Also you are to send us eight copies of every piece which you may possibly engrave. Whether the pieces please you or not I beg you to answer, otherwise I might be prevented from selling them to someone else.
We have also two Adagios for the Violin with complete instrumental accompaniment, which will cost 135 florins, and two little easy Sonatas, each with two movements, which are at your service for 280 florins. In addition I beg you to present our compliments to our friend Koch.
Your obedient,
K. v. Beethoven.
R.I. Treasury official.
This ludicrous display of the young man’s self-importance as “Royal Imperial Treasury Official” and Ludwig van Beethoven’s factotum is certainly very absurd; but hardly affords adequate grounds for the exceeding scorn of Schindler’s remarks upon it. It is in itself sufficiently provocative of prejudice against its writer. But a display of vanity and self-esteem is ridiculous, not criminal.
The general charge brought by Ries against Kaspar and Johann van Beethoven is this:
His brothers sought in particular to keep all his intimate friends away from him, and no matter what wrongs they did him, of which he was convinced, they cost him only a few tears and all was immediately forgotten. On such occasions he was in the habit of saying: “But they are my brothers, nevertheless,” and the friend received a rebuke for his good-nature and frankness. The brothers attained their purpose in causing the withdrawal from him of many friends, especially when, because of his hard hearing, it became more difficult to converse with him.
Two years after the “Notizen” left the press Schindler published his “Biography.” In it, although he first knew Beethoven in 1814, Johann some years later and Kaspar probably never, and therefore personally could know nothing of the facts of this period, yet he made the picture still darker. The special charge against Kaspar is that “about this time (in 1800) he began to rule Beethoven and made him suspicious of his most sincere friends and devotees by means of false representations and even jealousy.”
There is a class of writers in Germany, whom no regard for the feelings of the living, no veneration for the memories of the great dead, no scruples on the score of truth, and even, in some cases, not respect and admiration for the greatest living genius, talent, and literary or scientific fame, restrain from using, or moderate their use of, whatever can add piquancy to their appeals to the prurient imaginations of certain classes of readers. Delicacy of feeling and nicety of conscience are not to be expected of such heartless traducers of the living and the dead; but that even the most contemptible of the tribe, regardless of the pain which such a slander of her husband’s father must have caused to a widowed mother and her amiable children, could venture to represent Karl Kaspar van Beethoven as the seller of his wife’s virtue and a sharer in the wages of her shame, is as inconceivable, as that his book should be received with praise by critics and applause by the public; that it should gain its author pecuniary profit instead of a prison. The story is utterly without foundation; a pure invention and a falsehood, and is told, moreover, of poor Kaspar, at a time when as yet he had no wife! Unfortunately, this treatment of Beethoven’s brothers is not confined to writers of novels and feuilletonists. They, who profess to write history, no sooner strike upon this topic, than fancy seems to usurp the seat of reason and imagination to take the place of judgment. The lines of Ries expand into paragraphs; the sentences of Schindler into chapters. But the picture, thus overdrawn and exaggerated, in some degree corrects itself; for if the brothers were really as represented, what is to be thought of Beethoven if he in fact was so led, controlled and held in subjection by them as described?
Characters of Karl Kaspar and Johann
Now, what is really known of Karl Kaspar and Johann, though it sufficiently confutes much of the calumnious nonsense which has been printed about them, is not fitted to convey any very exalted idea of their characters. The same Frau Karth, who remembered Ludwig in his youth as always “gentle and lovable,” related that Kaspar was less kindly in his disposition, “proud and presumptuous,” and that Johann “was a bit stupid, yet very good-natured.” And such they were in manhood. Kaspar, like Ludwig, was very passionate, but more violent in his sudden wrath; Johann, slow to wrath and placable. Notwithstanding the poverty of his youth and early manhood, it is not known that Kaspar was avaricious; but Johann had felt too bitterly the misery of want and dependence, and became penurious. After he had accumulated a moderate fortune, the contests between his avarice and the desire to display his wealth led to very ludicrous exhibitions. In a word, Beethoven was not a phenomenon of goodness, nor were his brothers monsters of iniquity. That both Ries and Schindler wrote honestly has not been doubted; but common justice demands the reminder that they wrote under the bias of strong personal dislike to one or both brothers. Ries wrote impressions received at a very early time of life, and records opinions formed upon incomplete data. Schindler wrote entirely upon hearsay. Ries had not completed his twenty-first year when he departed from Vienna (1805). Howsoever strong were Beethoven’s gratitude to Franz Ries and affection for Ferdinand, fourteen years was too great a disparity in age to allow that trustful and familiar intercourse between master and pupil which could enable the latter to speak with full knowledge; nor does a man of Beethoven’s age and position turn from old and valued friends, like the Lichnowskys, Breuning, Zmeskall and others of whatever names, to make a youth of from 18 to 20 years, a new-comer and previously a stranger, even though a favorite pupil, his confidential adviser. Facts confirm the proposition in this case. We know that Beethoven in 1801 imparted grave matters to Wegeler and Amenda, of which Ries a year later had only received intimation from Breuning; and other circumstances of which he knew nothing are recorded in the testament of 1802. The charges against the brothers, both of Ries and Schindler, are general in terms; Ries only giving specifications or instances in proof. Schindler may be passed by as but repeating the “Notizen.” Now, the onus of Ries’s charges is this:
First: that Kaspar thrust himself impertinently into his brother’s business; second: that both brothers intrigued to isolate Beethoven from his intimate friends and that their machinations were in many cases successful.
Karl Kaspar as a Business Manager
To the first point it is to be remarked: Besides Beethoven’s often expressed disinclination to engage personally in negotiations for the sale of his works—although when he did he showed no lack of a keen eye to profits—his physical and mental condition at this period of his life often rendered the assistance of an agent indispensable. Accounts were to be kept with half a dozen publishers; letters received upon business were numerous and often demanded prompt replies; proof-sheets were constantly arriving for revision and correction; copyists required supervision; an abundance of minor matters continually coming up and needing attention when Beethoven might be on his long rambles over hill and dale, the last man to be found in an emergency. One asks with astonishment, how could so obvious a necessity for a confidential agent have escaped notice? Who should or could this agent be but his brother Kaspar?133 He held an honorable place in a public office, the duties of which necessarily implied the possession of those talents for, and habits of, prompt and skillful performance of business which his early receipt of salary and his regular advancement in position show that he really did possess; his duties detained him in the city at all times, occasional short vacations excepted, and yet left him ample leisure to attend to his brother’s affairs; he was a musician by education and fully competent to render valuable service in that “fearful period of arrangements”—as it is well known he did. What would have justly been said of Beethoven if he had passed by one so eminently qualified for the task—one on whom the paternal relation and his own long continued care and protection had given him so many claims—and had transferred the burden from his own shoulders to those of other friends? But if, after adequate trial, the agent proved unsatisfactory, the case would be changed and the principal might with propriety seek needed assistance in other quarters. And precisely this appears to have occurred; for after a few years Kaspar disappears almost entirely from our history in connection with his brother’s pecuniary affairs. This fact is stronger evidence than anything in Ries’s statements, that Beethoven became dissatisfied with his brother’s management, and would have still more weight had he been less fickle, inconstant and undecided in matters of business.134
Seyfried, whose acquaintance with Beethoven ripened just at this time into intimacy, and who in 1802-’05 had the best possible opportunities for observation, beheld the relations between the brothers with far less jaundiced eyes than Ries. He says:
Beethoven was the more glad to choose joyous Vienna for his future and permanent home since two younger brothers had followed him thither, who took off his shoulders the oppressive load of financial cares and who were compelled to act almost as guardians for the priest of art to whom the ordinary affairs of civil life were as strange as strange could be.
At that time Seyfried, like Ries, was ignorant of the circumstances detailed to Wegeler and Amenda and in the testament; but the admirable selection of words in the closing phrase will strike all who have had occasion to read Beethoven’s countless notes asking advice or aid in matters which most men would deem too trivial for even a passing word in conversation. The specifications of Ries in his charges against Kaspar will not long detain us. The story of the quarrel over the disposition of the Nägeli Sonatas may stand in all its ugliness and with no comment save the suggestion of the possibility that Kaspar’s word as Ludwig’s agent may have been pledged to the Leipsic publisher. The one really specific charge of Ries is the one on page 124 of the “Notizen”:
All trifles, and many things which he did not want to publish because he thought them unworthy of his name, were secretly given to publicity by his brother. Thus songs which he had composed years before his departure for Vienna, became known only after he had reached a high degree of fame. Thus, too, little compositions which he had written in autograph albums were filched and published.
By “trifles” Ries, of course, here refers to the “Bagatelles, Op. 33, par Louis van Beethoven, 1782,” as the manuscript is superscribed, published in the spring of 1803. The manuscript itself proves Ries to be in error. The words “par Louis van Beethoven” are in a hand unlike anything known to the present writer from Beethoven’s pen. This fact, together with a something not easily described in the appearance of the notes, suggests the idea that this copy of the “Bagatelles” was made by Kaspar, and compiled, except No. 6 and perhaps one other, from the compositions of Beethoven in his boyhood. But the corrections—the words Andante gracioso, Scherzo Allegro, Allegretto con una certa espressione parlante, etc., written with lead pencil or a different ink, are certainly from Beethoven’s own hand; also, in still another ink, the thoroughly Beethovenish “Op. 33.” No one can mistake that. This work most assuredly was never “secretly given to the public.”135
The only Album composition known to have been published in those years is the song with variations, “Ich denke dein”; and this Beethoven himself had offered to Hoffmeister before it was printed by the Kunst-und Industrie-Comptoir.
The “songs” referred to by Ries can only be those of Op. 52. The original manuscript, having disappeared, neither refutes nor confirms his opinion. It is, however, exceedingly doubtful that Beethoven’s brothers would have dared give an opus number to a stolen publication. A priori Ries is more likely to be in error here than in regard to the “Bagatelles.” Now, the only contemporary criticism upon the latter which has been discovered, is a single line in Moll’s “Annalen der Literatur” (Vienna, 1804): “Deserve the title in every sense of the word.” Upon the “Song with Variations” no notice whatever has been found. But, Opus 52 was received by the “Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung” of August 28, 1805, in this style; Opera 47 and 38 having been duly praised, the writer continues:
Is it possible that No. 3 of these eight songs is from the pen of this composer, admirable even in his vagaries? It must be, since it is. At least his name is printed large on the title-page, the publisher is mentioned, the songs were published in Vienna where the composer lives, and, indeed, bear his latest opus number. Comprehend it he who can—that a thing in all respects so commonplace, poor, weak and in great part ludicrous should not only emanate from such a man but even be published.
Karl Kaspar a Probable Scapegoat
And more like this, illustrated by copying “Das Blümchen Wunderhold.” These citations suggest an obvious explanation of Ries’s mistake, namely: Beethoven, mortified, ashamed, angry, purposely left him to believe that he was innocent of the publication of these compositions. It was one of the advantages of having Kaspar in Vienna, that the responsibility of such false steps could be shifted upon him. Those who are predetermined not to admit in Beethoven’s character any of the faults, frailties and shortcomings of our common human nature, will of course censure this explanation. Let them propose a better.136 Finally: In the paragraph upon the efforts of Beethoven’s brothers to keep all of the composer’s friends away from him it is easy to read between the lines that it was Ries himself who oft “was rebuked for his good-nature and frankness,” which of itself to some extent lessens the force of the charge. But it is best met by the first half of the Will, or testament, which, with the confessions to Wegeler and Amenda, as above said, open to our knowledge an inner life of the writer studiously concealed from his protégé.
In this solemn document, written as he supposed upon the brink of the grave, Beethoven touches upon this very question. We learn from his own affecting words, that the cause of his separation from friends lay, not in the machinations of his brothers, but in his own sensitiveness. He records for future use, what he cannot now explain without disclosing his jealously guarded secret. That record now serves a double purpose; it relieves Kaspar and Johann from a portion of the odium so long cast upon their memories; and proves Ries to be, in part at least, in error, without impugning his veracity. It is very probable Ries never saw the will. Had he known and carefully read it, the prejudices of his youth must have been weakened, the opinions founded upon partial knowledge modified. He was of too noble a nature not to have gladly seen the memories of the dead vindicated—not to have been struck with and affected by the words of his deceased master: “To you, brother Carl, I give special thanks for the attachment you have displayed towards me of late.”
Pass we to another topic.
On frequent occasions (says Ries), he showed a truly paternal interest in me. From this source there sprang the written order (in 1802), which he sent me in a fit of anger because of an unpleasant predicament into which Carl van Beethoven had gotten me. Beethoven wrote: “You do not need to come to Heiligenstadt; I have no time to lose.” At the time Count Browne was indulging himself with pleasures in which I was taking part, he being kindly disposed towards me, and was in consequence neglecting my lessons.
That Beethoven, during the summer when his vocations were interrupted by the dark hours in which the “will” was produced, could have no time to lose in those lighter days when the spirit of labor was upon him is clear from the surprising list of compositions written and published in this year.
Compositions Completed in 1802
The works which were developed were the three Violin Sonatas, Op. 30; the first two of the three Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. 31; the two sets of Variations, Op. 34 and 35; the “Bagatelles,” Op. 33, and (the chief work of the year) the second Symphony, D major, Op. 36. The works which came from the press were the Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. 22, 26 and 27, Nos. 1 and 2; the Serenade, Op. 25; the Septet, Op. 20; the Quintet, Op. 29; the Rondo in G, Op. 51, No. 2; the transcription for strings of the Pianoforte Sonata in E, Op. 14, No. 1; the Variations for Violoncello and Pianoforte on “Bei Männern welche Liebe fühlen,” dedicated to Count Browne; the six Contradances and six Rustic (“Ländrische”) Dances. There were thirteen performances of the ballet “Prometheus.” Moreover, it is at least remotely possible that the two large works which were played together with the Symphonies in C and D at Beethoven’s concert on April 5, 1803—viz.: the Pianoforte Concerto in C minor, Op. 37 and the Oratorio “Christus am Ölberg,” Op. 85—were not so far advanced in all their parts that they, too, may have occupied the attention of Beethoven in the winter of 1802-03.
For nearly all the works completed in 1802, studies are to be found in the sketchbook described in full by Nottebohm,137 which covers the period from the fall of 1801 to the spring of 1802; like the majority of the sketchbooks, it contains themes and studies which were never worked out. “Overlooking the sketches which cross each other,” says Nottebohm, “and putting aside all that is immaterial, the compositions represented in the book which were completed and are known, may be set down chronologically as follows:
“Opferlied,” by Mathisson, first form.
Scene and Aria for Soprano: “No—non turbarti.”
Three of the Contradances.
Bagatelle for Pianoforte, No. 6 of Op. 33.
Last movement of the Symphony in D major.
Five of the six “Ländrische Tänze.”
Terzetto, “Tremate, empj, tremate,” Op. 116.
First and second movements of the Sonata for Pianoforte and Violin in A major, Op. 30, No. 1.
Last movement of the Sonata for Pianoforte and Violin in A major, Op. 47.
Sonata for Pianoforte and Violin in C minor, Op. 30, No. 2.
Bagatelle for Pianoforte, No. 5 of Op. 119 (112).
First movement of the Sonata for Pianoforte in D minor, Op. 31, No. 2 (the first sketch only).
Sonata for Pianoforte and Violin in G major, Op. 30, No. 3.
Last movement of the Sonata for Pianoforte and Violin in A major, Op. 30, No. 1 (the theme had been designed before).
Variations for Pianoforte in E-flat major, Op. 35 (preparatory work).
Variations for Pianoforte in F major, Op. 34 (only the first hints).
Sonata for Pianoforte in G major, Op. 31, No. 1 (not complete).”
To which may be added as occurring early in the book, the theme of the Larghetto of the Symphony in D (here for horns), out of which eventually grew the Trio in the Scherzo. A curious remark on one of the pages seems to be a memorandum for a piece of descriptive music: “Marital felicity, dark clouds upon the brow of the husband in which the fairer half unites but still seeks to dispel.”
The evident care taken by the composer at this period to make the opus numbers really correspond to the chronological order of his works, is a strong reason for concluding that the Violin Sonatas, Op. 30, were completed or nearly so before he removed to Heiligenstadt. Even in that case, what wonderful genius and capacity for labor does it show, that, before the close of the year, in spite of ill health and periods of the deepest despondency, and of all the interruptions caused by his ordinary vocations after his return to town, he had completed the first two Sonatas of Op. 31, the two extensive and novel sets of Variations, Op. 34 and Op. 35, and the noble Second Symphony!—all of them witnesses that he had really “entered upon a new path,” neither of them more so than the Symphony so amazingly superior to its predecessor in grandeur and originality. This was, in fact, the grand labor of this summer.
The Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. 31
The three Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violin are dedicated to Czar Alexander I of Russia, who is said to have given command that a valuable diamond ring be sent to the composer. Lenz could find no record of such an incident in the imperial archives. The sketches show that the movement which now concludes the “Kreutzer” Sonata (Op. 47) was originally designed for the first of the three, the one in A major; and that for the Adagio of the second, in C minor, Beethoven, assuming that he already associated the theme with the work, first contemplated using the key of G.
The three Sonatas for Pianoforte, Op. 31, are without dedication. W. Nagel connects them, or one of them, with the following extraordinary letter to Hoffmeister:
Vienna, April 8, 1802.
Are you all ridden by the devil gentlemen that you propose such a sonata to me?
At the time of the revolutionary fever—well—such a thing might have been very well; but now—when everything is trying to get back into the old rut, Buonaparte has signed the concordat with the Pope—such a sonata?
If it were a Missa pro sancta Maria a tre voci, or a Vesper, etc.—I would take my brush in hand at once—and write down a Credo in unum Deum in big pound notes—but good God, such a sonata—for these days of newly dawning Christianity—hoho!—leave me out of it, nothing will come of it.
Now my answer in quickest tempo—the lady can have a sonata from me, and I will follow her plan in respect of æsthetics in a general way—and without following the keys—price 5 ducats—for which she may keep it for her own enjoyment for a year, neither I nor she to publish it.
At the expiration of the year—the sonata will be mine to—i. e., I shall publish it, and she shall have the privilege—if she thinks it will be an honor—to ask me to dedicate it to her....
Now God keep you gentlemen.
My Sonata is beautifully printed [gestochen, i. e., engraved]—but it took you a pretty time—send my Septet into the world a little quicker—for the crowd is waiting for it—and you know the Empress has it and there are (scamps) in the imperial city as well as the (imperial court) I can vouch for nothing—therefore make haste.
Herr (Mollo) has again recently published my Quartets but full of faults and Errata—in large as well as small form, they swarm in them like fish in the sea, there is no end of them—questo è un piacere per un autore—that’s pricking music with a vengeance, in truth my skin is full of prickings and rips because of this beautiful edition of my Quartets....
Now farewell and remember me as I do you. Till death your faithful
L. v. Beethoven.
An engagement which Beethoven had obtained from Count Browne for Ries was one that gave him leisure to pursue his studies, and he often came to Vienna and Heiligenstadt for that purpose. Thus it happens that the “Notizen” also contribute to the history of these Sonatas. Ries writes:
Beethoven had promised the three solo sonatas (Op. 31) to Nägeli in Zurich while his brother Carl (Caspar) who, unfortunately, was always meddling with his affairs, wanted to sell them to a Leipsic publisher. There were frequent exchanges of words between the brothers on this account because Beethoven having given his word wanted to keep it. When the sonatas (the first two) were about to be sent away Beethoven was living in Heiligenstadt. During a promenade new quarrels arose between the brothers and finally they came to blows. The next day he gave me the sonatas to send straight to Zurich, and a letter to his brother enclosed in another to Stephan von Breuning who was to read it. A prettier lesson could scarcely have been read by anybody with a good heart than Beethoven read his brother on the subject of his conduct on the day before. He first pointed it out in its true and contemptible character, then he forgave him everything, but predicted a bad future for him unless he mended his ways. The letter, too, which he had written to Breuning was very beautiful.
The first two Sonatas (G major and D minor) appeared in the spring of 1803, as Op. 29, in Nägeli’s “Répertoire des Clavecinistes” as Cahier 5 (the third followed soon after as Op. 33, together with the “Sonate pathétique” as Cahier 11). Of Cahier 5 Nägeli sent proof-sheets. Ries reports on the subject as follows:
When the proof-sheets came I found Beethoven writing. “Play the Sonata through,” he said to me, remaining seated at his writing-desk. There was an unusual number of errors in the proofs, which fact already made Beethoven impatient. At the end of the first Allegro in the Sonata in G major, however, Nägeli had introduced four measures—after the fourth measure of the last hold:
When I played this Beethoven jumped up in a rage, came running to me, half pushed me away from the pianoforte, shouting: “Where the devil do you find that?” One can scarcely imagine his amazement and rage when he saw the printed notes. I received the commission to make a record of all the errors and at once send the sonatas to Simrock in Bonn, who was to make a reprint and call it Édition très correcte. In this place belong three notes to me:
1. “Be good enough to make a note of the errors and send a record of them at once to Simrock, with the request that he publish as soon as possible—day after to-morrow I will send him the sonata and concerto.”
2. “I must beg you again to do the disagreeable work of making a clear copy of the errors in the Zurich sonatas and sending it to Simrock; you will find a list of the errors at my house in the Wieden.”
3. “Dear Ries!
“Not only are the expression marks poorly indicated but there are also false notes in several places—therefore be careful!—or the work will again be in vain. Ch’à detto l’amato bene?”
The closing words of the second note show that the matter was not brought to an end until late in the spring of 1803, after Beethoven had removed into the theatre buildings An-der-Wien. After the Sonatas became known in Vienna Doležalek asked Beethoven if a certain passage in the D minor Sonata was correct. “Certainly it is correct,” replied the composer, “but you are a countryman of Krumpholz—nothing will go into that hard Bohemian head of yours.”
A circumstance related by Czerny, if accepted as authoritative, proves that two of the three Sonatas were completed in the country. Once when he (Beethoven) saw a rider gallop past his windows in his summer sojourn in Heiligenstadt near Vienna, the regular beat (of the horse’s hoofs) gave him the idea for the theme of the Finale of the D minor sonata, Op. 31, No. 2:
The six Variations in F on an Original Theme, Op. 34, dedicated to the Princess Odescalchi, were probably composed immediately after the Variations in E-flat, Op. 35. In the midst of the sketches for the latter (in the Kessler sketchbook) two measures of the theme are noted and the remark appended, “Each variation in a different key—but alternately passages now in the left hand and then almost the same or different ones in the right.” The two sets of Variations and the Quintet, Op. 29, were sold to Breitkopf and Härtel in October, 1802. In a letter which the publishers received from the composer on October 18, 1802, Beethoven writes:
Characteristics of the Variations
I have made two sets of Variations of which the first may be said to number 8, the second 30; both are written in a really entirely new style and each in quite a different way. I should very much like to have them published by you, but under the one condition that the honorarium be about 50 florins for the two sets—do not let me make this offer in vain, for I assure you you will never regret the two works. Each theme in them is treated independently and in a wholly different manner. As a rule I only hear of it through others when I have new ideas, since I never know it myself; but this time I can assure you myself that the style in both works is new to me.
A more interesting letter received by Breitkopf and Härtel on December 26, 1802, relates to the same subject. It demands insertion in full:
Instead of the noise about a new method of V(ariations) such as would be made by our neighbors the Gallo-Franks, like, for instance, a certain Fr. composer who presents fugues après une nouvelle Méthode, it consisting in this that the fugue is no fugue, etc.—I nevertheless want to call attention to the fact that these V. differ at least from others, and this I thought I could do in the most unconstrained and least conspicuous manner by means of the little prefatory note which I beg of you to print in the small as well as the large V., leaving it for you to say in what language or how many languages, since we poor Germans are compelled to speak in all tongues.
Here is the prefatory note:
Inasmuch as these V. differ materially from my earlier ones I have, instead of designating them merely by number, 1, 2, 3, etc., included them in the list of my greater musical works, and this also for the further reason that the themes are original.
The author.
N.B. If you find it necessary to change or improve anything you have my entire permission.
That by the “large variations,” whose number (30) Breitkopf and Härtel seem to have called in question, Beethoven meant his Op. 35, is made plain by a third letter running as follows:
Vienna, April 8, 1803.
I have wanted to write to you for a long time, but my business affairs are so many that they permit but little correspondence. You seem to be mistaken in your opinion that there are not as many variations (as I stated) only it would not do to announce the number as there is no way of telling how in the large set three variations are run into each other in the Adagio, and the Fugue can certainly not be called a variation, nor the Introduction, which, as you may see for yourself, begins with the bass of the theme, then expands to 2, 3 and finally 4 parts, when the theme at last makes its appearance, which again cannot be called a variation, etc.—but if this is not clear to you, send me a proof-sheet along with the manuscript as soon as a copy is printed, so that I may be guarded against confusion—you would do me a great favor if you would omit from the large variations the dedication to abbé Stadler and print the following, viz.: dediées etc. À Monsieur le Comte Maurice Lichnowsky; he is a brother of Prince Lichnowsky and only recently did me an unexpected favor, and I have no other opportunity to return the kindness, if you have already engraved the dedication to abbé Stadler I will gladly pay the cost of changing the title-page, do not hesitate, write what the expense will be and I will pay it with pleasure, I earnestly beg you to do this if you have not sent out any copies—in the case of the small variations the dedication to Princess Odescalchi remains.
I thank you very much for the beautiful things of Sebastian Bach’s, I will preserve and study them—should there be a continuation of the pieces send them to me also—if you have a good text for a cantata or other vocal piece send it to me.
In spite of Beethoven’s warning, Op. 34 was printed without the proof having been read by him; this provoked another letter calling attention to a large number of errors in the publication, of which Beethoven promised to send a list. He also expressed a fear that the “large variations” would also be faulty, the more since his own manuscript had been put into the hands of the engraver, and asked that the fact that the theme was from his ballet “Prometheus” be indicated on the title-page, if there were still time, offering, as in the case of the dedication, to pay the cost of the change. Again he begged to be permitted to correct a proof copy—a request which was ignored in this instance, as it had been in the first. The result was a somewhat gentle protest in another letter (October, 1803), in which Beethoven offered the firm the Variations on “God save the King” and “Rule Britannia,” the song “Wachtelschlag” and three Marches for the Pianoforte, four hands. The conclusion of the letter, with its postscript, has a double value—as an exhibition of Beethoven’s attitude towards the criticism of his day and as a contribution to the debated question touching the illicit printing of some of his early compositions. We quote:
Please thank the editor of the M.Z. (“Musikzeitung”) for his kindness in giving place to the flattering report of my oratorio in which there is so much rude lying about the prices which I have made and I am so infamously treated, which is I suppose an evidence of impartiality—for aught I care—so long as this makes for the fortune of the M.Z.—what magnanimity is not asked of the true artist, and not wholly without impropriety, but on the other hand, what detestable and vulgar attacks upon us are permitted.
Answer immediately, and next time another topic.
As always your devoted
L. v. Beethoven.
N.B. All the pieces which I have offered you are entirely new—since unfortunately so many unlucky old things of mine have been sold and stolen.
It was through the printing of the letters to Breitkopf and Härtel that the fact became known that Beethoven originally had intended to dedicate the Variations in E-flat to Abbé Stadler. The Rondo in G, which was announced by Hoffmeister and Kühnel on March 19, 1803, was published in connection with the Rondo in C which had already appeared in 1798, as Op. 51, Nos. 1 and 2. It was originally dedicated to Countess Guicciardi, but Beethoven gave her the Sonata in C-sharp minor in exchange for it and inscribed the Rondo to Countess Henriette Lichnowsky. This would seem to indicate that it was finished before the Sonata, probably in 1801. Nottebohm has proved in his study of the Kessler sketchbook that the sixth of the “Bagatelles,” in D major, had its origin in 1802, when Beethoven was at work on the second Symphony.138
Footnotes
1 “Briefe,” II. 354, 355.
2 This was the beginning of the career of Salomon. He became concertmaster to Prince Henry of Prussia, played in Paris, and in 1781 took up a residence in London where, as violinist and conductor, he became brilliantly active and successful. He made repeated visits to Bonn, once in 1790, when he was on his way to London accompanied by Haydn.
3 Reichardt, “Theaterkalender, 1778,” p. 99.
4 To her Beethoven dedicated his variations on “Venni Amore.”
5 In Fétis’ “Biographie universelle” (new ed.) several of these names are misprinted. They are corrected here from Mr. Jacobs’ letter to A. W. T.
6 Thayer’s account of this period in the life of Beethoven’s grandfather has here been extended from an article by the Chevalier L. de Burbure, published in the “Biographie nationale publiée par l’Académie Royale des sciences, des lettres et des beaux arts de Belgique.” Tome II. p. 105. (Brussels, 1868.) From this it further appears that two other members of the Antwerp branch of the family were devoted to the fine arts, viz.: Peter van Beethoven, painter, pupil of Abr. Genoel, jr., and Gerhard van Beethoven, sculptor, accepted in the guild of St. Luke about 1713, Director Vollmer, of Brussels, in a communication to Dr. Deiters gave information of a branch of the family in Mechlin and of still another in Brabant where, in the village of Wambeke, there was a curé van Beethoven who must either have died or been transferred between 1729 and 1732.
7 The original entry is printed in full in the German edition of this biography.
8 “The grandfather was a man short of stature, muscular, with extremely animated eyes, and was greatly respected as an artist.” Fischer’s description is different, but Wegeler is the more trustworthy witness of the two.
9 The church records at Ehrenbreitstein say that he died August 2, 1759, in Molzberg, at the age of 58; his funeral took place in Ehrenbreitstein. A Frau Eva Katharina Kewerich, who died at Ehrenbreitstein on October 10, 1753, at the age of 89 years, was probably his mother.
10 Some notes by Fischer contain the characteristic addition: “Madame van Beethoven once remarked that the most necessary things, such as house-rent, the baker, shoemaker and tailor must first be paid, but she would never pay drinking debts.”
11 In the collection of Beethoven relics in the Beethoven House in Bonn there is a portrait which is set down as that of Beethoven’s mother. The designation, however, rests only on uncertain tradition and lacks authoritative attestation. It is certainly difficult to see in it the representation of a consumptive woman only 40 years old. Moreover, it is strange that Beethoven should have sent from Vienna for the portrait of his grandfather and not for that of his dearly loved mother had one been in existence. It is only because of a resemblance between this picture and another that the belief exists that portraits of both of the parents of Beethoven are in existence. In 1890 two oil portraits were found in a shed in Cologne and restored by the painter Kempen, who recognized in them the handiwork of the painter Beckenkamp, who, like Beethoven’s mother, was born in Ehrenbreitstein, was a visitor at the Beethoven home in Bonn and died in Cologne in 1828. The female portrait agrees with that in Bonn; they are life-size, finely executed pictures, but they are certainly not Beethoven’s parents. Enough has been said about the portrait of the mother. In the case of that of the father the first objection is that it also lacks authentication. Fischer’s description does not wholly fit the picture; the old man would not have forgotten the protruding lower lip. But the entire expression of the face, serious, it is true, but fleshy and vulgar, and the gray perruque, do not conform to what we know of the easy-going musician. It will be difficult, too, to trace any resemblance of expression between it and the familiar one of Beethoven from which a conclusion might be drawn. So long as proofs are wanting, scientific biography will have no right to accept the portraits as those of Beethoven’s parents. Reproductions of them may be found in the “Musical Times” of London, December 15, 1892.
12 The house is now owned by the Beethoven-Haus Verein, and maintained as a Beethoven museum.
13 In one of Beethoven’s conversation books his nephew writes on December 15, 1823: “To-day is the 15th of December, the day of your birth, but I am not sure whether it is the 15th or 17th, inasmuch as we can not depend on the certificate of baptism and I read it only once when I was still with you in January.” The nephew, it will be observed, does not appeal to a family tradition but to the baptismal certificate and the uncertainty, therefore, is with reference to the date of baptism, not of birth. Hence the deduction which Kalischer makes (“Vossische Zeitung,” No. 17, 1891) that Beethoven was born on December 15. Hesse calls to witness a clerk employed in Simrock’s establishment with whom Beethoven had business transactions, and who had written on the back of the announcement of Beethoven’s death, “L. v. Beethoven was born on December 16, 1770.”
14 The mistake in the mother’s name is sufficiently explained by the use of Lena as the contraction of both Helena and Magdalena.
15 “The baptismal certificate seems to be incorrect, since there was a Ludwig born before me. A Baumgarten was my sponsor, I believe. Ludwig van Beethoven.”
16 “Allg. Mus.-Ztg.,” May 23. 1827.
17 There was no teacher of this name in Bonn at the time. There was a Rupert, however, who may have been the one meant by Fischer.
18 These memoirs are in manuscript. They were formerly in the possession of Dr. Bodifée of Bonn, later in the Town Hall.
19 Error; Beethoven’s mother did not die until 1787, long after he had left school.
20 Thayer’s characterization of the joyless boyhood of Beethoven may submit to a slight modification, at least so far as his childhood is concerned, without violence to the verities of history. Fischer would have us believe that the lad took part with his brother Carl in boyish capers which were not always of a harmless character. In a letter to Simrock, Court Councillor Krupp relates: “My father, who died in 1847, was a youthful friend and schoolmate of Ludwig and Carl van Beethoven, and distantly related to the godmother of the former. Thursdays were holidays for the schoolboys, and the brothers Beethoven, L. and C., were then wont to come to the house of my grandparents, No. 28 Bonngasse (now belonging to my sister and me), and amuse themselves, among other things, with target shooting. There was a wall between the garden of our house and the gardens of the adjoining houses in the Wenzelgasse against which the target was placed at which the boys shot arrows; a hit in the centre brought forth a Stüber (about 4 pfennigs) for the lucky marksman. Garden and wall are now (1890) in the same condition as then. In the evening the Beethoven brothers went home through the Gudenauergässchen. The family lived at the time in the Wenzelgasse back of our house.” Here is an inaccuracy, for Ludwig van Beethoven no longer went to school when the Beethoven family changed their house in the Rheingasse for that in the Wenzelgasse—which was probably about 1785. The letter continues: “Ludwig’s father treated him harshly, especially when he was intoxicated, and sometimes shut him up in the cellar.”
21 There seems to have been no knowledge on the part of Beethoven’s biographers of this visit to Holland until Thayer brought the incident to notice. It is, therefore, highly significant that the Fischer family also recalled the circumstance and, besides, knew what brought it about. The sister of young Rovantini, who died in September, 1781, was employed as governess in Rotterdam, and on receiving intelligence of the death of her brother came to Bonn, together with her mistress (whose name has not been preserved), to visit his grave. For a month she was an inmate of the Beethoven house; there was a good deal of music-making and some excursions to neighboring places of interest, including Coblenz. The visitors invited the Beethoven family to make a trip to Holland. Inasmuch as Johann van Beethoven could not get away, the mother went with the lad, and, a party of five, they embarked upon the voyage. This must have been in October or November, 1781, which agrees with the story of the extreme cold encountered on the voyage. They remained a considerable time, but whether or not Ludwig gave a concert as he had intended, is not known. Despite the attentions showered upon him by the wealthy lady from Rotterdam and the many honors, the pecuniary results were disappointing. To Fischer’s question how he had fared Beethoven is reported to have answered: “The Dutch are skinflints (Pfennigfuchser); I’ll never go to Holland again.”
22 “Morgengesang am Schöpfungstage.”
23 As given by Nottebohm in his catalogue (p. 154) the title of the original publication of the Variations by Goetz of Mannheim ran as follows: “Variations pour le Clavecin sur une Marche de Mr. Dressler, composées et Dediées à son Excellence Madame la Comtesse de Wolfmetternich, née Baronne d’Assebourg, par un jeune amateur Louis van Beethoven, âgé de dix ans. 1780.” Inasmuch as Nottebohm’s Notes on Thayer’s “Chronologisches Verzeichniss” do not give the date 1780, it was probably appended by mistake. In the delle Sinfonie, etc., che si trovanno in manoscritto nella officina de Breitkopf in Lipsia, under the compositions of 1782, 1783 and 1784: Variations da Louis van Beethoven, âgé de dix ans, Mannheim, with the theme in notation. The Countess Wolff-Metternich, to whom the variations are dedicated, was the wife of Count Ignaz von Wolff-Metternich, “Konferenzmeister” and president of the High Court of Appeals, who died in Bonn, March 15, 1790. Ernst Christoph Dressler, composer of the theme varied by Beethoven, was an opera singer in Cassel.
24 The Bagatelles for Pianoforte, Op. 33. included by Thayer in his MSS. and his “Chronologisches Verzeichniss” as also belonging to this period on the strength of their superscription on a manuscript copy, “Louis van Beethoven... 1782,” were, as Nottebohm has shown, not composed at this time. One of them was composed in 1802 and another sketched between 1799 and 1801. See Nottebohm (“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 250). Nottebohm conjectures that the organ fugue was composed at his trial for the post of second court organist. In view of the fact that his age was falsified by his father at this time, it is likely that the work was composed in 1783.
25 Title of the original publication: “Drei Sonaten für Klavier, dem Hochwürdigsten Erzbischofe und Kurfürsten zu Köln, Maximilian Friedrich meinem gnädigsten Herrn gewidmet und verfertigt von Ludwig van Beethoven, alt eilf Jahr.” Beethoven wrote on a copy of the sonatas: “These Sonatas and the Variations of Dressler are my first works.” He probably meant his first published works. See Thayer’s “Chronologisches Verzeichniss,” p. 2, 183.
26 The editor has here thought it advisable to permit Thayer’s original text to stand in the body of the book, although Dr. Deiters made a radical correction in his revision of the first volume of the biography. On the basis of the Fischer manuscript Dr. Deiters relates that the Beethoven family lived in the house in the Rheingasse at the time of the inundation; that Beethoven’s mother sought to stay the alarm of the inmates with encouraging words, but at the last had to make her escape with the others into the Giergasse over boards and down ladders. Admitting that there are many inaccuracies in the recital, Dr. Deiters nevertheless accepts it in this particular and conjectures that Beethoven lived in the house in the Rheingasse until 1785.
27 B. and H. Ges. Ausg. Serie 18, No. 196.
28 B. and H. Ges. Ausg. Serie 23, No. 229.
29 The manuscript contains the solo part complete with the orchestral preludes and interludes in transcription for pianoforte. There are indications that it was scored for small orchestra—strings, flutes and horns only. The composition was long unknown. Thayer included it in his “Chronologisches Verzeichniss” under No. 7, giving the themes. Guido Adler edited it at a much later date, and it has been published in the supplement to the collected works of Beethoven.
30 Nottebohm conjectured that the movement referred to by Thayer was that for a musical clock, No. 29, in Thayer’s chronological catalogue, there described as a duo. Dr. Deiters thinks that it was a fragment of a composition for pianoforte and violin, No. 131 in the catalogue of the Artaria collection. It contains suggestions of Beethoven’s style, but the manuscript is a copy, not an autograph, and its authenticity is not proven.
31 In the Fischer MS.: “Short of stature, broad shoulders, short neck, large head, round nose, dark brown complexion; he always bent forward slightly when he walked. In the house he was called der Spagnol (the Spaniard).”
32 Czerny also related that Beethoven had spoken to him of the harsh treatment and insufficient instruction received from his father. “But,” he added, “I had talent for music.” From a note by Otto Jahn. Also see Cock’s “Musical Miscellany.”
33 “Urian’s Reise um die Welt.” Op. 52, No. 1, published in 1805.
34 The manuscript formerly owned by Artaria is now (1907) in the possession of Dr. E. Prieger in Bonn. The figure indicating the composer’s age was first written “14” and then changed.
35 In the first edition of Jahn’s “Mozart” the date is given as here. In later editions it was corrected in accordance with Thayer’s suggestion to 1787.
36 Lady Wallace’s translation, amended. The letter is preserved in the Beethoven-Haus Museum in Bonn.
37 The age of Beethoven’s mother at the time of her death is here incorrectly given. It should be 40.
38 Thayer’s correction of Dr. Wegeler’s account of Beethoven’s first acquaintance with the family von Breuning was sharply criticized by a grandson of Wegeler in an article published in the Coblenzer Zeitung of May 20, 1890. Thayer preserved Karl Wegeler’s article in the library copy of his biography, and had he lived to revise his work he would undoubtedly either have corrected his assertions or confirmed them. According to Dr. Wegeler (this is the younger Wegeler’s argument, in brief), Beethoven had been introduced to the von Breuning family at least as early as 1785, and in that circle had already met Count Waldstein, who had aided him in securing his first salary as Court Organist. The “Notizen” do not fix the dates, though they imply that the occurrences took place before 1785. As to the statement of the Widow Karth, Wegeler urges that the testimony of a child five years old could have no weight as against that of persons of mature age, and that an acquaintance might well exist without intercourse in the Beethoven dwelling. The letter to Dr. Schaden, the product of a melancholy mood, does not preclude the possibility that Beethoven had received help from another source, especially since great care had to be exercised in extending succor to him lest his sensibilities be hurt. Certain it is that Wegeler, who did not go to Vienna till 1787, had been a faithful friend and helper in the period of Beethoven’s destitution, as was proved by a thitherto unpublished letter of Beethoven to Wegeler, in which the former expressly stated that the latter had known him, Beethoven, almost since childhood. If the von Breuning family were really not on hand at the time of Beethoven’s trouble, the fact might be explained by their annual sojourn in the country, which was generally of considerable duration. Thayer’s assumption that Wegeler himself did not get intimately acquainted with the von Breunings until after his return from Vienna (in 1789) is at variance with the family recollections, which presented him as a young student (therefore before 1787) and with him Beethoven at the time when they became visitors at the house. Weakness of memory on the part of a man so intellectually fresh and vigorous as Dr. Wegeler was in 1838 (he died ten years later) was not to be assumed; least of all can Dr. Wegeler have erred concerning the beginning of his acquaintance with the family from which he got his wife. Finally, the intimate terms of friendship which existed between Beethoven and Eleonore von Breuning could be fully explained only on the theory of a childhood acquaintance.
In the first edition of Thayer’s biography (1866) Dr. Deiters printed the text bearing on this question as it is given above without note or comment. In the revised edition of Volume I (1901), he reproduced the original text in the body of the page but appended a footnote in which, while asserting that an authority like Thayer ought not to be opposed except “with great diffidence and extreme caution” (to use Thayer’s words referring to Dr. Wegeler), he nevertheless upheld the contention of Dr. Wegeler’s grandson. He says: “The definite assertion of Wegeler that he made the acquaintance of Beethoven as early as 1782, which is supported by Beethoven’s own words, ‘you knew me almost since my childhood,’ is not to be shaken. As little can it be questioned that Wegeler had been introduced in the Breuning house as a student before his departure for Vienna (according to Gerhard von Breuning before his acquaintance with Beethoven began); here Dr. Wegeler could not have made an error. Concerning his bringing Beethoven to the house he gives no date; the year 1785 is not mentioned in the “Notizen.” On page 45, however, it is stated that Stephan von Breuning “lived in closest affiliation with him (Beethoven) from his tenth year till his death.” Stephan was born August 17, 1774 (Vide “Aus dem Schwarzspanierhause,” page 6); this would indicate the year 1784. Wegeler’s remark, “especially after you lost your noble mother,” makes it clear as day that a close friendship existed before the death of Beethoven’s mother.”
39 Dr. Deiters, differing with Thayer on the subject of the date of the beginning of the intimacy between Beethoven and the von Breuning family, omitted in the revised version of the Beethoven biography the author’s comments on the brief biographical data concerning the sons, which were as follows: “These dates, communicated by Dr. Gerhard, son of Stephan von Breuning, prove a singular inaccuracy in Wegeler’s remark (‘Nachtrag zur Notizen,’ page 26): ‘Lenz, as the youngest of the three brothers, was nearest to Beethoven in age.’” Of Stephan he says: “Inasmuch as he had lived in intimate association with Beethoven from his tenth year up to his death.” Many a proof of this general fact will hereafter appear; but whether this “intimate association” began quite so early is a question. The two were at the same time pupils of Franz Ries on the violin, and they may well have become acquainted in 1785 or 1786; but it was not favorable to extreme intimacy that four years’ difference existed in their ages; and that the one was but a schoolboy while the other was already an organist, an author and accustomed to move among men.
40 Gerhard von Breuning would have it appear from a statement on page 6 of his book “Aus dem Schwarzspanierhause,” that Beethoven was recommended to the von Breunings by Wegeler.
41 Dr. Wegeler’s grandson, in his criticism of Thayer’s assertions concerning the date of the beginning of the acquaintance between Beethoven and the von Breunings, falls foul of even this ingenious demonstration, saying that the incident of the conflagration might have taken place when Count Waldstein was at home visiting his mother. He could not believe that the Count had spent all of the first 24 years of his life at Dux in “idyllic solitude,” and argued that he might have visited Bonn for the first time at an earlier date than 1787. Dr. Deiters held that the point was well taken; as if there was no alternative for the young count between “idyllic solitude” at Dux and a sojourn at Bonn!
42 Thus in Mr. Thayer’s original manuscript. Dr. Deiters omitted the remark in his revision, but it is here permitted to stand along with other controverted matters.
43 Wegeler’s story of the meeting between Beethoven and Sterkel is confirmed in every detail by a letter from N. Simrock to Schindler, a copy of which was found among the posthumous papers of Thayer.
44 In one of the Beethoven conversation books, anno 1823, may be read in Schindler’s handwriting: “Captain v. Greth’s address, Commandant in Temesvar.”
45 From the Fischoff Manuscript. The verbal play can scarcely be given in English rhymed couplets. The sentiment is: “Happiness and long life I wish you to-day, but something do I crave for myself from you—your regard, your forbearance and your patience.”
46 “J. Haydn in London,” page 53.
47 Neefe relates that on his second visit to England, Haydn had contemplated taking Beethoven with him.
48 “Friendship, with that which is good, grows like the evening shadow till the setting of the sun of life.”
49 The discoveries made after Thayer completed and printed his first volume in German (1866), largely inspired by his labors, have made a thorough revision of this chapter imperative. In all that follows the editor has accepted the statement of facts made by Dr. Deiters in his revised version of the first volume published in 1901, but, in pursuance of his plan as set forth in the introduction, has omitted that which seemed to him more or less inconsequential, as well as that which belongs in the field of analysis and criticism.
50 There have been a few performances of this cantata in Austria and Germany since its publication. It was given at a concert of the Beethoven Association in New York on March 16, 1920, under the direction of Mr. Sam Franko, with an English paraphrase of the text by the Editor of this biography, designed to rid it of its local application and some of its bombast and make its sentiment applicable to any heroic emancipator.
51 See Vol. II, p. 210, of the first German edition of this work. Ries says, on page 124 of the “Notizen,” apropos of the posthumous manuscripts: “All such trifles and things which he never meant to publish, as not considering them worthy of his name, were secretly brought into the world by his brothers. Such were the songs published when he had attained the highest degree of fame, composed years before at Bonn, previous to his departure for Vienna; and in like manner other trifles, written for albums, etc., were secretly taken from him and published.”
52 The subject of the German Song was used by Beethoven later in a sonata.
53 The Trio in E-flat was not published until 1797. It is therefore obvious that the music which Abbé Dobbeler carried with him to England must have been a manuscript copy. Dr. Deiters, accepting without attempt at contradiction Thayer’s proof of its origin at a period not later than 1792, nevertheless puts forth the conjecture that the work may have been revised and reconstructed at a later date in Vienna, as was the case with other compositions. It is not to be supposed, he urges, that Beethoven, enjoying the celebrity that he did in 1797, would have published then with an opus number a production of his youth without first subjecting it to a thorough revision. Moreover, his earlier chamber compositions were in three movements, the minuet having been added for the first time in the Octet. It was scarcely conceivable that he should have simultaneously conceived a work in six movements unless he had had a Mozart model in his mind. But why not? We have seen from the story of the music admired at the court of Vienna from which the Elector came that the serenade form was in favor there. The Sonata for Pianoforte and Violoncello which Artaria announced in May, 1807, is an arrangement of this Trio, but it was not made by Beethoven.
54 Josef Hellmesberger, of Vienna, completed the movement, utilizing the existing motivi, and the piece was published by Friedrich Schreiber.
55 Dr. Deiters points out as characteristics of this Trio which indicate that it was not written by Beethoven at the age of 15, but long after the pianoforte quartets, the freedom in invention and development, the large dimensions of the free fantasia portion, its almost imperceptible return to the principal theme, and the introduction of a coda in the first movement. Motivi from this movement recur in later works, for instance, the Sonata in F minor, Op. 2, and the Pianoforte Concerto in C major. Beethoven seems to have used the designation “Scherzo” in it for the first time.
56 The combination of instruments in this piece led Dr. Deiters to conjecture that it may have been composed for the family von Westerhold. Count von Westerhold played the bassoon, his son the flute, and his daughter the pianoforte.
57 Dr. Deiters points out that Thayer, in transcribing the themes of this Trio, overlooked a Largo, which made the movements number four instead of three as given in the Chronological Catalogue. The existence of four movements added to the doubtful authenticity in the eyes of the German editor.
58 This letter will appear later. The Variations are published in Series 12, No. 103, of the Complete Edition. In a catalogue of Breitkopf and Härtel of 1793, they are designated Op. 1; also in a catalogue in 1794 of Geyl and Hedler’s. It is plain from a passage in the letter to Eleonore von Breuning (“I never would have written it in this way,” etc.) that the Coda did not receive its definitive form until just before publication. Thayer was of the opinion when he wrote Vol. I of this work, that it had been appended in Vienna.
59 It was published in 1805 by the Kunst-und Industriecomptoir of Vienna. Complete Works, Series 18, No. 195; cf. Nottebohm’s “Beethoven’s Studien,” p. 6.
60 In the Fall of 1919, announcement was made by the newspapers that French investigators had discovered in the British Museum four thitherto unknown Beethoven autographs amongst manuscripts purchased by Julian Marshall. The editor of the second edition of Köchel’s “Thematic Catalogue of Mozart’s Works” had seen the manuscripts and included two of them as authentic Mozart compositions and two as probably such in the supplement to that work. They were a Trio in D, for pianoforte, violin and violoncello (two pages of the first Allegro missing, listed as K, No. 52a); three pieces for pianoforte, four hands, a Gavotte in F, an Allegro in B-flat, and a Marcia lugubre in C minor (six measures), No. 71a; a Rondo in B-flat, to which the editor assigned the year 1786, No. 511a; and a Menuet in C, for orchestra, the first of a set composed by Beethoven in 1795, which M. Chantavoine published in 1903 under the title “Douze Menuets inédits pour Orchestre. L. van Beethoven. Œuvres posthumes. Au Ménestrel.” Theodore Wyzewa and Georges de St. Foix made a study of the manuscripts and discussed them in “Le Guide Musical” of December, 1919, January and February, 1920. They were then set down as “pseudo-Mozarts.” M. Charles Malherbe declared that none of the compositions was in Mozart’s hand, and M. de St. Foix, after further consideration of the internal evidence, declared them all to be indubitably by Beethoven and gave his reasons in an essay published in “The Musical Quarterly” (New York and Boston, G. Schirmer) of April, 1920. He told the history of the manuscripts as follows: “They had been presented by the Emperor of Austria to the Sultan Abdul Aziz. The latter, who probably cared very little for these relics of the 18th century, presented them in turn to his musical director, Guatelli Pasha. An English collector, Julian Marshall, purchased them from the Pasha’s son, W. Guatelli Bey, and when, later on, the British Museum acquired the Marshall Collection these manuscripts went over into its possession.”
The Gavotte was played at a concert of the Beethoven Association in New York in January, 1920, by Madame Samaroff and Harold Bauer, being inserted as a movement in the Sonata in A major for four hands, Op. 6. Mr. Bauer also made an arrangement for two hands which has been published by G. Schirmer.
61 The discoveries which have been made since Thayer wrote his first volume have very effectually disproved the old belief touching the sterility of the Bonn period. The inquiry which might still be pursued now is whether or not other compositions which have been attributed to a later period may not also have been composed, or at least projected and sketched, in Bonn. The point of view has changed, but what Thayer wrote over half a century ago is still so largely pertinent that it is here given in the body of the text with only such modifications as were necessary to bring it into harmony with the rest of the chapter.
[62] Thayer proceeds from this point to give the reasons for his belief that the Trios Op. 1 and 3 were written in Bonn. The origin of Op. 1 will be discussed hereafter; that of the latter has just been made clear by the story of Mrs. Bowater and Abbé Dobbeler.
63 Beethoven’s first lodgings were in an attic-room which he soon exchanged for a room on the ground floor of a house No. 45 Alsterstrasse occupied by one Strauss, a printer. The house now on the site is No. 30. Another occupant of the house was Prince Lichnowsky, who soon after took him into his lodgings. He remained in this house until May, 1795.
64 Or the beginning of 1794, since Haydn left Vienna on January 19, of that year.
65 The excerpt from Schenk’s autobiography which follows was communicated to Thayer by Otto Jahn and included in the appendix to Vol. II of the original edition of this biography. The present editor has followed Dr. Deiters in his presentation of the case in Vol. I of the revised edition.
66 Haydn, according to Wurzbach, returned to Vienna on July 24, 1792.
67 Schenk is in error as to both dates. He means, of course, 1793 and 1794.
68 The investigations of Nottebohm, in “Beethoven’s Studien” and “Beethoveniana,” have been relied on in the compilation of the story of the study under Albrechtsberger, which takes the place of the original narrative by Thayer.
69 Once Beethoven writes an unprepared seventh-chord with a suspension on the margin of an exercise and adds the query: “Is it allowed?”
70 Though Thayer fixed the date of this letter in May or June, 1794, Dr. Deiters believed that it was of a much earlier date; and may, indeed, have been written before Beethoven went to Vienna. For his theory Dr. Deiters found a plausible argument in the spelling of the name with a “w” instead of a “v,” and the reiterated references to a misunderstanding which had long been made right. The letter has no date or superscription and Wegeler assumed that it was the continuation of one whose first page had been lost. If the letter was written in Bonn it would prove that the Rondo (probably that in G for Pianoforte and Violin, B. and H. Series XII, No. 102) was composed before the beginning of the Viennese period; which might well be. The Sonata is probably the unfinished one in C, dedicated to Eleonore von Breuning.
71 This was done by Wegeler’s grandson, Carl Wegeler, in an essay published in the “Coblenz Zeitung” on May 20, 1890.
72 An early example of Beethoven’s fondness for punning. Stechen means many things in German—among them to sting, stab, tilt in a tournament, take a trick at cards—as well as to engrave, or cut in metal.
73 The son of Artaria told Nohl that his father had told him that he got the money to pay Beethoven without the composer’s knowledge from Prince Lichnowsky.
74 It was probably that in B-flat. See Nottebohm’s “Zweite Beethoveniana,” page 72.
75 It is now No. 16 of the extended Operngasse.
76 Czerny described Beethoven’s brothers to Otto Jahn as follows: “Carl: small of stature, red-haired, ugly; Johann: large, dark, a handsome man and complete dandy.”
77 “Mr. von Z.” is doubtless Zmeskall, who is thus shown to have been a trusted friend of Beethoven’s in 1796. “This time” indicates plainly that Beethoven had been in Prague before. Through the words: “Greetings to Brother Caspar” the pen has been heavily drawn, and, if the color of the ink can be trusted after so many years, it was done at the time of writing. “F. Linowsky” is Fürst (Prince) Lichnowsky.
78 Beethoven told the story to Mme. von Arnim with the additional particular that they were walking in Unter den Linden and went thence into a private room of the principal coffee-house where there was a pianoforte, for the exhibition of their skill.
79 After the journey to Pesth?
80 See the articles by J. S. Shedlock in “The Musical Times,” June to December, 1892. Mr. Shedlock made a copy of the duet for Dr. Deiters.
81 “Beethoveniana,” p. 31. Later Beethoven wanted to give the Sonata an Intermezzo in C major (Ibid., p. 479), but did not carry out the intention.
82 See Vol. II, p. 60, of the revised edition of “Ludwig van Beethoven’s Leben” by Thayer, 1910.
83 It will be seen in a letter of Beethoven’s that this concerto was in fact composed before that in C major; but it is not improbable that the last movement was written in Prague.
84 “Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 29 et seq.
85 Among sketches for the second movement of the Quintet, Op. 16, Beethoven wrote: “For the new sonatas very short minuets. The Scherzo remains for that in C minor.” And in another sketch he writes: “Intermezzo for the sonata in C minor.”—Nottebohm, “Zweite Beethoveniana,” 32, 479.
86 Amenda returned to his home in Courland in the fall of 1799. The friends corresponded with each other for a time, but the majority of Beethoven’s letters are lost. While a student at the University in Leipzig, Amenda’s grandson placed some of them in the hands of a publisher at his request and did not get them back. Amenda was first a private teacher, became a preacher in Talsen in 1802, provost of the diocese of Kadau in 1820, consistorial councillor in 1830 and died on March 8, 1836. A portrait painted in 1808, is preserved in the Beethoven Museum in Bonn.
87 Beethoven did not always follow the suggestions of these men. According to an anecdote told by Doležalek to Otto Jahn, Kraft once complained that a passage was not playable. “It’s got to be,” answered Beethoven. In a like vein K. Holz relates that “Beethoven asked an excellent artist whether or not certain things were possible”; the question of how difficult they were did not enter. Thus Friedlowsky for clarinet, Czerwensky for oboe, Hradezky and Herbst for horn. If others complained of impossibilities the answer was “They can do it and you must.” (From Thayer’s papers.)
88 The humor to which Beethoven resorts in this note in order to show his contrition necessarily evaporates in any attempt to translate its Viennese colloquialisms. “Herzens Natzerl” is to be understood as “Dear little Ignacius of my heart,” Nazerl being an affectionate diminutive of Ignaz or Ignacius. Why it should have been applied to Hummel, whose Christian names were Johann Nepomuk, does not appear. “Mehlschöberl” is a term which has survived in the Austrian cuisine of to-day, the article itself being a sort of soup dumpling.
89 The number of known letters and documents has grown greatly since Thayer wrote these words. Kalischer’s Collection numbers over 1200 and Emerich Kastner gives the first lines of 1380 in Frimmel’s second “Beethoven Jahrbuch” published in 1909.
90 Opportunities for studying Beethoven’s sketchbooks have greatly increased since Mr. Thayer wrote these words. Nottebohm who rendered an incalculable service to all students of the great composer after the book from which our author quotes, published a volume entitled “Beethoveniana” in 1872, and a second entitled “Zweite Beethoveniana” in 1887. To these the revisors of this biography have repeatedly referred in tracing the history of Beethoven’s compositions. A collection of sketches formerly owned by J. N. Kafka and now in the British Museum was described by Mr. J. S. Shedlock in “The Musical Times” (July to December, 1892). A volume containing sketches for the last quartets is at the present writing in the possession of Mr. Cecilio de Roda of Madrid and was described by the “Rivista Italiana” (Nos. XI-XIV, 1907) and also published in pamphlet form under the title “Un Quadrena di autografi di Beethoven del 1825.”
91 “He could not endure his Septet and grew angry because of the universal applause with which it was received.” (Czerny to Jahn.) “The theme of the variations is said to be a Rhenish folksong.” (Ibid.)
92 This is, of course, an error, as the Trio had been before the public since October 3rd, 1798.
93 From Weigl’s “Corsair aus Liebe.”
94 According to Frimmel, “Beethoven’s Wohnungen,” Vienna “Neue Freie Presse,” August 11, 1899, this house was that of Court Councillor Greiner, then No. 241, afterwards 235, now No. 10 in the Tiefen Graben which, slightly altered, still remains. On the strength of Czerny’s statement that one had to look up to the fifth or sixth storey to see Beethoven, and the old report that Beethoven lived “in the Kleine Weintraube,” Frimmel was led to think that possibly he lived in one of the houses on the higher ground behind the Greiner house to which there was access from the open place “Am Hof” as well as from the houses in the Tiefen Graben and the Greiner house. The houses which bore the sign “Zur Weintraube” were situated “am Hofe.”
95 In B-flat, Op. 22.
96 The Pianoforte Concerto offered to Hoffmeister was that in B-flat. It was published by Hoffmeister and Kühnel toward the end of 1801 and advertised on January 16, 1802. The Concerto published by Mollo was that in C major. A letter written to Breitkopf and Härtel on the same day contains the equivalent of the remark: “I am for the present keeping the better ones for myself until I make a tour,” which is significant, since it makes it sure that other concertos were at least planned and that the one in C minor was looked upon as finished by Beethoven.
97 In reality it was the second, as the Amenda parts show.
98 Holz sold the Guarnerius violin in 1852 (see the “Allgemeine Deutsche Musikzeitung” of 1888). When the Beethoven Museum in Bonn was dedicated, the instruments were borrowed from the authorities of the Royal Library, and exhibited in a glass case, where they remain by sufferance of the Prussian authorities.
99 See the dedication in Kalischer’s collection of Beethoven’s letters translated by J. S. Shedlock, Vol. I, p. 94.
100 Beethoven’s carelessness in respect of dates, or a characteristic indifference to the almanac, as exemplified in this date-line, plays an important rôle in one of the most puzzling questions in his personal history, namely, the identity of the woman whom in the famous love-letters he called “The Immortal Beloved.”
101 “L... O...”, according to Schindler as reported by Nohl, stands for “Leipsic Oxen,” the reference being to the critics of the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung.”
102 The Concerto in B-flat, Op. 19.
103 The Concerto in C major, Op. 15.
104 Bach is the German equivalent of brook. The daughter of Bach referred to was Regina Johanna, in whose behalf Friedrich Rochlitz had issued an appeal. She was the youngest of Bach’s children and died on December 14, 1800, her last days having been spent in comfort by reason of the subscription alluded to.
105 Known in English as “The Mount of Olives.”
106 Here, for a space, the Editor reverts to the original manuscript not employed by the German revisers, except as a foot-note.
107 “The Sonata in C-sharp minor has asked many a tear from gentle souls who were taught to hear in its first movement a lament for unrequited love and reflected that it was dedicated to the Countess Giulia Guicciardi, for whom Beethoven assuredly had a tender feeling. Moonlight and the plaint of an unhappy lover. How affecting! But Beethoven did not compose the Sonata for the Countess, though he inscribed it to her. He had given her a Rondo, and wishing to dedicate it to another pupil, he asked for its return and in exchange sent the Sonata. Moreover, it appears from evidence scarcely to be gainsaid, that Beethoven never intended the C-sharp minor sonata as a musical expression of love, unhappy or otherwise. In a letter dated January 22, 1892 (for a copy of which I am indebted to Fräulein Lipsius [La Mara] to whom it is addressed), Alexander W. Thayer, the greatest of Beethoven’s biographers, says: ‘That Mr. Kalischer has adopted Ludwig Nohl’s strange notion of Beethoven’s infatuation for Therese Malfatti, a girl of fourteen years, surprises me; as also that he seems to consider the C-sharp minor Sonata to be a musical love-poem addressed to Julia Guicciardi. He ought certainly to know that the subject of that sonata was or rather that it was suggested by—Seume’s little poem ‘Die Beterin’.’ The poem referred to describes a maiden kneeling at the high altar in prayer for the recovery of a sick father. Her sighs and petitions ascend like the smoke of incense from the censers, angels come to her aid, and, at the last, the face of the suppliant one glows with the transfiguring light of hope. The poem has little to commend it as an example of literary art and it is not as easy to connect it in fancy with the last movement of the sonata as with the first and second: but the evidence that Beethoven paid it the tribute of his music seems conclusive.”—“The Pianoforte and its Music,” by H. E. Krehbiel, Charles Scribner’s Sons, pp. 163, 164.
On page 174, Vol. IV, of the German edition of this biography Dr. Deiters remarks: “The venerated Thayer, it is true, conceived the idea that Beethoven’s Fantasia and Sonata, Op. 27, No. 2, had been inspired by Seume’s ‘Beterin.’ Whoever compares the sonata with the poem will soon realize that there can be no thought of this. We have here, no doubt, a confusion of pieces. It would be easier to think of the Fantasia, Op. 77. Kalischer, who first recognized Thayer’s error, thought of the C-sharp minor Quartet; but this cannot have been in Beethoven’s mind, for it was composed much later.” Grossheim’s letter was written in 1819; the C-sharp minor quartet was composed in 1826. So Kalischer was ridiculously in error. But why does Dr. Deiters suggest the Fantasia, Op. 77? Grossheim was a musician—composer, teacher and conductor—as well as philologist, and when he said “C-sharp minor” it is not likely that he was thinking of a work in G minor. Moreover, the most admirable Dr. Deiters to the contrary notwithstanding, it is not at all difficult to associate the sonata with the poem whose picture of lamentable petition and rising clouds of incense is strikingly reproduced in suggestion by the music of the first movement. Serene hopefulness can be said to be the feeling which informs the second movement; and why should the finale not be the musician’s continuation of the poet’s story?
108 Appendix II to the second volume of the German edition of this work contains copies of all the documents in the legal controversies which arose out of Beethoven’s charges against Artaria and Co. and Mollo in the matter of the unauthorized publication of the Quintet. They do not add much that is essential to the story as it has been told, though they show that the legal authorities upheld the publishers against the composer.
109 Beethoven writes: “How can Amenda doubt that I should ever forget him?”
110 We shall see that even Ries took no note of his friend’s infirmity for two years.
111 Eleonore von Breuning, wife of Wegeler.
112 A well-known picture by Füger, Director of the Academy of Painting in Vienna.
113 Christoph von Breuning.
114 Breuning’s mother. (Wegeler.)
115 The bark of Daphne Mezereum.
116 The attempt to fix the chronology of Beethoven’s works.
117 The German editor of Vol. II insists that it was not Reicha but Stephan von Breuning—though he permits all of Thayer’s argument to stand.
118 From 1785 to the end of October, 1792; and from the winter 1800-’01 to 1808; two periods of seven years each, separated by the eight years’ interval.
119 From O. Jahn’s posthumous papers.
120 The Editor of this English edition of Thayer’s “Life of Beethoven” is unwilling to admit that the author’s argument against the Countess Guicciardi as the lady to whom the famous love-letter which is the basis of the episode referred to by the author, has been disproved; or that the burden of proof is against Thayer’s theory (never put forward as a demonstrated fact, but rather as what the scientists call a “working hypothesis”) that the object of his love at the time the letter was written was the Countess Therese Brunswick (or Brunsvik, as the Hungarian branch of the family wrote the name). The question is one of great difficulty, however, and the Editor has thought it wise, expedient and only fair to the memory of Mr. Thayer, to bring together the disjecta membra of his argument as they are to be found in the body of Vol. II and the body and Appendices of Vol. III of the original German edition, in a continuous chapter, and then to add, in the form of a comprehensive postscript, an abstract of the opinion of others and some suggestions of his own touching the woman who, though not yet definitively identified, wears the halo which streams from the title which Beethoven bestowed upon her—his “Immortal Beloved.” It will be observed that the question turns largely on an adjustment of dates—a necessary procedure in other affairs of Beethoven’s besides those of his heart.
121 Jahn transcribes the last words (“je la méprisois,” etc.) as follows: Elle est née Guicciardi elle étoit (an illegible word marked with an interrogation point) qu epouse de lui (avant son voyage) de l’Italie. Arrivée à Vienne et elle cherchoit moi pleurant, mais je la méprisois.
Ludwig Nohl asserts that the words “arrivée à Vienne” had been “added” by Schindler. But Schindler printed the passage in 1845 as well as in 1860 thus: Elle étoit l’épouse de lui avant son voyage en Italie.... Arrivée a Vienne elle cherchoit moi pleurant, etc. In the edition of 1860 of his biography of Beethoven he adds the following remark: “One of the conversation books of 1823, all of which are preserved in the Royal Court Library at Berlin, contains these revelations.” If Nohl’s assertion is correct it follows that Schindler lied and deceived the public, being guilty of a forgery which escaped the eyes of both Jahn and Thayer; and that, furthermore, he was guilty of the folly of calling attention to the very book whose contents he had falsified. Nohl asserts further that Giulietta had sought an interview with Beethoven before her journey to Italy. On such an act he founds the assertion that the young woman, married only a few months, was already willing to leave her husband. From circumstances unknown to Nohl it is certain that the visit did not take place until after her return to Vienna in 1822.
122 The Editor of this English edition takes the liberty of inserting the letter in the body of the text. Mr. Thayer, or his first German Editor, Dr. Deiters, put it in the appendix to the third volume, following it with an argument advanced to show that it was not addressed to the Countess Guicciardi. This argument the English Editor has also transferred to the body of the text so that the discussion may be read continuously.
123 From here on the Editor of this English edition presents Mr. Thayer’s further contentions as they are set forth in the first appendix to Vol. III of the first German edition, though in the form of a translation—the original manuscript not having reached his hands.
124 Ludwig Nohl.
125 These concluding remarks, from chapters V and VI of Vol. III of the first German edition, are brought in here to complete the author’s public utterances on the subject of the identity of the “Immortal Beloved.” Thayer is discussing the failure of Beethoven’s marriage project.
126 Amongst Beethoven’s posthumous effects was found a portrait in oil by J. B. von Lampi with the following inscription on the back of the frame:
To the Unique Genius To the Great Artist To the Good Man from T.B. (Dem seltenen Genie, Dem grossen Künstler, Dem guten Menschen)
This picture went from the possession of the widow of Beethoven’s nephew Karl into that of Georg Hellmesbeger Sr. in 1861 and was presented by his grandson to the Beethoven-Haus Verein in Bonn, where it is now preserved. It is, in all probability, the portrait of which Beethoven speaks in a letter to Count Franz von Brunswick, dated July 11, 1811: “Since I do not know how the portrait fell into your hands, it would be best were you to bring it with you; an amiable artist will no doubt be found who will copy it for the sake of friendship.” Besides the portrait of the Countess Therese there was also a medallion picture of the Countess Guicciardi amongst the effects left by Beethoven. It was identified as such by her son, who died in 1893. (See Breuning, “Aus dem Schwarzspanierhause,” p. 124.)
127 Riemann in his revision of Vol. II of this biography says, “The statement in the second and third volumes of the first edition were based on the belief that the serious marriage project of Beethoven which led him to ask Wegeler to get for him [a transcript of] his baptismal certificate, but which fell through soon after, must needs be connected with the person to whom the love-letter was addressed. But since it has been determined by a careful study of Clementi’s letters that Beethoven’s offer of marriage, in 1810, most certainly referred to Therese von Malfatti, who, however, as we shall see, cannot be considered in connection with the love-letter, this combination is become untenable. A large number of Beethoven’s letters must be assigned to entirely different years, because Clementi’s correspondence with his partner Collard makes it certain that the honorarium for the works sold in 1807 was not paid out till the spring of 1810. The relations of Beethoven to Therese Malfatti are thus transferred from 1807 to 1809-1810, and it can no longer be maintained that 1810 was the year in which Beethoven’s prospect of a marriage with Therese Brunswick came to an end.” This means that Dr. Riemann believes that while a man of 38 years of age would not write a love-letter like Beethoven’s to a girl of less than 14 years he would try to marry her when he was 40 and she a trifle under 16.
128 The Sonata in E, Op. 14, No. 1, transposed to F major, was published in 1802. See W. Altmann, “Ein vergessenes Streichquartett Beethovens,” “Die Musik,” 1905.
129 Those dedicated to Princess Esterhazy, Op. 45.
130 This Testament or Promemoria, written on a large foolscap sheet, appears to have been discovered in a mass of loose papers purchased by the elder Artaria at the sale of Beethoven’s effects in 1827. Endorsed upon it is an acknowledgement, signed by Jacob Hotschevar, the guardian (after Breuning’s death) of the composer’s nephew, of having received it from Artaria & Co. Then follows a similar acknowledgement of its reception by Johann van Beethoven. Its next possessor appears to have been Alois Fuchs—the great collector of musical manuscripts and autographs of musicians. In 1855, it was purchased by Ernst, the violinist (of whom is not known?), who presented it to Mr. Otto and Madame Jenny Lind Goldschmidt as a testimony of gratitude for their valuable assistance in one of his concerts. By their kindness the present writer was allowed to make a very careful copy on April 2, 1861. As printed in the “Allg. Musikalische Zeitung,” by Schindler and others, it differs little from the original, though some of Beethoven’s peculiar forms of spelling were corrected—such as “Heiglnstadt.” “That Beethoven, throughout the document, never mentions the name of his second brother Johann, and indicates it only by points, is surprising and singular, inasmuch as this brother, as we have just seen, had come to Vienna only a short time before in order to take part in the affairs of our Beethoven.” Our copy certainly contains no such “points.” The other mistake, as to the recent arrival of Johann in Vienna, every reader will note.
131 The reference is, of course, to Artaria and Co. and the Revers.
132 Letter to Ferdinand Luib, May 28, 1852.
133 Under date April 22, 1802, Beethoven writes to Breitkopf and Härtel: “I reserve the privilege of soon writing to you highborn gentlemen myself—many business matters, and also many vexations—render me utterly useless for some things for a time—meanwhile you may trust implicitly in my brother—who, in fact, manages all my affairs.”
134 Hugo Riemann, the editor of Volumes II and III of the second edition of this “Life,” was not disposed to permit the author’s defence of Beethoven’s brothers to stand unchallenged, as Dr. Deiters had done in the first edition. Dr. Riemann calls attention to a letter sent by Beethoven to Johann after the latter had removed to Linz—the date as written by Beethoven is “March 28, 1089”—another instance of Beethoven’s careless treatment of such matters. Of course the year was 1809. In the letter the composer says: “God grant to you and the other brother instead of his unfeelingness, feeling—I suffer infinitely through him, with my bad hearing I always need somebody, and whom shall I trust?” This Dr. Riemann inserts in the body of the text. In a foot-note he calls attention to a letter found among Thayer’s posthumous papers to the author from Gerhard von Breuning in which occur the words: “Caspar held a respected position in the public service. But how did it come that Rösgen warned my father to warn Ludwig not to trust Caspar too much in respect of money matters because he had a bad reputation; and then, Ludwig having told Caspar that he had received the warning from Steffen, Caspar demanded from my father to know from whom he had received the warning; and when my father refused because he had promised Rösgen on his word of honor not to betray him, Caspar rudely pressed my father, publicly delivered letters containing abuse and threats to the porter of the Court Council of War, etc., and—that my father, calling Ludwig a gossip, was long estranged from him until the letter of reconciliation came (in 1804).” Breuning’s utterances in his book “Aus dem Schwarzspanierhause” are of similar import. There are evidences that Breuning was convinced that Carl’s character was bad, but is more lenient in his judgment of Johann, whom he charges only with greed and miserliness. Of course, all this material was in the hands of Thayer, who must have weighed it in making up his defence of the brothers.
135 Dr. Frimmel is of the opinion that in this criticism Thayer was hasty and premature. In reproducing two facsimiles of portions of the Bagatelle in question (“Beethoven Jahrbuch” II, 1909) he says: “The apparent contradictions disclosed by these manuscripts led Thayer to question the authenticity of the autograph. It may safely be said that a later consideration of the matter would have led Thayer to change his mind; he would also surely have corrected his statement that Ries had reference to the Bagatelles Op. 33 in his ‘N’ (p. 124). Nottebohm knew the manuscript, which was once in the possession of Johann Kafka, well and never expressed a doubt as to its genuineness.”
136 Difference between the statements made here and some of those in Chapter VI are explained by the author’s later investigations.
137 “Ein Skizzenbuch von Beethoven,” Breitkopf und Härtel, Leipsic, 1865.
Beethoven’s Estimate of the Bagatelles
138 Dr. Riemann thinks that Beethoven originally wrote “1802” on the autograph, and that subsequently he, or somebody else, changed the 8 into a 7 and the 0 into an 8. (See the facsimile in Frimmel’s “Beethovenjahrbuch” of 1909); yet the German Editor finds suggestions of Beethoven’s latest style in the “Bagatelles” and calls attention to the fact that Beethoven detected intimations of No. 5 in the set Op. 119 in the Kessler sketchbook. Dr. Riemann’s conclusion is thus worded: “If Ries in his ‘Notizen’ meant these ‘Bagatelles’, he was surely in error. Beethoven’s complaint to Breitkopf and Härtel in the letter of October, 1803, ‘since unfortunately so many unlucky old things of mine have been sold and stolen,’ cannot possibly have referred to them. Beethoven himself thought highly of these ‘trifles’, as is shown by his anger at Peters’s depreciation of Op. 119. it is very likely that Ries meant the Two Preludes in all the Keys (Op. 39), which may have been surreptitiously published.”