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Title: Beethoven, a character study; together with Wagner's indebtedness to Beethoven

Author: George Alexander Fischer

Release date: February 22, 2005 [eBook #15141]
                Most recently updated: December 14, 2020

Language: English

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Transcriber's Notes: 1. Corrected spelling of Maelzel's invention in one
                        place from 'Panharmonican' to 'Panharmonicon'.

                     2. In the index, corrected 'Krumpholtz' to
                        'Krumpholz', 'Origen of the dance' to 'Origin of
                        the dance', and 'Neafe' to 'Neefe'.





BEETHOVEN

A Character Study together with Wagner's Indebtedness to Beethoven

by

GEORGE ALEXANDER FISCHER

Es kann die Spur von meinen Erdentagen
Nicht in Aeonen untergehn.

             GOETHE.

New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
The Trow Press, New York

1905







[Illustration: BEETHOVEN]



                 TO THE MEMORY OF
                    My father




CONTENTS

CHAPTER
       I. Early Promise
      II. The Morning of Life
     III. The New Path
      IV. Heroic Symphony
       V. Fidelio
      VI. The Eternal Feminine
     VII. Victory from Defeat
    VIII. Meeting with Goethe
      IX. Optimistic Trend
       X. At the Zenith of His Fame
      XI. Methods of Composition
     XII. Sense of Humor
    XIII. Missa Solemnis
     XIV. Ninth Symphony
      XV. Capacity for Friendship
     XVI. The Day's Trials
    XVII. Last Quartets
   XVIII. In the Shadows
     XIX. Life's Purport

WAGNER'S INDEBTEDNESS TO BEETHOVEN

INDEX




CHAPTER I

EARLY PROMISE

     God acts upon earth only by means of superior chosen men.
                          --HERDER: _Ideas Toward a History of Mankind_.


As life broadens with advancing culture, and people are able to
appropriate to themselves more of the various forms of art, the artist
himself attains to greater power, his abilities increase in direct ratio
with the progress in culture made by the people and their ability to
comprehend him. When one side or phase of an art comes to be received,
new and more difficult problems are invariably presented, the
elucidation of which can only be effected by a higher development of the
faculties. There is never an approach to equilibrium between the artist
and his public. As it advances in knowledge of his art, he maintains the
want of balance, the disproportion that always exists between the genius
and the ordinary man, by rising ever to greater heights.

If Bach is the mathematician of music, as has been asserted, Beethoven
is its philosopher. In his work the philosophic spirit comes to the
fore. To the genius of the musician is added in Beethoven a wide mental
grasp, an altruistic spirit, that seeks to help humanity on the upward
path. He addresses the intellect of mankind.

Up to Beethoven's time musicians in general (Bach is always an
exception) performed their work without the aid of an intellect for the
most part; they worked by intuition. In everything outside their art
they were like children. Beethoven was the first one having the
independence to think for himself--the first to have ideas on subjects
unconnected with his art. He it was who established the dignity of the
artist over that of the simply well-born. His entire life was a protest
against the pretensions of birth over mind. His predecessors, to a great
extent subjugated by their social superiors, sought only to please.
Nothing further was expected of them. This mental attitude is apparent
in their work. The language of the courtier is usually polished, but
will never have the virility that characterizes the speech of the free
man.

As with all valuable things, however, Beethoven's music is not to be
enjoyed for nothing. We must on our side contribute something to the
enterprise, something more than simply buying a ticket to the
performance. We must study his work in the right spirit, and place
ourselves in a receptive attitude when listening to it to understand his
message. Often metaphysical, particularly in the work of his later
years, his meaning will be revealed only when we devote to it earnest
and sympathetic study. No other composer demands so much of one; no
other rewards the student so richly for the effort required. The making
a fact the subject of thought vitalizes it. It is as if the master had
said to the aspirant: "I will admit you into the ranks of my disciples,
but you must first prove yourself worthy." An initiation is necessary;
somewhat of the intense mental activity which characterized Beethoven in
the composition of his works is required of the student also. There is a
tax imposed for the enjoyment of them.

Like Thoreau, Beethoven came on the world's stage "just in the nick of
time," and almost immediately had to begin hewing out a path for
himself. He was born in the workshop, as was Mozart, and learned music
simultaneously with speaking. Stirring times they were in which he first
saw the light, and so indeed continued with ever-increasing intensity,
like a good drama, until nearly his end. The American Revolution became
an accomplished fact during his boyhood. Nearer home, events were fast
coming to a focus, which culminated in the French Revolution. The magic
words, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, and the ideas for which they
stood, were everywhere in the minds of the people. The age called for
enlightenment, spiritual growth.

On reaching manhood, he found a world in transition; he realized that he
was on the threshold of a new order of things, and with ready prescience
took advantage of such as could be utilized in his art. Through
Beethoven the resources of the orchestra were increased, an added range
was given the keyboard of the piano, the human voice was given tasks
that at the time seemed impossible of achievement. He established the
precedent, which Wagner acted on later, of employing the human voice as
a tool, an instrument, to be used in the exigencies of his art, as if it
were a part of the orchestra.

Beethoven's birthplace, Bonn, no doubt proved a favorable soil for the
propagation of the new ideas. The unrest pervading all classes, an
outcome of the Revolution, showed itself among the more serious-minded
in increased intellectuality, and a reaching after higher things. This
_Zeitgeist_ is clearly reflected in his compositions, in particular the
symphonies and sonatas. "Under the lead of Italian vocalism," said
Wagner, speaking of the period just preceding the time of which we
write, "music had become an art of sheer agreeableness." The beautiful
in music had been sufficiently exploited by Mozart and Haydn. Beethoven
demonstrated that music has a higher function than that of mere beauty,
or the simple act of giving pleasure. The beautiful in literature is not
its best part. To the earnest thinker, the seeker after truth, the
student who looks for illumination on life's problem, beauty in itself
is insufficient. It is the best office of art, of Beethoven's art in
particular, that it leads ever onward and upward; that it acts not only
on the esthetic and moral sense, but develops the mental faculties as
well, enabling the individual to find a purpose and meaning in life.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ludwig van Beethoven was born at Bonn, December 16, 1770. He came of a
musical family. His father and grandfather were both musicians at Bonn,
at the Court of the Elector of Cologne. The family originally came from
Louvain, and settled in Antwerp in 1650, from which place they moved to
Bonn.

This old city on the Rhine, frequently mentioned by Tacitus, older than
Christianity, the scene of innumerable battles from Roman times up to
the beginning of the nineteenth century, has much that is interesting
about it, but is distinguished chiefly on account of having been
Beethoven's birthplace. It was for five centuries (from 1268 to 1794) in
the possession of the Electors of Cologne. The last one of all, Max
Franz, who succeeded to the Electorate when Beethoven was fourteen years
of age, and who befriended him in various ways was, in common with the
entire Imperial family, a highly cultivated person, especially in music.
He was the youngest son of Maria Therese, Empress of Austria, herself a
fine singer and well versed in the music of the time. The Elector played
the viola and his chief interest in life seems to have been music. In
Beethoven's time and long before, the aristocracy led lives of easy,
complacent enjoyment, dabbling in art, patronizing music and the
composers, seemingly with no prevision that the musicians whom they
attached to their train, and who in the cases of Mozart and Haydn were
at times treated but little better than lackeys, were destined by the
irony of fate to occupy places in the temple of fame, which would be
denied themselves.

Ludwig van Beethoven, the grandfather of the composer, received his
appointment as Kapellmeister at Bonn in March of 1733, then twenty-one
years of age. A little more than a century afterward a statue was
erected there in the Münster Platz to his illustrious grandson, Liszt
being the moving spirit in the matter. The grandfather was in every way
a worthy man, but he died when our composer was three years of age, and
from that time poverty and hardship of all kinds was the portion of the
family. Beethoven's father was careless and improvident. His salary of
300 florins, about $145, was all they had upon which to live. The
mother was the daughter of a cook and the widow of a _valet de chambre_
to one of the Electors. She was kind-hearted, of pleasant temper and
lovable disposition, and the affection between mother and son was deep
and lasting. The father was stern, and a strict disciplinarian, as so
often happens in such cases. He was determined that the son should do
better than himself, being willing to furnish the precept, if not the
example.

Reared in this school of adversity the boy had a hard life. His father
was his first teacher, teaching him both violin and clavier. He began
with him as early as his fourth year; he seems to have been aware of the
boy's ability, but had no consideration, and was a hard taskmaster.
Before he was nine years of age, however, the boy's progress was so
great that the father had no more to teach him.

In those times the musical life centered about the Court. Beethoven
studied the organ under the court organist, Van den Eeden, an old friend
of his grandfather's. Van den Eeden was succeeded shortly after by
Christian Neefe, and Beethoven, then eleven years of age, was
transferred to him. Neefe had an important bearing on Beethoven's life.
He was in his best years, thirty-three, when he began teaching him, and
was a thorough musician, who had had a varied experience before assuming
this post. He was a university man as well, and it was fortunate for
Beethoven in every way that he was brought in childhood under the
influence of so cultivated and enthusiastic a musician. Neefe saw the
boy's talent and became his friend. On one occasion the Elector took his
musicians to Münster where he had a palace, Neefe's duties requiring
that he go with them. Beethoven, then under twelve years of age, was
left behind as organist. Frimmel states that Neefe, on assuming the
position, reserved the privilege of absenting himself frequently from
his post, on condition that he provide a substitute. After the Münster
episode, the twelve-year-old Beethoven became the regular substitute.
When we consider the important rôle that church music played in those
times, such precocity is remarkable. This connection with church music
bore good fruit in later years.

Neefe was soon after promoted, the Elector giving him charge of the
secular as well as the sacred music of the Court, upon which Beethoven
received his first appointment, that of cembalist of the orchestra. The
duty of the cembalist is to preside at the piano. Only a good musician
would be capable of filling such a position, as all the accompaniments
were played from the score. He held this for two years, afterward
playing viol in the orchestra for several years more. This work in the
orchestra was later of the greatest possible benefit to him in
composing. There was no salary at first, but the post had an important
bearing on his life, as he was obliged to attend all the rehearsals as
well as the performances of the opera, always taking an active part.
Before he reached the age of fifteen he was appointed second court
organist. During this year he studied the violin with Franz Ries, which
enabled him a few years later to play in the band.

It was in Beethoven's fifteenth year that he played the organ every
morning at the six o'clock mass in the Minorite church. For some years
before and during this period he was busy trying his hand at musical
composition, but nothing which he composed during his youth amounts to
much. He could improvise in a marvelous manner and he attracted much
attention by the exercise of this talent, becoming famous in this
connection long before he was known as a composer.

His creative talent unfolded itself slowly. He had high ideals and
worked faithfully toward their attainment. Failure to reach the level of
his aspirations did not dishearten him; rather it spurred him on to
greater effort.

The discerning intellect is always in advance of the creative. His
delight in Bach was great; he studied him to such purpose that, at
twelve years, he was able to play the greater part of the Well-tempered
Clavichord. His wonderful interpretation of Bach, later, on his arrival
in Vienna, immediately placed him in the front rank of _virtuosi_,
according to Hüttenbrenner, Schubert's friend.

As a boy he was docile, shy and reserved, caring nothing for the
ordinary games of boys, or at least not participating in them to any
extent. At an age when other boys begin learning their games, he began
in composition, being forced to it, no doubt, by his father. He is said
to have written a cantata at the age of ten to the memory of an English
friend of the family, who died early in the year 1781. Some variations
on a march in C minor bear the following statement: _Composées par un
jeune amateur L v B age de dix ans_.

From year to year he kept on in musical composition, feeling his way,
not discouraged by his inability to produce anything great, although
Mozart's precocity and genius were no doubt frequently held up to him by
others as an example to profit by. When he was seventeen he went to
Vienna, the funds for the trip probably being furnished by the Elector.
Here he met Mozart, then at the height of his fame, whose operas were
frequently produced in Bonn and throughout Germany. He probably had some
lessons from him. Mozart was very much occupied with the approaching
production of Don Giovanni, which took place in Prague shortly after the
young man's arrival. As Beethoven's visit terminated in three months, it
is not likely that he derived much benefit from these lessons. On his
first meeting with the master he extemporized for him on a subject given
him by Mozart. That this was a momentous occasion to the impressionable
Beethoven is certain. The emotions called up by the meeting enabled him
to play with such effect that when he had finished, the well-known
remark was elicited from Mozart: "Pay attention to him. He will make a
noise in the world some day."

Beethoven, however, was compelled to return to Bonn, owing to the
serious illness of his mother, who died of consumption July 17, 1787. He
now took charge of the family and had a hard life from almost every
point of view, his one enjoyment probably being in the exercise of his
art. The affection between mother and son was one of the few bright
spots in a boyhood of toil and privation. The father's harshness served
to accentuate the kindness of the mother, and he felt her death keenly.
He gave a few lessons, most unwillingly, the money from which, together
with his salary as assistant organist and a portion of the father's
salary, kept the family together, affording them some degree of comfort.

His return, no doubt, retarded his artistic development. The musical
atmosphere of Vienna would have been much better for him, especially at
this period, when he was entering manhood and eager to get at the works
of contemporary composers. In those times only a small amount of the
music that was written, was published. Many of the lesser works were
composed merely to grace some social function, with but little thought
given them as to their ultimate fate. It was customary to play from
manuscript, copies of which were not readily attainable. In a city like
Vienna new music was constantly being produced, occasionally at public
concerts, but most often at social gatherings. The freemasonry existing
among musicians and the wealthy amateurs was such that a musician of any
talent was sure to be received, and put on a friendly footing. No other
city in Europe afforded such opportunities for musical culture as did
Vienna. It was the home of Mozart and Haydn and a host of lesser
composers, as well as instrumentalists and singers. Music in one form or
another was the chief diversion of the better classes, the wealthier of
whom maintained their private orchestra. Many of these latter were fine
performers, taking part regularly in the concerts given by their
orchestras.

The next year we find Beethoven taking his meals at the Zehrgarten,
where artists, professors from the university, and other notable people
congregated. It was at this period that he made the acquaintance of
Count Ferdinand Waldstein, the first of the aristocratic circle of
friends which surrounded him all his life. Count Waldstein at
twenty-four, on coming of age, entered the Germanic order, passing the
year of his novitiate at the Court of the Elector at Bonn. The senior by
eight years, his influence over Beethoven was considerable, as is
evidenced in many ways. The Count was an enthusiastic amateur, visiting
him frequently. He gave him a piano, and was useful to him in many ways.
The social position of Count Waldstein was such that his friendly
attitude toward Beethoven at once attracted the attention of others to
the young musician. From this time on he was able to choose his friends
from among the best people of his native city. The young man
commemorated the friendship by taking an air of the Count's, who was
somewhat of a composer, and composing twelve variations for four hands
for the piano from it. Later, in 1805, after the Eroica Symphony and
Fidelio, when the master had become famous, he composed the great
Waldstein Sonata, opus 58, and dedicated it to him. The Waldstein family
became extinct with Ferdinand, but the name will live for centuries
through these compositions.

About the time of his first meeting with Count Waldstein, Beethoven made
another acquaintance, which had an important bearing on his subsequent
life. This was Von Breuning. He and Beethoven took violin lessons of
Franz Ries. Stephen von Breuning liked Beethoven from the start and
introduced him at his mother's house. The Breunings were in good
circumstances, cultivated, good-natured and hospitable. They delighted
in having him about, and treated him with the utmost consideration.
Madame von Breuning formed a sincere, motherly affection for him; he was
soon on a footing in their house almost equal to that of a member of the
family. He went with them about this time on a visit to some of their
relations in another city. They were instrumental in shaping his
destiny in various ways, and their friendship was of great moment to him
throughout life. Beethoven, then in his eighteenth year, gave lessons to
the daughter Eleonore, as well as to the youngest son, Lenz. Eleonore
afterward married Dr. Wegeler, who was in the same circle. Many years
later he collaborated with Ries's son Ferdinand in writing reminiscences
of the master.

The names of Count Waldstein and the Von Breunings are indelibly
associated with Beethoven's name as friends from the beginning. When we
consider how every circumstance of Beethoven's family and mode of life
tended against his forming desirable friendships, how rough in exterior
and careless of his appearance he was, we can ascribe it only to the
force of his character that he should have the friendship of such
people. He had done nothing as yet to lead people to believe that he
would ever become a great composer. As has been stated, however, he was
a pianist of great originality, with a remarkable talent for
improvising, which, no doubt, had much to do in making him a welcome
guest wherever he went.

Madame von Breuning, with her woman's tact, and the fine intuitive
perceptions that were characteristic of her, looked after his
intellectual development, and was helpful to him in various ways,
encouraging him as well in his musical studies. But Beethoven was by no
means an easy person to get along with, as she soon found out. He was
fiery and headstrong, disliking all restraint, being especially
impatient of anything that savored of patronage. She seems to have known
that in Beethoven she had before her that rarest product of humanity, a
man of genius, and had infinite patience with him. His dislike for
teaching was pronounced, then, as in after years, and she was often at
her wits' end to get him to keep his engagements in this respect. She,
in short, did for Beethoven what Madame Boehme did for Goethe many years
before, when the poet left his native Frankfort and came to Leipsic. He
was but sixteen, and found in her a friend, counsellor, almost a mother,
who not only instructed him about dress and deportment, which soon
enabled him to obliterate his provincialism, but showed a motherly
solicitude for him, which must have been of great help to him in many
ways.

Madame von Breuning interested Beethoven in the classics, as well as in
contemporary philosophical literature. Lessing, Goethe and Schiller
became favorite authors with him. A much-thumbed translation of
Shakespeare was a valued part of his small library in after years. He
devoted much study to Homer and to Plato. Beethoven left school at the
age of thirteen, and could not have given much time to his studies even
when at school, as so much was required of him in his music. He learned
a little--a very little, of French, also some Latin and Italian, and
made up for his deficiencies by studying at home. Intellectual gifts
were valued by the Von Breunings; to the youth, in his formative period,
association with people like these was an education in itself.

About this time the Elector enlarged the sphere of his musical
operations by establishing a national opera at Bonn, modeled after the
one maintained by his imperial brother at Vienna. The works were
produced on a good scale, and some excellent singers were engaged.
Beethoven was appointed to play the viola, and this connection with the
orchestra was of inestimable value to him in many ways. It not only gave
him a knowledge of orchestration; it also made him familiar with the
noted operas, which must have been greatly enjoyed by him. Mozart's
operas were given a prominent place in the _répertoire_, and many others
that were noteworthy were introduced. But it was not opera alone which
was being performed; the drama was also represented, and his connection
with the orchestra gave him an intimate acquaintance with the
masterpieces of literature, which greatly influenced his subsequent
career. The tragedies of Shakespeare were occasionally produced, special
prominence, however, being given to the works of the great Germans,
Lessing, Schiller and other philosophers and poets of the Fatherland,
the exalted sentiments and pure intellectuality of which are unmatched
by any people. This early acquaintance with the best literature of his
time gave him an intellectual bias which served him well all his life.
It is fortunate that his opportunity came so early in life, when the
activity of the brain is at its highest and when lasting impressions are
produced. The mental pictures called up by the portrayal of these
tragedies came to the surface again in after years sublimated, refined,
in symphony and sonata, in mass and opera. Every one of his works has
its own story to tell; sometimes it is just the record of the events of
a day as in the Pastoral Symphony, but told with a glamour of poetry and
romance, that for the time gives us back our own youth in listening to
it; sometimes it is a tragedy which is unfolded, as in the Appassionata
Sonata or the Fifth Symphony; or it will be a Coriolanus Overture, that
seething, boiling ferment of emotion and passion, the most diverse,
contradictory, unlike, that can be imagined. From these impressions,
acquired in the ardor of youth, when the intellect grasps at knowledge
and experience with avidity, when its capacity is at its greatest, and
the whole world is laid under contribution, came a rich harvest which
untold generations may enjoy. No one of the many that made up the
audiences night after night, probably ever formed a guess at what was
going on in the brain of this quiet reserved youth during the progress
of these plays. The keen discriminating intelligence which was always
sifting and sorting these pictures and stowing them away for use in
after years,--the flashes of enthusiasm,--the intuitive discernment of
intellectual subtleties that brought him into _rapport_ with the author
and gave him the perception of being on an equality with the great ones
of the earth, here were forces already in operation which were destined
to influence the world for generations to come. To fall from this ideal
world of the intellect and the emotions, at the cue of the conductor,
back to the cognitions of ordinary life, and a realization of its
limitations, must have been as tragic an experience to this youth, who
said of himself: "I live only in my art," as any he had seen depicted on
the stage. Mental processes like these write their lines deeply on the
faces of gifted people.

Of the thirty-one members of the orchestra some had already attained
fame, and others achieved it in after years. In this collection of
geniuses the attrition of mind on mind must have been of benefit to
each. The conductor, Joseph Reicha, had a nephew, Anton Reicha, whom he
adopted, who played the flute in the orchestra. He and Beethoven were
intimate, and the prominence which Beethoven gives to the flute in his
orchestral works may in part be explained by this intimacy. Reicha
afterward joined Beethoven at Vienna, remaining there until 1808, when
he took up his residence in Paris. He was a prolific composer and the
author of numerous theoretical works. Many of his operas were produced
in Paris during his lifetime. He taught at the Paris Conservatoire, and
was a member of the Institute. Then there was Bernhard Romberg, and his
cousin Andreas Romberg. The latter was a musical prodigy, having played
the violin in concerts as early as his seventh year. At seventeen, his
virtuosity was such that he was engaged for the Concerts Spirituels at
Paris. Some years later he journeyed to Bonn to be near his cousin
Bernhard, with whom he was intimate, and accepted a position in the
Elector's orchestra as violinist. He later went to Vienna, then Hamburg,
and afterward became Kapellmeister at Gotha. He composed all kinds of
music, instrumental and vocal, symphonies, operas, etc. His setting of
Schiller's "Song of the Bell" is well known at the present day, as well
as the oratorio, "The Transient and the Eternal." He was made Doctor of
Music by Kiel University. Bernhard Romberg was a distinguished
violoncellist. When his connection with the Elector's orchestra ceased,
he made a professional tour to Italy and Spain with his more famous
cousin Andreas and was very successful. In 1796 they came to Vienna and
gave a concert at which Beethoven assisted. Bernhard afterward was a
professor in the Paris Conservatoire and later became Kapellmeister at
Berlin. He was a composer of operas, concertos, etc. While he and
Beethoven were not in accord on the subject of musical composition, each
disliking the other's works, there is no question but that his
proximity to him at Bonn, was one of the forces that had much to do with
Beethoven's artistic development.

Then there was Franz Ries, pupil of Salomon, the distinguished
violinist. Ries had already achieved fame in Vienna as soloist, and had
been before the public since childhood. He was Beethoven's teacher, as
stated. We must not forget Neefe, Beethoven's former teacher, who was
pianist, or Simrock, all of whom formed a galaxy of _virtuosi_ and
composers unequalled by any similar organization. Beethoven greatly
profited by his association with these chosen spirits, assimilating
their experiences and endeavoring to emulate them.

Thus passed a few years pleasantly enough during this formative period
at Bonn, music in one form or another taking up most of his waking
moments. He fell in love a few times, first with a Mlle. de Honrath of
Cologne, who visited the Von Breunings frequently and was their intimate
friend. She had a bright, lively disposition, and like a true daughter
of Eve, took great pleasure in bantering him. There was also a Miss
Westerhold who made a deep impression on him. Both were the subject of
conversation by him in after years.

The visit of Haydn, who with Salomon made a short sojourn at Bonn, on
their return from London to Vienna in July of 1792, gave Beethoven an
opportunity for an interview with the great master, which had an
important bearing on the young man's career. Salomon was acquainted with
the Beethovens as he was a native of Bonn. The fame of the young
musician had reached his ears, and he brought about the meeting with
Haydn. Beethoven at twenty-two, had, unlike so many promising children,
fulfilled the promise of his youth. He was not only a distinguished
performer: his compositions were also attracting attention in his
circle. In honor of the distinguished guests, a breakfast was arranged
at Godesburg, a resort near Bonn, at which some compositions of
Beethoven's were performed by the Elector's orchestra. Some of this
music had been submitted to the master previously. Haydn, who was in
holiday humor, seems to have been specially attracted to it, and
encouraged Beethoven to continue.

Some of the sketch-books of the Bonn period are in the British Museum,
and an examination of them is of interest as it shows his method of
composing. Beethoven all through life was a hard worker and a hard
taskmaster to himself. He elaborated and worked over his first
inspiration, polishing, cutting down, altering, making additions, never
satisfied, always aiming after the attainment of his highest ideals,
never considering himself, always placing his art first and personal
comfort and convenience afterward. This is apparent in the sketch-books
of this early date. His industry was extraordinary, although his work
grew but slowly. It was elaborated bit by bit in much the same way in
which Nathaniel Hawthorne built up his romances.

Haydn's approbation was an important link in the chain of circumstances
that was soon to enable Beethoven to leave for Vienna. Count Waldstein
was the moving spirit in this matter, the Elector furnishing the funds.
He knew that the artistic atmosphere of Vienna would be of incalculable
benefit to Beethoven and encouraged him in the project. Accordingly we
find him setting out for Vienna in 1792, leaving Bonn never to return to
it even for a visit.




CHAPTER II

THE MORNING OF LIFE

     Thou, O God! who sellest us all good things at the price of labor.
                                                    --LEONARDO DA VINCI.


Closely following his arrival in Vienna, Beethoven began studying
composition with Haydn, applying himself with great diligence to the
work in hand; but master and pupil did not get along together very well.
There were many dissonances from the start. It was not in the nature of
things that two beings so entirely dissimilar in their point of view
should work together harmoniously. Beethoven, original, independent,
iconoclastic, acknowledged no superior, without having as yet achieved
anything to demonstrate his superiority; Haydn, tied down to established
forms, subservient, meek, was only happy when sure of the approbation of
his superiors. His attitude toward those above him in rank was
characterized by respect and deference; he probably expected something
similar from Beethoven toward himself. Haydn was then at the height of
his fame, courted and admired by all, and his patience was sorely tried
by the insolence of his fiery young pupil. He nicknamed Beethoven the
Grand Mogul, and did not have much good to say of him to others. The
pittance which he received for these lessons was no inducement to him,
as he was in receipt of an income much beyond his requirements. The time
given up to these lessons could have been better employed in composing.

Haydn and Beethoven, however, were in a measure supplementary to one
another as regards the life-work of each. Haydn paved the way for
Beethoven, who was his successor in the large orchestral forms. He and
also Mozart were pioneers in the field which Beethoven made peculiarly
his own. Haydn also directed Beethoven's attention to the study of
Händel and Bach, whose works Beethoven always held most highly in
esteem. It is true that Beethoven, even in the old Bonn days, was
familiar to some extent with the works of these masters; but his
opportunity for getting at this kind of music was limited in Bonn.
Vienna, the musical center of the world at that time, was, as may be
supposed, a much better field in this respect. The study of these
profound works of genius under the leadership and eulogy of so prominent
a musician as Haydn had much to do with shaping Beethoven's ideals.
These masters gave an example of solidity and earnestness which is
characteristic of their work. Haydn and Mozart, on the other hand,
appealed to him in his lighter moods, in the play of fancy, in the
capricious and humorous conceits of which he has given such fine
examples in the symphonies and sonatas.

The lessons to Beethoven continued for a little over a year, or until
Haydn left on another visit to England in January of 1794. So eager was
he for advancement, that he took lessons from another teacher at the
same time, carefully concealing the fact from Haydn. Beethoven always
maintained that he had not learned much from him.

Strangely, Haydn had no idea at this time or for some years after that
his pupil would ever amount to much in musical composition. He lived
long enough to find Beethoven's position as a musician firmly
established, but not long enough to witness his greatest triumphs.

On the departure of Haydn he began with Albrechtsberger in composition,
also having violin, and even vocal lessons from other masters. Beethoven
realized, on coming to Vienna, more fully than before, the necessity for
close application to his studies. Though a finished performer, he knew
but little of counterpoint, and the more purely scientific side of his
art had been neglected. That he applied himself with all the ardor of
his nature to his studies we know. They were given precedence over
everything else. He even delayed for a long while writing a rondo which
he had promised to Eleonore von Breuning and when he finally sent it, it
was with an apology for not sending a sonata, which had also been
promised.

It is characteristic of Beethoven that his teachers in general were not
greatly impressed by him. We have seen how it was in the case of Haydn.
Albrechtsberger was more pronounced in his disapproval. "He has learned
nothing; he never will learn anything," was his verdict regarding
Beethoven. This was surely small encouragement. Beethoven's original and
independent way of treating musical forms brought on this censure. As he
advanced in musical knowledge he took the liberty to think for himself;
a very culpable proceeding with teachers of the stamp of
Albrechtsberger. The young man's intuitive faculties, the surest source
of all knowledge according to Schopenhauer, were developed to an
abnormal degree. By the aid of this inner light he was able to see truer
and farther than his pedantic old master, with the result that the pupil
would argue out questions with him on subjects connected with his
lessons which subverted all discipline, and well-nigh reversed their
relative positions. Beethoven's audacity--his self-confidence, is
brought out still more strongly when we reflect on the distinguished
position held by Albrechtsberger, both as teacher and composer. He was
director of music at St. Stephen's and was in great demand as a teacher.
Some of his pupils became distinguished musicians, among them Hümmel,
Seyfried and Weigl. He excelled in counterpoint, and was a prolific
composer, although his works are but little known at the present day. He
was set in his ways, a strict disciplinarian, conservative to the
backbone, and upward of sixty years of age. We can readily believe there
were stormy times during these lessons. There is no doubt however, that
Beethoven learned a great deal from him, as is evident from the
exercises still in existence from this period, embracing the various
forms of fugue and counterpoint, simple, double, and triple, canon and
imitation. He was thorough in his teaching and Beethoven was eager to
learn, so they had at least one point in common, and the pupil made
rapid headway. But his originality and fertility in ideas, which showed
itself at times in a disregard for established forms when his genius was
hampered thereby--qualities which even in Albrechtsberger's lifetime
were to place his pupil on a pinnacle above all other composers of the
period, were neither understood nor approved by the teacher. Under the
circumstances, it is not surprising that the lessons continued but
little over a year. His studies in theory and composition seem to have
come to an end with Albrechtsberger; we hear of no other teacher having
been engaged thereafter.

Shortly after Beethoven came to Vienna, his father died, and soon after
the two brothers Johann and Caspar, having no ties to keep them in Bonn,
followed the elder brother, who kept a fatherly watch over them. They
gave him no end of trouble for the rest of his life, but Beethoven bore
the burden willingly and was sincerely attached to them. All the honor
and nobility of the family seems to have centered in him.

On his arrival in Vienna he carried letters of introduction from Count
Waldstein and from the Elector, which opened to him the doors of the
best houses. His intrinsic worth did the rest. One of his earliest
Vienna friends was Prince Lichnowsky, a person who seems to have
possessed a combination of all those noble qualities that go to make up
the character of a gentleman. Highly cultivated and enthusiastic on the
subject of music, he had the penetration to see that in Beethoven he had
before him one of the elect of all time. The Prince had been a pupil of
Mozart and an ardent admirer of the deceased master. Providentially,
Beethoven appeared on the scene soon after Mozart's decease, and
received the devotion and admiration that had formerly been given
Mozart. In this he was ably seconded by his wife, who shared with him
the admiration and reverential wonder which such highly endowed people
would be apt to accord to a man of genius. One of the first acts of
this princely couple was to give Beethoven a pension of 600 florins per
year. This was but the beginning of unexampled kindness on their part.
They followed this by giving him a home in their residence on the
Schotten bastion, and we find him well launched in the social life of
the gayest capital in Europe.

This practical help was invaluable to Beethoven, for with the aid which
he had from the Elector, it was almost enough to assure him
independence. It not only increased his opportunities for study, but,
his mind being free from care, he was enabled to profit more by his
studies. The Lichnowskys were older than Beethoven and were childless.
He was allowed to do as he pleased; a privilege of which he availed
himself without hesitation. They entertained considerably and their
social position was unexceptionable. They maintained a small orchestra
for the performance of the music he liked and for his own compositions.
He was always the honored guest, and met the best people of Vienna. The
devotion of the Princess, in particular, was always in evidence.

It can be readily understood that with such an original character as
Beethoven, headstrong and impatient of restraint, a pleasant smooth life
was not to be expected. The arrangement would seem to have been an
excellent one for him, but he did not so regard it. Already at odds with
the world, misunderstanding people and being misunderstood, he soon came
to realize that a life of solitude was the only resource for a man
constituted as he was. He never considered himself under any obligation
to the Prince, or rather, he acted as though he felt the obligation to
be the other way. He acted independently from the start, taking his
meals at a restaurant whenever it suited his convenience, and showing an
ungovernable temper when interfered with in any way. But the kindness
and patience of the Princess never failed her; after any trouble it was
she who smoothed the difficulty and restored harmony. She was like an
indulgent mother to him; in her eyes he could do no wrong.

Prince Lichnowsky was wholly unaccustomed to this sort of thing. It is
certain that he never met with anything of the kind from Mozart, and
there were times when his patience was sorely tried by Beethoven. The
Princess, with a sweetness and graciousness which Beethoven appreciated,
always made peace between them. He afterward said that her solicitude
was carried to such a length that she wished to put him under a glass
shade, "that no unworthy person might touch or breathe on me."

Of course this kind of thing only confirmed the young man in his course.
It was kindness, but it was not wisdom. Few people are so constituted as
to be able to stand praise and adulation without the character suffering
thereby. Censure would have been much better for him. When the
individual is attacked, when he is made to assume the defensive, he
first discovers the vulnerable points in his armor, and as opportunity
offers strengthens them. Beethoven's ungovernable temper and apparent
ingratitude are frequently commented on, but the ingratitude was only
apparent. When he came to a knowledge of himself and discovered that he
was in the wrong in any controversy or quarrel, and it must be admitted
they were frequent enough all through his life, he would make amends for
it so earnestly, with such vehement self-denunciation, and show such
contrition, that it would be impossible for any of his friends to hold
out against him. Then there would be a short love-feast, during which
the offended party would possibly be the recipient of a dedication from
the master, and things would go on smoothly until the next break. The
Prince soon learned to make all sorts of concessions to his headstrong
guest, and even went so far as to order his servant to give Beethoven
the precedence, in case he and Beethoven were to ring at the same time.

But Beethoven did not like the new life. Even the little restraint that
it imposed was irksome to him, and the arrangement came to an end in
about two years. But the friendship continued for many years.
Beethoven's opus 1 is dedicated to the Prince, as well as the grand
Sonata Pathetique, and the Second Symphony, also the opus 179,
consisting of nine variations, and the grand Sonata in A Flat. To the
Princess Lichnowsky he dedicated opus 157, variations on "See the
Conquering Hero Comes." He also dedicated several of his compositions to
Count Moritz Lichnowsky, a younger brother of the Prince.

Among the other friends of this period may be mentioned Prince
Lobkowitz, who was an ardent admirer of Beethoven, Prince Kinski, and
also Count Browne to whose wife Beethoven dedicated the set of Russian
variations. In acknowledgment of this honor, the Count presented
Beethoven with a horse. He accepted it thankfully and then forgot all
about it until some months after, when a large bill came in for its
keep. There was also Count Brunswick and the Baron von Swieten, and most
of the music-loving aristocracy of Vienna, who it appears could not see
enough of him. His music and his individuality charmed them and he was
beset with invitations. Baron von Swieten was one of his earliest and
staunchest friends. His love and devotion to music knew no bounds. He
gave concerts at his residence with a full band, and produced music of
the highest order, Händel and Sebastian Bach being his favorites, the
music being interpreted in the best manner. It is related that the old
Baron would keep Beethoven after the others had left, making him play
far into the night and would sometimes put him up at his own house so
that he might keep him a little longer. A note from the Baron to
Beethoven is preserved, in which he says, "If you can call next
Wednesday I shall be glad to see you. Come at half-past eight in the
evening with your nightcap in your pocket."

These social successes, however, did not lead to idleness. He kept up
the practise all his life of recording his musical thoughts in
sketch-books, which latter are an object lesson to those engaged in
creative work as showing the extraordinary industry of the man and his
absorption in his work. Many of these are preserved in the different
museums, those in the British Museum being a notable collection. Some of
the work of this period was afterwards utilized by being incorporated
into the work of his riper years.

Beethoven's talents as a performer were freely acknowledged by all with
whom he came in contact. When we come to the question of his creative
talent, we can only marvel at the slowness with which his powers
unfolded themselves. His opus 1 appeared in 1795, when he was
twenty-four years old. There was nothing of the prodigy about him in
composition. At twenty-four, Mozart had achieved some of his greatest
triumphs.

Beethoven's work however, shows intellectuality of the highest kind, and
this, whether in music or literature, is not produced easily or
spontaneously; it is of slow growth, the product of a ripened mind,
attained only by infinite labor and constant striving after perfection,
with the highest ideals before one.

He had been trying his hand at composition for many years, but was
always up to this time known as a performer rather than as a composer,
although he frequently played his own compositions, and had as we have
seen, great talent at improvising, which in itself is a species of
composition, and an indication of musical abilities of the highest
order.

All the great masters of music delighted in the exercise of this talent,
although it is now rarely attempted in public, Chopin having been one of
the last to exercise it. Bach excelled in it, sometimes developing
themes in the form of a fugue at a public performance. No preparation
would be possible under these circumstances, as in many cases the theme
would be given by one of the audience.

This art of improvising, as these masters practised it,--who can explain
it or tell how it is done? All we know is that the brain conceives the
thought, and on the instant the fingers execute it in ready obedience to
the impulse sent out by the brain, the result being a finished
performance, not only so far as the melody is concerned, but in harmony
and counterpoint as well. Mozart, at the age of fourteen, at Mantua, on
his second Italian tour, improvised a sonata and fugue at a public
concert, taking the impressionable Italians by storm, and such
performances he repeated frequently in after years. Beethoven excelled
in this direction as greatly as he afterward did in composition,
towering high over his contemporaries. Czerny, pupil of Beethoven and
afterward teacher of Liszt, states that Beethoven's improvisations
created the greatest sensation during the first few years of his stay in
Vienna. The theme was sometimes original, sometimes given by the
auditors. In Allegro movements there would be bravura passages, often
more difficult than anything in his published works. Sometimes it would
be in the form of variations after the manner of his Choral Fantasia,
op. 80, or the last movement of the Choral Symphony. All authorities
agree as to Beethoven's genius in improvising. His playing was better
under these circumstances than when playing a written composition, even
when it was written by himself.

Once Hümmel undertook a contest with Beethoven in improvising. After he
had been playing for some time Beethoven interrupted him with the
question, "When are you going to begin?" It is needless to say that
Beethoven, when his turn came to play, distanced the other so entirely
that there was no room for comparison.




CHAPTER III

THE NEW PATH

     I tremble to the depths of my soul and ask my dæmon: "Why this cup
     to me?"
                                                               --WAGNER.

     Life at last has found a meaning.
                                       --WAGNER: _Letter to Frau Wille_.


Reference has already been made to the fact that Beethoven's opus 1 was
published in 1795, something like three years after taking up his
residence in Vienna, and when he was twenty-four years of age. It
consists of three Trios for piano and strings. When Haydn returned from
London and heard these Trios, the master criticised one of them and
advised him not to publish it. Beethoven thought this particular one the
best of the three, and others concur with him in this opinion. Shortly
after, he published his opus 2, consisting of three sonatas dedicated to
Haydn, besides variations and smaller pieces. But this does not by any
means give the amount of his compositions for this period, some of which
were not published until many years afterward.

All this time, Beethoven, though playing frequently at the houses of his
aristocratic friends, had not yet made his appearance in public, but
about the time that his opus 1 appeared, he played at a concert given
in aid of the Widow's Fund of the Artists' Society. He composed for this
occasion a Grand Concerto (opus 15) in C major for piano and orchestra,
taking the piano part himself. It was finished on the day preceding that
on which the concert was held, the copyists waiting in another room for
their parts. At the rehearsal, the piano being one-half note out of
tune, he transposed it into C sharp, playing it without the notes. Very
soon after, he appeared again in public, at a concert given for the
benefit of Mozart's widow, when he played one of Mozart's concertos. The
beginning once made, he appeared rather frequently as a performer, not
only in Vienna, but extended his trips the next year as far as Berlin,
where he encountered Hümmel.

But Beethoven's mind was always turned toward composition. It had been
the aim of his life, even at Bonn, to become a great creative artist.
For this he had left his native city, and the larger opportunities for
musical culture afforded by his life in Vienna must have directed his
thoughts still more strongly into this channel. An important social
event of the period was the annual ball of the Artists' Society of
Vienna. Süsmayer, pupil and intimate friend of Mozart, the composer of
several of the "Mozart Masses," had composed music for this ball and
Beethoven was asked to contribute something likewise, with the result
that he composed twelve waltzes and twelve minuets for it. He also had
in hand at the same time piano music, songs, and studies in orchestral
composition. Nothing which he produced in these years, however, gave any
forecast of what he would eventually attain to. This is paralleled in
the case of Bach, who, up to his thirtieth year was more famous as a
performer than as composer.

Beethoven's earlier compositions were regarded as the clever product of
an ambitious young musician. Although later in life, he all but
repudiated the published work of these years, some of the thoughts from
the sketch-books of this period were utilized in the work of his best
years.

He acquired a habit early in life of carrying a note-book when away from
his rooms, in which he recorded musical ideas as they came to him. His
brain teemed with them; these he entered indiscriminately, good and bad,
assorting them later, discarding some, altering others, seldom retaining
a musical thought exactly as it was first presented to his
consciousness. Music became the one absorbing passion of his life. It
took the place of wife and children; it was of more importance to him
than home or any other consideration. His compositions show continual
progress toward artistic perfection to the end of his life, and this was
attained only by infinite labor.

It may not be out of place here to reflect on the essentially unselfish
character of the man of genius. He lives and strives, not for himself,
but for others; he pursues an objective end only. Among the forces
making for the regeneration of mankind, he is foremost.

There is little of importance to record concerning Beethoven for the few
years following the publication of his opus 1. He continued to perform
occasionally in public, and also gave a few lessons, but his time was
taken up with study and composition for the most part. It was a period
of earnest endeavor, the compositions of which consist of the better
class of piano music, as well as trios, quartets and occasional songs,
his work being much in the style of Mozart and Haydn; the quality of
emotional power and intellectuality not yet having appeared to any
extent.

His great productions, those that show his genius well developed, are
coincident with the beginning of the nineteenth century. The years 1800
and 1801 were an epoch with him as a composer. He was now thirty, and
was beginning to show of what stuff he was made. These two years saw the
production of some of the imperishable works of the master, namely: the
First Symphony, the Oratorio _Christus am Oelberg_, and the Prometheus
Ballet Music. It is probable that he had given earnest thought to these
works for some years previously, and had had them in hand for two years
or more before their appearance. The First Symphony calls for special
mention as in it the future Symphonist is already foreshadowed. He was
almost a beginner at orchestral work, but it marks an epoch in this
class of composition, raising it far beyond anything of the kind that
had yet appeared. Viewed in the light of later ones it is apparent that
he held himself in; that he was tentative compared with his subsequent
ones. Considered as a symphony and compared with what had been produced
in this class up to that time, it is a daring innovation and was
regarded as such by the critics. He broadened and enlarged the form and
gave it a dignity that was unknown to it before this time.

Beethoven's sonatas are as superior to those that had preceded them as
are his symphonies. He enlarged them, developed the Scherzo from the
Minuet and made them of more importance in every way. With Haydn the
Minuet was gay and lively, a style of music well adapted to Haydn's
particular temperament and character; but Beethoven in the Scherzo
carried the idea further than anything of which Haydn had dreamed.
Before Beethoven's First Symphony appeared, he had composed a dozen or
more sonatas and was in a position to profit by the experience gained
thereby. He felt his way in these, the innovations all turning out to be
improvements.

One has only to compare the sonatas of Mozart and Haydn with those of
Beethoven to be at once impressed with the enormous importance of the
latter. As has been stated, the experience gained with the sonata was
utilized in the First Symphony, each succeeding one showing growth.
Beethoven's artistic instinct was correct, but he did not trust to this
alone. He proceeded carefully, weighing the matter well, and his
judgment was usually right. There is evidence from his exercise books
that he had this Symphony in mind as early as 1795. It was first
produced on April 2, 1800, at a concert which he gave for his own
benefit at the Burg theatre. On this occasion he improvised on the theme
of the Austrian National Hymn, recently composed by Haydn, well known in
this country through its insertion in the Hymnal of the Protestant
Episcopal Church, under the title of Austria. Beethoven's hearing was
sufficiently intact at this time to enable him to hear his symphonies
performed, an important matter while his judgment was being formed.

The Prometheus Ballet Music, opus 43, consisting of overture,
introduction and sixteen numbers, was first performed early in 1801, and
achieved immediate success, so much so that it was published at once as
pianoforte music. In addition to the Prometheus, there is to be
credited to this period the C minor concerto, opus 37, a septet for
strings and wind, opus 20, a number of quartets, and other compositions.
The _Christus am Oelberg_ (The Mount of Olives), opus 85, Beethoven's
first great choral work, has already been mentioned. In this oratorio
Jesus appears as one of the characters, for which he has been severely
criticised. His judgment was at fault in another respect also in having
the concert stage too much in mind. The composition at times is operatic
in character, while the text calls for a mode of treatment solemn and
religious, as in Passion-music. If set to some other text, this work
would be well nigh faultless; the recitatives are singularly good, and
there is a rich orchestration. It is reminiscent of Händel and prophetic
of Wagner. The Hallelujah Chorus in particular is a magnificent piece of
work. As is the case with the Messiah, its beauties as well as its
defects are so apparent, so pronounced, that the latter serve as a foil
to bring out its good qualities in the strongest relief. It was first
performed in the spring of 1803, in Vienna, on which occasion Beethoven
played some of his other compositions. It was repeated three times
within the year.

Other contributions of 1801 are two grand sonatas, the "Pastorale" in D,
opus 28, the Andante of which is said to have been a favorite of
Beethoven's and was often played by him, and the one in A flat, opus 26,
dedicated to Prince Karl Lichnowsky and containing a grand funeral
march. Then there are the sonatas in E flat and C sharp minor, published
together as opus 27, and designated Quasi una Fantasia. The latter is
famous as the "Moonlight" sonata, dedicated to Julia Guicciardi.
Neither of these names were authorized by Beethoven. Besides these,
there are the two violin sonatas, A minor, and F, dedicated to Count
Fries, and lesser compositions. The Second Symphony (in D) is the chief
production of 1802. In addition there are the two piano sonatas in G,
and D minor, opus 31, and three sonatas for violin and piano, opus 30,
the latter dedicated to the Emperor of Russia. They form a striking
example of Beethoven's originality and the force of his genius, and must
have been caviar to his public.

The Second Symphony is a great advance on the first, and consequently a
greater departure from the advice laid down to him by others. His
independence and absolute faith in himself and the soundness of his
judgment are clearly illustrated here. The composition is genial and in
marked contrast to the gloomy forebodings that filled his mind at this
time. The second movement, the Larghetto, is interesting on account of
the introduction of conversation among the groups of instruments, an
innovation which he exploited to a much greater extent in subsequent
works. In the Larghetto one group occasionally interrupts the other,
giving it piquancy. There is a rhythm and swing to it which makes it the
most enjoyable of the four movements. The critics hacked it again as
might have been expected, the result being that the next one diverged
still more from their idea of what a good symphony should be.

It was at this period that life's tragedy began to press down on him. He
had left youth behind, and had entered on a glorious manhood. He was the
idol of his friends, although his fame as a great composer had yet to
be established. The affirmations of his genius were plainly apparent to
him, if not to others, and he knew that he was on the threshold of
creating imperishable masterpieces. A great future was opening out
before him, which, however, was in great part to be nullified by his
approaching deafness and other physical ailments. His letters at this
time to his friend Dr. Wegeler, at Bonn, and to others, are full of
misgivings.

But not alone is this unhappy frame of mind to be attributed to
approaching deafness or any mere physical ailment. The psychological
element also enters into the account and largely dominates it. The
extraordinary character of the First and Second Symphonies seem to have
had a powerful effect on his trend of thought making him introspective
and morbidly conscientious. In a mind constituted as was his, it is
quite within bounds to assume that the revelation of his genius was
largely the cause of the morbid self-consciousness which appears in his
letters of the period, and in the "Will." He recognized to the full how
greatly superior this work was to anything of the kind that had yet
appeared; singularly the knowledge made him humble. What he had
accomplished thus far was only an earnest of the great work he was
capable of, but to achieve it meant a surrender of nearly all the ties
that bound him to life. The human qualities in him rebelled at the
prospect. With the clairvoyance superinduced by much self-examination,
he was able to forecast the vast scope of his powers, and the task that
was set him. The whole future of the unapproachable artist that he was
destined to become, was mirrored out to him almost at the beginning of
his career, but he saw it only with apprehension and dread. There were
periods when a narrower destiny would have pleased him more. "Unto
whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required." He at times
recoiled from the task, and would have preferred death instead. This was
probably the most unhappy period of his life. He had yet to learn the
hardest lesson of all, resignation, renunciation. That harsh mandate
enunciated by Goethe in Faust: "Entbären sollst du, sollst entbären,"
had been thrust on him with a force not to be gainsaid or evaded.

With such a man but one issue to the conflict was possible: obedience to
the higher law. In a conversation held with his friend Krumpholz, he
expressed doubts as to the value of his work hitherto. "From now on I
shall strike out on a new road," he said. He is now dominated by a
greater seriousness; his mission has been shown him. Adieu now to the
light-hearted mode of life characteristic of his friends and of the
time. His new road led him into regions where they could not follow;
from now on he was more and more unlike his fellows, more misunderstood,
isolated, a prophet in the wilderness. Placed here by Providence
specially for a unique work, he at first does not seem to have
understood it in this light, and reached out, the spirit of the man,
after happiness, occasional glimpses of which came to him, as it does to
all sooner or later. He soon found, however, that happiness was not
intended for him, or rather, that he was not intended for it. Something
higher and better he could have, but not this. On coming to Vienna, and
while living with Prince Lichnowsky, he made so much of a concession to
public opinion as to buy a court suit, and he even took dancing
lessons, but he never learned dancing, never even learned how to wear
the court suit properly, and soon gave up both in disgust. The principle
on which he now conducted his life was to give his genius full play, to
obey its every mandate, to allow no obstacle to come in the way of its
fullest development. That this idea controlled him throughout life, is
apparent in many ways, but most of all in his journal. "Make once more
the sacrifice of all the petty necessities of life for the glory of thy
art. God before all," he wrote in 1818, when beginning the Mass in D.
All sorts of circumstances and influences were required to isolate him
from the world to enable him the better to do his appointed work.
Probably no other musician ever made so complete a surrender of all
impedimenta for the sake of his art as did Beethoven.

Music as an art does not conduce to renunciation, since its outward
expression always partakes more or less of the nature of a festival. The
claims of society come more insistently into the life of the musician
than in that of other art-workers, the painter or literary man, for
instance, whose work is completed in the isolation of his study. The
musician, on the contrary, completes his work on the stage. He must
participate in its rendering. He is, more than any other, beset by
social obligations; he perforce becomes to a certain extent gregarious,
all of which has a tendency to dissipate time and energy. It is only by
a great effort that he can isolate himself; that he can retain his
individuality. Beethoven's reward on these lines was great in proportion
to his victory over himself.




CHAPTER IV

HEROIC SYMPHONY

     Ach, der menschliche Intellekt! Ach "Genie"! Es ist nicht so gar
     viel einen "Faust" eine Schopenhauerische Philosophie, eine Eroika
     gemacht zu haben.
                                                  --Friederich Nietzshe.


The immediate fruit of this mental travail was a sudden growth or
expansion of his creative powers. This is apparent in his work, marking
the beginning of the second period. His compositions now suggest
thought. There is a fecundating power in them which generates thought,
and it is in the moral nature that this force is most apparent. His work
now begins to be a vital part of himself, the spiritual essence,
communicating to his followers somewhat of his own strength and force of
character. Once having entered on the new path, he reached, in the Third
Symphony, the pinnacle of greatness almost at a bound. He was now, at
thirty-four, at the height of his colossal powers. His titanic genius in
its swift development showed an ability almost preternatural. One
immortal work of genius succeeded another with marvelous rapidity.

The Third Symphony calls for more than passing notice. Beethoven's
altruism is well known. The brotherhood of man was a favorite theme with
him. By the aid of his mighty intellect and his intuitional powers, he
saw more clearly than others the world's great need. The inequalities in
social conditions were more clearly marked in those times than now. The
French Revolution had set people thinking. Liberty and equality was what
they were demanding. Beethoven personally had nothing to gain and
everything to risk by siding with the people. All his personal friends
were of the aristocracy. It was this class which fostered the arts,
music in particular. From the time that Beethoven came to Vienna as a
young man, up to the end of his life, he enjoyed one or more pensions
given him by members of the upper classes. But his sympathies were with
the people. By honoring Napoleon with the dedication of the Third
Symphony, he would have antagonized the Imperial family, and perhaps
many of the aristocracy, but this phase of the question may not have
occurred to him, and if it had, it would not have deterred him.

Beethoven's attitude toward Napoleon could have had no other
construction placed upon it than that of strong partisanship, since
there was no artistic bond to unite them. The arch-enemy of Imperialism,
as he was considered at this time, the mightiest efforts of the young
Corsican had hitherto been directed specially against Austria. Beethoven
did not approve of war; he expressed himself plainly on this point in
after years, but at this period considered it justifiable and necessary
as a means of abolishing what remained of feudal authority.

Austria had been the first to feel the iron hand of Napoleon. His first
important military achievement, and what is generally conceded to be the
greatest in his entire military career, was his campaign against the
Austrians in Italy, which took place in the spring of 1796, shortly
after his marriage. His victories over them first gave him fame, not
only in France, but throughout Europe. Within a month from the time that
he took command in the Italian campaign, he won six victories over them,
giving the French army the command of the whole range of the Alps.
Within a year he had driven the Austrians out of Italy, many thousands
of prisoners were taken, ten thousand men had been killed or wounded,
fifty-five pieces of cannon had been taken, besides rich provinces,
which he looted to enrich France. He pursued his campaign into Austria,
getting to within ninety miles of Vienna with his army, where he
dictated terms of peace to the Emperor, which were highly advantageous
to France. Appalled by these catastrophies, the court was even preparing
to flee from Vienna and was arranging for the safe carriage of the
treasure, when the Emperor accepted Napoleon's terms. The humiliation to
Austria was accentuated by the fact that her armies were nearly twice
that of France. They were also in good condition, while the French
armies were ragged and half starved. With this inferior equipment
Bonaparte humbled the most haughty nation in Europe in the space of a
year. He defeated them again in 1800, at Marengo, and was at all times
their arch-enemy.

All this happened some years before the period of which we are writing.
Beethoven regarded Napoleon as a liberator, a savior, on account of his
success in restoring order out of chaos in France. It showed
considerable moral courage on his part to come out so plainly for
Napoleon. A broader question than patriotism, however, was here
involved. Patriotism seeks the good of a small section. Altruism
embraces the good of all, thus including patriotism.

The idea of writing the symphony to Napoleon may have been suggested to
Beethoven by General Bernadotte, who was then the Ambassador of the
French at Vienna. He and Count Moritz Lichnowsky were intimate friends
and saw a good deal of Beethoven at that time. The three young men no
doubt discussed social conditions and politics, as well as music, and it
would have been an easy task for the General, who had served under
Napoleon, to excite Beethoven's enthusiasm for the Liberator of France.
In after years, when General Bernadotte became King of Sweden, he still
retained his interest in the events of this period.

This Symphony was the best work which Beethoven had yet accomplished; a
work the grandeur and sublimity of which must have been a surprise to
himself. It was conceived in the spirit of altruism, to show his
appreciation of the man whom he believed was destined more than any
other to uplift humanity. In the quality of its emotional expression,
and also in its dimensions, it far exceeded anything of the kind that
had yet appeared. Beethoven himself advised, on account of its great
length, that it be placed at the beginning of a program rather than at
its end. It is unique as a symphony, just as Napoleon was unique as a
man. On finishing the work he put the name of Bonaparte on the
title-page.

                          BONAPARTE

                     LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.

With perfect propriety the concept is here established that two great
men are before the world, Napoleon and Beethoven, and that the latter is
as great in his own province as was Napoleon in his, each being the
exponent of a new order of things, co-equal in the achievement of great
deeds. Posterity, in exalting the one and debasing the other, shows how
modest Beethoven was in the matter.

He was on the point of sending it to Paris when the news was brought him
by his pupil Ries, that Napoleon was declared Emperor. In a rage
Beethoven tore off the title-page containing the dedication, and threw
it to the floor. "The man will become a tyrant and will trample all
human rights under foot. He is no more than an ordinary man!" was
Beethoven's exclamation. He finally gave it the name of Sinfonia Eroica,
in memory of a great man. It is dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz, who had
it performed before Prince Louis Ferdinand. The Prince was greatly taken
with it, at once recognizing its worth and insisting on hearing it three
times in succession the same evening.

This year saw the production of two of Beethoven's most famous
pianoforte sonatas, the Waldstein, already referred to in this work,
dedicated to the friend of his youth, Count Waldstein, and the
Appassionata, dedicated to Count von Brunswick, sublime conceptions that
glow with the fire of genius.

Mention must also be made of the famous Kreutzer Sonata, opus 47, for
piano and violin, which was completed prior to the Third Symphony. This
great work was originally intended for an English violinist resident at
Vienna by the name of Bridgetower, and was first performed at a morning
concert at the Augarten in May of 1803. Beethoven was at the piano and
Bridgetower played the violin part. Beethoven had completed a portion of
the work the previous year, but the violin part had to be played almost
before the ink was dry, the piano accompaniment being made up by
Beethoven as he went along. Notwithstanding this entire want of
preparation, the value of the work was so apparent that it produced an
encore.

Beethoven changed his mind about the dedication, and a year or two later
this distinction was conferred on a friend, Rudolph Kreutzer, violinist
and composer, who had come to Vienna in 1798 with Bernadotte, and as a
matter of course, became acquainted with Beethoven. Kreutzer had been a
protégé of Marie Antoinette; afterward he was taken up by Napoleon, and
still later by Louis XVIII, each of whom he served in his musical
capacity. The Kreutzer Sonata has had a wide notoriety given it through
Tolstoy's work of that name.




CHAPTER V

FIDELIO

     In the mind as in a field, some things may be sown and carefully
     brought up, yet that which springs naturally is most pleasing.
                                                              --TACITUS.


The year 1805 saw Beethoven hard at work in a field new to
him,--operatic composition. It had probably been in his mind for some
years to write an opera. In those days almost every composer wrote
operas, and to have written a successful one carried with it, not only a
certain prestige, but substantial rewards in a financial sense. Outside
of the church but little opportunity was afforded the general public to
gratify its love for music other than in opera. Orchestral concerts were
comparatively rare,--song recitals unknown. The development of the
orchestra was just beginning, through the genius of Beethoven, and the
Viennese were to a great extent, still unconscious of its importance, as
a means of musical expression. The many symphonies, quartets, and other
forms of chamber-music of Haydn, Mozart and contemporaneous composers,
were for the most part written for private performance at musical
functions in the houses of the nobility, or for friends of the
composers.

Beethoven believed that if he were to write one or two operas, his
income would be reinforced to such an extent as to enable him to give
his attention wholly to the production of symphonies and masses, a style
of composition to which he was inclined by temperament. In the early
symphonies we already have a foreshadowing of what he could do in the
production of great orchestral music, the desire for which in later
years controlled him wholly. Like most men of genius Beethoven had
little regard for money, and until middle age was reached, never thought
of saving any. He valued it only in so far as he could use it for
himself or others. It may be said in passing that he gave it away
freely, glad to be of service to others. His income, augmented by his
copyrights, did not keep pace with his expenditures; when a friend
needed money and he had none, he would give him a composition instead,
which the other would turn into cash.

The manager of the theatre, An der Wien, had, before this, made
overtures to Beethoven to write an opera, and he went so far as to take
up his quarters in the theatre, preparatory to this work; but a change
in the management made it necessary to give up the idea for the time
being. In 1804, the offer in regard to the opera was renewed, and work
was begun upon it. It took up a large part of his time until its
production in November of 1805. It is probable that he took more pains
with this work than was devoted to any other of his compositions with
the exception of the Mass in D. His capacity for work was extraordinary,
particularly at this time, and the delight that he experienced in
producing these masterpieces was still new to him, which in itself was
an incentive to great exertion. His approaching deafness also had a good
deal to do with his great activity. The ailment had progressed steadily
from the time of its first appearance; at the time of which we write he
had abandoned all hope of any aid from medical treatment; by throwing
himself heart and soul into his work, he could forget for the time the
misfortune which was closing in on him. He feared that a period of
absolute deafness might set in when he would be unable to hear any of
his works, and the desire must have been great to accomplish as much as
possible before that time should come.

Beethoven does not seem to have been very hard to suit in the way of a
libretto at this time. He probably gave the matter very little
consideration except on one point,--its morality. His high ideals, and
his innate purity of mind, caused him to dislike and condemn the sort of
story which was usually worked up into operatic libretti in those days,
in which intrigue and illicit love formed the staple material. He
expressed himself strongly on this subject, even criticising Mozart for
having set Don Giovanni to music, saying that it degraded the art. So
strongly did he feel about it that he seems to have thought almost any
libretto would do, provided the moral sentiment contained in it were
sufficiently prominent. Later, the experience which he gained with
Fidelio showed him that the libretto of an opera is indeed a very
important matter; then he went to the other extreme, and was unable to
find anything which would satisfy him, although many libretti were
submitted to him at various times during the remainder of his life. A
quantity of them were found among his papers after his death. Bouilly's
libretto Leonore, which had been set to music by two different composers
before Beethoven took it in hand, was finally selected, and Sonnleithner
was employed to translate it from the French. The name of the opera was
changed to Fidelio, but the various overtures written for it are still
known as the Leonore overtures.

Beethoven took up his quarters in the theatre again as soon as the
libretto was ready for him and went to work at it with a will. But he
was not at his best in operatic writing,--this symphonist, this creator
of great orchestral forms. The opera was an alien soil to him;
composition--never an easy matter to Beethoven, was more difficult than
ever in the case of Fidelio. The sketch-books show the many attempts and
alterations in the work, at its every stage. In addition, he was
handicapped at the outset by an unsuitable libretto. The Spanish
background, for one thing, was a clog, as his trend of thought and
sympathies were thoroughly German. But this is a slight matter compared
with the forbidding nature of the drama itself, with its prison scenes,
its dungeons and general atmosphere of gloom. One dreary scene after
another is unfolded, and the action never reaches the dignity of tragedy
nor the depth of pathos which should be awakened by the portrayal of
suffering. We are unable to feel that the two principal characters are
martyrs; as one tiresome scene succeeds another, we come to care nothing
whatever about them and are unable to sympathize with them in their
suffering or rejoice in their deliverance. The first requisite in opera,
it would appear, is that it be pervaded by an atmosphere of
romanticism. Other things are necessary; the libretto must have dramatic
situations; but above all, the romantic element must prevail. If it is
difficult for the listener to become interested in an opera with such a
libretto as is Fidelio, it must be doubly so for the composer who
undertakes the task of writing music for it. A dull story hinders the
play of fancy; the imagination remains dormant, and the product under
such conditions has the air of being forced. The musician is in bonds.

Musically, it is a work of surpassing beauty; but there is a dissonance
between music and libretto which gives the impression of something
lacking; there is not the harmony which we expect in a work of this
kind. Wagner has taught us better on these points. The music of Fidelio
has force and grandeur; some of it has a sensuous beauty that reminds us
of Mozart at his best. Had Beethoven's choice fallen to a better
libretto, the result might have been an altogether better opera.

Fidelio affords a good instance of the fact that operatic composition,
considered strictly as music, is not the highest form in which the art
can be portrayed, and that, in itself, it is not so strictly confined to
the domain of music as is the symphony, or the various forms of sacred
music (the oratorio or the mass, for instance). It may, in the right
hands, come to be a greater work of art, viewed in its entirety, than
either of the forms just mentioned. In the hands of a man like Wagner,
it undoubtedly is, but in such a case the result is achieved by means
other than those obtained through the domain of music. Much is
contributed by the literary quality of the libretto, its poetic and
romantic qualities, its dramatic possibilities, as well as its stage
setting and the ability of the singers to act well their parts. An opera
is a combination of several arts, in which music is often subordinated.
Not so in the case of sacred music, in which the entire portrayal rests
absolutely on the musician's art. Of the works of the great composers
who wrote both classes of music, those which are devoted to religious
subjects will be found vastly superior in almost every instance, with
the one exception of Mozart's and in the case of this composer, his Mass
in B flat and the Requiem will bear comparison with any of his operas.
With no regular income, Mozart was compelled to write operas in order to
live, but his preference was for sacred music. Haydn, on the other hand,
spent no time on grand opera. Through his connection with the Princes
Esterhazy, which gave him an assured income from his twenty-ninth year
to the end of his life, he was in a position to write only the style of
music to which he was best adapted by his talents and preference.

Above all other considerations, the opera must be made to pay. The
composers expected to make money from it, and its presentation was
always accompanied by enormous expense. Everything conspired to get them
to write what their audience would like, without considering too closely
whether this was the best they were capable of producing. In those times
all that people required of an opera was that it should entertain. If we
compare the best opera before Wagner's time with such works as Bach's
Grand Mass in B minor, or Beethoven's Mass in D, we will readily see
that the composers of those times put their best thought into their
sacred compositions. Bach, Protestant that he was, but with the vein of
religious mysticism strong in him, which is usually to be found in
highly endowed artistic natures (Wagner is an instance, also Liszt), was
attracted by the beautiful text of the Mass, its stateliness and
solemnity, and the world is enriched by an imperishable work of genius.
It is significant that he wrote no opera, and Beethoven only one. Both
composers probably regarded the opera as being less important
artistically than the other great forms in which music is embodied.

In operatic composition, as we have seen, the musicians of those times
were too apt to write down to their public. No such temptation came to
them in their religious works, as no income was expected from this
source. Here the composer could be independent of his public, so this
branch of the art was developed to a much greater degree than the other.
A high standard was thus reached and maintained in religious music.

Beethoven by temperament was not adapted to operatic composition. He was
too much the philosopher, his aims being higher than were desired by an
operatic audience of that time. He could best express himself in
orchestral music, and his genius drew him irresistibly in this
direction. This predilection appears throughout his works. In his purely
orchestral compositions, his genius has absolute freedom. When he came
to opera he found himself constantly hampered by new and untried
conditions. He soon found that opera has to do with something besides
music. Having once begun, however, he carried it through, perforce, by
almost superhuman efforts.

Wagner, poet that he was, builded better. He had the temperament for
opera. He was adapted to operatic composition as if he had been
specially created for the purpose. Here was the union of the poet and
the musician in the same individual. Knowing the importance of the
drama, and aided by his literary instinct, he was able to select
interesting subjects which were well adapted to musical treatment. It
was the spirit of romanticism pervading these dramas of Wagner's which
enabled him to weave such music about them. We cannot imagine him making
good music to a poor libretto,--with Wagner the libretto and the music
were of equal importance, the two usually having been produced
simultaneously; his music fits the words so well that no other would be
desired.

Early in the summer, Beethoven left his quarters in the theatre and went
into the country nearby, where he could work with more freedom than in
the city. No labor seems to have been too great for him in the
composition of this work. The opera was finished early in the fall of
1805, and as soon as he returned to town he began with the rehearsals.
Then he had almost as much work as in writing the opera, everything
possible having been done to worry him. His simplicity and want of tact
seem to have been very much in evidence at this time; he was like a
child compared with the astute men of affairs with whom he now came in
contact. His greatest difficulty, however, was with his singers. A man
following so faithfully the intimations of his genius as did Beethoven,
withal a man of such striking individuality and force of character,
would be sure to disregard to some extent the capacity of his
performers. His singers made no end of trouble, stating that their parts
were unsingable and asking for alterations. Some of the members of the
orchestra also complained about technical difficulties, but the master
was obdurate, refusing to make any changes. Instead of placating them,
by which means only, a good performance was possible as things went at
that time, he overrode their wishes and would make no concessions
whether in large or in small matters. To Beethoven, music as an art was
the most serious fact in his existence; to the others, it was no more
than a means of enjoyment or of subsistence. His point of view being so
different from that of the others, it is not surprising that he was
always at odds with them. Trifles often annoyed him more than gross
derelictions. At one of the rehearsals the third bassoon player was
absent and Beethoven was enraged. That anything short of illness or
disaster should keep this man from his post was a piece of insolence, an
insult to the art. Prince Lobkowitz was present, and in the effort to
pacify him, made light of the affair; he told him that this man's
absence did not matter much, as the first and second bassoonists were
present, a line of argument that served to include the Prince in
Beethoven's wrath. Hofsekretär Mahler relates the dénouement of the
incident. On the way home, after the rehearsal, as he and Beethoven came
in sight of the Lobkowitz Platz, Beethoven, with the delinquent third
bassoonist still in his mind, could not resist crossing the Platz, and
shouting into the great gateway of the palace, "Lobkowitzscher Esel"
(ass of a Lobkowitz).

Meanwhile, the French army, with Napoleon at its head, was advancing on
Vienna and almost at the time that the opera was ready for presentation,
took possession of the city. This was on November 13, 1805. The
imperial family, the members of the nobility and every one else who
could do so, had left the city on the approach of the French forces, but
this did not discourage Beethoven. The opera was ready and must be
presented. He could not have expected much of an audience as the very
people who were interested in the subject had left the city. It was
actually put on the stage on November 20, the audience consisting, it
appears, mainly of French officers. It is not to be supposed that such a
work would appeal to them, as there was no ballet, and the melodrama,
instead of containing good jokes and risque anecdotes, was simply the
tale of a wife's devotion. No doubt the intendant of the theatre, as
well as Beethoven and the whole company were anathematized freely. It
was continued for three nights and then withdrawn.

The work involved was enormous, both in the composition and in getting
it ready for the stage. The rewards during Beethoven's lifetime were
always slow. In its original form the opera was considered too long for
the patience of the average audience, and also in parts too abstruse,
which latter was probably its chief fault. The idea of revising it does
not seem to have occurred to Beethoven, even after it was withdrawn; it
required the utmost diplomacy on the part of his friends, Prince
Lichnowsky in particular, to bring this about.

Beethoven had taken extraordinary pains with it up to the time of its
representation. To make alterations now would be to acknowledge himself
in error. The opera, however, was the most ambitious work he had yet
attempted; to make it a success it was necessary that it be revised and
altered considerably. With this object in view, Beethoven was invited by
Prince Lichnowsky to meet some friends at his house to discuss the
opera. The singers, Roeke and Meyer, who appeared in the cast, were of
the party; also Stephen von Breuning and Sonnleithner. The score was
studied at the piano and freely criticised. When one of the singers
plainly stated that several pieces should be omitted entire and other
portions shortened, Beethoven's rage knew no bounds. The conflict lasted
well into the night, Beethoven at bay, with all his friends pitted
against him. He defended every attack on this child of his brain, the
latest product of his genius, and at first refused any compromise, but
better counsels finally prevailed, aided probably by the Princess
Lichnowsky, who so often assumed the part of peacemaker. Beethoven
consented to some important excisions, and an entire revision of the
opera. Stephen von Breuning, who was somewhat of a poet, and had
considerable literary ability, was commissioned to make the desired
changes in the libretto, cutting it down to two acts from three. The
conference lasted until one in the morning, when, the point being
gained, the Prince ordered supper to be brought in. Being Germans and
musicians, they finished the night in the utmost good humor, Beethoven
being the best natured of all, once his consent to the revision had been
gained.

He immediately set about writing a new overture for it, and that
imperishable work of genius, the Third Leonore overture appeared. Here
we have an epitome of the succeeding music of the opera, foreshadowing
in dramatic language, the grief and despair, and the final deliverance
and joy of the principal actors of the drama. Wagner says of this work,
"It is no longer an overture, but the mightiest of dramas in itself."
Here Beethoven could use his accustomed freedom once more. He was back
again in the familiar realm of instrumental music, and the storm and
stress of recent experiences no doubt supplied some of the material
which went into it. It is frequently used as a concert work.

The opera was produced the following spring in the revised form and with
the new overture. The wisdom of the revision was at once apparent, but a
quarrel between Beethoven and the intendant of the theatre led to its
final withdrawal after two representations. It did not see the light
again until 1814.

It was about this time that Beethoven first met Cherubini, whose operas
were favorites with the Vienna public. The Italian master made a stay of
several months' duration in Vienna, and attended a performance of
Fidelio.




CHAPTER VI

THE ETERNAL FEMININE

     If that beauty of Shiraz would take my heart in hand, I would give
     for her dark mole Samarkand and Bokhara.
                                                                --HAFIZ.


In Beethoven's time, Vienna was the gayest capital in Europe, the Paris
of the world. The population was 300,000, every nationality in Europe
being represented. It was cosmopolitan in the widest sense. The Germans
of course predominated; then there were Hungarians, Italians, Sclavs,
Sczechs, Magyars, Poles and Turks. The Italian element was particularly
strong, and these southern and eastern races with their tendency toward
art in any form, and the particular bias of the Italians toward music
had an important influence on the Germans, modifying their seriousness.

The theatres were splendidly equipped and there were at least four large
orchestras. Concerts for the general public were not common, the
orchestras being required for operatic performances in private houses,
which were splendidly given, as well as for state balls and other
functions. The chief business of the well-to-do (and Vienna was a rich
city), was to gratify a love for music. The cultivated class lived a
life of elegant leisure, music being its alpha and omega. As already
stated, it was an established custom with the wealthy to maintain a
small orchestra, consisting of four or five pieces for the performance
of chamber-music in their homes. Prince Karl Lichnowsky gave concerts
every Friday evening, frequently taking a part in the orchestra. Regular
weekly concerts were given by Baron von Swieten, Prince Lobkowitz, Count
Rasoumowsky and many others. It is stated that at this period there were
ten private theatres in Vienna, each with its complement of actors. It
was a common occurrence to give operettas at these private
theatres,--the ordinary parts being taken by amateurs.

How could they, we naturally ask, get an audience, when so many
performances were in progress, and how could the people get around to so
many places? The answer is: these performances were given daily,
including Sunday, and at all hours of the day, some concerts being given
as early as six o'clock in the morning. It was indeed a "golden age for
Beethoven," as Schindler remarks. Thayer gives a list of twenty-one
great houses open to Beethoven, nine of which belonged to princes. The
young musician was often the guest of honor at the various musical
functions given by these people, and received much attention from
illustrious persons who were attracted to him by the force of his
character as well as his genius. Not in any degree a society man, rough
in exterior and careless of appearance, he was sought after by the most
exclusive of Vienna society.

That a man of such force and originality, such independence, should have
won the lifelong friendship of those of his own sex, goes without
saying. His very scorn for the conventions and refinements of life, the
manliness which was reflected in his every act, in the tones of his
voice and the expression of his face, all this, united to such talents,
would be sure to win the enthusiastic admiration of his fellow-men. But
that the beautiful society women of the capital should have been
attracted to a man so uncouth may at first sight seem surprising, until
we consider that he attracted them in spite of these drawbacks and on
account of other qualities, such as his sensibility, his earnestness and
devotion to his art, and the wealth of his emotional and intellectual
nature. He thoroughly enjoyed standing so well socially with these
ladies, who in family connections were above him, but who were willing
to sit at his feet in homage to his genius. Beginning with hero worship
on the part of these devotees, the sentiment usually developed into the
more intimate relation of friendship or love. The "Ewig Weibliche"
appears constantly in his music and was always in his life. He formed
many romantic attachments which may not always have been Platonic, but
they were always pure. Beethoven had as chivalrous a regard for women as
had any knight of the middle ages.

Among those with whom he became intimate are the Baroness Ertmann, the
Countess Erdödy, the sisters of the Count of Brunswick and many others.
It is interesting to note the affectionate familiarity which these
ladies permitted him. Taking into account the extreme sensibility of the
artistic temperament and the sentimental character of the Germans, it is
still surprising to meet with a letter to the Countess Erdödy, which he
begins: "Liebe, liebe, liebe, liebe, liebe Gräfin" ("Dear, dear, dear,
dear, dear Countess"), although the letter itself is simple enough and
ends: "Ihr wahrer Freund und Verehrer." He begins another letter to this
lady in a strain courtly and dignified, in marked contrast to the
excessive warmth of the previous example: "Alles Gute und Schöne meiner
lieben, verehrten, mir theure Freundin, von ihrem wahren und verehrenden
Freund." The Countess Erdödy, who is described as being witty,
cultivated and beautiful, exercised a very strong fascination on the
susceptible heart of our master, and on her side, she seems to have been
powerfully drawn to him. The friendship lasted many years. Music, the
bond that united them, sanctified their intimacy and kept it always on a
high level. Beethoven lived at her house for a time. He used to allude
to her as his father confessor. Madame Erdödy erected in honor of
Beethoven, in the park of one of her seats in Hungary, a temple, the
entrance to which is decorated with a characteristic inscription
expressing her homage to the great composer. Later in life she was
banished and died in Munich.

The Baroness Ertmann was also a good friend to Beethoven. He called on
her frequently and her ability to interpret his works acceptably must
have cemented the friendship between them. Others with whom he came in
contact were the Countess Babette de Keglivics (Princess Odeschalchi),
and Julia Guicciardi, who became the Countess Gallenberg, and to whom he
dedicated the Sonata Fantasia, which is called the language of
resignation.

These people on the whole were quite democratic in their relations
toward artists. There was a very elaborate ceremonial at court, but
elsewhere, cultivated people met on common ground. Ries relates an
incident illustrating the cameraderie existing between Beethoven and the
aristocratic ladies of his circle. In this instance. Princess
Lichnowsky, who was a Countess Thun, and connected with some of the best
families in Europe, was the central figure. One evening at Count
Browne's, Ries was asked to play a sonata with which he was not
familiar. Ries preferring to play something else, begged to be excused
from playing this particular one. The company was obdurate, however, and
finally appealed to Beethoven, knowing that he, if any one, could carry
the point. Beethoven turned to Ries and asked him to play it, saying: "I
am sure you will not play it so badly that you would not want me to hear
it," whereupon Ries complied, Beethoven turning the leaves for him. He
made a break in the bass part, at which Beethoven tapped him on the head
with his finger, whether to discipline him or only in play does not
appear. Later in the evening Beethoven played a sonata (opus 21),
entirely new, with which he himself was not very familiar. Princess
Lichnowsky, who had observed Beethoven's act in disciplining Ries
earlier in the evening, stationed herself back of Beethoven's chair,
while Ries turned the pages. When Beethoven made a mistake similar to
that of Ries, the Princess playfully hit him several taps on the head
with her hand, saying: "If the scholar is punished for making a slight
mistake, the master should not escape, when making a graver one," at
which all laughed, Beethoven taking the lead. Then he began again and
fairly outdid himself, particularly in the Adagio, in which the mistake
occurred.

The virtuosity of some of the Viennese of the period was marvellous.
Allusion has been made to the ability of the professional musicians, but
the amateur performers were in many cases equally proficient. It is
related that Beethoven's friend, Marie Bigot, played the Appassionata
Sonata at sight from the manuscript for the delectation of some friends.
Madame Bigot was the wife of the librarian of Count Rasoumowsky and
evidently took a prominent part in these entertainments. Sight-reading
before a critical audience is surely a difficult enough task under the
most favoring conditions; how much more so from the manuscript, with its
excisions and corrections and general indistinctness! It was, however,
an every-day matter especially in chamber-music. Hümmel is reported as
saying: "In Vienna there are a hundred ladies who can play the piano
better than I." Another musician, writing from Vienna in 1820, said: "In
every house there is a good instrument; at one, a banker's, there are
five."

On one occasion, some one laid before Beethoven a quartet in manuscript
which had just been composed. The band essayed it, of course at sight,
not one of the party having seen the manuscript before. The cellist got
out in the first movement. Beethoven got up, and while he kept on
playing his own part, sang the cellist's part. When this was commented
on, he remarked that the bass part _had_ to be this way if the composer
understood his business. The composer in this instance was Förster, his
old teacher.

On another occasion, Beethoven played at sight a new and difficult
composition which had been brought him. The composer told him that he
(Beethoven), had played the Presto so fast that it would have been
impossible to see the single notes. "That is not necessary," Beethoven
replied. "If you read rapidly, many misprints may occur; you do not heed
them, if you only know the language." Wagner in his life of Beethoven
says: "The power of the musician is not to be appreciated otherwise than
through the idea of magic." It would seem so in very fact. Consider the
million combinations of which the brain has to take cognizance while
doing so comparatively simple a thing as transposing. Not to play the
particular notes which are indicated on the staff, but some others, one
or two steps higher or lower; to play four or five at a stroke, as in
piano, and to do it quickly, sixty or eighty or a hundred in a
minute,--this is almost like magic, but it is nothing to what Beethoven
frequently did in music. At a public concert at which he played, he
asked his friend Seyfried, a distinguished composer and all-round
musician, to turn the leaves for him of a new concerto written for the
occasion. "But that was easier said than done," said Seyfried who told
the story. "I saw nothing but blank leaves with a few utterly
incomprehensible Egyptian hieroglyphics which served him as guides, for
he played nearly the whole of the solo part from memory, not having had
time to write it out in full; he always gave me a sign, when he was at
the end of one of these unintelligible passages." Seyfried, thorough
musician that he was, understood the difficulties of the position for
Beethoven, and was so apprehensive of turning a page at the wrong time,
that his nervousness was observed by the master, who afterward rallied
him about it. Extempore playing is not to be compared with this, as the
concerto was written for strings and piano, Beethoven taking the piano
part.

The three quartets, opus 59, known as the Rasoumowsky Quartets, to which
a passing reference has been made, take their name from having been
dedicated to Count Rasoumowsky, who was the Russian ambassador. The
Count had married a sister of the Princess Lichnowsky and was a
cultivated man whose greatest delight was music. He lived in great state
in a palace, then on the outskirts of Vienna, now used as the Geological
Institute. He was closely identified with the musical life of Vienna,
and shortly after these quartets appeared, formed a string quartet of
distinguished musicians, which he maintained for many years, taking the
part of second violin himself. It is almost needless to state that
Beethoven's work took precedence in the repertoire.

The first of the three quartets, the one in F, has an Adagio movement on
which Beethoven inscribed in the sketch-book, "Eine Trauerweide oder
Akazienbaum aufs Grab meines Bruders." [A weeping willow or acacia tree
over my brother's grave.] Beethoven had indeed lost an infant brother
twenty-three years before this event, but it is not likely that he was
thus tardily commemorating him. His brother Kaspar Karl was married the
day before this quartet was begun and it is probably a humorous allusion
to that circumstance. But if his brother's marriage was an occasion for
humor at the beginning, it lapsed afterward into the sternest tragedy in
its effect on the master's life, as will be seen further on in these
pages.

These quartets are monuments to Beethoven's genius and are classed among
the best examples of chamber-music. The Adagio of the second one was
thought out by Beethoven one night while contemplating the stars.
Somewhat of the infinite calm and serenity of his mood is imparted to
it. The incident is related by Czerny to whom it was related by
Beethoven himself. The quartets were generally disliked and condemned by
musicians when first produced. Cherubini said that they made him sneeze.
Others said that Beethoven was music-mad, that they could not be called
music, that they were too difficult, unintelligible, and so on. That was
close onto a century ago, and they are still unintelligible to some, but
we now know that this is not the fault of the quartets as was so naively
assumed at that time. The condemnation of them by the performers has a
show of reason in it as they taxed their capacity too severely. Wagner
had the same thing to contend with for the same reason.

After the withdrawal of Fidelio, noted in the last chapter, and with the
advent of summer, Beethoven left Vienna on a visit to Count Brunswick,
at his seat in Hungary. The Count was a man of exceptional intellectual
ability, who had the greatest reverence and admiration for Beethoven's
genius. Beethoven was also on excellent terms with the Count's sisters,
and later became engaged to one of them, the Countess Therese. It is
well known that the Countess Therese exercised a powerful fascination
over him, but so did many another of the gifted Vienna ladies in the
course of his life.

So vast a quantity of work was accomplished by the master during this
summer, that it is likely the proximity of these friends only served to
stimulate his genius. The Appassionata Sonata was worked over, the
Rasoumowsky Quartets were finished, as well as the Fourth Symphony,
besides lesser works, so that he could not have spent much time in
social intercourse. He was in the period of his greatest productivity;
the creative instinct was strong in him and impelled him onward in his
work to the exclusion of other desires. Even friendship had to give way
in great measure to the passion for creating which had become a
necessity of his existence.

That the life was a tranquil and contented one may be inferred by the
character of the Fourth Symphony. Beethoven loved country life, and
surrounded as he was by his friends, whose first thought was for him, he
had everything to make him satisfied. The serenity which speaks to us
through the Fourth Symphony is something for which the world should ever
be grateful. Our highest happiness often comes to us through the frame
of mind superinduced by external influences. This symphony is a song of
joy, ecstatic in its pure exuberance of spirits; again, it is a
benediction that breathes into our minds somewhat of its own spirit of
calm and content. The storm and stress of life is forgotten; all is
holiday humor. We are in the midst of a Shakespearian comedy, with its
alternations of humor and sentiment, its joyous atmosphere, its idyllic
simplicity; the forest of Arden has come to us. It was written to
celebrate his engagement to the Countess Therese. In it he is inspired
by the very genius of happiness. It is as if, having obtained his
heart's desire, he invites us to partake with him the joy that the gods
have provided.

But it is only for once, as if to emphasize the fact that happiness is
not the object of existence and is not even our right primarily. He
gives few instances in which the element of pain or sadness does not
enter to some extent. His works abound in psychological suggestion;
they illustrate every phase of life. The philosophic import of the
Fourth Symphony is plain. He demonstrates the rarity of pure unalloyed
happiness in actual life by the few examples in his compositions in
which it reigns supreme. Joy enters incidentally into most of his works.
Often it dominates them. He recognized it as part of the scheme of life,
but it is usually qualified by other conditions and is only attained
through persistent effort; it is never our portion until earned. It does
not come unsought like pain and suffering. The Fourth Symphony is
lighter than the "Eroica" which preceded it, or the C minor which comes
next. The language of joy is always more or less superficial. The
tragedies of life have to be told in stronger language, since they go
deeper. Happiness is negative, pain positive. The comedies of
Shakespeare, in which the note is usually buoyant and felicitous, do not
stir us as do the tragedies.

Beethoven's visit at Count Brunswick's continued throughout the summer
of 1806. He left the Brunswicks in October, but instead of returning to
Vienna as was his wont in the autumn, he turned his face toward Silesia,
on a visit to Prince Lichnowsky who had an estate there. But the idyllic
life left behind at Count Brunswick's was not to be repeated here. His
stay was destined to be short owing to a violent quarrel between the
Prince and him, which caused an estrangement lasting some years. The
circumstances leading up to it can be briefly narrated. When Beethoven
arrived at the castle of Prince Lichnowsky, he found other guests there,
uninvited but not unexpected, consisting of French officers who had been
quartered on the Prince. Napoleon had overrun Germany, and was master
wherever he went. Beethoven's rage against him for making himself
Emperor had not abated; his dislike extended to the officers as well,
and he was not there long before hostilities began in good earnest. It
all came about from a desire on the part of the officers that Beethoven
play for them. He had the penetration to know that he was regarded
simply as a curiosity, that he was called on because no better
entertainment was available. Had there been a juggler or a ballet-dancer
on hand, these latter might have been preferred. At dinner, a
staff-officer had asked him quite innocently if he could play the cello,
to which no answer was given; the frown on Beethoven's face, however,
boded ill for the evening's festivities. It had been announced that he
would play for them, and they expected it as a matter of course.

In the nature of things it could not be expected that these men would be
able to appreciate Beethoven, or understand much of his art. His
reverence for it was great; he felt that it would be a degradation, in a
sense, to play for them under the circumstances, and refused. The
Prince, with the amiable desire of pleasing his guests, urged the
matter, but Beethoven continued obdurate; upon which he told him,
probably by way of a joke, that he must either comply or that he would
be confined in the castle as a prisoner of war for disobeying orders.
This persistence so enraged him that, although it was night, he left the
castle without the Prince's knowledge, and walked three miles to
Trappau, the nearest post-town. He remained here overnight, and, while
waiting for the post-chaise, wrote the following letter to Prince
Lichnowsky:

"Prince! what you are you owe to chance and birth. What I am, I am
through myself. There has been, and will yet be thousands of princes,
but there is only one Beethoven."[A]

[A] Frimmel's Beethoven.

It was raining when he left the castle, and the manuscript of the
Appassionata Sonata, hastily packed, became water-soaked and blurred; it
bears the marks of that night's journey to the present day.

Some difficulty was experienced in procuring his passport for Vienna. It
could readily have been obtained by having recourse to Prince
Lichnowsky, but Beethoven would not permit this. The matter was finally
arranged, and he proceeded on his journey. He nursed his wrath all the
way, and on reaching his quarters in Vienna, his first act was to smash
a bust of the Prince which stood on a bookcase.

Although a reconciliation was effected later, the old cordial relations
were never restored. There were times when the Prince called on
Beethoven and was not received, when the latter was not in the mood for
seeing him. Through his wilfulness, Beethoven lost the annuity which the
Prince had settled on him on his coming to Vienna. The initiative in
this matter was probably taken by Beethoven himself, as may be inferred
from a letter he writes to a friend two years later: "My circumstances
are improving without having recourse to people who treat their friends
insultingly."

The winter of 1806-7 was a period of great activity for Beethoven,
although a felon on his finger must have stopped all work for a while.
Some important works were published, notably the Eroica Symphony and
the Appassionata Sonata. Along with acceptances came commissions, so
that his finances appear to have been in a flourishing condition for the
time.

Beethoven's engagement to the Countess Brunswick was entered into with
the consent of her brother. Count Brunswick, who was the only one
permitted to share the secret. Every precaution was taken to prevent a
knowledge of it coming to the ears of Therese's mother, who would not
for a moment have listened to an argument leading to a possible union of
her daughter with the poor musician.

That Beethoven had marriage in mind is evident from the fact that he
once got so far as to write to Bonn for a copy of his baptismal
certificate as a necessary preliminary. He wrote in his note-book on the
subject as follows: "Oh God! Let me attain her who is destined to be
mine and who shall strengthen me in virtue." But it never got any
further. The secrecy so strictly enjoined, must have been specially
unpleasant to a man of Beethoven's temperament. The opposition that was
sure to be developed on the part of the Countess's family may have
reverted on his sense of pride to such an extent as to lead him to
sacrifice his love to it. He always had his work to fall back on. In the
end, his art took precedence of all other considerations; while it
permitted friendship, the serenity of which might aid him in his
life-work, it excluded love, which might become a rival. His concept of
life was to live simply, to entertain no project which would in any way
divert his mind from his work. No mere desires of self were to be
considered.

The Countess Therese never married, but occupied herself with
philanthropic work on reaching middle-age. She founded a home for little
children in Vienna, the first of its kind in Austria; her own means not
being sufficient to maintain it, she enlisted the support of powerful
friends from the Empress down, in its behalf. She died in 1861, aged 83.




CHAPTER VII

VICTORY FROM DEFEAT

     To those whom heaven favors, the greatest evils turn to greatest
     good.
                                                       --GIORDANO BRUNO.


Of the summer of 1807, the most notable achievement is the Mass in C. It
was written at Heiligenstadt, where he wrote the Heroic Symphony some
years before. He remained until autumn hard at work on this, his first
mass, as well as on some orchestral works, including, probably the
Symphony in C minor, as well as the Pastoral Symphony.

It is rather singular that Beethoven, whose nature was on the whole
essentially religious, although he affiliated with no church, did not
take earlier to mass composition. Some of the best work of Mozart and
Haydn is in this form; as organist he must have been familiar with their
masses. One can readily believe that the emotional quality of certain
portions of Mozart's Mass in B flat, such as the Et incarnatus and the
Agnus Dei, must have strongly appealed to him. His thoughts often went
toward religious music, and it was easy for him to compose in this
style. He recognized the mass as one of the great art-forms, equal to
the oratorio or the opera. From Bach's time on, it may indeed be said to
have been regarded in this light. It is quite evident that Bach so
considered it when composing his grand mass in B minor, which in
difficulty of execution, as well as in its extraordinary length, is no
longer practicable as a church service, its range in all directions
going beyond the requirements of a congregation, or the capacity of the
choir.

It is evident that Beethoven enjoyed working on the Mass, and was quite
at home in this form of composition. Here was plain sailing; he knew
what he wanted to do, and went at it without hesitation. There is none
of that doubt and groping which is the case with Fidelio, which was
continually being worked over, and in reality, never was finished. That
religious works had a great hold on his mind, appears from a letter to
his publisher in after years in which he states that if he had an
independent income he would write nothing but grand symphonies, church
music and perhaps quartets. In another letter dated March 29, 1823,
toward the close of his life, he stated his intention of writing three
more masses.

In the Mass in C a new theory is developed in mass composition. It
differs radically from the style of church composition made popular by
Haydn and Mozart, beautiful as some of that is. Their music is a concord
of sweet melodies, illustrating the peace and happiness which a
contemplation of the religious life affords. Acting on the principle
that beauty is its own excuse for being, they give many examples where
the music does not even attempt to fit the sentiment of the words. The
Kyrie of Haydn's Imperial Mass would do for a Te Deum, or a Song of
Triumph rather than a cry for help. The Kyrie of Mozart's Mass in B flat
is an Italian street song which he heard on one of his tours in Italy
and worked over for this Mass, and is not at all adapted to the words.
There are ideas in the Mass in C which neither Mozart nor Haydn would
have tried to attain. Beethoven's aim here is not to please the ear by
beautiful melodies, although he does that often enough, but to stir the
soul. He bears a message to the listener, which it is greatly to his
interest to get at. The Mass in C depicts our innermost experiences. It
has a mission and is not simply an end in itself. The Symphonist here
shows his individuality as may be expected, since it was composed after
Coriolanus, the first four symphonies, Fidelio. In many places the
orchestra becomes an independent entity, abandons the choral part, and,
rising into majestic strains unattainable in choral composition, tells
the story of Christianity in its own powerful way. In Beethoven this
ascendency of the orchestra is first apparent; he has demonstrated for
all time its greater importance as a means of musical expression than
the voice.

[Musical notation.]

The work throughout is cast on a higher plane than any mass which had
appeared since Bach's Mass in B minor. It was written for Prince
Nicholas Esterhazy, whose grandfather was Haydn's patron, and was first
sung in the chapel of the Prince at Eisenstadt, on the name-day of his
wife, the Princess Marie. Hümmel was Kapellmeister there, but Beethoven
conducted the performance on this occasion.

The Prince evidently was of the opinion that having ordered the work,
the master would consider his preferences and prejudices in the
composition of it, as Haydn would have done, but as Beethoven could not
have done, had he wished. The result was that Prince Esterhazy failed to
see its purport or significance and was unable to comprehend it.
Beethoven should not have been surprised at this, since he knew himself
to be in advance of his time. At the conclusion of the service the
Prince made the rather inane remark, "but my dear Beethoven, what have
you been doing now?" in allusion to the mass. Beethoven, deeply
offended, left abruptly, and returned to Vienna. It may be said in
passing that Beethoven frequently managed to disappoint the persons for
whom he wrote. This did not lead him to doubt or distrust his powers,
knowing intuitively that posterity would justify him. The Mass in C is
to-day one of the best known of all masses, and is frequently performed
at high festivals in churches having a good equipment of chorus and
orchestra.

Another great work which was completed about this time was the Symphony
in C minor (The Fifth). Here we have a work wholly subjective. It
reflects his soul experiences. His approaching deafness brought him face
to face with the greatest trouble of his life. The malady progressed
slowly but steadily, and rendered him at times hopeless. His suffering,
his despair, his resignation and final triumph are embodied in it. It is
a subtle analysis of some of the deep problems of life. The history of
his own mental state is depicted here. If we consider his malady in its
bearing on his life, we have the story of Tantalus told again. Here was
a man whose thoughts translated themselves into splendid tone-pictures
which the orchestra was to portray. With the mental equipment to create
a new era in his art, the medium by which he could apprehend his works
was being closed to him. "Is a blind painter to be imagined?" asks
Wagner in this connection. If we can imagine a great painter painting
his masterpieces, but never being permitted to see any, an analogy may
be found in the exclusion of Beethoven from all participation in the
rendering of his works, which was the case in his later years, being
unable even to conduct them. He wanted to test his work, to ascertain
how it would sound in the concert hall, and even at this time the high
tones of the violins, which he put to such exquisite uses in later
years, and which were such an inspiration to Wagner, were lost to him.
By the aid of his philosophy, however, he accepted the situation,
resolving to make the best of it; to keep on achieving, to turn his
defeats into victories. Beethoven's symphonies mean much in their
application to the common life of humanity. Knowing them even
approximately, we often find texts which illumine them in the writings
of men who went below the surface of things, Emerson, or Carlyle, or
Schopenhauer. Thus Carlyle, writing on Dante says: "He has opened the
deep unfathomable oasis of woe that lay in the soul of man; he has
opened the living fountains of hope, also of penitence." Does not the
mind instantly revert to the C minor Symphony?

Next in the order of Beethoven's great works comes the Pastoral
Symphony, named at first "Recollections of country life." Easily
comprehended, as any picture of country life should be, he yet deemed it
necessary to give a short explanation at each movement, illustrating the
meaning which he wished to convey, although he qualifies this with the
words, "mehr Ausdruck der Empfindung als Malerei." [An expression of
sensibility rather than painting.] In everything relating to his art
Beethoven was tentative. In the sketch-book of this Symphony there is an
inscription in his handwriting, "Man überlässt den Zuhörer sich selbst
die Situationen auszufinden." [The hearer should be left to find out the
situations for himself,] showing that, on considering the matter
carefully he changed his mind, and concluded after all, that the
explanations were permissible. In but few instances has Beethoven
vouchsafed any explanation of his musical intent, and then it seems to
have been done reluctantly. It was hardly necessary in the case of the
Pastoral Symphony as it is comparatively easy of comprehension. The
title gives the clew; the occasional bird notes of quail, cuckoo and
lark, the scene at the brook, could hardly be mistaken; while the
dance-music in Part III, as well as the storm with its forebodings of
terror, convey their meaning plainly to the average intelligence. This
poem of nature is always enjoyable, refreshing the mind, and resting the
jaded faculties, much as a trip to the country helps us physically.

The explanations as Beethoven appended them are as follows:

No. I. Allegro: The awakening of cheerful feelings on arriving in the
country.

No. II. Andante: Scene at the Brook.

No. III. Allegro: Merry meeting of country folk.

No. IV. Allegro: Thunder-storm.

No. V. Allegretto: Song of the Shepherds, and glad and thankful feelings
after the storm.

Many great composers before and after Beethoven have essayed this
portrayal of a storm, Händel, Haydn (Seasons), Glück, Mozart, Rossini
(William Tell overture), Chopin, Wagner (Flying Dutchman), are a few
instances.

The Pastoral Symphony has been dramatized so to speak, that is, it has
been put on the stage, the different situations of this nature-poem
having been portrayed by living and moving tableaux, pantomimic action
and ballet; there was scenery, and the dance of the peasants and the
thunder-storm were, no doubt, realistic enough. This representation took
place at a festival of the _Künstler Liedertafel_ of Düsseldorf in 1863,
also in London.




CHAPTER VIII

MEETING WITH GOETHE

     Eine schöne Menschenseele finden ist Gewinn.
                                                               --HERDER.

Beethoven did not have the faculty of teaching except in rare instances.
It is not in the nature of things that such a man would consider
teaching in any other light than drudgery, and would feel that time so
spent could have been much better employed in composition. This was the
case already in Bonn, when he had no income and before his creative
talent had shown itself. He was only too glad to abandon it as soon as
proper encouragement for composition came to him from his publishers.
Here and there an attractive lady would be able to cajole him into
giving a few lessons on the pianoforte--the Brunswick sisters and Madame
Ertmann are instances, but they were intermittent in character, and did
not continue long. Two prominent exceptions, however, were the Archduke
Rudolph and Ferdinand Ries. True, Czerny was a pupil also, but the
lessons did not continue long, as was the case with the Archduke and
Ries.

Beethoven's acquaintance with the Archduke began in the winter of 1804.
Rudolph, then sixteen years of age, seems to have attached himself to
Beethoven, then thirty-four, more as a friend than as a pupil. Other
masters could have been found under whom he would have advanced more
rapidly, and it is quite likely that the Imperial family would have
preferred some other than Beethoven, whose republican principles must
have made him disliked by them.

The Archduke was passionately devoted to music and the friendly
relations between master and pupil were maintained almost to the end of
the master's life. Rudolph had to put up with Beethoven's outbreaks of
temper much the same as if he had been a civilian. He treated this young
Prince, brother of the reigning Emperor, much the same as his other
friends, and Rudolph had to adapt himself to his master's wishes. He
ordered his chamberlain to set aside the observance of the rigid
etiquette of the Court, established by his mother, Maria Louisa of
Spain, when he learned that it was one of the things which made
Beethoven lose his temper. Some of the master's best work was written
specially for Rudolph and when the latter left Vienna in 1809, Beethoven
wrote the sonata, Les Adieux L'absence, et le Retour, to commemorate the
occasion. He inscribed it as follows: "Der Abschied am vierten Mai
gewidmet und aus dem Herzen geschrieben." Rudolph had an intuitive
perception of Beethoven's greatness and was glad to be near him, not
only to learn from him, but to enjoy his friendship. He carefully
preserved Beethoven's letters and in every way showed his regard for
him. On the high level which music made for these men, artificial
distinctions were forgotten; the Prince became the disciple. He was a
fine performer, with, as may be supposed, special reference to
Beethoven's works. Beethoven was, no doubt, impressed by Rudolph's rank,
although there is very little evidence of it in the anecdotes which we
have relating to them. He met his friends on the common ground of his
art, where he found no superior.

As before stated Beethoven did not take to teaching. It was
_Dientschaft_ to him in the full sense of the word. He does not seem to
have interested himself as much in Rudolph as in Ferdinand Ries. In the
case of the latter an artist was being prepared for a career; some of
Beethoven's own skill as performer was being perpetuated in Ries, while
with Rudolph no amount of technical knowledge would have advanced the
art much. He not only accepted no payment from Ries for the lessons
given him, but frequently sent him money unsolicited when he had reason
to suppose he needed it. In the old Bonn days, after the death of
Beethoven's mother, when the young man was in sore straits, Ferdinand's
father, who was a member of the Elector's orchestra with Beethoven, had
helped the latter in word and deed. Ferdinand then was but four years of
age. Beethoven was famous by the time Ferdinand had reached manhood;
when he presented himself to the master with a letter from his father,
he was cordially received, and was soon on the footing of an intimate
friend. Beethoven when giving him lessons was patient to a degree that
was not natural to him. "I attribute this," he states, "as well as the
long continued friendship he maintained toward me, largely on account of
the esteem and regard he felt for my father. He often made me repeat an
exercise ten times. The lessons frequently lasted two hours. He was not
generally so particular about lapses in execution, but if I was lacking
in expression, in crescendo and diminuendo, he would make me repeat the
passage until he was satisfied." Ries made good use of his
opportunities, and became a distinguished performer on the piano,
ranking in this respect as high as any man of his time.

An offer to Beethoven of the post of Kapellmeister by the King of
Westphalia, Napoleon's brother, in 1809 brought about one of the
inevitable quarrels that marked Beethoven's association with his
intimates. Ries was the victim this time. Beethoven's dislike of
Napoleon, and the French in general, should have been sufficient to
deter him even from considering the matter. The post carried with it a
good salary however, 600 ducats (about $1,400), and the duties were
light. It meant a comfortable maintenance with plenty of time for
composing, and from this point of view, the offer had its attractions. A
certain fixed income, through which he could be independent of his
publishers, was what he chiefly desired. From every other point of view,
however, the project must have been distasteful to him. At middle-age,
the mind of such a man, occupied almost wholly with an ideal world,
shrinks from encountering new and untried scenes. Had he accepted it, he
probably never would have remained, as his love for Vienna and the old
and tried friends left behind would have acted as a magnet irresistibly
drawing him back. He seems not to have considered it seriously. As soon
as the matter became known, however, the Archduke and two other of
Beethoven's friends, the dashing young Prince Kinsky (who for bravery at
the battle of Aspern was decorated on the field with the Maria Theresa
cross by the Archduke Charles), and Beethoven's old friend Prince
Lobkowitz--got together and made up an annuity of 4,000 florins, paper
money. Of this sum the Archduke contributed 1,500 florins, Prince
Lobkowitz 700 and Prince Kinsky 1,800. Owing to the depreciation in
paper money the amount was considerably reduced shortly after, but he
continued to draw from this source about $700 per year to his death
according to Sir George Grove.

Beethoven delayed giving a decided answer while the negotiations for the
annuity were dragging along. When it became evident that he would not
accept the position, the offer was made to Ries. Some officious person
informed Beethoven that Ries was trying to get the post away from him in
a questionable manner. This was not true, but Beethoven broke off all
relations with him and would not see him for three weeks. The anecdote
as related by Ries is as follows: "After Beethoven had declined the
position, I at once sought him to ascertain if he really did not intend
taking the post, and to get his counsel in the matter. But whenever I
called, Beethoven was not in, and my letters to him met with no
response. Three weeks elapsed when I met him accidentally on the
Redoubte; I went up to him and told him the object of my visits.
Beethoven looked me over and said cuttingly, 'So! and do you think you
could fill a post that has been offered to me?' and left me. Determined
on having an understanding with him I again sought him the following
morning. His servant in an impudent manner told me that Beethoven was
not in, although I heard him singing and humming in an inner room, as
was his habit when composing. I attempted to enter forcibly, upon which
the servant took hold of me, with the intention of putting me out. I
grappled with him and threw him to the floor. Beethoven hearing the
noise came out in a rage. I was equally angry and heaped reproaches on
his head. The master was too astonished to answer, but stood looking at
me. Finally, explanations were offered and then I first learned of
Beethoven's grievance against me. I had no difficulty in proving my
innocence in the matter, and Beethoven, to make amends, at once left his
work and went out with me to see about the position, but it had already
been given out." Ries finally went to England where he acquired fame and
fortune. He kept up a correspondence with Beethoven to the end; some of
the master's most interesting letters are those written in his later
years to his former pupil. Ries became a very prolific composer, whose
works embrace almost every class of music, among which is to be
mentioned several operas, oratorios, symphonies, much chamber-music, and
many pianoforte sonatas, none of which, however have survived to the
present day.

The settlement of the question about his remaining in Vienna, and the
security of the future brought about by the annuity, had the effect of
increasing the productivity of the master. The sketch-books of this
period abound in studies for orchestral, chamber and vocal studies. It
was characteristic of Beethoven to show in this manner his appreciation
of the compliment tendered him. The year 1809 was not propitious to
creative work. War raged in Vienna and vicinity. The city was bombarded
by the French in May, and was occupied by them much of the summer.
Several important battles were fought nearby. Contrary to his usual
custom, Beethoven remained in the city throughout the summer. His
residence was in an exposed position on the bastion, where he remained
the larger part of the time, occasionally visiting his brother Karl, who
also remained. He was at Karl's home while the bombardment was going on,
and, during the worst of it, sought refuge in the cellar, where he even
padded his ears to escape the noise. The terrific reports on the
inflamed tissues of his ears distressed him greatly, and must have added
permanent injury to the organs already in a bad condition.

That the achievement of the solitary worker during the summer was more
important and far-reaching in its effects than that of the belligerents,
will hardly be gainsaid. The latter wasted a lot of ammunition,
destroyed human beings and property, and made a good deal of noise for
the time being, after which things settled down to about the same
condition as before; while Beethoven added solid wealth to the world in
its most lasting form.

There is a falling off in his compositions the following year, which is
generally attributed to the breaking of his engagement with the Countess
Therese. That he should have suffered to such an extent on this account,
is at least open to question. His art was of more importance to him than
any other fact in life. It was only by a complete surrender of
everything else that he achieved what he did in it. He had many bitter
disappointments at different periods of his life, which, however, did
not take him away from his work. At all events, he gave no sign,
contrary to his usual habit. He was reticent on the subject of his
compositions, but was not averse to talking of his troubles. A man so
entirely given over to one idea, as was Beethoven, could hardly take
such a step as marriage at the age of forty, thereby changing his whole
course of life. The passion for creating had grown to such an extent,
that he became impatient of everything which interfered with it. It is
possible that the Countess Therese, noting this, felt that there would
be little chance for happiness in such a union, and wisely broke it off.
He could not have been considered eligible in any event by a family like
the Brunswicks, noted for extravagant living and a desire to occupy a
prominent place in society. Beethoven's income was never large. It was
at times insufficient for his simple wants, owing to his ignorance of
the value of money. That he managed to fall in love with a frequency
only equalled by his impetuosity, must be admitted. But when the
question came fairly before him, marriage or music, he had but one
course. His art was a jealous mistress which would brook no rival. If he
took the breaking of his engagement so much to heart that it interfered
with his work, how was it possible, we may ask, for him to have made
violent love to Bettina Brentano during this summer of 1810? Within two
years afterward he was as badly smitten with Amalie Seebald the singer.
We can only reiterate the former statement, music was his one passion,
in this he was supreme. His art had so strong a hold on him that nothing
else could come between. These love affairs were episodes in his social
life. They were as episodical with the ladies concerned, who later,
generally married in their own station, and, let us hope were happy ever
afterward.

The artistic temperament will account for these rhapsodies. Ill health
in this period probably had as much to do with his lessened
productivity as anything else. Schindler states that he had been on bad
terms with his stomach for many years of his Vienna life. Confirmation
of this is to be found in Beethoven's letters in which complaints about
stomach and intestinal troubles are frequently met with in these years.
These gastro-intestinal disturbances which so afflicted him had their
origin in the chronic liver trouble to which he finally succumbed.

In the spring of 1812 he resolved by the advice of his physician to try
the baths of Bohemia, and we find him at Töplitz, one of many
notabilities, who were spending the summer at this place. Here he made
the acquaintance of Goethe whom he held in great esteem. It was here
also that he met Amalie Seebald of whom mention has already been made.
She was a fine singer, and a beautiful, amiable woman of considerable
talent. Beethoven wrote the following in her album:

    Ludwig van Beethoven
    Den Sie wenn Sie wollten
    Doch nicht vergessen sollten.

    Ludwig van Beethoven
    Whom if you would
    Forget, you never should.

It may be said in passing, that she was not the last to whom Beethoven
yielded his susceptible heart. It would make a long list were it
arranged chronologically, from the early Bonn days to his forty-fifth
year.

[Illustration: Fac-simile of a letter from Beethoven to Amalie Seebald,
written by Töplitz; during the summer of 1812. The autograph, from which
the fac-simile is obtained, is in the Lenox Library, New York, and was
photographed for this work by permission of the librarian.]

[Transcriber's note: The letter reads thus (words that I'm not sure
of are marked with asterisks) "Es geht schon liebe A. besser wenn Sie
es anständig heißen, allein zu mir zu kommen, so können Sie mir eine
große Freude machen, ist [a]ber daß Sie dieses unanständig finden, so
wißen Sie, wie ich die Frejheit aber Menschen ehre, und *wie Sie dies
*heuer hierin und in andren Fällen handeln mögen nach ihren Grund für
zueinander wie Mühe, mich finden Sie *nur gut und als

"Ihren Freund
Beethoven"]

An incident of his visit at Töplitz, showing Beethoven's humility and
kindliness will bear narrating, as it was characteristic of the
man. It relates to a stern parent, a lovely daughter, an ardent wooer.
The first two characters of the _dramatis personæ_, were the innkeeper,
at whose house Beethoven dined, and his daughter. The part of lover was
taken by Ludwig Löwe, an actor, while Beethoven's part in the little
drama is not much more important than that of scene-shifter. Löwe was a
man in good standing, and came from a family of some prominence, but the
father objected to him and forbade the daughter speaking to him. It
appears that Beethoven was in the habit of coming late for dinner, so
the plan was hit upon that Löwe was to take dinner late also, at which
hour, the other guests having eaten and gone, and business being over
for the time, the father was not apt to be around to interfere. "All the
world loves a lover." Beethoven was an interested spectator of the
little comedy, no doubt casting occasional friendly glances in the
direction of the young couple. The father finally appeared on the scene,
ordered the actor to leave the house, and forbade him coming there any
more. At this crisis the lovers were in despair, that is for a while.
Love laughs at locksmiths, as we know, and it had not got so far as that
yet. Löwe, with the resources of a true lover, managed to meet Beethoven
accidentally away from the inn, and looked at him so intently that he
was rewarded by an answering nod of recognition from the master. The ice
being broken, the actor disclosed his troubles. Meeting with sympathy,
he was emboldened to ask him to deliver a letter to Fräulein Therese. To
this Beethoven agreed, and, taking the letter, started to go, thus
closing the interview. But Löwe was not so easily gotten rid of. With an
embarrassed manner, he managed to convey to Beethoven the fact that
there would be an answer. "So! And you wish me to deliver it? Well, meet
me here to-morrow;" and so Beethoven became the go-between for the
lovers during the remainder of his stay in Töplitz.

Allusion has already been made to the acquaintance which he formed with
Goethe this summer. That Beethoven had the highest esteem for the poet,
there is no doubt. In speaking of him in after years, he said, "Who can
thank sufficiently a great poet? He is the most precious jewel of the
nation" (kostbarste Kleinod einer Nation), which is much like Carlyle's
remark on the great poet. "The appearance of such a man (Goethe) at any
given era, is in my opinion the greatest thing that can happen in it. A
man who has the soul to think and be the moral guide of his own nation
and of the whole world." Goethe and Beethoven were on friendly terms and
saw a good deal of one another during this summer. The acquaintance must
have made a powerful impression on Beethoven. Goethe, the senior by many
years, whose transcendent intellect had won him a world-wide reputation,
was no doubt the cynosure of all eyes. Töplitz was full of notabilities.
Thayer gives a long list of prominent persons, from royalty down, who
sojourned there this summer. It must have been a very agreeable
experience to the younger genius, whose fame had not yet penetrated much
beyond Germany, this friendship. Had he possessed a tithe of the worldly
wisdom of the elder man, and had regulated his conduct in accordance
with the prejudices of the other, the friendship might have continued.
Much as he desired this, it does not seem to have occurred to him to
even try to make a good impression. Utterly lacking in self-control, he
remained the same headstrong impulsive creature, while in Goethe's
company, that he had always been. Whether or not the story is true of
his meeting the Imperial family while with Goethe and disdaining even to
answer their salutations, walking on and compelling the party to divide
so as to give him the middle of the walk, while Goethe stood aside
bowing low with uncovered head,--it is nevertheless more than probable
that Beethoven showed his scorn for conventionality in numerous ways,
thereby calling down on himself Goethe's disapproval. Born courtier that
he was, it must have been mortifying in the extreme to him to be with
Beethoven and witness his rudeness and contempt for appearances.

So far as known, Goethe never had anything more to do with him after
this summer. On leaving Töplitz he writes to Zelter, Director of the
Berlin Singakademie, mentioning Beethoven casually or as an
afterthought, and alludes to him as an "entirely untamed (_ungebändigt_)
person." From this time on, he seems to have excluded him from his
thoughts. Beethoven's music was frequently performed at Goethe's house
at Weimar. We read in "Eckermann's Conversations" that on such occasions
the company would relate incidents from Beethoven's life, but Goethe
never mentioned him.

Poet and musician were utterly dissimilar; it is not likely that either
influenced the other to any appreciable degree. "It is a great folly,"
said Goethe in 1824 (Conversations with Eckermann) "to hope that other
men will harmonize with us. I have never hoped this. I have always
regarded each man as an independent individual, whom I endeavored to
study, and to understand with all his peculiarities, but from whom I
desired no further sympathy. In this way have I been enabled to converse
with every man, and thus alone is produced the knowledge of various
characters, and the dexterity necessary for the conduct of life." It was
probably in this coldly analytical frame of mind, that the great
councillor viewed the composer. But it was a momentous event to the
latter to know Goethe. He had before this set to music a number of his
ballads and had only recently composed the music to his Egmont. Many
years afterward, in 1822, in an interview with Rochlitz who made a
pilgrimage from Leipzig to make his acquaintance, he reverts to this
time. "Since the Carlsbad summer when I met Goethe, I read him every
day, that is when I do read. He has killed Klopstock for me, but Goethe
he lives and he wants us all to live. This is why it is so easy to make
music to his words."




CHAPTER IX

OPTIMISTIC TREND

     Thus, with what has hitherto been effected, the clue to the
     labyrinth of what is yet to be done is given us.
                                     --HERDER: _Apotheosis of Humanity_.


Beethoven visited quite a number of places during the summer of 1812 in
quest of health. While at Carlsbad he gave a concert in aid of the
people of Baden, who had lost heavily through a disastrous fire there,
on which occasion he extemporized. It seems to have been a success
financially, but not artistically. In a letter to the Archduke he cites
it as being "a poor concert for the poor." "Es war eigentlich ein armes
Koncert für die Armen." This was owing to lack of time for rehearsals,
and to the fact that only one other person, Herr Polledro, a violinist
of Turin, took part in it. The concert was given within twelve hours
from its inception, because many noteworthy guests were on the point of
leaving town, and their presence was desired to insure a good
attendance. The necessity must have been great to induce him to
undertake it at all. His dislike for improvising for others was
deep-seated, and was increased by his deafness.

In the fall we find him visiting his brother Johann at Linz, where he
made quite a long stay. It was not alone Johann whom he was visiting; he
had good friends there, among them Kapellmeister Glöggl, whom he saw
nearly every day. At the latter's request the master composed three
equali for trombones for All Souls' Day, then near at hand. These
equali, as it turned out, were eventually used for Beethoven's funeral.
The Kapellmeister's son, then a lad of fourteen, relates an incident of
this time with Beethoven as the central figure. A resident of Linz, a
certain Herr Graf von Dönhoff, who was a great admirer of Beethoven,
gave an entertainment in his honor. After some of his music had been
rendered by others, Beethoven was asked to extemporize, which he
declined absolutely to do. Shortly after he disappeared. Supper being
ready a search for him was instituted, but he was not to be found, so
the company, after some delay, repaired to the adjoining room. They had
hardly seated themselves at the table, when they heard some one at the
piano. Gradually, one by one, they found themselves in the other room,
where Beethoven was extemporizing. This he kept up for nearly an hour,
when, suddenly coming to a realization of the circumstances, and looking
around, he saw the entire company listening in rapt attention. He at
once got up from the instrument and hastily left the room, either
through anger or embarrassment. Such was his haste that he ran against a
table containing fine porcelain bric-a-brac, which, of course, was
shattered. The Count, with easy good nature, made some reassuring
remark, upon which they all made another essay at the supper.

His object in going to Linz was not altogether for the purpose of making
visits. A disagreeable duty had to be performed; Johann's relations
with a young woman, whom he had taken as housekeeper, had become a
scandal; the good repute of the family was at stake, and Beethoven went
there with the express design of putting an end to the matter. Johann
was not at all amenable to argument, and contested the elder brother's
right to interfere. The dispute became so bitter that a personal combat
between the brothers occurred. It finally required the combined
ecclesiastical and secular authority of Linz (bishop, magistrate and
police), to effect the expulsion of the lady from town. At this turn of
affairs, Johann, bound to have his own way, married her.

This year saw the completion of the Seventh and Eighth Symphonies
besides other important compositions; not so bad an achievement for a
sick man, this record of two years' work. Sick or well, at home or
abroad, his work went on; it was a part of his life, as necessary,
apparently, as eating or sleeping. In size the Seventh Symphony exceeds
any of the preceding ones. "Eine meiner vorzüglichsten" (one of my
best), is Beethoven's statement in regard to it. Here the composer's
meaning is not so readily elucidated as in the Pastoral, for instance.
It means all things to all people. He usually had a clearly defined
purpose or idea before him when composing, particularly in the case of
his large orchestral works. Of the creations of such a man, it was to be
expected that they would increase in grandeur with each succeeding one.
Every great thing achieved is only an earnest of still greater in
reserve. The fertility of his mind was exhaustless. As he penetrated
deeper into this new world of the imagination, wider vistas were
constantly being opened before his mental vision. "What I have in my
heart must come out when I write," he stated to Czerny. "I never thought
of writing for fame and honor." Grandeur and simplicity are prominent
traits in Beethoven's character and these are exemplified in the Seventh
Symphony. Wagner calls it the Apotheosis of the dance. "Der in Tönen
idealisch verkörperten Leibesbewegung," [an ideal embodiment in tones of
the movements of the human form]. This dance element is the
characteristic trait of the symphony; the dance element on a colossal
scale. Listen to Wagner's summary: "But one Hungarian peasant dance in
the final movement of his Symphony in A (the Seventh) he played for the
whole of nature; so played that who could see her dancing to it in
orbital gyrations must deem he saw a planet brought to birth before his
very eyes." In these later symphonies we see the beginnings of the
mysticism which so profoundly influenced Beethoven in his last years,
reaching its consummation in the Mass in D, the last Quartets, and the
Ninth Symphony. From this period on, the picture to be drawn of him is
of a man retiring more and more into himself as his growing experience
with the world shows him his unfitness for it. Only in his work did he
have any real reason for living. His every-day life became, for the most
part, a phantasmagoria, wherein persons and events continually changed
from grotesque to sublime, where nothing was stable or to be depended
upon. The only reality was in his art. The consciousness that he was
composing works that would go down the ages and delight many generations
to come, was probably satisfaction enough to him to compensate him for
anything he was called on to endure. With the progress of his deafness
his inability to cope with even the ordinary affairs of life increased,
and this also had the effect of withdrawing him from the world. The
spiritual insight gained by years of introspection, of communion with
the higher part of his nature enabled him to discover truths hidden to
the consciousness of the ordinary man. "That power of shaping the
incomprehensible now grows with him; the joy in exercising this power
becomes humor. All the pain of existence is wrecked upon the immense
pleasure derived from the play with it; the creator of worlds, Brahma,
laughs to himself as he perceives the illusion with reference to
himself; regained innocence plays jestingly with the thorns of expiated
guilt; the emancipated conscience banters itself with the torments it
has undergone. And all his seeing and his fashioning is steeped in that
marvellous gayety (_Heiterkeit_) which music first acquired through
him." (Wagner.)

A peculiarity of Beethoven's work often commented on, is the extreme
simplicity of his themes as they first appear in his sketch-books. These
are usually elaborated, thus changing their character, taking on new
meaning with the growth and development of the idea in the composer's
mind; when through with it, however, the thought appears fresh and
spontaneous, such was his consummate art, as if it had never undergone
any elaboration. But sometimes the theme maintains its original
simplicity, and the masterwork appears in the orchestration which
surrounds it; at times even this maintains an archaic simplicity. Thus
in the coda of the vivace of the Seventh Symphony, a simple melody is
reiterated eleven times in succession, with no other orchestration than
the pedal-point on E by the rest of the instruments.

The symphonies in general are the language of a buoyant, gay, blithesome
mood, as befits their design for concert use. In them, for the most
part, he addresses people in their holiday humor. His experience with
Fidelio may have impressed the fact upon his mind that sorrow and pain
should be sparingly portrayed on festive occasions. Not so with the
piano sonatas, which can be heard and studied in the privacy of one's
home. Even the quartets may be placed in the category since they do not
require an elaborate equipment and preparation for their production.

Take him all in all optimism prevails with him, or rather, in true
philosophic spirit, he demonstrates that the sorrow, the inevitable
trouble and misery of life, is more than offset by the good things the
gods have provided. Life, after all, is a precious gift, which should be
duly appreciated. A period of enjoyment, gayety, strengthens and
fortifies the mind, and enables it better to bear the burdens when they
come. The great creative genius, must perforce, in the very nature of
things, be optimistic in his chosen work. He is more alive, more
possessed with the belief that life with its opportunities is worth
while, than is the case with the ordinary man going about his petty
concerns. In common life, the busiest man is the happiest man, that is
the most satisfied; and this contentment springs from the consciousness
of doing something worth doing, the advantage of which will remain. With
the man of genius, the feeling rises to elation, to rapture, when he
considers the transcendent, imperishable nature of his work. "Dass
Hervorbringen selbst ein Vergnügen und sein eigner Lohn ist."

The Eighth Symphony which was brought out at the same time as the
Seventh is the shortest by a few bars, of the nine. It was completed in
about four months from the date of its inception. Here as in the
Seventh, the dance element is in the ascendant, commanding, swaying
everything, thus coming back to first principles, almost to the origin
of the art, as an art. The dance is the primordial, autochthonic form of
music; its foundation so to speak. The song had its origin in the dance
as indicated by its name "ballad." It is a comparatively simple matter
to trace its upward course in instrumental music, as such. It is
conceivable that people from remote times on, had the faculty of
originating tunes, and of humming and singing them, and dancing to them
long before such things as scales and notation were conceived of. Song
and dance must have come into being at the same time, and the earliest
dancing was done with a singing accompaniment. As people advanced in the
art and became able to manufacture instruments with which to produce
music to dance by, it is readily apparent that those persons who did not
dance, derived pleasure from listening to it. The next step was to play
these dance tunes without dancing. This naturally led to a collection of
dance tunes. By playing three or four in succession it was soon found
that a more agreeable effect was produced by selecting those differing
in rhythm. Here we have the suite, the earliest orchestral form. After a
while it was found that a change of key heightened the effect, and, when
composing purely orchestral music not intended for actual use in
dancing, the more original of the composers at times allowed the strict
dance form to fall into abeyance in one or two movements to enable them
to try their hand in another style, and also for contrast. A broadening
and augmenting of the different forms and we have the sonata. The
symphony is an enlargement of the sonata. All our intellectual progress
is an unfolding, like a flower from the bud. We have first an
impression, then an opinion, then demonstration.

Many years were to elapse before the next and last symphony was to
appear; years in which the ripening process was to go on, and which were
to culminate in the Mass in D, the Choral Symphony and the last
quartets,--works that are in a class by themselves in the same sense
that the works from the Third Symphony on, up to, and including the
Eighth, are in a class apart from the others. His compositions prior to
the Third Symphony are in the style of Mozart and Haydn. They are the
naïve utterances of the young musician who does not yet realize that he
has a mission to perform; whose ambition was to be ranked with his great
predecessors. Of the works of the second period, it can be said that
their most prominent characteristic is gayety (_Heiterkeit_). They are
not all in this mood, and but rarely is the mood maintained throughout a
single work, but it exists to the extent that it dominates it, just as
the key-note to his later works is to be found in his mysticism. The
works of the second period are coincident with his best years physically
and when his mental powers had reached their highest maturity. When he
found out what manner of man he was and realized the place he was
destined to occupy among the great ones of earth; when he had accepted
his destiny and had made his peace with himself it is easy to understand
how a certain gayety and serenity should have spread itself over his
life and have communicated itself to his works; and though this serenity
was alternated by periods of despair, he allowed no more of this to
appear in his work than his esthetic sense approved of. Like all highly
organized people he sounded the gamut of joy and sorrow. His journal
entries tell the story. One day, exulting in life and its possibilities
he writes, "Oh, it would be glorious to live life over a thousand
times." At another time he calls upon his God in abject despair to help
him through the passing hour. At one time life is so difficult a problem
that he sees not how it can be continued at all. Then he loses himself
in his creations and soars into regions where his troubles cannot
follow. This joyousness is the portion of many extraordinary people.
Haydn and Mozart had it. "He has among other qualities that of great
joyousness," says Carlyle, in speaking of Richter. "Goethe has it to
some extent and Schiller too. It is a deep laughter, a wild laughter,
and connected with it, there is the deepest seriousness."




CHAPTER X

AT THE ZENITH OF HIS FAME

     Fate bestoweth no gift which it taketh not back. Ask not aught of
     sordid humanity; the trifle it bestoweth is a nothing.
                                                                --HAFIZ.


Napoleon's star, hitherto so uniformly in the ascendant, was now on the
wane. His victories at the battles of Lützen and Bautzen in May of 1813,
could not atone for the disaster of Moscow in the previous year. The
crushing defeat encountered by the French at the battle of Vittoria by
the English under Wellington, and the battle of Leipzig in October of
the same year showed the world that here was only a man after all; a man
subject to the usual limitations and mutations of mankind. The demigod
was dethroned, the pedestal knocked from under, and all Europe rejoiced.
The nightmare of fear which had so long pervaded all classes, was after
all only a bad dream; the incubus could be shaken off, and mankind again
resume its normal mode of living. Waterloo was already foreshadowed in
the events of this year, and the people were wild with joy.

The alliance which followed Napoleon's marriage to the Austrian
Archduchess did not have the good political results which Metternich
expected from it. The war indemnity of fifteen millions of dollars, the
cession of provinces whereby three and one half millions of people were
lost to Austria, the reduction of the army to 150,000 men, exactions
made by Napoleon at the time of the marriage, did not tend to make him
popular. The alliance existed in name, not in sentiment. He was still
regarded as the conqueror, not the ally. Austria had been lukewarm all
along, and when she changed front in 1813, and joined the coalition
against him, acting in concert with England, Russia and Prussia, the
measure had the moral support of the nation. This was three years after
his marriage to the Archduchess.

The news of the battle of Vittoria reached Vienna on July 13. Beethoven
was importuned by a clever friend, M. Maelzel, a musician, to write a
symphony in commemoration of it, and to call it "Wellington's Victory."
Maelzel was a man of remarkable mechanical ingenuity. He had before this
won his way into Beethoven's good graces by making him an ear-trumpet,
which he used for several years. He was the inventor of the metronome
and a man of considerable intelligence. He had invented a Panharmonicon,
an automaton instrument containing most of the instruments found in full
orchestra, on the principle of the modern orchestrion. Allied to his
talents as musician and inventor were those of good business ability and
a knowledge of human nature. The Battle Symphony appears to have been
written originally for the Panharmonicon. "I witnessed," says Moscheles,
"the origin and progress of this work, and remember that not only did
Maelzel induce Beethoven to write it, but even laid before him the whole
design of it; writing the drum marches and trumpet flourishes of the
French and English armies himself, giving Beethoven hints how he should
herald the English army by the tune of 'Rule Brittania;' how he should
introduce 'Malbrook' in a dismal strain; depict the horrors of the
battle, and arrange 'God Save the King,' with effects representing the
huzzas of the multitude. Even the idea of converting the melody of 'God
Save the King' into a subject of a fugue in quick movement emanates from
Maelzel." It is hardly conceivable that Beethoven, if left to himself,
would have produced anything of this sort. But it exactly suited the
popular feeling, and was such a success that Beethoven was induced to
arrange it for full orchestra. This work is never classed among his
symphonies, although it served to make him very popular with the Vienna
public.

The presence in their midst of the composer of the Eroica Symphony in
these stirring times, was a significant fact, which was bound to be duly
exploited by the Viennese. The Battle Symphony confirmed and emphasized
Beethoven's stand as a patriot. He was consequently greatly looked up to
by the young men of the time, in particular by the student element,
already of considerable importance in Vienna, who made an idol of him.
He was now everywhere in demand, his music of necessity being a part of
the programme of every concert or important event in the City.

It is a national characteristic with the Germans to celebrate every
issue with music. A great occasion called for a great demonstration.
When therefore, it was proposed to give a concert in aid of the Austrian
and Bavarian soldiers disabled at the battle of Hanau, where the French
were intercepted after their retreat from Leipzig on October 30, the
matter was intrusted to Beethoven as being the man best fitted for the
work. It was stipulated that Beethoven's music was to occupy the
programme exclusively, which gave him a good opportunity to produce the
Seventh Symphony, still in manuscript.

An aggregation of eminent musicians volunteered their services for the
occasion, sinking their differences in patriotic elation. Moscheles,
already then a great pianist, played the cymbals. Meyerbeer presided at
the big drum. Spohr took a prominent part, together with Salieri,
Romberg and Hümmel. The fact that Beethoven conducted it indicates that
his deafness could not have been so bad at this time. The concert took
place on December 8, and, as may be supposed, was a brilliant success.
It was repeated four days later. At each performance, the principal
event, was, not the Seventh Symphony, but rather the Battle-piece,
which, performed by full orchestra for the first time, won loud and
frequent applause.

After the second performance Beethoven gave a letter to the public in
which he says, "The concert was a rare assemblage of eminent performers,
each glad to contribute by his presence and talents something towards
the benefit of the country, even to the extent of taking subordinate
places in the orchestra where required. On me devolved the conduct of
the whole, because the music was composed by me. Had it been written by
any one else, I would as cheerfully have taken my place at the big drum,
for we were all actuated by the feeling of patriotism and the desire to
benefit those who had sacrificed so much for us."

The concert had to be repeated in January and in February following, as
patriotism was still the ruling idea with the populace. At the February
concert the Eighth Symphony was on the programme, but in each case the
_pièce de résistance_ was the Battle Symphony. It was produced again in
March, when Beethoven conducted it, together with the Egmont Overture,
at the annual concert for the Theatre-Armenfonds. The symphony soon
found its way to England and enjoyed great popularity there from its
connection with Wellington. It frequently appeared on the programmes
under the name of Wellington's Victory.

The general esteem in which Beethoven was held by the Viennese led to a
demand for another hearing of Fidelio, which had been out of sight and
mind for eight years. The libretto was again worked over (this time by
Treitschke), and submitted to Beethoven. The revised form seems to have
pleased him at once, although very important changes were made which
imposed on him a herculean task. New music had to be written for certain
portions, and the whole rearranged and adapted to the new conditions.
Everything was going Beethoven's way in these years, which may explain
his good-natured acquiescence in these demands. "Your revision suits me
so well," he wrote Treitschke, "that I have decided once more to rebuild
the desolate ruins of an ancient fortress." This time the opera was a
pronounced success, although alterations and emendations were in order
more or less during the entire season. On July 18, it was performed for
Beethoven's benefit. Moscheles made a piano arrangement of the score,
and must have considered it a great task, as he wrote at the end.

FINIS.
WITH GOD'S HELP.

When Beethoven saw this he wrote underneath, "Oh man, help thyself!" The
piano arrangement was dedicated to the Archduke and published in August.

The year 1814 was a memorable one for Beethoven. Important events
crowded fast on his horizon, chief of which were those proceeding from
the meeting of the Congress of Sovereigns in Vienna in the autumn of
this year. Napoleon was in the toils; he had been forced to abdicate and
was now a prisoner on the island of Elba. When the treaty of peace was
signed at Paris on May 30, 1814, between France and the allies, it was
agreed that all the powers which had been engaged in the war on either
side, should send plenipotentiaries to Vienna in general Congress to
arrange for the conclusion of the provisions of the treaty of peace.

The Congress met in November of the same year, and was characterized by
a degree of magnificence which renders it unique of its kind. The
Emperor and Empress of Russia, the kings of Prussia, Bavaria, Denmark
and Würtemburg were present in person. England and France were
represented by their highest nobles. Spain, Sweden and Portugal sent
representatives. The advent of a hundred great personages in Vienna
naturally brought other distinguished visitors there and the gayeties
that supervened, now that the wars were a thing of the past, occupied
the time and attention of the visitors to such an extent that for three
months nothing of a business nature was attempted by the Congress. These
were halcyon days for Vienna. Peace was restored after twenty years of
such warfare as only a Napoleon could inflict, the nervous tension
became a thing of the past, and sovereign and noble could again take up
the chief occupation of life, enjoyment.

The city fathers, on learning that the Congress was to be convened in
Vienna, commissioned Beethoven to write a cantata of welcome to honor
the visitors. The poem "Der glorreiche Augenblick" (The Glorious
Moment), was chosen, which Beethoven set to music. As may be supposed
the new cantata served to increase his fame, although as a work of art
it is about on a par with the Battle Symphony.

Beethoven occupied a prominent part in the many notable gatherings which
were a feature of this winter. Associated in people's minds as a
harbinger of the new era, his popularity increased in line with the ever
brightening political horizon. The Archduke enjoyed having him at his
receptions, introducing him to the sovereigns, and made much of him
generally. It was at the Archduke's apartments that Beethoven was
introduced to the Empress of Russia, who showed him much attention, both
here and when meeting him elsewhere. He met her frequently at Count
Rasoumowsky's, who as Russian Ambassador entertained lavishly in honor
of his distinguished guests. He afterward related humorously how the
crowned heads paid court to him, referring to the urbanity and courtesy
which the Empress in particular, used toward him. Beethoven is on record
as saying that he liked being with the aristocracy. He seems to have had
no difficulty in impressing on the Empress the right concept of his
importance as man and artist. In acknowledgment of the courtesies which
he received from her, the master composed for her a Grand Polonaise (in
C, opus 89) which, in company with the pianoforte arrangement of the
Seventh Symphony he dedicated to her.

Shortly after the assembling of the Congress Beethoven gave a concert
for his own benefit, at which the new Cantata as well as the Battle
Symphony and the Seventh Symphony were performed. The Riding Hall, an
immense structure, capable of seating six thousand persons was placed at
his disposal, for which, however, a large price, one-half the receipts,
was exacted, so Frimmel states. With sublime confidence Beethoven sent
out invitations in his own name to the visiting sovereigns and other
notabilities, all of whom responded, with the result that the hall was
crowded and the concert proved to be a great success.

As a result of the winter's activities, Beethoven's finances were
greatly improved. He displayed a degree of business ability during this
year, which was not to have been expected from a man of his temperament.
His profits from one source or another were such that he invested money
to the extent of ten thousand florins, in shares of the Bank of Austria.
It was his first and only investment, undertaken as a provision for the
future.

That Beethoven kept his head in the face of all this adulation is
evident from a letter written at this time to a friend at Prague in
which he says, "I write nothing about our monarchs and monarchies. The
intellectual realm is the most precious in my eyes, and far above all
temporal and spiritual kingdoms."

It was indeed a brilliant winter, but all this joy was suddenly changed
to something akin to terror by the news of Napoleon's escape from Elba
in March of 1815, and that he was assembling his forces for another
campaign. The gayeties had to be discontinued, the members of the
Congress confined themselves to the work for which it was convened, the
result being that the treaties were signed by the eight powers on June
7, upon which the Congress disbanded. This was just eleven days before
the battle of Waterloo.

In November of this year Beethoven's brother Karl died, leaving the
composer as an heritage his son Karl, then nine years of age. With the
clairvoyance which approaching dissolution often brings, the father saw
that the uncle would be a much better guardian for the boy, than the
mother, and consigned him to Beethoven's care almost with his last
breath. It was characteristic of such a man as was Beethoven, to accept
the charge without hesitation, from an exaggerated sense of duty; to
fight for its possession even, although it revolutionized his life and
brought him face to face with all sorts of difficult and untried
conditions.

As might have been expected, Karl's widow, who was the daughter of a
rich citizen, contested his right to the control of the boy, and began
legal proceedings to obtain possession of him. This was the
advance-guard of a series of troubles that began to close in on him at
this period, ending only with his life. Years of litigation followed,
the issue being at times in favor of one side, then of the other, the
boy meanwhile being in charge of the successful party. The new
responsibility, assumed with scarcely a thought as to consequences, not
only interfered with the bachelor habits of a lifetime, but the mental
disturbance occasioned by the lawsuits which ensued, seriously
interrupted his work, so that for some years very little was
accomplished in the way of new compositions. "The higher a man is,"
said Goethe (Conversations with Eckermann), "the more he is under the
influence of dæmons, and he must take heed lest his guiding will counsel
him to a wrong path." Could he have foreseen how this adoption of the
child would interfere with his cherished work, he might have paused to
consider the matter, before binding himself irrevocably by his promise
to his brother.

With never a fixed habitation, no sense of the value of money, giving it
away to those in need as readily as if it had no value, often enduring
privation himself in consequence; with a mode of life so simple that the
entire ménage was frequently transported elsewhere on slight
provocation, this ascetic was now to encounter housekeeping problems,
make money, save it (most difficult of all), employ servants, in short
undertake in middle-age and in impaired health, duties the nature of
which he could not even form an estimate.

The plan of adopting the boy might not have been such a visionary one,
could Beethoven have been in entire control from the start. While the
litigation went on, discipline was out of the question. There were
occasional victories for the mother, who then had the boy under her
absolute control until such time as Beethoven was able to get the
decision of the Court reversed. Even when the boy was under the uncle's
charge, the mother managed at times to gain access to him in order to
poison his mind against the uncle. Her influence whenever she was able
to exert it was naturally adverse. That there should be a stronger
affinity between mother and son, than between uncle and nephew is not
surprising. She had had entire control of him up to his tenth year. She
was lax in discipline and saw to it that the boy had a better time while
with her than he was likely to have when under his uncle's care. That
the boy began to show a preference for being with the mother can be
easily understood, and it was a bitter trial to the master.

It was not alone mother-love which actuated Madame Beethoven in her
extraordinary efforts to gain possession of the boy; money
considerations entered into the question to some extent, as some money
had been set aside for his support by the father, which she wanted to
get hold of. The simple straightforward Beethoven was no match for the
wiles of this woman of the world, who generally managed in one way or
another to circumvent him, even to the detriment of the child. The boy
was sharp enough to take advantage of the situation, and was spoiled
long before the uncle was privileged legally to adopt him.

During the proceedings the case was at one time in a high court on the
assumption that the "van" in Beethoven's name indicated nobility. The
widow contested this, and brought action requesting that the case be
tried in a lower court. When Beethoven was examined on this issue, he
pointed to his head and heart, saying, "my nobility is here and here."
"van" is not a sign of nobility like the German "von," and the case was
sent to the lower court.

Beethoven formed high hopes on the lad's account, thinking that he would
become a great musician or scholar. He had no prevision that here he was
to meet with the greatest disappointment of his life. The boy was
handsome and intelligent and soon won the affection of the master, who
became much occupied with the interesting task of guiding his mental
and spiritual development. "The heart is only for rare occasions," said
Thoreau, "the intellect affords us the most unfailing satisfaction."
This rather cynical observation was abundantly confirmed in Beethoven's
case by subsequent developments. He wasted precious years on account of
his nephew, and the anxiety occasioned by his waywardness, was no doubt
one of the factors which shortened his life.

With the advent of the nephew into his life he finally abandoned all
idea of marriage. In conversation with Giannatasio del Rio, who kept the
school at which the nephew was placed, he stated, "I will never be able
to form a closer tie than the one which now binds me to my nephew." He
took lodgings near the school and visited Giannatasio's family
frequently. The daughter, in her journal, published after her death,
makes frequent mention of Beethoven, giving interesting glimpses into
his character. She tells of his bringing violets to her on March 17,
which he found in his walks in the fields, also of his carrying with him
on his walks a pocket edition of Shakespeare. The sarcastic, satirical
mood, which frequently took possession of Beethoven is touched on in the
journal, and is illustrated in the following incident. The father on one
occasion had remarked as if in compliment to the master, "My daughter
plays your music," upon which Beethoven laughed outright. It is hardly
necessary to say that the young lady played no more of Beethoven's
music, while he was about. On one occasion, however, she was playing his
_Kennst Du das Land?_ when he came in unexpectedly. He recognized it,
and at once went to her and stood at the piano, marking time and making
suggestions in regard to the rendering of it, thus making amends for
his former rudeness.

His interest in his nephew led him to make friendly advances to the
father as well as to the daughters, and he spent many pleasant hours
with them. On rare occasions he assumed his old air of happy boisterous
humor, when young people were about. He greatly enjoyed singing Goethe's
"Song of the Flea," calling out as the flea is killed: "Now he'll be
smashed! Now he'll be smashed!" (_jetzt wird er gegnaxt!_) making a
crash on the instrument at the word "smashed."

He came to them once after Karl had been placed in another school and
wept as he told them that his nephew had left him and gone to his
mother. The lad was recovered by the assistance of the police, and was
then placed with this family again. He once wrote a sharp letter to the
father criticising his methods in the teaching of Karl, but, on
reconsidering the matter sent word to the daughter asking her not to
show it to her father, as it was written in a blind rage, which he now
regretted. All this shows how carefully he looked after the young man's
welfare. It was the same with his music, which was intrusted to Czerny.
The youth inherited some musical talent and under favoring conditions
might have achieved something as a musician. When the instruction began,
Beethoven was in the habit of calling at Czerny's house nearly every day
with his nephew. On these occasions the master would frequently
improvise on the piano, to Czerny's great enjoyment. Czerny, through his
devotion to Beethoven, paid particular attention to Karl, and the boy
made rapid progress. He accompanied his uncle on visits to other houses,
by the latter's desire, with the object of forming his taste and
stimulating his ambition for the art.

From the start Beethoven planned a fine career for his nephew. "The boy
must be an artist or a savant that he may lead a noble life," he said
once. On another occasion, when the youth was about eighteen years of
age, he said, on introducing him to a visitor, "you can ask him a riddle
in Greek if you like." "My wishes and efforts have no other aim than
that the boy may receive the best possible education," he wrote when
contending in the Court of Appeals for possession of the boy, "as his
capacity warrants the indulgence of the best hopes for his future, and
that the expectation, which his father built upon my fraternal love may
be fulfilled. The shoot is still flexible; but if more time be wasted it
will grow crooked for want of the training hand of the gardener, and
good conduct, intellect, and character, may be lost forever. I know no
more sacred duty than the superintendence of the education of a child.
The duty of guardianship can only consist in this--to appreciate what is
good, and to take such measures as are conformable with the object in
view."

The young man cared but little for this solicitude. In his uncle's home
he had to study, listen to many a lecture perhaps, and do many a thing
that he did not like to do. When with his mother it was different;
spending-money was to be had while there and in general an easy time. No
wonder that he preferred being with her. Later, when he entered the
university he absented himself as much as possible from his uncle's
house. Beethoven had centred his affections on the young man, and, when
he remained indifferent, irresponsive, it caused him the keenest
anguish. The master's letters to him from Baden are pathetic. "In what
part of me am I not injured and torn?" "My continued solitude only still
further enfeebles me, and really my weakness often amounts to a swoon.
Oh! do not further grieve me, for the man with the scythe (_Sensenman_)
will grant me no long delay." His journal entries on this account, are
the utterances of a creature at bay; of a being in the last extremity.
"O! höre stets Unaussprechlicher, höre mich deinen unglücklichen
unglücklichsten aller Sterblichen."

It was not alone the necessity for study and other restraints, which led
the young man to absent himself as much as possible from his uncle's
house when he grew older and had more liberty of action. Comfortable
living was not one of the factors in the Beethoven ménage. Beethoven's
requirements, so far as he himself was concerned, were simple almost to
asceticism. He believed in discipline in the rearing of youth, but his
belief in it did not extend to the point of inducing him to attempt it
with his servants. The explanation of this is not far to seek. He would
have had to conform to any rules made in the interest of discipline and
system in the household, which would have been out of the question for
him. He was wedded to an irregular mode of living and for the most part
desired nothing but to be left alone. It is not surprising that the
young man preferred his own quarters, to the haphazard mode of life,
which characterized the master's household.

Character is never a finished product. Always it is in process of
formation, of development, advancing or retrograding according to
environment. Beethoven's influence, powerless during his lifetime on
the mind of Karl may have been potent after death in the upbuilding of
the young man's character. On arriving at years of discretion he changed
his course entirely and became an exemplary citizen. As the last
survivor of the Beethoven family he inherited the means of his two
uncles, and settled down in Vienna living the life of a gentleman of
leisure. He gave his attention to music to which he was passionately
devoted, as well as to the rearing of his family, and was by all
accounts a model family man. Like his illustrious uncle, he was in the
habit of improvising at the piano for hours at a time.

To follow the fortunes of the posterity of great men is an interesting
subject. From the researches of Dr. Vansca of Vienna, published in _Die
Musik_ (Berlin, March, 1902), it transpires that Karl married on July
16, 1832, a Miss Karoline Naska. Five children were born to them, as
follows: Karoline, 1833; Marie, 1835; Ludwig, 1839 (named after his
famous grand-uncle); Gabrielle, 1844, and Hermine, 1852. Ludwig, the
only son, his military service over, married in 1865 Marie Nitche. To
them a son was born on May 8, 1870, at Munich, and baptized Karl. Father
and son, that is Ludwig and Karl 2d, were last heard from in 1889 in
London, when the father applied for a passport to travel in various
European countries. Ludwig's mother died in Vienna in 1891, at which
time it was announced that the whereabouts of Ludwig and the son Karl
were unknown. Efforts were then made to get news of the young Karl, who,
if living, would have been a youth of twenty, but without avail, and the
family are of the opinion that he died during his childhood. As far as
can be ascertained at this writing the family of Beethoven on the male
side is extinct.

Of the daughters of the master's nephew, Karoline and Marie married
brothers, namely: Franz and Paul Weidinger. Gabrielle married a bank
cashier named Robert Heimler. The youngest, Hermine, remained single.
She graduated in 1889 from the conservatory at Vienna in piano and
harmonium. Of the married daughters, only one, Marie, had children; a
son and daughter. The only descendants of the Beethovens known to be
living in 1891, are Karoline Weidinger, a widow, Gabrielle Heimler, and
the son and daughter of Marie Weidinger. All these persons were at last
accounts living in Vienna.




CHAPTER XI

METHODS OF COMPOSITION

     A good painter should paint two things; man, and the thoughts of
     man's soul.
                                                    --LEONARDO DA VINCI.


Beethoven usually had a definite idea before him when composing. The
work progressed rapidly under such conditions. Often, however, on
further consideration, a better idea would present itself in certain
places on reading the work over, and these portions would have to be
rewritten. He stated in this connection that he always had a picture in
his mind when composing, which he aimed to reproduce in his work. "Ich
habe immer ein Gemälde in meinen Gedanken wenn ich am componiren bin,
und arbeite nach demselben" (Thayer). Sometimes this picture was shadowy
and elusive, as his gropings in the sketch-books show. He would then
apply himself to the task of fixing the idea, writing and rewriting,
until it stood out clearly in accordance with the concept already formed
in his mind.

This picture, or idea, or representation, which exists in the brain of
the artist, and to which he seeks to give expression in a tangible form
so as to communicate it to others, is a miracle which is constantly
going on in his inner consciousness. He can at will call up impressions,
which immediately become objectified on the canvas of his mind, in the
form of pictures. This mental process is the same in every form of
creative work whether it be painting, sculpture, or any of the arts. The
architect, before putting pencil to paper, will have the splendid
cathedral before him as in a vision; the sculptor, the ideal form and
facial expression. The mind of the artist is a vast canvas on which
pictures appear, remaining a longer or shorter period at his will, and,
when no longer required, giving place to others. The idea once recorded
seems never to appear again. Nature is never so prodigal as with the man
of genius. Of all her children he is the favorite; these pictures are
given him in superfluity, out of all proportion to his ability to use
them. The harder he works in the effort to catch up with his material,
the more plentiful it becomes.

Mr. Chamberlain, in his Life of Wagner, calls attention to the curious
fact that Wagner produced his operas in pairs for the most part, up to
his fortieth year. This was true of Beethoven with his symphonies, to a
great extent. He became so fired with enthusiasm while on a great work,
his thoughts became so prolific, that another work must, perforce, come
into being to utilize the surplus material.

This prodigality with which the artist is supplied, explains his
absorption in his work. Once fairly started on a great work, this type
of man carries it through with the force of a torrent. Nothing but
physical exhaustion can stop him. Wagner, after completing a great work,
usually had to drop all composing or writing for some months in order to
recuperate. No slave-driver with a lash ever drove his victim so
mercilessly as Wagner did himself when in the stress of composition.
Being married he had some one to look after him, and this had an
important bearing on the preservation of his health. Beethoven, with the
strenuousness that came from his Rhenish ancestry, was more intractable,
impatient of interference. His domestics were often afraid to go near
him when engaged in composition. Usually when in deep thought he was
oblivious of the outer world. He once agreed to sit for an artist, and
maintained his pose for five minutes; then he forgot all about it and
went to the piano, where he began improvising. This just suited the
artist, who got a good position and worked along until he was tired,
finally leaving the room without the master's knowledge.

The Swedish poet, Atterbohm, and Dr. Jeitteles, distinguished literary
men of the period, called at Beethoven's house one hot afternoon. Their
knocking met with no response, although they knew the master was in, as
they heard him singing and occasionally striking a chord on the piano.
Finding the door unlocked, they entered and went in search of him,
finally discovering him in an inner room. He was in extreme dishabille,
busily noting down his thoughts on the plastered wall. He had probably
intended changing his clothes, and, while disrobing, these thoughts came
crowding in on him to the exclusion of everything else. Beethoven,
facing the wall with his back to the visitors, was unaware of their
proximity, and they left without being discovered by him, as they did
not wish to interfere with his work. This was probably in the year 1826,
as Beethoven remained in Vienna all that summer, actively engaged on the
great C sharp minor quartet. It may have been a part of this work which
was thus produced.

Friederich Stark relates an incident that illustrates his abstraction.
He called on Beethoven early one morning, and, being a friend, was given
the privilege of looking him up. He went from room to room, and finally
found him in his bedroom. He was just beginning to dress, his face
thickly lathered with soap that had been put on the previous evening and
had dried there; he had prepared to shave, but in the process had
forgotten to go on with it.

His sketch-books are interesting as showing his frame of mind and
temperament, while at work. In his abstraction he occasionally scribbled
beautiful thoughts on the margin of his manuscripts. Thus, in the
sketch-books of the Pastoral Symphony, we find this record of his joy in
nature, showing how thoroughly his mind was imbued with his subject.

"Almächtiger, im Walde ich bin selig, glücklig im Wald. Jeder Baum
spricht durch dich!"

"O Gott! Welche Herrlichkeit in einer solchen Waldgegend."

In summer he usually resorted to one of the beautiful villages in the
environs of Vienna, since absorbed by the city. Thus he repaired to
Heiligenstadt to write his first mass. "Oh, the charm of the woods, who
can express it!" he writes, and in many of his letters from the country,
he expresses his joy at being there. "No man on earth can love the
country as I do. Thickets, trees and rocks supply the echo man longs
for." His best ideas came to him while walking through the fields and
woods. At such times his mind became serene and he would attain that
degree of abstraction from the world which enabled him to develop his
musical ideas. He always carried note-books and would jot down a thought
as it came to him. When he got home he would elaborate it and work it
into shape. He would walk for hours in all sorts of weather. Like
Thoreau, he generally preferred to be alone in his walks, the presence
of a companion preventing him from working out his thoughts.

Very properly, he occupied himself but little with the music of other
composers. To a man of his individuality, inspiration from the outer
world was not to be had or desired. His own inner wealth was sufficient.
Curiously, he set a high value on Cherubini during the period of writing
Fidelio and the Third Symphony. His own creations however, were of
paramount interest to him. He was a slow worker, continually polishing
and improving his work up to the moment that it reached the engraver's
hands.

"The Andante" said Wagner "is the typical German style." It was not
Beethoven's best style. Essentially a man of extremes, he delighted in
swinging the pendulum to its furthest limit either way. He early in life
acquired the irrepressible joyousness in his compositions, which was
Haydn's distinguishing trait. It is the key-note to much of Beethoven's
work up to the time of composing the Grand Mass. It figures to some
extent in his subsequent work. It is a feature which Wagner never tires
of exploiting in Beethoven's work. Whenever he mentions Beethoven's name
the word _Heiterkeit_ (joyousness) is sure to follow. The two are almost
synonymous with him. Where Beethoven is unapproachable, however, is in
his slow movements, the Adagios, solemn and portentous, in which all of
world-sorrow finds expression. It is in these scenes of terror that his
powers stand out with supernatural clearness.

His infinitude impresses one. It is as if he had penetrated other
spheres and could speak in new tongues. He delighted in startling
contrasts. The Kyrie of the Mass in D has always presented itself to my
consciousness as a series of gigantic tone-pictures, in which the
omnipotence of God, and the impotence of humanity is brought into
juxtaposition. The Coriolanus overture is another instance among the
many at hand illustrating this point. Here we see how the forceful,
aggressive, bold, masterful genius, is subdued by the power of conjugal
and filial love, a power in this case as irresistible as that of a
glacier, which will make its way against any odds. Each side in striving
for the mastery, displays its own peculiar characteristics and mode. It
is the everlasting struggle between the evil principle and that which is
good. He ranges titanic forces in opposition and lets us see the battle.
By the magic of his art we are enabled to see these pictures as on a
canvas.

It is frequently stated that Beethoven's music shows a deficiency in
counterpoint. His originality, the wealth of his ideas, his versatility,
will explain this. The fugue, while it is ingenious and interesting, is
artificial and, indeed often arbitrary in musical composition, sometimes
introduced merely to stop gaps or for brilliancy of effect. It is not
surprising that Beethoven should have neglected it to some extent,
although he has used it with excellent effect in some of the sonatas and
in his two masses. His fertility of imagination was great and it was
hard for him to tie himself down to the formal style in composition,
after his powers had reached maturity. The fugue, in one form or
another, seems to be almost indispensable in musical composition, but it
is always characterized by learning instead of inspiration. It is
something which has to be worked out like a problem in mathematics.
Beethoven's thought in music is marked by something higher than the
disposition to divert one's attention to his talent or skill. A definite
meaning is there; he has something to reveal.

At the beginning of his career as composer, Beethoven was not above
taking advice on the subject of his compositions. He frequently
discussed them with Prince Lichnowsky, and adopted his suggestions when
it came to alterations. As he advanced in knowledge of his art, however,
he became reticent on the subject and would discuss them with no one. He
acted on Goethe's idea that "the greatest art after all is to limit and
isolate oneself." He did not like praise or applause. Knowing
intuitively that the character is endangered thereby, he sought by every
means to ward it off. His improvising was such that often on leaving the
instrument he would find his hearers in tears. This would embarrass him,
and he would affect anger, or would laugh at them. This does not imply
that he did not care for appreciation, which is quite a different
matter.

He was perfectly willing to listen to censure or adverse criticism.
Trifles might anger him, but this never did, and, be it said, it never
influenced him either. True artist that he was, he seldom wrote down to
his public. Like Wagner, he knew what was best in art, and if the public
did not, he gave the matter small concern. Not for one generation are
great masterpieces born. The artist lives in the future; he is always
in advance of his time.

Beethoven's character was a prism of many facets. Wagner views him
always as the mystic, the seer, at odds with the world. Side by side
with this characterization he constantly dwells, as just noted, on
Beethoven's uncontrollable tendency to humor, gayety (_Heiterkeit_)
which shows itself not only in his life, but still more in his works.
This may have been a device deliberately assumed to enable him to escape
mental suffering. At all events it was a prominent trait of his
character, but does not seem to have added to his enjoyment of life. No
circumstance, however painful, but that he is able to extract some jest
or pleasantry from it. The paradox is before us of a man world-weary at
the core, outwardly serene, gay. In the same ratio in which those things
which serve to make life enjoyable to the average man were diminished or
withdrawn, does his tendency to incessant humor increase.

The consciousness of being able to achieve great things, and the joy in
accomplishing them, is what gives the artist the exultant mood, the
feeling of gayety. To be sensible of such an heritage, to participate in
this God-given wealth, to run riot in it, to know that the more of it
that is used the more will be given, to be favored of the gods in a way
that the possessor of untold wealth cannot aspire to--this is what gives
the serene and joyous mood, which characterizes the man of genius for
the most part. When he comes out of this ideal world into the
commonplace every-day life, and realizes his unfitness for it, the other
side of the picture is presented to his consciousness, and then is
exhibited that strange melancholy, _Weltschmerz_, which constantly
comes to the fore in the journals and letters of men like Wagner, or
Beethoven, or Liszt.

The Sunday morning concerts, instituted by Czerny in the winter of 1816,
call for more than passing notice. A select company of professional
musicians and amateurs had banded themselves into an organization for
the purpose of performing and studying the best class of chamber-music
with special reference to Beethoven's compositions. Czerny was the
originator and moving spirit, as stated, and the performances were held
at his house. Beethoven attended them frequently. Czerny, whose
admiration for the master was unbounded, was brought into more intimate
relations with him through these concerts, as Beethoven was consulted in
regard to the programmes and occasionally rehearsed some of his new
compositions with him. Though a brilliant performer, Czerny did not like
public life or society, and retired from the concert stage at a time
when his powers were at their best, in order to give all his time to
composition. His ability in improvising was a marvel even for those
times. He was Beethoven's successor in Prince Lichnowsky's circle,
frequently playing at concerts at his house. He is credited with being
able to play from memory all of Beethoven's works. Like Schubert, his
one pleasure was to be with a few chosen spirits, and talk on the
subject of his art.

In these assemblages rank was ignored. Art was a leveller, or, rather,
the devotees of the art were raised to a common plane, where social
distinctions were for the time being obliterated. No special invitations
were required. Any one interested in the art was made welcome, and found
there a congenial atmosphere. Czerny, modest and retiring, had no
thought of making social capital out of these concerts. No one not
wholly devoted to the art was wanted, no matter what his social position
was, and want of social position was no bar when the artistic
qualifications were present. It was a band of chosen spirits, and the
attrition engendered by these meetings must have been advantageous to
each. They were true Concerts Spirituels, an audience of artists from
which the performers were drawn.

Second only to Czerny as a pianist among this company was Beethoven's
friend and pupil, the Baroness Ertmann, who frequently took part in
these concerts. Madame Ertmann's virtuosity has already been commented
on in these pages. She won new laurels at the Czerny concerts through
her admirable interpretation of Beethoven's music.

During this winter of 1816 the master composed the fine sonata in A,
opus 101, for her. It commemorates the spiritual kinship existing
between these two gifted persons. "My dear, valued Dorothea Cäcilia," he
writes in his letter of dedication, "receive now what has long been
intended for you, and may it serve as a proof of my appreciation of your
artistic talents and of yourself; I regret not having heard you recently
at Cz--(Czerny's). My absence was owing to illness, which at last
appears to be giving way to returning health." Some years previously,
when the Baroness had lost a son by death during her husband's absence
on his military duties, Beethoven asked the stricken woman to call, and
comforted her, not with words, but in the language which both best
understood. "'We will talk in music,' said Beethoven, who remained at
the piano over an hour in which he said everything and even gave me
consolation." The incident is obtained from one of Mendelssohn's
letters.

Among the important works produced in this period may be mentioned the
Sonata, opus 90, "A struggle between the head and the heart." It is
dedicated to Count M. Lichnowsky on the occasion of his marriage to a
singer. There was also the chorus set to Goethe's words, "A Calm Sea and
Prosperous Voyage." This was written in 1815 and seven years later
dedicated to Goethe. The two sonatas, opus 102, for piano and cello, one
of which is called the Free Sonata, are interesting, as in them is
foreshadowed the trend of Beethoven's mind toward religious music, which
controlled him almost entirely from this time on.

The idea of writing another oratorio seems now to have taken possession
of his mind. A preference for this mode appears in his journals and
letters and was probably the subject of conversation on his part. At all
events, the newly established Society of Friends of Music of Vienna
(which Beethoven, with his usual aptitude for punning, used to refer to
as the society of _Musikfeinde_, enemies of music) made him a
proposition to write an oratorio for them, which he accepted. No
stipulations were made as to subject or treatment, and the society
agreed to pay the handsome sum of three hundred gold ducats, merely for
the use of the work for one year. So far as known, this work was never
begun. The Archduke soon after obtained his appointment as
Cardinal-Archbishop, and the work on the mass for the Installation
occupied Beethoven to the exclusion of other works.

The loss by death of three of Beethoven's old friends must have been
greatly felt by him in these years. Prince Lichnowsky, who died in
1814, was the first, and was followed two years later by Prince
Lobkowitz. Hardest of all, however, for the master was the loss of his
friend, Wenzel Krumpholz, who died in 1817. His relations with the
latter were more intimate than with the noblemen, and had continued
without a break almost from the time of his advent in Vienna. Czerny, in
his autobiography, gives an interesting picture of the devotion of
Krumpholz, who attached himself to Beethoven much the same as did
Boswell to Dr. Johnson. He was somewhat older than Beethoven, and his
position as first violinist at the Court Theatre enabled him to be of
much practical service to Beethoven, as he was widely known among the
professional musicians, as well as the rich amateurs. He sounded
Beethoven's praises far and wide: he encouraged him to begin
composition, making propaganda for him among the wealthy dilettante, and
spent a good portion of each day in his company. Beethoven, who at a
later period said of himself that he was too strong for friendship, did
not take kindly to this intimacy at first, but Krumpholz's persistency
was not to be gainsaid. He gave him lessons on the violin, and
identified himself in many ways with Beethoven's advancement. Beethoven
finally became so accustomed to him, that the presence of the other did
not disturb him, and he would improvise before him as if he were alone.
Krumpholz though devoid of genius himself, intuitively recognized its
presence in Beethoven, and led the younger man to discuss his musical
plans and ideas with him. The compositions as they took form in the
young man's mind, were played to Krumpholz, who advised and encouraged
him. The extravagant admiration of the latter sometimes acted on
Beethoven's sense of humor to such an extent that he would make fun of
him, and call him his fool, but this did not deter Krumpholz, who seemed
to think he had a divinely appointed task set him, in aiding the
development of this young genius, and was willing to put up with some
vagaries from him.

In truth, Beethoven needed a champion, for, from the first, a certain
originality, a strenuousness, showed itself in his work, which put the
art on a new and different footing. That the young man was reaching out
for higher things his public may have been aware of, but only a few,
here and there, kindred spirits, cared for this. The average person was
unable to recognize any higher function in music than that of simple
enjoyment; anything aside from this was irrelevant, and could but lead
to deterioration. Although at the beginning of his career as composer,
he made Mozart and Haydn his models, this originality showed itself, and
when it was continued in subsequent works, it awoke the strongest
opposition in certain quarters. The strong partisanship which Krumpholz
brought to bear on the situation, was invaluable to the young man, whose
views needed confirmation and indorsement. Krumpholz seems to have had
an affinity for discovering talent in others. He brought Czerny, at the
age of ten years, to Beethoven, who immediately recognized his genius,
and offered to give him lessons. That Beethoven deeply felt the loss of
his old friend and teacher is evidenced by his writing music to the Song
of the monks,

    Rasch tritt der Tod den Menschen an,

from Schiller's Wilhelm Tell, in commemoration of him.




CHAPTER XII

SENSE OF HUMOR

     In tristitia hilaris, in hilaritate tristis.
                                              --MOTTO OF GIORDANO BRUNO.


Beethoven did not have much in the way of enjoyment, as the word is
generally understood, to compensate him for the pain of existence. The
resources vouchsafed others in this respect, family affection, love,
friendship, generally failed him when put to the test. Out of harmony
with the general order of things in the material world, the point in
which he could best come to an understanding with his fellow-creatures
was by the exercise of his sense of humor. The circumstances of his life
tended to make a pessimist of him. He did not understand the world and
was misunderstood in return. To counteract the tendency toward
pessimism, his resource was to develop his sense of humor, to create an
atmosphere of gayety, by which he was enabled to meet people on a common
plane. But not only in the ordinary affairs of life does it stand him in
good stead, this sense of humor. It comes out finely in his creative
work in the sonatas and the Scherzo movements of his symphonies. He
originated, invented the Scherzo, developing it from the simple minuet
of the earlier composers. The primary object of the Scherzo was
recreation pure and simple. It was introduced with the object of resting
the mind.

The evolution of humor in music is an interesting subject of study. It
is something foreign to it, an exotic, of slow growth, gaining but
little in the hands of the earlier composers from Bach on. Even with
Haydn it never advanced much beyond geniality. They had essayed it
chiefly in the minuet, but succeeded only in producing something
stately, in which the element of fun or humor, to modern ways of
thinking is hardly appreciable. It found a sudden and wonderful
expansion, an efflorescence in Beethoven, with whom every phase of the
art was developed to colossal proportions. He has made of the Scherzo a
movement of such importance that it lends a distinctive character to his
symphonies. In this form he is unapproachable. In the whole range of
music there is nothing like it elsewhere. It is peculiar to Beethoven,
and is another example of the many-sidedness of the great composer.
"Happiness is a new idea in Europe," said St. Just, speaking of the
period immediately following the French Revolution. Whether or not
Beethoven ever met with this remark, its significance at least was taken
to heart. The word Scherz--joke, sport, is sufficiently obvious. He goes
much farther at times than simply to play pranks, however. A wide range
of expression is possible in the Scherzo when manipulated by a
master-mind like that of Beethoven. The satirical, sarcastic humor which
escaped him in social intercourse at times, is vented on a colossal
scale in the Scherzo, in which he often makes sport of humanity itself,
making it the subject of his jest, his ridicule--its foibles being
shown up, its follies exposed. When projected in this mood, the movement
calls for intellectual co-operation, and is of equal importance with the
others.

Humor has been defined as the outcome of simplicity and philosophy in
the character. It can exist independently of genius we know, but genius
is never without humor. In other words, wherever there is a work of
genius, it transpires that the author has a fund of humor with which he
occasionally enriches his work. The profoundest philosophical treatises
have it. It is a part of the stock in trade of every great novelist;
Fielding, Thackeray, George Eliot, Walter Scott. It frequently comes to
the surface in Schopenhauer pessimist though he be; it pervades
Shakespeare. Few men regarded life with greater seriousness than
Thoreau, but humor sparkles all over his works. It is only where this is
in excess that it detracts from the value of the work. Not important in
itself when separated from the deeper work which it accompanies, it is
yet, all in all, one of the infallible tests, though a minor one, of the
work of any man of genius. A sense of humor exists in the man even
though he keep it out of his work, if he is good for anything.

Beethoven's humor was titanic, heroic, on a grand scale, always with
what might be called a certain seriousness about it like that of a lion
at play. Mozart gives many instances of humor in his compositions, but
with a great difference in the character. His disposition was all
gentleness and sweetness, and his humor is characterized by these
attributes. It is on a small scale, and though enjoyable, has nothing
commanding about it. The musician, more than any artist, reflects his
character and trend of life in his work.

This sense of humor, inherent in the mental equipment of Beethoven,
enabled him to enjoy a joke as well as give it, to perceive a ridiculous
situation and extract due amusement from it, to appropriate it wherever
he found it. But singularly enough, when the point of a joke was turned
against himself, his sense of humor failed him utterly. He would often
become angry in such cases and the perpetrator would come in for a round
of abuse which made him chary of attempting it again.

Very bad music of which there was a sufficiency already in those times,
gave him great amusement, which he manifested by roars of laughter, we
are informed by Seyfried, who saw more or less of him during a period
covering a quarter of a century. "All his friends," says Seyfried,
"recognized that in the art of laughter, Beethoven was a virtuoso of the
first rank." He often laughed aloud when nothing had occurred to excite
laughter, and would in such case ascribe his own thoughts and fancies as
the cause. Naïve and simple as a child himself, he could only see the
naïveté in the worthless compositions above referred to, and could not
understand the small ambition back of the pitiful effort. He often
unintentionally afforded equally great amusement to others by his own
naïveté. Thus he once told Stein, of the noted family of pianoforte
makers that some of the strings in his Broadwood were out of order or
lacking, and to illustrate it, caught up a bootjack and struck the keys
with it. Ries states that Beethoven several times in his awkwardness
emptied the contents of the ink-stand into the piano. On this same piano
the master was often begged to improvise. The instrument was a present
from the manufacturers, and when made, was probably the best example of
its kind extant. It later came into the possession of Liszt.

Beethoven's love of a joke was such that it appears in the title to one
of his works, the opus 129. It is a rondo a capriccio for piano, with
the title, Die Wuth über den verlorenen Groschen (fury over a lost
penny), of which Schumann says "it would be difficult to find anything
merrier than this whim. It is the most harmless amiable anger."

Beethoven was ready in repartee, and full of resources, with a wit that
was spontaneous and equal to any emergency. One New-year's day, as he
and Schindler were sitting down to dinner, a card was brought in

              JOHANN VAN BEETHOVEN
        _Gutsbesitzer_ (Landed proprietor).

Beethoven took the card and wrote on the back of it--

                L. VAN BEETHOVEN
         _Hirnbesitzer_ (Brain proprietor).

and sent it back to Johann. Cold-blooded, selfish, always ready to
profit by his talented brother, and never caring how he compromised him,
it was not to be expected that Johann would have the master's approval,
or that there could be any accord between them. In any encounter, the
composer generally managed to be master of the situation, through the
exercise of his wit, something which the duller Johann could neither
appreciate nor imitate. It may be said in passing, that the master
supplied the funds which enabled Johann to start in business. This was
in 1809. He made money rapidly in army contracts, a business for which
he was well qualified, and finally bought an estate and set up for a
landed proprietor.

Beethoven's waggishness was frequently vented on a young friend,
Zmeskall, who was court secretary. Zmeskall undertook the task of
keeping the master supplied with pens, which he cut from goose-quills.
Beethoven used up large quantities of them and was incessant in his
demands on him. A certain drollery characterizes all his letters to him.
He knew how to hit the vulnerable points in the other, and they were
often made the subject of attack. Zmeskall being a member of the
nobility, is often addressed by him, "Most high-born of men." He was
useful to Beethoven not alone on the subject of pens, but was appealed
to by him for advice and assistance on all sorts of matters. Zmeskall,
though a bachelor, lived in fine state, and maintained several servants.
He was thus in a position to procure the right sort of one for
Beethoven. Many of the letters are either on this theme or in regard to
securing him another lodging. Zmeskall is his resource in many of the
small matters of every-day life, perplexing to him, but simple enough to
the practical man. The master's helplessness is shown with pathos and
unconscious humor in the following note:

     LIEBER ZMESKALL,--

     Schicken sie mir doch ihrem spiegel, der nächts ihrem fenster hängt
     auf ein paar stunden der meinige ist gebrochen, haben sie zugleich
     die Güte haben wolten mir noch heute einen solchen zu kaufen so
     erzeigten sie mir einen grossen Gefallen. Ihre Auslage sollen sie
     sogleich zurük erhalten. Verzeien sie lieber Z meiner
     zudringlichkeit. Ich hoffe sie bald zu sehen.

                                                           Ihr,
                                                             BTHVN.

     DEAR ZMESKALL,--

     Won't you kindly send me the mirror that hangs next to your window
     for a few hours. Mine is broken. If you will at the same time have
     the goodness to buy me such another you will do me a great favor.
     Your outlay will be immediately returned to you.

     Pardon dear Z my importunity. I hope soon to see you.

                                                          Your,
                                                             BTHVN.

Beethoven's lapses from grammar (untranslatable into English), indicate
his impatience at the trivial wants and necessities which interrupt his
creative work and take his thoughts from his compositions. Instances of
bad grammar in his letters are frequent, when dealing with ordinary
topics. In no sense a polished man, he could, however, when the occasion
required it, assume in his grammar and diction the grace and elegance of
the scholar, but it does not often come to the front. He was too rugged,
too headstrong, to pay much attention to the little niceties of life.

In common with his contemporaries, Zmeskall found his principal
enjoyment in music. He gave musical parties at his quarters, playing the
cello himself, and gathered about him many of the most distinguished
artists and amateurs of the day. Beethoven was always interested in
feats of virtuosity, but he cared little for the compositions of
others. He occupied himself with his own work to the exclusion of that
of his contemporaries. His musical library was scant, consisting of a
small collection of the works of the early Italian masters, bound in one
volume, some of Mozart's sonatas--which must have seemed to him
curiously stunted and commonplace in comparison with his own--and a
portion of Don Giovanni. In addition, he possessed all of Clementi's
sonatas, which he greatly admired and which formed the basis of the
musical studies of his nephew for several years. Lastly there were a few
works of Bach, consisting of the Well-tempered Clavichord, some motets,
three volumes of exercises, some inventions, symphonies and a toccato.

In speaking of Weber he said that he began to learn too late, and makes
the curious criticism that Weber's only apparent effort was to attain
the reputation of geniality. In reading Freischutz, he said he could
hardly help smiling at certain parts, but afterward qualified this by
saying that he could judge it better if he could hear it. Schindler
says, that when Rossini came to Vienna in 1822, and endeavored to call
on Beethoven, the master succeeded in escaping his visits. His opinion
of Händel is high. He once remarked to a friend who called on him,
"Händel is the greatest composer that ever lived." Continuing the
narrative this friend, J.A. Stumpf of London, says, "I cannot describe
the pathos and sublimity with which he spoke of the Messiah of that
immortal genius. We all felt moved when he said, 'Ich würde mein Haupt
entblössen und auf seinem Grabe niederknieen.' (I would kneel at his
grave with uncovered head.)"

Of Mozart, he said, near the end of his life, in a letter to the Abbe
Stadler, "All my life I have been esteemed one of the greatest admirers
of Mozart's genius and will remain so until my latest breath." Czerny
said that he was at times inexhaustible in praise of Mozart, although he
cared nothing for his piano works and he makes a severe criticism on Don
Giovanni. "In this opera Mozart still retained the complete Italian cut
and style. Moreover, the sacred art should never be degraded to the
foolery of so scandalous a subject. The Zauberflöte will ever remain his
greatest work, for in this he showed himself the true German composer."
Of Cherubini's Requiem he said, "as regards his conception of it, my
ideas are in perfect accord with his and sometime I mean to compose a
Requiem in that style." (Later in life his opinion of Cherubini was
greatly modified). He seldom spoke of Haydn, and had nothing of that
master's compositions in his library.

Beethoven's collections in literature were far more extensive and
interesting than in music. He was essentially a student. His
predilections and thoughts all tended toward the acquisition of
knowledge. This was a veritable passion with him. His mind ranged
through almost every department of literature. In the intervals of his
work, worn by fatigue, he was in the habit of resting his mind by
reading the classics, or Persian literature. Schindler, who was near him
for the last ten years of his life says in relation to Beethoven's love
of the Greek classics. "He could recite long passages from them. If any
one asked him where this or that quotation was to be found he could find
it as readily as a motive from his own works." Elsewhere he says,
"Plato's Republic was transfused into his very flesh and blood." He was
an insatiable reader of history. As may be supposed Shakespeare was an
especial favorite with him. There is a curious little work published
called Beethoven's Brevier, made up of those portions of Shakespeare and
the classics for which he had a particular regard. Here, Shakespeare is
first on the list. There are also many selections from the Greek, and
from Schiller, Goethe, Herder and others.

Although a man of considerable culture, he was not an educated man, all
his available time and strength having been required for his musical
training. He was, however, the equal or superior in mental attainments
of any of the great musicians, with the exception of Wagner. He had the
strongest faith in his own powers. It was his belief that almost
anything could be accomplished by trying. Side by side with this belief
was the ineradicable conviction that intellectual culture was of more
importance than anything else in the universe. He stated his views
finely on this subject in a letter to a young girl, unknown to him, who
had sent him a present with a letter expressing her appreciation of his
music. "Do more than simply practice the art (of music), penetrate
rather, into the heart and soul of it. It will be found well worth
while, for art and knowledge alone have the power to elevate mankind up
to Deity itself. Should you want anything of me at any time, write me
with entire confidence. The true artist is never arrogant; rather he
sees with regret how illimitable all art is, and how far from the goal
he remains. While he may be admired, he only grieves that he cannot
reach the point toward which his better genius beckons him."

We read of his ordering complete sets of Schiller and Goethe in the
summer of 1809. The study of these authors carried on under most
unfavorable conditions, bore good fruit subsequently, as some good work
was inspired by them. The Egmont music, which appeared the following
year, the Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage, Bundeslied, the different
settings of Erlkönig, the four settings of Sehnsucht are instances,
although this does not by any means complete the list of his settings
from the works of the authors just named.




CHAPTER XIII

MISSA SOLEMNIS

     Christianity is the doctrine of the deep guilt of the human race
     through its existence alone, and the longing of the heart for
     deliverance from it.
                                                         --SCHOPENHAUER.


To Christianity and the spirit of religion in man we are indebted for
some of the finest arts which adorn our civilization. It was the
religious principle which brought into being the temples and statuary of
ancient Greece, as well as the splendid examples of Gothic architecture,
which have come down to us from the middle ages. It is this which has
given us those masterpieces in painting and sculpture, which have so
enriched the world; but above all it has given us music, highest of all
the arts. Here its influence has been most potent. Originating outside
the church, it found its best development within it. Religious fervor
had inspired some imperishable works of genius at a period when nothing
much had yet been done in secular music. The Masses of Palestrina, the
entire life-work of Sebastian Bach, the oratorios of Händel, are cases
in point. The old masters with hardly an exception gave their best
thought to sacred music. Bach has been mentioned. Haydn's important work
comes under this classification. Of the works of Händel, only those of
a religious nature have survived to the present day, although he
composed many operas.

The Masses and Passion-music of the old composers were often written
without hope of reward, entirely from love of the subject; they were
impelled to it, either through religious ardor, or from the force of
their artistic perceptions. The stateliness and solemnity of the Mass,
the tragic possibilities of the Passion, appealed to them, and satisfied
the tendency toward mysticism, which is so often a part of the artistic
nature.

As an art, music finds its best development when of a religious
character. While operatic and even orchestral music in general, is
written more for the sake of giving pleasure than with any clearly
defined ethical purpose, the music of the Mass and Passion, religious
ceremonies, entering into man's profoundest experiences, is given for
spiritual enlightenment, and, being a part of the soul's needs, demands
and receives higher treatment and more serious consideration than
secular music. The very frame of mind which takes possession of a person
while listening to music of a religious character, is favorable to a
true appreciation of it. The listener is more in earnest, and the
emotions called up by the subject impress him more strongly than when
listening to secular music. These considerations have their influence on
the composer also. We usually find in religious music of the best class,
depth and earnestness of purpose commensurate with the expectation of
the listener.

These few words are preliminary to a consideration of the Mass in D, the
work in which Beethoven reached his culmination as an artist. He himself
so regarded it, declaring it to be his greatest and best work. It is
certain that he spent more time on it, and gave it a larger share of his
attention than was devoted to any other of his works.

For several years prior to this, Beethoven's muse had been silent for
the most part. No important work since the completion of the Eighth
Symphony had been achieved, with the exception of the sonatas mentioned
in a previous chapter. This was owing to the various lawsuits in which
he found himself involved. His troubles had now been adjusted, however,
to such an extent as to enable him to again turn his attention to large
works. The pension which had been settled on him in 1809 had been
imperilled by the death of Prince Kinsky and the bankruptcy of Prince
Lobkowitz. The portion of it which had been pledged to him by these
gentlemen had been discontinued or greatly reduced, and Beethoven had to
have recourse to the law to protect his rights. A compromise was finally
effected, which resulted in the pension being paid in part. Although the
litigation, in regard to his nephew was still on, it was becoming more
and more apparent that the outcome of it would be in his favor. His mind
at rest on these points, we find him once more in good health and
spirits, with creative energy not only unimpaired but greater than ever.
"In general, every evil to which we do not succumb is a benefactor,"
said Emerson.

The announcement of the Archduke's appointment as Archbishop of Olmütz,
had been definitely made during the summer of 1818. It was well known
for years previously that he would receive this appointment, and it is
quite likely that Beethoven had always intended writing a mass to
commemorate it. Considering the close relations existing between master
and pupil for so many years, and Beethoven's obligations to Rudolph in
money matters, he could hardly have let so momentous an event go by,
without writing a mass for it. A mass was probably always intended, but
not such a one as eventually grew out of his original idea, which,
expanding, augmenting in force and grandeur as the significance of the
work took possession of his mind, finally became an apotheosis of
friendship, a message to the world.

That the Archduke appreciated Beethoven and valued his friendship is
plain. He carefully preserved the letters written him by the master and
dedicated to him some of his own compositions. He had as complete a
library of Beethoven's works as was attainable, and was thoroughly
familiar with the master's music. That Beethoven responded to this to an
equal degree is not likely. He lived too abstracted a life for that. He
valued this friendship as much as such a man could, considering the
disparity in rank and the difference in mode of thought of the two men.
In dedicating so many of his compositions to him, and in consenting to
teach him for so long a period, he showed the esteem in which he held
him. Probably no other person, man or woman received the deference and
consideration from Beethoven, which he accorded the Archduke. The
republican, socialistic Beethoven was not specially influenced by his
rank; rather, it was his personality and devotion to music, which won
the regard of the master and formed the bond between them.

In the composition of the mass, Beethoven was on familiar ground; the
work was congenial to him. The emotions called up by the subject swayed
him to such an extent that he had difficulty in keeping it within
bounds. The mass was a form of music with which he had been associated
from childhood. It will be remembered that he played the organ at the
age of twelve years at church services, a practice which was kept up for
some years. His earliest impressions on the subject of music were in
this style. He was, in addition, inclined to it by temperament.

The beautiful text appealed to him strongly. It is related that when the
German version of his first Mass (in C) was brought him, he quickly
opened the manuscript and ran over a few pages. When he came to the Qui
tollis, the tears trickled from his eyes and he was obliged to desist,
saying with the deepest emotion, "Yes, that was precisely my feeling
when I composed it."

His journal entries at the time of beginning work on the Mass in D show
how completely the subject had taken possession of him. "To compose true
religious music, consult the old chorals in use in monasteries," he
wrote, which gives the clew to his frequent lapses into the ancient
ecclesiastical modes, the Lydian and Dorian, in this mass, a practice
for which Bach furnished a precedent. "Drop operas and everything else,
write only in your own style," is another entry of this time, showing
his predilection for church music.

The summer of 1818 was spent at Mödling. He was in the best of health
and spirits as stated, and began the work with great energy and
enthusiasm. His whole nature seemed to change, Schindler states, when he
began the great work. His interest and absorption in it was
extraordinary, as is shown by the sketch-books from the beginning.
Enthusiasm carried him on to the consummation of a greater work than
any he had yet accomplished. Hitherto, every achievement was merely a
resting-place up the mountainside, the prospect acting as a spur to him
to go yet higher, well knowing what Emerson finely stated, and was
putting into practice at this very time, that new gifts will be supplied
in proportion as we make use of those we have. _Dem Muthigen hilft
Gott!_ said Schiller. Beethoven seemed to have some prevision that only
a few more years would be allotted him for work; when he began on the
mass his inspiration was like a river that had broken its bounds. Every
nerve and fibre of his being called him to his work. He was like a
war-horse that scents the battle. He now abandoned himself more than
ever to the impulse for creating. For the next few years he lived the
abstracted life of the enthusiast to whom every-day concerns are but
incidental and unimportant things, and his art the one great matter. The
gigantic tone-pictures which were constantly forming themselves in his
inner consciousness were of so much greater importance than the events
of his external life, that the latter were dwarfed by comparison and
lost their significance. He now made a greater surrender of the ties
connecting him with every-day life than ever before. His industry was
phenomenal, but it soon became apparent that the work would not be ready
for the Installation, the date of which was set for March 20, 1820. It
was in reality not completed until nearly two years after this event.

We have a good description of the master at this time by the artist
Klober, who had been commissioned by a wealthy relative who was forming
a gallery of famous Vienna artists, to paint a portrait of Beethoven.

"Beethoven had a very earnest look; his vivacious eyes were for the most
part turned upwards, with a thoughtful and rather a gloomy expression,
which I have tried to represent. His lips were closed, but the mouth was
not an unkindly one. He was ready enough to expatiate on the arrogant
vanity and depraved taste of the Viennese aristocracy, by whom he feels
himself neglected, or at least underrated."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Beethoven sat to me for nearly an hour every morning. When he saw my
picture, he observed that the style of hair pleased him very much; other
painters had always dressed it up as if he were going to court, not at
all as he generally wore it."

       *       *       *       *       *

"His house at Mödling was extremely simple; so, indeed, was his whole
manner of life. His dress consisted of a light-blue coat with yellow
buttons, white waistcoat and neckcloth, such as were then worn, but
everything about him was very negligee. His complexion was florid, the
skin rather pock-marked, his hair the color of blue steel, for the black
was already changing to grey. His eyes were a bluish-grey and
exceedingly vivacious. When his hair streamed in the breeze there was a
sort of Ossian-like dæmonism about him. But, when talking in a friendly
way, he would assume a good-natured, gentle expression, particularly if
the conversation was agreeable to him."

As we have seen, it had been a favorite project of Beethoven for years
to write a mass. When he started to carry out his ideas, one course only
seems to have been possible to him. This was, to project it on the
principle of his Symphonies, in which the orchestra should take the
commanding part in interpreting the emotional and dramatic possibilities
of the text. His experience with his first mass had confirmed him in the
belief that he could give the best expression to his ideas by the use of
the orchestra, on account of its greater range, its mobility, the
variety of its tones. The idea of making it of more importance than the
voice, upset all preconceived theories on the subject. The orchestra was
emphatically the tool best adapted to Beethoven's powers; he developed
it into something wholly different from what it was when he found it. He
put it to exquisite uses. His effects are the happiest imaginable and
they are introduced with a prodigality and lavishness suggesting a
reserve as of oceans from which to draw. Much of his vocal music is
dominated by the orchestra.

It took a long while to make people understand that music instead of
being the handmaid of poetry, whose function is merely to reflect the
ideas of our spoken language, has a language of its own, which can
convey ideas in itself, and that there are subtilties that can be
expressed in this manner, which evade one when we come to use our
coarser mode of expression. This is specially in evidence in Beethoven's
later work, particularly in the mass we are now considering. Wagner
frequently compares it to a symphony. In _Zukunftsmusik_, he says: "In
his Great Mass Beethoven has employed the choir and orchestra almost
exactly as in the symphony;" and elsewhere he cites it as being a
"strictly symphonic work of the truest Beethovenian spirit."

In this work, however, he reaches out toward the infinite to a degree
not attempted in the symphonies; his spirit takes a bolder flight; more
of the inner nature of the artist is revealed; for the limits which
bound him in the symphony were not operative in the mass. The very mode
of projecting the first movement, the Kyrie, shows the splendor of the
conception as it took form in his consciousness. The scheme of the
movement can be summed up by the antithesis being presented of humanity,
weak and sinful on the one side, and the overwhelming majesty of a just
God on the other. It is a prayer for mercy, the cry of the soul in its
extremity; the underlying thought being repentance. Here we have the
embodiment of prayer, of supplication. A devotional feeling of the most
exalted kind pervades it. The first of the three parts comprising the
movement is storm and stress, a knocking on the gates, a De Profundus,
an accusing conscience arraigning humanity. He works out of this vein to
some extent in the second part, the Christe eleison, in which the appeal
is made directly to the human element of the Godhead. In the third part,
the themes of the first are again taken up, but by modulation they are
made to take on a new significance, and bring peace in the end. Although
the movement is cast for double chorus as regards the vocal part, the
voices are given a subordinate place, the portrayal being carried on by
the orchestra in true symphonic style. Notable in this movement is the
rhythm. In all the storm and stress, a rhythmic motion, a systole and
diastole, a surging to and fro, as of vast masses of beings in the last
extremity of peril, is apparent.

To read meanings and design into the work of such a composer as
Beethoven is the inevitable result of the transcendent nature of it. It
was seldom that he vouchsafed any explanation of his musical intent in
his compositions. Schindler, who thoroughly appreciated his genius, and
who was eager for enlightenment on this phase of his art, was in the
habit of drawing Beethoven out, as occasion offered, but it was always a
difficult process. Simple and childlike in most matters, the master was
wary and suspicious to an incredible degree when the conversation
touched on the subject of his compositions. At times, however, this
reserve gave way to Schindler's persistency. When he asked him about the
opening bars of the C minor Symphony (the Fifth) it brought out the
well-known remark, "thus fate knocks at the door." At another time, he
asked him for an elucidation of the Sonatas in F minor (opus 57) and D
minor (opus 29), and received the answer "read Shakespeare's Tempest,"
which was only half an answer. More definite is his meaning in the two
Sonatas (opus 14), which represents the entreating and resisting
principle in the conversation of a pair of lovers.

[Musical notation.]

Men of genius seldom care to explain their utterances. "The spirit gives
it to me and I write it down" is a remark attributed to Beethoven, and
this stated the case sufficiently from his point of view.

Zelter, director of the Singakademie of Berlin wrote Beethoven on
completion of the Mass, asking him to arrange it for voices only, as
nothing but _a capella_ music was permitted by the institution. To this
Beethoven gave a favorable reply, saying that with some modifications
the project was feasible. It, however, was not carried out.

It is significant that Beethoven gives the German direction throughout
in this Mass. At the Kyrie the direction is Mit Andacht. At the soli of
the Agnus Dei he writes Aengstlich, denoting great agitation or anxiety.
It may have been done as a kind of protest to the Italian cult in music,
which had at this period taken complete possession of the Vienna public.
The more solid German music was neglected in favor of Rossini, and
Beethoven felt this change of front keenly, making it the subject of
remark to Rochlitz and to others.

It can readily be supposed that works like the Mass in D are not easily
produced. To get his materials for it Beethoven penetrated deeply the
mystery surrounding life. The ideas which he voices seem always to have
existed, like other great forces in the universe; he impresses one as
being the discoverer, rather than the creator of them.

Schindler, who saw much of him during these years, says of his
absorption in this work: "He actually seemed possessed, especially
during the composition of the Credo." It was while he was at work on
this portion of the Mass, notably the great fugue, et vitam venturi (the
life everlasting), that Schindler called on him one afternoon, but could
not gain admission. He knew the master was at home as he could hear him
stamping and shouting, singing the different parts as if mad. Finally
the door was opened and Beethoven appeared. He was faint from hunger and
overwork, having eaten nothing since the previous noon. His servants
had, indeed, prepared some food for him the previous day, but he was too
much interested in his work to think of it, and they were afraid to
urge it on him, or indeed, go near him, while in the stress of
composition. He had worked the previous night until overtaken by
exhaustion and on awaking in the morning had at once resumed his work,
continuing it until interrupted by Schindler's arrival.

A work so transcendental in character as is this, calls for close and
sympathetic study even to get an approximate understanding of its
marvels. It is a characteristic of works of this nature, that although
not easily comprehended, they are likewise not readily exhausted. Much
study, many renderings only serve to bring out new values. Only by
bringing to them of our best will they be revealed.

It must have been with a feeling of relief that he finally delivered a
copy of the Mass complete into the Archduke's hands in March of 1822,
just two years after the Installation.

Beethoven wrote the sovereigns of Russia, France, Prussia and Saxony,
proposing a subscription of fifty ducats, about $115 each, for the Mass.
The first acceptance came from Prussia. One of the minor officials in
Vienna was commissioned by Prince von Hatzfeld, the Prussian Ambassador,
to ask Beethoven if he would not prefer a royal order instead of the
fifty ducats. Beethoven's reply was characteristic. Without a moment's
hesitation he said with emphasis, "fifty ducats!" showing the slight
value he placed on distinctions of this kind. A reply that must have
gratified him very much was that received from the King of France. In
his letter to him, Beethoven refers to the Mass as "_L'oeuvre le plus
accompli_." Louis XVIII, not only forwarded his acceptance (and the
fifty ducats), but had also a gold medal struck off, containing his
portrait on one side, and on the other, the following inscription:
"_Donné par le Roi à monsieur Beethoven_." The King of Saxony delayed
his remittance for a long while, and Beethoven was greatly irritated
thereby.

But little other work was undertaken during the four years he was
occupied on the Mass unless we except the three grand piano sonatas,
opus 109, 110 and 111, which were composed during the intervals. A mere
by-product so to speak, undertaken with the object of resting his
faculties jaded by the strain of the greater work, his mind
notwithstanding was keyed up to a high pitch, while engaged on them. The
lofty imaginings which occupied his thoughts while on the Mass are
reflected in them, rendering them unapproachable as piano sonatas. The
master himself, set a great value on them.

Now that the Mass was completed he began to give his attention to other
works. To celebrate the opening of the rehabilitated Josephstadt theatre
which occurred in the autumn of 1822, Beethoven wrote a new overture,
Weihe des Hauses. He also worked over for this occasion his Ruins of
Athens, written in 1812, for which the text was altered to suit the new
conditions and several new numbers added. Another representation of the
almost forgotten Fidelio, which was selected by Fräulein
Schroeder-Devrient for her benefit, and which was a pronounced success
through the genius of this remarkable woman, led to a commission for a
new opera from a Vienna manager. This was followed shortly after by a
similar order from Berlin on his own terms. There had also been some
talk before this about an opera on an American subject, the Founding of
Pennsylvania. It was suggested by a minor poet and government official,
Johann Ruprecht, whose poem, Merkenstein, Beethoven had set to music
previous to 1816. In 1820 Beethoven had planned an Italian tour and had
intended taking Ruprecht with him. They must have quarrelled later, as
in a letter to Schindler in 1823 Beethoven refers to Ruprecht in the
most abusive terms.

A commission that must have gratified Beethoven exceedingly, but which,
however, was not acted upon, was that which emanated from Breitkopf and
Härtel, who sent the famous critic Friederich Rochlitz to Vienna in
July, 1822, with a proposition that he write some Faust music in the
style of the Egmont music. It is narrated that Beethoven received the
proposition with joy, but gave only a qualified assent. There is no
doubt that he would have found inspiration in the text, and that a noble
work would have resulted, but he feared the nervous strain of such an
undertaking. "I should enjoy it," he said to Rochlitz, "but I shudder at
the thought of beginning works of such magnitude. Once engaged on them,
however, I have no difficulty." His labors on the Mass aged him. In his
prime on its inception, he emerged from his seclusion on completing it,
infirm and broken in health. The idea of the Faust music attracted him,
as it would have been strictly symphonic in character. He occasionally
refers to it subsequently, but never got so far as to enter themes for
it in his note-books. Wagner essayed it, but went no further than to
write the overture. The subject of Faust still awaits a capable
interpreter.

His next commission was a simple one, consisting of an order early in
the spring of 1823 from Diabelli, composer and head of a large
publishing house in Vienna, for six variations on a waltz by him
(Diabelli). The dance was always a favorite musical form with Beethoven
in his lighter moments, and the variation form,--capable of a degree of
sprightliness, vivacity and originality in the right hands which give it
an entrancing effect, to which we come again and again with pleasure,
was something peculiarly his own at every stage of his artistic career.
His earliest essays in composition are in this form. Variations occupy a
prominent part in all his works, whether chamber-music, sonatas or
symphonies. They are introduced perhaps with best effect in the works of
his last years, in the Ninth Symphony, and in the last quartets.

He accepted the order with pleasure and began work on it at once on
reaching his summer quarters. This was congenial work, affording him
relief from the mental strain imposed on him by his labors on the Ninth
Symphony, which was then under way. A price of eighty ducats ($180) was
fixed by the publisher at the outset for the set, but the master enjoyed
his work so much, that the six, when completed, were increased to ten,
then to twenty, and twenty-five, and so on until the number grew to
thirty-three. These variations are extremely elaborate and difficult, a
characteristic of most of his work in these years.

Wagner never tired of exploiting the variation form in his operas,
particularly in the Tetralogy. He frequently refers to Beethoven's
masterly use of it. "Haydn first, Beethoven last, have conferred
artistic value on this form," he says in the article on conducting;
later on in the same work, he says, "the wondrous second movement of
Beethoven's great C minor Sonata" (opus 111), "and the last movement of
the Eroica Symphony should be grasped as an infinitely magnified
Variation section." Bach also excelled in it, the Variation form being
constantly met with throughout his works.

The summer of 1823 was spent at Hetzendorf, a village of which Beethoven
was always fond. He had secured large and comfortable quarters in the
house of a Baron Pronay, which, from Schindler's account was a fine old
mansion in the centre of a large park. It suited Beethoven admirably.
There was a fine view of the surrounding country from his windows, the
situation was healthful, and he delighted in walking about when not at
work. But he gave up this comfortable home before the summer was ended,
simply on account of the extravagant politeness of his landlord, who,
conscious of the value of so distinguished a tenant, always greeted him
with "profound obeisances" when they met. This opera bouffe deportment
though undertaken with the best of motives on the Baron's part, became
so embarrassing that Beethoven finally fled to Baden with all his
belongings, including the grand piano, although his rent had been paid
in advance for the entire summer. Schindler assisted in this migration,
joining him at five o'clock one morning.

The year 1823 in which Beethoven practically completed his life-work
(with the exception of the last quartets) is the dawn of a new musical
genius, versatile, accomplished, many-sided, who as performer was
qualified to rank with the older master. On New-year's day of this year,
Franz Liszt, who had been studying under Czerny for two years past,
made his first appearance in Vienna in concert, in which he took the
public by storm. Beethoven seems not to have been present, and
strangely, when we reflect on his intimacy with Czerny, seems to have
been unaware of the existence of this talented youth. During the autumn
of this year, the elder Liszt called on Beethoven, bringing with him the
young Franz. Beethoven held himself aloof at first, receiving his
visitors coldly. He unbent however, on hearing the youth perform, and
stooped and kissed him. During this autumn he also received a visit from
Weber and young Julius Benedict, his pupil. Weber was preparing his
recently completed opera Euryanthe, for a first production in Vienna. He
had produced Fidelio in the foregoing spring season at Dresden, where he
was officially stationed, and had made a success of it with Frau
Schroeder-Devrient. Considerable correspondence must have passed between
the two composers on this matter, and Weber could hardly have omitted
calling when coming to Vienna, although the memory of his former
strictures on Beethoven's music must have embarrassed him. Weber had
stated on hearing the Seventh Symphony for the first time that Beethoven
was now fit for the madhouse, and his criticisms in general had been
adverse. This, however, was something which Beethoven had never objected
to; moreover, time had amply vindicated him as to the symphonies, so he
could afford to be generous to his youthful critic. Beethoven was genial
and kindly, and the younger man was deeply impressed by the master's
reception of him. Euryanthe proved a failure and Weber called again to
ask Beethoven's advice as to remodelling the work.

The libretto Melusina, which was submitted to him by Grillparzer found
such favor in his eyes as to lead to its acceptance, but when he came
face to face with the project, his former experience with opera was
sufficient to deter him, and he abandoned the idea, giving as an excuse
the inferiority of the German singers. That this was only an excuse, is
plain, since only a short time afterward Mlle. Sontag was intrusted with
the exceedingly difficult soprano parts of the Mass in D and the Ninth
Symphony. He was hard at work on this Symphony at the time, which will
serve to explain and accentuate his reluctance to again attempt operatic
composition, a style of work diametrically opposed to that which had
engaged his attention for many years previously. It would too, have
necessitated shelving the Symphony indefinitely, and, although he needed
the money which the opera would have yielded, his interest in the
Symphony was paramount; he could not bring himself to abandon it. With
failing powers superinduced by his excessive labors on the Mass, it was
being borne in on him that he was nearing the end of his life-work.
Under such circumstances the Symphony was sure to have the preference.
The long cherished plans for another oratorio, and for a Requiem Mass
also insistently came up for consideration, crowding out all serious
intention of an opera.

The project of a Requiem Mass was of particular interest to him; it
comes to the fore frequently. He mentioned it shortly after the
completion of the Mass in C. Then, when his brother Karl died it is
again considered. It is also mentioned on the occasion of the tragic
death of Prince Kinsky, who had acted so liberally by him in the matter
of the pension. It is probable that the work of writing a Requiem Mass
would have proved congenial to him. He was in the right mood for it on
completion of the Mass in D, and it is rather singular that he did not
undertake it instead of the Symphony. Religious questions were occupying
his mind more and more in these years. It must be admitted that his
religion was as peculiar to himself as was his music. He affiliated with
no church, although baptized as a Catholic, and brought up in that
church; but the frequent appeals to the Divinity in his journals, show
his belief in, and reliance on, a higher power. He formulated his own
religion as did Thoreau. The man who could write, "Socrates and Jesus
were patterns to me" lived a correct life in its essentials. His
asceticism, his unselfishness, the sympathy which he continually showed
for others, his unworldliness,--what else is this but the gist of New
Testament teaching? Like a tree nourished on alien soil, which yet
produces fairer and better fruit than the native ones, and becomes the
parent of a new variety, this man achieved his high development of
character by being a law unto himself like the anchorites of old.




CHAPTER XIV

NINTH SYMPHONY

     We stand to-day before the Beethovenian Symphony as before the
     landmark of an entirely new period in the history of universal art,
     for through it there came into the world a phenomenon not even
     remotely approached by anything the art of any age or any people
     has to show us.
                                                               --WAGNER.


During the period of his work on the Mass, and for some time before,
Beethoven's thoughts were occupied more or less with that stupendous
work, the Ninth Symphony, sketches for which began to appear already in
1813, shortly after his meeting with Goethe. That Beethoven looked up to
Goethe ever after as to a spiritual mentor, studying his works,
absorbing his thought, is plain. In projecting this symphony he may very
well have designed it as a counterpart to Faust, as has been suggested.
Actually begun in 1817, it had to be laid aside before much had been
accomplished on it, in favor of the Mass in D. This gave him plenty of
time to mature his conception of the work; and this ripening process,
covering a period of ten years from its first inception, was one of the
factors which helped him achieve his wondrous result. His work on the
Mass was a good preparation for the psychological problems expounded in
the Symphony.

Here is a work so interwoven into Beethoven's very life and spirit, that
the mention of his name at once calls to mind the Ninth Symphony. It is
the work of the seer approaching the end of his life-drama, giving with
photographic clearness a résumé of it. Here are revelations of the inner
nature of a man who had delved deeply into the mysteries surrounding
life, learning this lesson in its fullest significance, that no great
spiritual height is ever attained without renunciation. The world must
be left behind. Asking and getting but little from it, giving it of his
best, counting as nothing its material advantages, realizing always that
contact with it had for him but little joy, the separation from it was
nevertheless a hard task. This mystery constantly confronted Beethoven,
that, even when obeying the finer behests of his nature, peace was not
readily attained thereby; often there was instead, an accession of
unhappiness for the time being. Paradoxically peace was made the
occasion for a struggle; it had to be wrested from life. No victory is
such unless well fought for and dearly bought.

This eternal struggle with fate, this conflict forever raging in the
heart, runs through all the Symphonies, but nowhere is it so strongly
depicted as in this, his last. We have here in new picturing, humanity
at bay, as in the recently completed Kyrie of the grand mass. The
apparently uneven battle of the individual with fate,--the plight of the
human being who finds himself a denizen of a world with which he is
entirely out of harmony, who, wrought up to despair, finds life
impossible yet fears to die,--is here portrayed in dramatic language. To
Wagner the first movement pictured to him "the idea of the world in its
most terrible of lights," something to recoil from. "Beethoven in the
Ninth Symphony," he says, "leads us through the torment of the world
relentlessly until the ode to joy is reached."

Great souls have always taught that the only relief for this
_Weltschmerz_ is through the power of love; that universal love alone
can transform and redeem the world. This is the central teaching of
Jesus, of Buddha, of all who have the welfare of humanity at heart. It
was Beethoven's solution of the problem of existence. Through this magic
power, sorrows are transmuted into gifts of peace and happiness.
Beethoven loved his kind. Love for humanity, pity for its misfortunes,
hope for its final deliverance, largely occupied his mind. With scarcely
an exception Beethoven's works end happily. Among the sketches of the
last movement of the Mass in D, he makes the memorandum, "Stärke der
Gesinnungen des innern Friedens. Über alles ... Sieg." (Strengthen the
conviction of inward peace. Above all--Victory). The effect of the
Choral Finale is that of an outburst of joy at deliverance, a
celebration of victory. It is as if Beethoven, with prophetic eye, had
been able to pierce the future and foresee a golden age for humanity, an
age where altruism was to bring about cessation from strife, and where
happiness was to be general. Such happiness as is here celebrated in the
Ode to Joy, can indeed, only exist in the world through altruism.
Pity,[B] that sentiment which allies man to the divine, comes first.
From this proceeds love, and through these and by these only is
happiness possible. This was the gist of Beethoven's thought. He had
occupied himself much with sociological questions all his life, always
taking the part of the oppressed.

[B] The German rendering _Mitleid_ has a higher significance than its
English equivalent. Literally it means sharing the sorrow of the
afflicted one. It may be said in passing that this sentiment is the
central idea in Parsifal.

Schindler, who was almost constantly with Beethoven at this time, tells
of the difficulty the master experienced in finding a suitable way of
introducing the choral part. He finally hit upon the naïve device of
adding words of his own in the form of a recitative, which first appears
in the sketch-book as, "Let us sing the immortal Schiller's Song,
'Freude schöner Götterfunken.'" This was afterward changed to the much
better form as now appears, "O Freunde, nicht diese Töne! sondern lasst
uns angenehmere anstimmen, und freudenvollere." (O friends, not these
tones. Let us sing a strain more cheerful, more joyous.)

The whole character and design of the Ode to Joy will be better
apprehended when it is stated that it is in reality an Ode to Freedom.
With its revolutionary spirit Beethoven was entirely in accord. Already
in his twenty-third year he contemplated setting it to music. Later, in
the note-book of 1812, the first line of the poem appears, in connection
with a scheme for an overture. It is worthy of remark that the Symphony
was well under way before he decided on incorporating the Ode in it.

The Ninth Symphony was first performed in this country in 1846 in Castle
Garden, by the New York Philharmonic Society, which had been organized
four years previously. George Loder conducted it. When we consider the
herculean efforts Wagner was obliged to make to get permission to
perform it in Dresden in this selfsame year, it speaks well for "North
America." Subsequent performances of it in New York by this Society are
as follows:

PERFORMANCE                            CONDUCTOR

Second       April 28, 1860           Theo. Eisfeld.
Third        April 29, 1865            "   "
Fourth       February 1, 1868         C. Bergmann.
Fifth        April 28, 1877           Dr. L. Damrosch.
Sixth        February 12, 1881        Theo. Thomas.
Seventh      April 10, 1886             "   "
Eighth       April 12, 1890             "   "
Ninth        April 23, 1892           Anton Seidl.
Tenth        April 11, 1896             "   "
Eleventh     April 2, 1898            Vander Stucken.
Twelfth      April 7, 1900            E. Paur.
Thirteenth   April 4, 1902              "   "

It was not performed in New York during the years 1903 and 1904.

Beethoven's correspondence with Count Brühl of the Berlin Theatre in the
matter of an opera for that city, led him, owing to the apathy of the
Vienna public at this time toward his works, to offer the new Symphony
and the Mass for a first hearing in Berlin. At this time, and for some
years previously, Rossini's music had captured the Vienna public so
completely that no other was desired. That this light evanescent work
should be preferred to his own, was resented by the master. He decided
to offer the new works to Count Brühl, the Italian craze not having yet
penetrated Berlin. As soon as this became known however, a reaction
followed, and a memorial was addressed to Beethoven by his friends,
begging him to reconsider the matter, and produce the new works in
Vienna, as well as write a new opera for them. The appeal was signed by
thirty of the most prominent men of affairs in the city. The list of
names is a noble one, each being prominently connected in some way with
music. Among composers and performers may be mentioned Czerny and the
Abbe Stadler. Artario & Co., Diabelli and Leidersdorf, were music
publishers. Count Palfy and Sonnleithner were operatic managers, while
counselor Kiesewetter and J.F. Costelli were authors of libretti and
songs. The others were prominent in court circles, and their devotion to
music was such as to give weight to the communication. The memorial
itself is discursive to a point which taxes one's patience, but the
expressions of appreciation and friendship are genuine, and must have
gratified Beethoven extremely. Naturally but one outcome was probable as
a result of this memorial. Shortly after receiving it, he announced to
his friends that the initial performance of these works would be held in
Vienna. Strangely, a difficulty at once arose, in the matter of
selecting a suitable place for the performance. Had Beethoven left the
management of the affair in the hands of his friends, and given his
attention to securing sufficient rehearsals for the new Symphony, which
finally had to be produced after being rehearsed twice only, it would
have been better all around. With the vacillating disposition which
characterized him in all business matters, he was not only of no aid,
but so complicated matters by his indecision on every point, that the
arrangements finally came to a standstill, his friends who were
assisting him being at their wits' end. These were Schindler, Count
Lichnowsky, and the violinist Schuppanzich. At this juncture, these old
and tried friends, thinking that strategy might succeed where diplomacy
had failed, hit upon the following plan to bring matters to a focus.
Schindler was at this time living at Beethoven's house, and the plan
decided on was to have Count Lichnowsky and Schuppanzich call there as
if by accident. The conversation would naturally turn to the approaching
concert and leading questions were to be asked Beethoven. His answers in
these years were usually in writing. The gist of these was to be written
out by one of the party, who would then carelessly, or as if in jest,
ask Beethoven to sign the paper, thus committing him to a definite
course. These praise-worthy intentions were carried out with so much
tact and skill that Beethoven not only saw through their innocent ruse,
but discovered in the whole proceeding a deep-laid plot on the part of
these arch-conspirators, whereof he was to be the victim of villainy and
treachery. This dawned on him shortly after the friends had taken their
departure, upon which he wrote the following notes, leaving them on the
piano as was his custom, for Schindler to deliver.

     TO THE COUNT MORITZ VON LICHNOWSKY,--
     I despise these artifices, visit me no more. Academy (the concert)
     will not take place.
                                                              BEETHOVEN.

     TO M. SCHINDLER,--
     Do not come near me again until I send for you. No Academy.
                                                              BEETHOVEN.

     TO M. SCHUPPANZICH,--
     Do not visit me again. No concert.
                                                              BEETHOVEN.

From the above it will readily be seen, as Schindler plaintively
asserts, that the office of friend to Beethoven was no sinecure. But he
appreciated the advantage of living in the reflected glory of the great
master, and such tact as he possessed was brought to bear, to continue
the relations of friend, counsellor and general factotum, which were
maintained to the end. Beethoven at times spoke slightingly in his
letters of his humble follower, but there is no doubt that Schindler was
of great service to him, and that this was appreciated by the master is
equally true. Schindler did not deliver the letters just quoted, and the
affair did not sever the relations of the parties concerned.

Beethoven's contention all along was for an advance in price of
admission to the concert, owing to the heavy expense for theatre hire,
copying, etc. As the works to be performed had not yet been published,
it was necessary to copy out the separate parts for the members of the
orchestra and chorus,--an immense task. The manager objected to any
advance in prices, and insisted also that the concert be held on a
subscription night--a good arrangement for the patrons of the theatre
who would thus have free admission, but a bad one for the master. He
finally had to submit, however. "After these six weeks' squabbling," he
writes to Schindler toward the end of April, "I feel absolutely boiled,
stewed and roasted," a state of mind brought about by his conflict with
copyists, managers and performers.

The concert which took place on May 7, 1824, was the occasion for great
enthusiasm. The programme consisted of the Overture Weihe des Hauses, as
well as the Kyrie, Credo and Agnus Dei of the Mass in D, and the Ninth
Symphony. The solo parts were taken by Madame Sontag and Fräulein Unger,
who protested more than once at the unsingable nature of some of the
parts in the Choral Finale when practising them at Beethoven's house.

The applause from the very beginning was phenomenal. The people became
vociferous on seeing him, and this enthusiasm was continued throughout
the evening. At the close of the performance the demonstrations became,
if possible, more forcible than before, owing, perhaps, to the fact that
Beethoven maintained his former position, facing the orchestra and with
his back to the audience, as if unaware of the applause. At last
Fräulein Unger turned him about so that he could see the demonstrations
of the audience. The picture is presented of excited masses of people
carried away by the emotions of the moment, rending the air with
boisterous applause, and in the midst this great one, unresponsive to
the homage showered on him, unconscious, seeing visions, perhaps
planning a Tenth Symphony.

Beethoven's deafness was not total. He was no doubt able to hear some of
this extraordinary applause, and, in any event, must have known that it
would be forthcoming. He had probably become wearied with it all, and
let his thoughts go far afield. The utter vanity of this kind of thing
must often occur to great minds at such a time. These frenzied people by
their very actions showed their inability to comprehend his work, and
could not confer honor in this manner.

But the enthusiasm of the audience had the practical effect of leading
the manager to make an offer to Beethoven for another concert,
guaranteeing him five hundred florins ($250). It was held on May 23, at
noon. On this occasion all of the Mass but the Kyrie was omitted, some
Italian music being substituted. The house was only half filled at the
second concert and the management lost money. Beethoven's apprehensions
as to the profits from the first concert were well founded. He made less
than two hundred dollars from the undertaking, and was so disappointed
with this pitiful result after all the work of preparation, that he
refused to eat any supper, and would not go to bed, but remained on a
couch with his clothes on for the night. When he learned that the
management lost eight hundred florins on the occasion of the second
concert, it was with difficulty that he could be prevailed on to accept
the amount guaranteed him. It is not likely that this reluctance was
owing to any consideration for the manager, but rather to umbrage at the
course of things in general. His temper was not improved by these
disappointments, and he even charged Schindler with having conspired
with the manager to cheat him. This led to a rupture between the two of
several months' duration. Beethoven at length called on Schindler and
apologized for the offence, begging him to forget it, upon which the old
relations were restored.

Notwithstanding that Beethoven had personally solicited the attendance
of the members of the Imperial family, and had promises from some of
them, not one came, the Emperor's box being the only empty space in the
theatre. The slight was no doubt intentional, and affords the last
instance of which there is record, of the lifelong contest waged between
Beethoven and the court. He was usually the aggressor, making it
impossible for the Imperial family to favor him, or even to show him
much attention. They could not have been insensible to the historical
importance of having in their midst such a man; they must have had the
prescience to know that Beethoven's achievements, if furthered by them,
would place them in the lime-light for the admiration of future ages;
but they were thwarted by the man himself, who went out of his way more
than once, most unjustifiably, to offend them.

There is a letter from Count Dietrichstein, court chamberlain, on the
subject of a mass which Beethoven was invited to write for the Emperor,
which is unintentionally humorous. In it, all sorts of suggestions are
made as to the style of the music, the length of the mass (it being
enjoined on him that the Emperor did not like long church services) and
other like stipulations. Beethoven's remarks in answer to this letter
are not recorded, but the mass was not written. Here was a case where
kingly prerogative did not avail.

Simultaneously with the appearance in the sketch-books of motives for
the Ninth Symphony, another is projected, as was the case when composing
his previous ones, which generally appeared in pairs, as already noted.
A wealth of ideas flowed in on him while engaged on any great work, much
of which, when not available for the one, could be utilized on the
other. While working on the Mass in D, he had in mind composing another
mass, as is evidenced by the following memorandum in the sketches of the
Agnus Dei: "Das Kyrie in der neuen Messe bloss mit blasenden
Instrumenten und Orgel." (The Kyrie in the new Mass only with wind
instruments and organ.) The new Symphony was to be religious in
character, and was projected on a broader scale even than the Ninth. A
memorandum on the subject of the Tenth Symphony appears in the
sketch-books of the latter part of the year 1818. It is as follows: "The
orchestra (violins, etc.) to be increased tenfold, for the last
movements, the voices to enter one by one. Or the Adagio to be in some
manner repeated in the last movements. In the Allegro, a Bacchic
festival."[C] His labors, however, on the Mass and Ninth Symphony had so
exhausted him that no strength was left for this great work, and no part
of it was even drafted. Later he thought to substitute a shorter work,
something which would not have taxed him so much physically. He then
makes the memorandum, "also instead of a new Symphony, an overture on
Bach." Sehr fugirt (greatly fugued.)

[C] Nottebohm's _Zweite Beethoveniana_.

Now that the concerts were over and summer approaching, Beethoven's
thoughts turned to the country. A comfortable house was secured for him
at Schoenbrun on the bank of the river, but his stay here was short. A
bridge near the house made it possible to obtain a good view of the
master, and it soon got to be the custom for people to station
themselves on it and watch for his appearance. He stood the ordeal for
three weeks, and then fled to his beloved Baden, where he appears to
have been safe from such annoyances.




CHAPTER XV

CAPACITY FOR FRIENDSHIP

     Genius lives essentially alone. It is too rare to find its like
     with ease, and too different from the rest of men to be their
     companion.
                                                         --SCHOPENHAUER.


For many years Beethoven had not been on speaking terms with the friend
of his youth, Stephen von Breuning. The year 1815, which had cost him
his brother Karl, also deprived him of Stephen's friendship. Two
versions are given as to the cause of the quarrel which estranged them.
One is that Stephen had warned him not to trust his brother Karl in
money matters. Another, and probably the correct one, is that Stephen
endeavored to dissuade the master from adopting the young Karl in event
of his brother's death. In either case Von Breuning acted entirely in
Beethoven's interest without considering the possible consequences to
himself; his disinterestedness was poorly rewarded however. Beethoven
was bound by every obligation of friendship to him, but, with his usual
want of tact, told his brother just what Stephen had said. Naturally
Karl resented this interference in their family affairs, and succeeded
in inflaming his brother's mind against Von Breuning. The estrangement
resulted. Karl died shortly after, and a mistaken sense of loyalty
toward his dead brother helped to keep alive Beethoven's anger against
his former friend. There is no record of his having so much as mentioned
the latter's name in the following ten years, although he and Von
Breuning lived in the same city and had many friends in common.

As time passed, and one after another of Beethoven's friends were lost
to him--through death or otherwise--his thoughts no doubt often reverted
to this old friend. It must often have occurred to him that Breuning's
companionship would be more enjoyable than that of some of the friends
of these years. An accidental meeting with him on the bastion one
evening in August of 1825, happily led to a reconciliation. Beethoven's
eyes were at last opened to the injustice done Von Breuning, upon which
he wrote him a letter, so imbued with penitence, so fraught with the
desire of obliterating his past unkindness, so filled with yearning and
tenderness, that it must have compensated Stephen for all the pain of
the past years.

Accompanying the letter was his portrait painted many years before. The
letter has been frequently published. It is so characteristic of the man
that it can hardly be omitted:

"Behind this portrait, dear, good Stephen, may all be forever buried
which has for so long kept us apart. I have torn your heart I know. The
agitation that you must constantly have noticed in me has punished me
enough. It was not malice that prompted my behavior toward you. No! I
should then be no longer worthy of your friendship. I was led to doubt
you by people who were unworthy of you and of me. My portrait has long
ago been intended for you. You know that I had always intended it for
some one. To whom could I give it so with warmest love as to you, true,
faithful, noble Stephen. Forgive me for causing you suffering. My own
sufferings have equaled yours. It was not until after our separation
that I realized how dear you are and always will be to my heart."

All this in English sounds cold and stunted when compared with the fire
of the original. Beethoven never spared himself when making amends for
past misconduct.

From this time on the name of Von Breuning appears again in his letters
and he found much comfort in intercourse with his family. He was always
a welcome guest at Breuning's house. A friendship was soon inaugurated
between the master and Stephen's son, a bright lad of twelve years. He
nicknamed him Ariel, when sending him on errands, probably with
reference to his agility.

Such incidents as the quarrels with Breuning, his dismissal of
Schindler, Schuppanzich, and Count Lichnowsky during the preliminary
work of the testimonial concert, his suspicions of his friends at the
second concert when he invited them to a dinner, and then charged them
with an attempt to defraud him,--these at first glance, especially if
considered apart, lead to the conclusion that Beethoven was not intended
for friendship. This was not the case however. His deafness and
preoccupation with his work, led him to keep aloof to some extent from
others, but it is undeniable that he greatly valued this sentiment and
actively fostered it. Perhaps, like Thoreau, he expected too much from
it, and could find no one to respond to the measure of his
anticipations. He was probably disappointed one way or another, with
every friend that came to him, but to the end kept alive his faith in
humankind, and managed always to maintain intimate and friendly
relations with one or more persons. There is no interval from his
twentieth year up to his death, of which this cannot be said. He was
essentially gregarious and recognized the need of friendship. That he
was unlike his fellow human beings--essentially different--he knew. He
often sought to bridge these differences, in order to make friendly
intercourse with others possible.

Among the friends of this period may be mentioned Hüttenbrenner,
Schubert's friend. Schubert himself would have prized Beethoven's
friendship in the highest degree, but he was too modest to bring it
about. The junior by twenty years, and in Beethoven's lifetime unknown
to fame, it devolved on him to take the initiative in this matter. A
meeting could easily have been arranged as both dined at the same
restaurant, and Hüttenbrenner could have managed to bring them together.
Beethoven was generally approachable when not at work, and was always
well disposed toward young musicians of talent, but the habitually
modest estimate which Schubert placed on himself, coupled with the
regard amounting to reverence which he entertained for Beethoven, was
sufficient to deter the younger man. He indeed attempted a meeting in
1822, but the result was a fiasco owing to his extreme diffidence.
Having composed some variations on a French air (opus 10) he desired to
dedicate them to Beethoven and prevailed on Diabelli to arrange a
meeting, as well as call with him on the master, since he feared to go
alone. Beethoven's demeanor toward him was genial and friendly. When
Schubert attempted conversation the master handed him a pencil and
paper. He was too nervous to write in reply, but managed to produce his
composition, which Beethoven examined with some appearance of interest.
The master finally came upon some incorrect harmonization (Schubert had
never received a proper technical training) and in mild terms called the
young composer's attention to it. This so disconcerted him that he fled
to the street, regardless of consequences. The incident is related by
Schindler, but is called into question by Kreissle, who wrote an
exhaustive biography of Schubert. Kreissle says that Beethoven was not
at home when Schubert called.

Excessive diffidence was not the distinguishing trait of another young
man, Karl Holz, who had ingratiated himself into the master's favor in
these years. Holz had a post under government, was of good social
position, possessed fine conversational powers, and was an all-round
entertaining and agreeable person. He was a musician of first-rate
attainments, a member of the Schuppanzich Quartet, and occasionally
acted as director of the Concert Spirituel of Vienna.

Holz's gayety and light-heartedness helped to dispel the melancholy
which had become habitual with Beethoven at this time. He had the
discernment to see that such an atmosphere was unsuited to a young man
of Karl's temperament, and may very well have encouraged Holz's visits
on his nephew's account. The situation had its defects however, as
Holz's convivial habits were communicated to Beethoven, who was led at
times to drink more wine than was good for him. Beethoven, in one of his
letters to his nephew, reproached him with being a thorough Viennese, to
which the young man retorted in kind, alluding to the master's
friendship with Holz. This was before the reconciliation with Von
Breuning had been effected. After that event he saw him less frequently.
The young man however, retained his hold on the master's regard and
maintained the footing of an intimate friend for the remainder of his
life. Flashes of the old humor constantly appear in his letters to Holz,
which, though tinctured somewhat with coarseness, make pleasanter
reading than his remark to Fanny del Rio--"My life is of no worth to
myself. I only wish to live for the boy's sake." Holz took him out of
this mood.

In the last year of his life Beethoven, at Holz's request appointed him
his biographer as follows:

                                                VIENNA, _Aug. 30, 1826_.
     I am happy to give my friend, Karl Holz, the testimonial he
     desires, namely,--that I consider him well qualified to write my
     biography if indeed, I may presume to think this will be desired. I
     place the utmost confidence in his faithfully transmitting to
     posterity what I have imparted to him for this purpose.
                                                   LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.

Holz, however, was not equal to the requirements, and this duty was
relegated to Schindler.

A curious change affected Beethoven in his later years on the subject of
money. It was not avarice, that "good old-gentlemanly vice" of Byron's
which influenced him, but it resembled it at times. With his nephew as
the inciting cause, money, to which he had hitherto been indifferent,
now assumed a new value to him. This is evidenced by absurd economies
(alternated it is true by occasional extravagances), which are a feature
of this time. The diminution of his pension, the nature of the
compositions of these years from which for the most part no money was
available, the cessation of his teaching (Von Frimmel mentions a pupil,
Hirsch, who had a few lessons from him in 1817, which was probably the
last of Beethoven's sporadic attempts in this direction, as his deafness
must have made teaching extremely difficult), were all factors which
rendered money a scarce article with him. In the same ratio in which his
income had been diminished, his expenses were increased by the
maintenance and education of his nephew, which in large part was borne
by Beethoven.

This new estimate of the value of money was strengthened by the
conviction that Karl would never do anything for himself, and that
provision must be made for his future. To this must be attributed his
solicitude for money which is constantly in evidence in his letters to
his friends, as well as to his publishers, in which latter the
disposition to drive a good bargain comes to the fore now for the first
time. His letters to Ries are full of the subject of making money. "Wäre
ich nicht noch immer der arme Beethoven," he says with unconscious
humor, in one of the letters. "If I could but get to London, what would
I not write for the Philharmonic Society. If it please God to restore my
health, which is already improved, I may yet avail myself of the several
propositions made me, not only from Europe, but even North America, and
thus my finances might again prosper."

His naïve reference to this country[D] refers to the offer made him by
the Händel and Haydn Society of Boston for an oratorio, the text of
which was to be furnished by them. His work on the Ninth Symphony
prevented him from accepting it, but it is something that will always
redound to the credit of the society. That the critical faculty should,
already at that time, have been sufficiently well developed in this
country as to lead to such a commission, augurs well for its future
art-history. While one portion were engaged in subduing the wilderness,
fighting Indians, extending the frontier, others were already reaching
out for the highest and best in art and literature.[E] It is a pleasant
reflection that this country is no longer the terra incognita in musical
matters that it was in Beethoven's time. The ready recognition extended
Wagner from the first here, has, no doubt, helped to bring this about.

[D] When writing this letter Beethoven could have had no prevision that
in this aboriginal North America, in a little village called Natick,
there was then living a five-year-old boy, answering to the name of
Alexander W. Thayer, who was eventually to furnish a biography of the
master, so painstaking, exact and voluminous, that it is unique in its
class. The Beethoven biography was Thayer's life-work, to which he
gladly sacrificed his means as well, and was then only brought down to
the year 1816. Thayer's name will always be associated with that of
Beethoven, it is such a record-making work. It is published only in
German at this writing (1904), but an English translation is promised on
completion of the second edition, one volume of which has appeared in
1902. Mr. Thayer died in 1897.

[E] That Beethoven's genius had at an early date impressed itself on the
minds of Americans, was commented on by Margaret Fuller in 1841. She
says:

"It is observable as an earnest of the great future which opens for this
country, that such a genius (Beethoven) is so easily and so much
appreciated here, by those who have not gone through the steps that
prepared the way for him in Europe. He is felt because he expressed in
full tones the thoughts that lie at the heart of our own existence,
though we have not found means to stammer them as yet."

Meanwhile Ries, in London, was making active propaganda for him, with
the result that an offer had come to him from Charles Neate asking him
to come to London with a symphony and a concerto for the Philharmonic
Society. Neate was a great admirer of Beethoven. He had spent eight
months in Vienna some years previously, and the two became good friends
during this sojourn. Three hundred guineas, and a benefit concert in
which five hundred pounds more was to be guaranteed him, was the
inducement held out for coming. This large sum tempted him strongly,
placing him, so to speak, between two fires. The character of his nephew
was such that he could not be left behind, while his education would be
interrupted if he took him along. His entries in his journal show with
what dread and apprehension he faced the ordeal of going among
strangers. The project never would have been considered but for his
desire to provide for Karl's future. The journey was never undertaken,
but the project was never abandoned. It occupied his thoughts even in
his last illness.

The scores of the Mass and Symphony were sold to Messrs. Schott of
Mayence, one thousand florins having been obtained for the Mass, and six
hundred for the Symphony. This put him in easy circumstances for a
while, although the money question was a source of anxiety to him, more
or less, for the remainder of his life. The ten thousand florins
invested in Bank of Austria shares in 1815 was almost intact. He had
drawn on it once or twice when matters had come to an extremity with
him, but to touch it in any other case seemed to him like betraying a
trust, since it had been set aside as a provision for his nephew. Just
before the testimonial concert, he was at times absolutely without
funds, his housekeeper being occasionally required to advance money from
her savings to tide him over until a windfall should happen. The
proceeds from the seven subscriptions to the Mass in D, amounting to
three hundred and fifty ducats (about eight hundred dollars) helped him
out to some extent, and something must have been coming in all the while
from his previous publications. With good management there would have
been sufficient for a man of his simple requirements, but in nothing was
he so deficient as in business ability, or the faculty of looking after
his worldly concerns. He was probably cheated right and left in his
household matters.




CHAPTER XVI

THE DAY'S TRIALS

     Those who are furthest removed from us really believe that we are
     constituted just like themselves, for they understand exactly so
     much of us as we have in common with them, but they do not know how
     little, how infinitesimally little this is.
                                            --WAGNER: _Letter to Liszt_.


Beethoven was in no sense a hero to his servants. In their eyes he was
not the great artist, whose achievement was to go ringing down the ages;
he was simply a crank or madman, who did not know his own mind half the
time, from whom abuse was as likely to be predicated as gratuities, who
could be ridiculed, neglected, circumvented with impunity. When the
dereliction became glaring enough to arrest his attention, he would
deliver himself of a volley of abuse which sometimes had to be made good
by presents of money. At other times, he desired nothing so much as to
be left alone.

That he found the world a more difficult problem than ever in these
later years, goes without saying. "Have you been patient with every one
to-day?" he asks himself in one of the note-books of this period,
indicating the dawn of a perception that fate is too much for him, that
it can be defied no longer, but rather must be propitiated. Had he
answered his question, it would no doubt have been in the negative; but
this attitude, so new to him, is significant. It comes up also in his
letters to Zmeskall, in which he speaks of his patience in enduring the
insolence of a butler, who had been sent him by Zmeskall.

Complaints about servants appear frequently in his correspondence.
Peppe, the "elephant-footed," and Nanny, who seems to have had a
particular faculty for making trouble, are specially in evidence. "I
have endured much from N. (Nanny) to-day," he writes in a letter to his
good friend Madame Streicher, who was very helpful to him in his
domestic matters. On one occasion, when her conduct became unbearable,
he threw books at her head. Strangely, this method of disciplining the
refractory Nanny produced better results than could have been expected.
He reports soon after to Madame Streicher, "Miss Nanny is a changed
creature since I threw the half dozen books at her head. Possibly, by
chance some of their contents may have entered her brain, or her bad
heart. At all events we now have a repentant deceiver."

In another letter of this time he writes to the same lady, "Yesterday
morning the devilry began again, but I made short work of it, and threw
the heavy settle at B (another servant), after which we had peace for
the remainder of the day." "Come Friday or Sunday," he writes Holz.
"Better come on Friday, as Satanas in the kitchen is more endurable on
that day." This advice to come on Friday when purposing to dine with
him, is repeated in a subsequent letter to Holz. "If I could but rid
myself of these _canaille_," he writes to another person, when
complaining of the hostility and insolence of his servants.

That his own mode of life helped largely to bring about this state of
things, did not make it any easier to bear. As stated, system was out of
the question in this household. There was no regular time for meals,
often no meals were thought of by the master while occupied with his
work. When hungry, if nothing were forthcoming at home, he sought a
restaurant. Careless in general as regards his food, abstemious to a
degree in this respect, he was particular only on one matter, his
coffee. He delighted in making it himself, often counting the beans that
were required for each cup.

"My house resembles very much a shipwreck" is a remark attributed to him
by Nohl. Even under favoring conditions, discipline was not to be
expected, but matters were further complicated by Karl's mother, who
made a practice of bribing the servants to get information about the
young man. There is no doubt her influence tended to increase the
discomfort and disorder that would have existed in any event. "Some
devils of people have again played me such a trick that it is almost
impossible for me to mix with human beings any more," he said in a
letter to Madame Streicher, which remark Mr. Kalischer (_Neue
Beethovenbriefe_, Berlin, 1902), attributes to intrigues against him by
his sister-in-law.

To illustrate the slight regard his servants had for Beethoven and their
absolute ignorance of the value of his work, an incident related by
Schindler about the loss of the manuscript of the Kyrie of the Mass in D
is in point. On reaching Döbling in 1821 on his annual summer migration,
he missed this work and the most diligent search failed to bring it to
light. Finally the cook produced it; she had used the separate sheets
for wrapping kitchen utensils. Some of them were torn, but no part was
lost. No copy had yet been made, and its loss would have been
irreparable.

The difficulties which he experienced with the world in general existed
with his copyists and engravers to an exaggerated degree as may be
supposed, since proofreading was a matter on which he was extremely
particular. He was apt to make unreasonable demands on them, not
understanding human nature. He wanted them to work quickly and
accurately and they were very often slow and careless; they tried his
patience more than his servants did. A little deftness on his part when
in contact with them, would have made things easier all around. As it
was, they received little consideration from him, and gave but little in
return. He was so deeply interested in his compositions that he
frequently recalled them after they were in the engraver's hands, in
order to make alterations and additions. The Sonata, opus 111 was
withdrawn twice, after the engraver had actually begun work on it. It
had been sold to Diabelli, who finally refused to return it again, as
the engraver's work in each case was thrown away. This called out a
sarcastic letter from Beethoven to Schindler, in which he refers to
Diabelli as an arch-churl (_Erzflegel_), and threatens him (Diabelli),
if he is not more amenable.

"I have passed the forenoon to-day, and all yesterday afternoon in
correcting these two pieces and am actually hoarse with stamping and
swearing," he wrote the copyist in reference to the A minor Quartet.
Elsewhere he complains about the carelessness of the publishers of his
earlier quartets, which are "full of mistakes and errata great and
small. They swarm like fish in the sea, innumerable."

When referring to the testimonial concert, allusion was made to the
enormous labor involved in copying out all the parts required for the
occasion, in which over one hundred persons participated. To examine and
correct each copy before placing it in the hands of the performers was
in itself no slight task. The labor of making the seven subscription
copies of the Mass, was probably a still greater one. In these days of
cheap publications, one can hardly form an estimate of what it really
meant. Many months elapsed after the Mass was completed, before a clean
copy could be gotten for the Archduke even.

No doubt the copyists often misunderstood the master's instructions,
always given in writing in his later years. He was so careless with his
handwriting that some of his letters are undecipherable in part, to this
day. Schindler, with good common-sense made a practice of transcribing
Beethoven's words on the back of any letter received from him before
filing it away. The master's extraordinary carefulness in proof-reading
has already been mentioned. This was to him a matter of the utmost
importance, second to none. Press of work, illness even, was not allowed
to interfere with the careful revision of his work.

He might write about patience in his note book, but it was exercised
very little when dealing with his copyists. There were times in this
connection in which the situation became so strained that they refused
to work for him. In one such instance a man, Wolanck by name, returned
the manuscript which the master had sent him, writing him at the same
time an impertinent letter. This copyist was evidently of a literary
turn, with a talent for satire. He begins by begging to be permitted to
express his gratitude for the honor which Beethoven has done him in
being allowed to drudge for him, but states that he wants no more of it.
He then proceeds to philosophize on the situation, saying that the
dissonances which have marked their intercourse in the past have been
regarded by him with amused toleration. "Are there not" asks this
Junius, "in the ideal world of tones many dissonances? Why should these
not also exist in the actual world?" In conclusion he ventures the
opinion that if Mozart or Haydn had served as copyist for Beethoven, a
fate similar to his own would have befallen them.

A wild Berserker rage took possession of Beethoven on receipt of this
letter which he appeased characteristically by writing all sorts of
sarcastic comments over the sheet, and by inventing compound invectives
to suit the case. He heavily criss-crossed the whole letter, and across
it in heavy lines wrote, "Dummer Kerl" (foolish fellow), "Eselhafter
Kerl" (asinine fellow), "Schreibsudler" (slovenly writer). On the edges
at the right: "Mozart and Haydn you will do the honor not to mention";
at the left: "It was decided yesterday, and even before, that you were
not to write for me any more." On another spot he writes: "correct your
blunders that occur through your fatuity, presumption, ignorance and
foolishness." (Unwissenheit, Übermuth, Eigendünkel, und Dummheit). "That
will become you better than to try to teach me."

In better vein is a letter from Beethoven to the copyist Rampel, who had
worked for him during a period of many years. He had Beethoven's favor
more than any other copyist, on account of a peculiar faculty he
possessed for deciphering the master's handwriting.

     _Bestes Ramperl,--

     Komme um morgen früh. Gehe aber zum Teufel mit deinem Gnädiger
     Herr. Gott allein kann nur gnädig geheissen werden._

     BEST RAMPEL,--

     You can come to-morrow morning, but go to the devil with your
     "Gracious Sir," (Gnädiger Herr). God alone should be addressed as
     "Gracious Lord."

This letter was published in the Beethoven number of _Die Musik_,
February, 1902.




CHAPTER XVII

LAST QUARTETS

     Every extraordinary man has a certain mission, which he is called
     upon to accomplish. If he has fulfilled it he is no longer needed
     on earth, in the same form, and Providence uses him for something
     else. But as everything here below happens in a natural way, the
     dæmons keep tripping him up until he falls at last. Thus it was
     with Napoleon, and many others. Mozart died in his thirty-sixth
     year. Raphael at the same age. Byron a little older. But all these
     had perfectly fulfilled their missions, and it was time for them to
     depart that others might still have something to do in a world made
     to last a long while.
                               --GOETHE, _Conversations with Eckermann_.


In the midst of these ironies of fate, this satyr-play of the nether
forces with the master, in which he occupies at times so undignified a
position, it is gratifying to note that the artist-life goes on apace.
In the last quartets which now come up for consideration, the labors of
the tone-poet are brought to a close.

The quartet was a favorite musical form with the master. Here the more
intimate side of his nature is revealed. A more personal relation is
established between composer and audience than is the case in the other
forms in which he worked. As we have seen, the quartet, in the time of
which we write, was universally in use at informal gatherings for the
delectation of friends in the privacy of the home, and was not intended
for concert use. The stateliness which characterizes the large
symphonic forms is absent in chamber-music, but it has qualities of its
own which we value as much.

The last quartets owe their existence to Prince Galitzin, a Russian
nobleman, who had spent some time in Vienna in 1805, and became
acquainted with Beethoven at the house of the Russian Ambassador, Count
Rasoumowsky, for whom it will be remembered Beethoven composed three
quartets, opus 59. In November of 1822 the Prince wrote Beethoven in the
most flattering terms, asking him to compose three quartets at his own
price, which were to be dedicated to him. The master accepted the
commission gladly, fixing the modest sum of one hundred and fifty ducats
(about $330) for the three, reserving, however, the right to sell the
quartets to a publisher. Prince Galitzin was then living in state in St.
Petersburg. His wife was a fine pianist, he himself a first-rate
performer on the cello. They occupied a prominent position in the
musical life of the city. The Prince was one of the original subscribers
to the Mass in D, and has the credit of having brought about the first
complete performance of this colossal work ever given.

When we consider the enormous expense of this undertaking, the copying
of the many parts, as well as the sums paid for soloists, chorus and
orchestra, most of which was probably borne by the Prince, and reflect
that this is only an instance among many of his extravagant mode of
living, it is not surprising to find that he became financially
embarrassed, and was unable to carry out in full his obligation to
Beethoven as regards paying for these works.

The Oratorio, "The Victory of the Cross," which had already been begun,
was laid aside in favor of the quartets; it was never resumed.
Notwithstanding his enthusiasm, work on the new commission made but slow
progress. Ill health and preoccupation in his nephew's concerns took up
much of his attention. Occasional sketches were made, but it was more
than a year and a half before the first one was actually begun. It was
outlined at Baden in the autumn of 1824, and finished on his return to
Vienna. Mention is made of this quartet by the master in an interesting
letter to Messrs. Schott of Mayence, who had bought the mass and
symphony, and had also purchased the quartet, paying fifty ducats for
it. Cordial relations had been established with these gentlemen, dating
from the time of selling them the two great works just mentioned. Some
of Beethoven's best letters are those written to his publishers. An
extract from the letter above referred to follows:

"The quartet you shall also receive by the middle of October.
Overburdened by work, and suffering from bad health, I really have some
claim on the indulgence of others. I am here on account of my health, or
rather to the want of it, although I already feel better.

"Apollo and the Muses do not yet intend me to become the prey of the
bony scytheman, as I have yet much to do for you, and much to bequeath,
which my spirit dictates and calls on me to complete before I depart
hence for the Elysian Fields; I feel as if I had written scarcely more
than a few notes."

The initial performance of the first of the Galitzin Quartets took place
in the spring of 1825. Beethoven regarded the event as a momentous
occurrence and required the four performers, Schuppanzich, Weiss, Linke
and Holz, to sign a compact, each to "pledge his honor to do his best
to distinguish himself and vie with the other in zeal."

The quartets once begun were carried on with ardor in the midst of most
distressing occurrences, chief of which were ill health and its twin
demon, poverty, as well as the waywardness of his nephew, all of which
tended to draw him to the spiritual life. The character of Beethoven's
work changed from the period of the Mass in D. An altered condition, an
altogether new, different strain is apparent thenceforth. The deeply
religious, mystical character of the first movement of the Ninth
Symphony can be attributed to his previous absorption on the Mass. He
worked out of this vein somewhat in the other movements as not being
adapted to the uses for which the symphony is designed, but it reappears
again in the quartets to the extent of dominating them.

The one in B Flat, opus 130, completes the three for Prince Galitzin. Of
the Cavatina of this quartet, Holz is authority for saying that
Beethoven composed it with tears, and confessed that never before had
his own music made such an impression on him; that even the repetition
of it always cost him tears. In this movement Beethoven used the word
_Beklemmt_ (_Beklommen_) (oppressed, anxious) at a point where it
modulates into another key. His loneliness, superinduced by his life of
celibacy, by his deafness, his disappointment in his nephew, all had the
effect of separating him from the world. The spiritual side of his
nature, always active, had been brought into new life during his work on
the Mass, as we have seen. It was never thenceforth allowed to fall into
abeyance, but was developed in direct ratio with his withdrawal from
the world. An atavism from some remote Aryan ancestry inclined him, as
in the case of so many Germans, to mysticism and the occult. It was a
condition which had its compensations. That there were periods when he
saw visions may be conjectured by the character of the last quartets.
When they were written, Beethoven was in the shadow of death, on the
border-land of the other world, and from that proximity he relates his
experience. These works receive the reverence of all musicians for their
spirituality, their mysticism, their psychological qualities. They are
the revelations of the seer, awe-inspiring mementos of states and
conditions of mind which transcend the experiences of ordinary life. In
these last impassioned utterances of the master, we find a strain
holier, more profound, different from anything which the art of music
has yet produced.

The Cavatina on its first performance, on March 21, 1826, was received
with indifference, and the finale, which was an exceedingly long and
difficult fugue, fared even worse. Self-sufficient as Beethoven was on
all matters connected with the working out of his musical thoughts, he
coincided for once with his friends and the publisher on the matter of
the fugue. He wrote a new finale for the quartet, and published the
fugue separately as opus 133. Joseph Boehm, the noted violinist, then in
his twenty-eighth year, rehearsed this fugue under Beethoven's
direction, and often played the violin part subsequently.

The great C sharp minor Quartet opus 131, is the next one to claim our
attention. Beethoven characterized it as a piece of work worthy of him.
This colossal work was one which Wagner continually held up for the
commendation of mankind. It occupies among quartets a position
analogous to that of the Ninth Symphony in its own class. The summer of
1826 in which it was composed, was a period fraught with momentous
occurrences to the master, chief of which was the attempted suicide of
his nephew. The circumstances which led up to this catastrophe can be
briefly narrated. Beethoven had been disappointed in any and every plan
formed for the future of the young man. He at first looked for great
things from him; by gradual stages his expectations were so modified
that at last he began to fear that he would never be able to provide for
his own maintenance.

The musical education of the young man had first engaged the master's
attention, in the hope that some of the family talent might have been
transmitted to him. When it became plain that nothing could be achieved
by him in a musical career, he was entered at the university of Vienna
with a view of making a scholar of him. Here he was unable to keep up
with his studies, owing to inattention. He failed to pass his
examination and left the school in consequence. Literature being closed
to him, he entered the Polytechnic school, intending to fit himself for
business life, but failed here also. That Karl's conduct caused the
master much anxiety appears in his letters to him. In some of them he
entreats him to do better, in others he upbraids him. Both lines of
reasoning seem to have been equally obnoxious to this careless,
indifferent young man, who objected to being taken to task for his
misdeeds, and hated "rows" and "scenes" with his uncle. When he failed
the second time he was at his wits' end in dread of his uncle's
reproaches. Many a stormy scene had occurred between them during the
two preceding years. So violent had these become, that the master was on
one occasion requested to find another apartment on account of the
complaints that came from other occupants of the house. It may very well
be that Beethoven expected too much from this carelessly reared youth,
whose mother lost no opportunity of embittering him against the master.
The young man probably never seriously contemplated suicide, but wanted
to give his uncle a scare. By working on his fears he reasoned that he
would be able to have his own way for a long while to come. He
threatened suicide, and the day following this threat actually went so
far as to shoot himself. He was not severely injured, but the attempt on
his life rendered him amenable to the laws of his country, and a short
confinement in the government hospital followed.

Beethoven was greatly agitated on learning of the rash act. He had some
difficulty in finding him, as the young man had left his quarters and
went to another part of the city before carrying out his threat. With
the aid of friends he was finally located and an affecting scene
followed in which the master loaded him with kindness, treating him very
much as that other prodigal son was treated by his father.

Beethoven's personal intervention with the magistrate eased the
situation for the nephew. Two very interesting letters from the master
in this connection were published some years ago in the Neuen Freien
Presse of Vienna, and are included in Herr Kalischer's Beethovenbriefe
published in Berlin in 1902. The following one shows Beethoven's ethical
character in strong light:

To the Magistrate Czapka:

     DEAR SIR:

     Hofrath von Breuning and I have carefully considered what is best
     to be done. We think for the time being no other course is
     practicable than that Karl should remain with me a few days (during
     the interval until he can enter the military service). His language
     is still excitable under the impression that I would reprimand him
     since he was capable of making an attempt on his life. He has,
     however, shown himself quite affectionate toward me. Be assured
     that to me fallen humanity is still holy. A warning from you would
     probably have good results. It would do no harm to let him know
     that unobserved he will be watched while with me. Accept my highest
     esteem for yourself, and consider me as one who loves his kind, who
     desires only good wherever possible.
                                         Yours respectfully,
                                                          BEETHOVEN.

In accordance with the English custom of putting the fool of the family
into the army, Stephen von Breuning had hit upon the plan of a military
career for Karl since all others seemed closed to him. Von Breuning, who
always had a faculty of being of service to Beethoven, was a counsellor
in the war-office. He urged on Beethoven the feasibility of procuring an
appointment for Karl in the army, and interested his superior,
Field-marshal Lieutenant von Stutterheim, in the matter. Beethoven was
not greatly in favor of a military career for the young man. "Übrigens
bin ich gar nicht für den Militärstandt," he says in a letter to Holz of
September 9, when the subject was first broached. He opposed it for a
while, but finally bowed to the inevitable.

Toward the end of October, and before the negotiations in regard to the
army appointment were concluded, the young man was released from the
hospital, and placed under the control of the master, with the
injunction that he be removed from Vienna at once. At this juncture
brother Johann placed his country house at Gneixendorf at the disposal
of the master and nephew, and thither the two repaired, the elder,
stricken, bowed with grief; the youth, sullen and indifferent. The
master had never entered Johann's house since the summer of 1812, when
he had tried so ineffectually, as noted in a previous chapter, to break
up the relations existing between the pair while the lady was as yet
only the housekeeper. It must have been with great reluctance that he
considered visiting him at all. The sacrifice, if such there was, was
made in the interest of Karl; where this young scapegrace was concerned,
the master was generally willing to sink his own preferences. The
situation must have been embarrassing for all concerned, less so in
reality for the master than for the others. Absorbed in the composition
of the new finale, and also in the finishing up of the great C sharp
minor Quartet, he was for the most part oblivious to anything unusual in
his surroundings. Johann's wife, with the policy of her class, bore no
resentment, or at least showed none outwardly. A pleasant room on the
ground floor was fitted up for him, but the welcome must have been a
cold one at best.

No doubt the Gutsbesitzer took much pleasure in showing off his
possessions to the brother whom he knew had little esteem for him at
heart. He paraded his own importance in the neighborhood, taking the
composer on business visits to prominent people. On these occasions he
would not usually introduce his brother, treating him as a kind of
appendage. The master, deep in the thought of creative work, was, no
doubt, to a great extent unconscious of this sordidness. At all events
he gave no sign. But he contributed very little to the social well-being
of the family. Two aims only seem to have occupied his mind at this
time: the welfare of his nephew, and the carrying to completion of a few
great works already sketched or begun. These included a Tenth Symphony,
(for the Philharmonic Society of London), the Oratorio, The Victory of
the Cross, for the Vienna Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, music to
Goethe's Faust, which latter he must have been in good mood for,--as
well as an overture on Bach. "I hope yet," he writes from Johann's home,
"to bring some great works into the world, and then like an old child,
to close my earthly career somewhere among good people." He worked with
feverish haste in the latter years of his life, whenever his health
permitted, even abandoning his books in favor of his work. Failing
health prevented him from forcing it ahead as in former years, but he
worked up to the limit of his powers.

His habits while composing have been referred to in a previous chapter,
namely, that he was in the habit of singing, stamping, gesticulating,
while under the spell of his inspiration. This kind of thing was new to
the maid who looked after his room, and she managed to extract amusement
from it. Beethoven finally discovered her laughing at him, and forthwith
bundled her out of the room, giving orders that no female would be
admitted again. One of the men about the place, Michael Kren, was then
engaged, who performed his duties faithfully, and helped materially to
establish a more comfortable existence for the sick, helpless man. He
has narrated circumstantially the master's mode of life while at
Gneixendorf. He was up and at work at half-past five, beating time with
hands and feet, singing, humming. This went on until breakfast time,
half-past seven. This meal over he would hurry out of doors, (the
weather was fine that particular autumn) spending the morning going
about the fields, note-book in hand, his mind intent on his musical
thoughts, occasionally singing or calling out, going now slowly, then
very fast, at times stopping still to write out his ideas. This would go
on until noon, when he would return to the house for dinner. This was
served at half-past twelve, after which he would go to his room for
about two hours, then again to the fields until sunset. He was never out
in the evening as night air was considered bad for him. Supper was
served at half-past seven. His evenings were spent in his room, and at
ten o'clock he went to bed.

This simple, regular life, with the healthful country air, should have
restored Beethoven's health in some measure could it have been continued
longer. His letters from here indicate that he expected some improvement
in this respect. Had not some untoward circumstances intervened, the
master's life might have been spared long enough to enable him to carry
to completion the list of works outlined above.

That Johann had an ulterior object in asking his brother to visit him is
quite probable. The growing fame of the composer and the ever-increasing
value of his copyrights was well known to him. He had made money in his
dealings between composer and publisher in the past, and could have
made still more had he possessed his brother's confidence in a greater
degree. His cupidity however, prevented him from keeping up for long
even the semblance of kindness or hospitality. Fuel was so scantily
provided the sick guest that he suffered from cold, and he was told that
a charge would be made for the room. Other circumstances may have
contributed to bring about a climax. At all events the situation became
so unpleasant that he suddenly decided to return to Vienna.




CHAPTER XVIII

IN THE SHADOWS

     As a day well spent gives joyful sleep,
     So does a life well spent give joyful death.
                                                    --LEONARDO DA VINCI.


The C sharp minor Quartet and the one in F, opus 135, which rounds out
this wonderful series, were all but completed before leaving Vienna on
the visit to Johann. That there was some polishing still to be done on
the latter is apparent from the fact that it has the superscription in
the master's handwriting, "Gneixendorf am 30 Oktober 1826." The finale
has these curious sentences: "Der schwergefasste Entschluss. Muss es
sein? Es muss sein." Question and answer turn on the subject of paying
his room rent according to Schindler, the dialogue being a reminiscence
of previous times. Beethoven often made some discussion when his rent
was demanded, either from the desire to extract some sport from the
situation, or from fear of being cheated. It often had to be
demonstrated to him by the aid of an almanac that the time was up and
the money really due.

The only work begun and completed by the master while at Gneixendorf was
the new finale, which replaced the long fugue of the B flat Quartet. It
proved to be his last work. The series of unpleasant events referred to
in the last chapter ensued, and, without considering consequences, he
returned to Vienna.

It is not likely that Johann or his wife exerted themselves much to keep
him longer. They intended spending the winter in Vienna themselves, and
were probably relieved to have the visit ended so that they could make
their preparations for the journey. With his usual impatience, he must
needs take the first conveyance which was to be had. Johann had a closed
carriage, but would not let him have it, and the journey was made in a
light open wagon. December had arrived and the weather, which had been
fine all the fall, was now bad. He was insufficiently clothed for the
two days' drive in such weather. He contracted inflammation of the lungs
on the way, and reached his quarters in the house of the Black
Spaniards, a very sick man.

This house, his last earthly abiding-place, had been his home for the
past year. It was a disused monastery, which had been established in
1633 by the daughter of Philip III of Spain on taking up her residence
in Vienna after her marriage. The original building was destroyed in one
of the wars of that turbulent time, but was rebuilt at the end of the
seventeenth century. The building was demolished in 1904. It was
situated on the glacis, in a part of the city where Beethoven had lived
much of the time since coming to Vienna.

The fates seem to have been against him from the beginning of his
journey. His sleeping-room was an enormous one on the second floor,
which, with two small anterooms, composed the apartment. The facilities
for heating a room of that size, in those times must have been wholly
inadequate. Several days elapsed before a physician could be found to
attend him. He had quarrelled with two of his former physicians and each
refused his aid. Finally, a professor from the medical college, a Dr.
Wawruch, was summoned, who took the case in hand. Schindler states that
it was several days before he or any of the master's friends knew of his
arrival in Vienna, and leaves the inference that he was unattended
during this interval except by his nephew. When they learned of his
return, Schindler and Stephen von Breuning were unremitting in their
attentions.

As Beethoven had taken a violent prejudice against Dr. Wawruch, another
physician, Dr. Malfatti, was engaged, who acted in conjunction with the
former. The treatment was now changed, large quantities of iced punch
being administered, probably with the view of relieving the congestion
of the stomach. This mode of treatment exactly suited the sick man, a
result which was probably foreseen by the astute Dr. Malfatti, who had
prescribed for Beethoven during previous illnesses and knew his
patient's idiosyncrasies. Beethoven's childlike simplicity is
illustrated in the difference of his demeanor toward his two physicians.
He always had a warm welcome for the one who had administered the iced
punch, remembering no doubt its immediately alleviating and beneficial
results, but Dr. Wawruch fared poorly at his hands, especially when he
was in a bad humor. On more than one occasion when the latter appeared
the patient turned his face to the wall with the remark, "Ach der Esel."

Everything possible was now done to add to his comfort. Two servants
were engaged to attend him. His friends cheered him by their visits.
Hümmel called, bringing his young pupil Ferdinand Hiller. Some of
Schubert's songs were brought him, probably by Hüttenbrenner. They
consisted of Die Junge Nonne, Der Taucher, the Ossian songs, Die
Bürgschaft. Schindler states they awakened the master's surprise and
delight, eliciting from him the remark, "Truly, Schubert has the divine
fire."

Beethoven was so eager for work that he attempted composition again in
the intervals of his illness, but his strength was not sufficient to
enable him to go on with it. Hitherto his one resource in every
difficulty had been his work. The injunction of Saint-Simon, to lead
during the whole of the vigorous portion of manhood the most original
and active life possible, had been perforce carried out by him. Now that
his one resource, work, failed him, he was bereft. He sought to pass the
time by reading, and began with Kenilworth in a German translation, but
soon threw it down saying: "The man writes only for money."

The volatile Holz did not fail him in his need, but manifested his
friendship by many kind acts. His former publishers the Haslingers,
Tobias and Karl, as well as Diabelli, called occasionally. The Archduke
at Olmütz could hardly have been expected to come, especially as a fatal
termination was not for some time considered probable. We hear nothing
of Czerny, of Schuppanzich, of Linke, or of Zmeskall, which to say the
least, is singular. Schindler's omission of these names, however, has no
particular significance; he wrote many years after the event, and forgot
or omitted the mention of circumstances of greater importance than
this. It is not like what we know of the character of Czerny, or
Zmeskall, to neglect Beethoven in his extremity. The master's old
friend, Stumpf, of London, sent him a splendid edition of Händel's works
in forty volumes, with which he occupied himself a good deal. They
afforded him much enjoyment.

Anxiety on account of money, so prevalent all through these latter
years, was increased by his enforced abstinence from work. What he
chiefly desired now was sufficient ready money to carry him through, so
that he would not have to break into the little hoard put by for Karl
many years before. At this juncture the Philharmonic Society of London
sent him one hundred pounds, being an advance payment on account of a
concert they intended giving for his benefit. The initiative in this
matter was taken by Beethoven himself, and it is safe to say that
nothing that was done for him during this period was so appreciated, or
gave him so much pleasure, as this act of kindness from the Society. The
money reached him about ten days after an operation had been performed
on him for the relief of the dropsical accumulations incidental to his
liver trouble. Four such operations had been found necessary during this
illness. They were at best only palliative. His joy on receiving the
letter and money from London was such that the wound, not yet healed,
opened, and a great discharge followed. A letter of thanks was sent to
the Society, dictated by the master, but he was too weak even to sign
it.

Schindler relates that Beethoven on nearing middle-age, was wont to
indulge himself in day-dreams of a prosperous future, in which he could
have sufficient means to enable him to live in comfort, keep his
carriage like brother Johann, and have leisure for the refinements of
life. This illusion, maintained by most workers, no doubt brightened his
prosaic, solitary life. Pity that he could not have realized it in some
measure: after the heat and burden of the day, in which he had so well
acquitted himself, it would seem fitting, had he had an evening of life
such as was vouchsafed Wagner, with opportunity for completing his
life-work in peace and contentment.

One result achieved by the master as a consequence of his visit to
Gneixendorf would have afforded him great satisfaction could he have
known it. The matter of making suitable provision for Karl in event of
his own death had lain on his conscience for some time before this
visit, as already stated. While there, he begged his brother Johann to
make a will in Karl's favor, which eventually came to pass.

The army appointment, of which mention has been made, became an
established fact early in December, and the young man soon after left
Vienna to join his regiment. Beethoven never saw him again. He by this
time concurred with his friends in the opinion that the discipline of
military life might be beneficial to him, and was resigned to the
separation.

The great C sharp minor Quartet is indelibly associated with Karl,
through its dedication to Baron von Stutterheim, through whom the
appointment came. The decision to dedicate this work to the Baron, was
arrived at only two weeks before the master's death. The work had been
for some time in the hands of the publishers, Messrs. Schott of Mayence.
Beethoven, finally becoming aware that no more works could be produced
by him, and wishing to reward the Baron in the only way possible,
dictated an urgent letter to Messrs. Schott on the subject. "The
Quartet," he said, "must be dedicated to Field-marshal von Stutterheim,
to whom I am under great obligations. Should the first dedication by any
possibility be already engraved, I beg of you, on every account, to make
this alteration. I will gladly pay any extra expense connected with it."

The last Quartet, opus 135, is dedicated to Johann Wolfmayer, a merchant
of Vienna with whom he had much friendly intercourse. Wolfmayer showed
his interest in the master's work in many ways. It may be mentioned that
he offered him a sum equal to several hundreds of dollars to carry out
his project of writing a Requiem Mass. "Write to Stumpf and Smart," he
said to Schindler a few days before his death, when already too weak to
speak above a whisper. His consideration for others was paramount even
in the face of approaching death.

Notwithstanding the hopeful tone which characterized the letters written
during his last illness, there were times when he knew that he was
making a losing fight. Already on January 3, a month after his return
from Gneixendorf, he wrote a letter to his attorney, Dr. Bach, in the
form of a will, in which as may be supposed, his nephew is his sole
heir. No conditions were imposed on the young man, who, had the will
remained in this form, might have squandered the entire amount. (The
estate netted $5000). This was pointed out to Beethoven by his
counsellor, Dr. Bach, and also Von Breuning, who urged on him the
necessity of adding a codicil to the will, in which the principal would
be tied up for life, leaving only the income available. This he resisted
to within a few days before the end, but finally gave in, and, not
without great difficulty, wrote with his own hand a codicil, consisting
of but three lines, in which the income only was to be enjoyed by the
nephew, the principal to revert to his natural or testamentary heirs,
after Karl's death. Breuning, true to his sense of duty, not satisfied
with having gained his point, endeavored, at the risk of antagonizing
the master, to change the words "natural or testamentary heirs," to
"legitimate heirs." Beethoven was obdurate on the point, however,
saying, "the one term is as good as the other." Von Breuning, good
faithful friend that he was, survived Beethoven but one year.

Schindler dwells on the perfect tranquillity of Beethoven in the face of
approaching death. "Plaudite amici, comoedia finita est," he said on
the day when the codicil was written. On the following day at noon, he
received the last rites of the church. The event was no doubt a solemn
one. Soon after, the death-struggle began, and continued without
interruption for two days. Hüttenbrenner was a faithful attendant during
these last days. His friend Schubert also called, at least once, and, it
is said, was recognized by Beethoven, although he was unable to speak to
him.

The nervous strain on his friends in witnessing this struggle between
life and death, in which but the one issue was possible, must have been
great. It was, no doubt, a relief to Schindler and Von Breuning to leave
the master in Hüttenbrenner's charge on the afternoon of the 26th of
March, and go to Wahring in order to secure a burial-place. While on
this necessary errand, a terrific storm arose, which prevented their
return until night. Meanwhile, Hüttenbrenner, left alone with the
master, endeavored to ease his position by sustaining his head, holding
it up with his right arm. His breathing had been growing perceptibly
weaker, carrying the conviction that the end was near. The storm was of
unusual severity, covering the glacis with snow and sleet. The situation
of the building was such that it was exposed to the full fury of the
tempest. No sign was given by the master that he was conscious of this
commotion of the elements. With the subsidence of the storm at dusk, the
watcher was startled by a flash of lightning, which illumined
everything. This was succeeded by a terrific peal of thunder which
penetrated even Beethoven's ears. Startled into consciousness by the
unusual event, the dying man suddenly raised his head from
Hüttenbrenner's embrace, threw out his right arm with the fist doubled,
remained in this position a moment as if in defiance, and fell back
dead.

The two friends returned some hours after all was over. The master died
at a quarter before six o'clock on the evening of March 26, 1826. He was
in his fifty-seventh year.

The funeral took place on March 29 at 3 P.M. from the church of the
Minorites and was attended by many of the most prominent people of the
city. Eight musicians bore the coffin from the house to the church,
while thirty-two torch-bearers followed it, among the number being
Czerny and Schubert. This was followed by a choir of sixteen male
singers, and four trombones, which alternated in singing and playing.
The music consisted of two equali composed by Beethoven many years
before, arranged for this occasion by Seyfried, to the words of the
_Miserere_ and _Amplius_.

Notwithstanding the immense concourse of people assembled at the
obsequies, estimated at twenty thousand, there was but one relative to
occupy the position of mourner, and that was Johann.

On April 3, Mozart's Requiem was sung at the church of the Augustines,
and shortly thereafter, Cherubini's Requiem was sung for him at the
Karlskirche.

The magnificence of his funeral, when compared with his simple mode of
life, calls to mind the great contrasts which he was always producing in
his music. Equally great contrasts had always come up in his life.
Living in the proudest most exclusive and bigoted monarchy in Europe, at
a time when feudal authority had not yet been entirely abolished, he
held himself to be as good or better than Emperor or Cardinal. On
receiving a request one morning from the Empress of Austria to call on
her, he sent back word that he would be busy all that day, but would
endeavor to call on the following day. There is no record of his having
gone at all. His unjustifiable conduct toward the Imperial family, while
at Töplitz with Goethe, has been touched on in a previous chapter.
Frimmel states that something similar occurred at Baden, but does not
give his authority. Beethoven arraigned the Judiciary, even when writing
conciliatory letters to the judges. In his letters to the different
magistrates during the litigation over his nephew, he is often satirical
and sarcastic in spite of himself. His criticisms of other judges, his
references to the manner in which justice is administered in Austria,
illustrate his temerity and independence. His scorn of the King of
Saxony, on account of being dilatory in paying the subscription for the
Grand Mass, was pronounced. He alludes to him as "the poor Dresdener" in
his letters, and he even went so far as to talk about suing him when the
payment was still longer withheld.[F] All this from a man who at times
did not have a decent coat to wear, or a second pair of shoes; who
sometimes accepted advances from his housekeeper for the necessaries of
life. His life was so simple and circumscribed that he never saw the
ocean, or a snow-covered mountain, although living within sight of the
foothills of the Alps. He never returned to his native city though
living not a great distance from it.

[F] Kalischer. _Neue Beethovenbriefe_. Berlin, 1902.

The immediate cause of death, as demonstrated by the post-mortem held
the day after his decease, was cirrhosis of the liver, the dropsy, of
which Schindler makes such frequent mention, being an outcome of, and
connected with, the liver trouble. The organ showed every indication of
chronic disease. It was greatly shrunken, its very texture being changed
into a hard substance. That alcoholism is the commonest cause of
cirrhosis is well known, but in Beethoven's case some other cause for
the disease must be found. He was in the habit of taking wine with his
meals, a practice so common in Vienna at that time that not to have done
so would have been regarded as an eccentricity, but he never indulged in
it to excess, except possibly on a few occasions when in the company of
Holz. It can hardly be brought about by the use of wines, but is
produced by the inordinate use of spirituous liquors, something for
which Beethoven did not care. Cirrhosis was probably the cause of his
father's death, as he was a confirmed inebriate; but this cannot be
connected with the cirrhosis of the son; the disease is not
transmissible.

Beethoven's deafness probably began with a "cold in the head" which was
neglected. The inflammatory process then extended to the Eustachian
tubes. When it reached this point it was considered out of the reach of
treatment in his time, and for long after. Even in our own time, in the
light of advanced medical science, such a condition is serious and is
not always amenable to treatment, some impairment of the hearing
frequently occurring even with the best of care and under conditions
precluding the thought of a congenital tendency. The difficulty as
revealed by the post-mortem, lay in a thickening of the membrane of the
Eustachian tubes. The office of these tubes is to supply air to the
cavity on the inner side of the drum-membrane, known as the middle ear.
As is well known, a passage exists from the outer ear to the drum. The
Eustachian tubes connect the middle ear with the upper portion of the
throat from whence the air supply to the middle ear is obtained. We
cannot imagine a drum to be such unless there is air on both sides of
the membrane. Exhaust the air of an ordinary drum, and its resonance
would be gone. A similar condition obtained with Beethoven. With the
closure of the Eustachian tubes the air supply to the middle ear was cut
off; the air in the cavity finally became absorbed, and a retraction and
thickening of the drum-membrane with consequent inability to transmit
sound vibrations followed.

The hypothesis of heredity, sometimes brought forward to account for
his deafness, would have more weight had the lesion shown itself in the
case of either of his other brothers. As it is, there is no hint to be
found of even a tendency to deafness in any other of the Beethovens,
whether Johann, Karl, or the nephew. In any event a congenital tendency
of this kind would have been more likely to develop itself in Karl, the
weakling, than in the sturdy Ludwig.

The master's known impulsiveness and carelessness in matters connected
with the preservation of his health, lead to the conclusion that he
himself contributed much to his deafness. He was fond of pure air
outside, but sometimes had for a sleeping room an alcove wholly without
ventilation, so dark that he had to dress in another room. We hear much
of his practice of taking brisk walks on the ramparts or in the suburbs,
in the intervals of his work. There is at least one instance on
record,--there were probably many such cases,--of his coming in after a
walk, overheated, perspiring, and seating himself before an open window
in a draught. Another hygienic measure which he abused was his custom of
frequently bathing his head in cold water while at work, probably to
counteract the excessive circulation of the blood in the head brought
about by his brain-work. A chilling of the body, particularly in the
neck and the back of the head when overheated is a frequent cause of
inflammation of the middle ear. Von Frimmel calls attention to the
dust-storms which are a feature of Vienna. They were probably worse in
Beethoven's time than now, as but little attention was paid to hygienic
measures in those days. This no doubt aggravated the trouble.




CHAPTER XIX

LIFE'S PURPORT

     Das Grenzenlose braust um mich. Weit hinaus glänzt mir Raum und
     Zeit. Wohlan! Wohlauf! altes Herz.
                                                 --FRIEDERICH NIETZSCHE.


Beethoven's life in its devotion to the attainment of a single end, the
perfection of his art, affords an object lesson, which cannot fail to
encourage and stimulate every one engaged in creative work of any kind.
His earnestness and industry is the key-note to his achievement. He
worked harder than any composer we have any record of, with the possible
exception of Wagner. If we consider how the compositions improved in his
hands, while being worked over, as is shown by the sketch-books, a
simple process of reasoning will convince the reader that any man's
work, in any line, can be improved by adopting the same methods.
Beethoven's own words in this connection are, "the boundary does not yet
exist, of which it can be said to talent cooperating with industry,
'Thus far shalt thou go and no farther.'" The more he worked over his
compositions the better they became. When he required a theme for a
particular purpose, if the right thought did not at once come to mind,
his practice was to write as near it as possible. By the time this was
done an improvement would suggest itself. He would then write it again,
and before the ink was dry, would start at it yet again, each effort
bringing him nearer the goal, and this progress was the incentive that
led him to continue until the idea he was reaching for became a reality.
His intuitive faculties were highly developed, and he had Goethe's
"heavenly gift" of imagination, but this would have been as nothing
without his power of concentration. All his abilities were focused on
his art. He made everything else subservient to the one idea of
attaining perfection in it. He succeeded too, by giving his genius free
play, by allowing his individuality to shape itself in accordance with
its own laws. The circumstances of his life favored this action.
Responsible to no one for years before reaching maturity, he was nowhere
hampered or repressed as might have been the case had he had a home
life. Strong characters are best left alone to work out their own
development. It is only the weak ones that have to be supported. He met
every demand that his art made on him. It was only by a complete
surrender, by a concentration of all his forces into one channel, that
he attained his results. By losing the world, he gained it. The great
ones in every age, in every art or calling,--those who attained to
saintship,--seers,--prophets,--all went this road.

He had absolute confidence in his judgment. He seldom considered what
his audience would like. The best that was in him was what he gave to
the world. He knew its value, and if others could not understand it, he
knew the time would come when it would be appreciated. In art as in
religion, faith is a necessary preliminary to all great achievements.

In going so far beyond us, in pushing the art to the limit of its
possibilities, Beethoven has made portions of his work inaccessible to
the large body of people who look upon music as an art for enjoyment
only. The same kind of problem that is presented to this generation in
the works of his last years, confronted his contemporaries in those of
his middle life, which were as far beyond the comprehension of his own
generation as the more abstruse works of his last years are beyond the
ability of the present. To a future age, seemingly, has been relegated,
as an heritage of the past, the best fruit of Beethoven's genius. When
the Mass in D and the last Quartets can be heard frequently, a new era
in the art will have been inaugurated.

It would be a mistake to suppose that Beethoven was a pessimist, or a
misanthrope. Placed here to live and suffer, not knowing why it should
be so, he yet teaches that relentless fate cannot prevail against those
who make a good fight. "I did not wish to find when I came to die that I
had not lived," said Thoreau, paraphrasing from Voltaire, (most men die
without having lived). "I did not wish to live what was not life, living
is so dear." Beethoven's idea of the purport of life was similar. He
believed, and put his theory into practice, that each man has within
himself the potentialities with which he shapes his own destiny. Fate
and Destiny are verities that have to be faced, but they do not have all
their own way with us. Each of us has the power to control his destiny
to some extent. By willing it so the tendency is toward betterment.
Always the highest powers are on our side. Life, after all, is worth
while. This was the gist of his philosophy. He sought to establish an
optimistic view of life, with the object of making the problem easier to
solve.

Fichte, in his work "Über das Wesen des Gelehrten", gives the literary
man the place of priest in the world, continually unfolding the Godlike
to man. This was also Beethoven's aim. Haydn charged him with being an
atheist, but his works as well as his life refute this charge. The Kyrie
and the Agnus Dei of the Mass in D, could never have been produced had
he been other than a devout, religious man. In his journals he
continually addresses the Godhead. Outwardly, however, he gave no sign.
"Religion and general-bass," he said once, with a touch of humor, "are
in themselves two inscrutable things (_abgeschlossene Dinge_) about
which one should not argue."

He was solicitous that his nephew should receive proper religious
instruction, and made this a point in his letters to the magistrates
while the lawsuit over him was in progress. After giving his ideas as to
the proper education of the young man, in which French, Greek, music and
drawing take a prominent place, he adds, "I have found a holy father who
has undertaken to instruct him in his duties as a Christian, as well as
a man, for only on this foundation can we bring up genuine people."
Again, "It is for his soul's welfare that I am concerned. Wealth can be
achieved, but morality must early in life be inoculated" (_eingeimpft_).
He saw the necessity of religion; that it has been called forth through
the consciousness of utter helplessness in the individual. Man is
encompassed on all sides by inexorable laws, produced and perpetuated by
a power beyond and outside the comprehension. The expression of the
religious sentiment is his effort at propitiation, and is his one
resource. This is the point of view on which Beethoven projected the
grand mass. It is what governed his life.

An inner pressure led him to choose a life of self-abnegation and
rectitude. He saw through and over and beyond the illusions and
allurements of the senses, and so was enabled to live entirely in
harmony with the moral order of the world, in an age, and among a
people, largely given over to the pursuit of pleasure.

A long life is generally considered the best gift which the Fates have
to bestow. In the summary of a man's life it is usually treated of as
implying special virtues in the subject. But a long life in itself is as
nothing in comparison to the quality of the life that is lived. It is by
achievement only that its value can be determined.




WAGNER'S INDEBTEDNESS TO BEETHOVEN


FOREWORD

Beethoven, in Wagner's estimation, is a landmark in music, just as
Shakespeare is in literature, as Jesus or Buddha in religion. He is the
central figure; all others are but radii emanating from him. To
Beethoven was it given to express clearly what the others could but
dimly perceive. The relation of men like Bach or Händel toward
Beethoven, Wagner held to be analogous to that of the prophets toward
Jesus, namely, one of expectancy. The art reached its culmination in
Beethoven. This is Wagner's summary of the significance of Beethoven's
work, and he proclaimed it continually, from the housetops. It was in
some sort a religious exercise to him to make propaganda for the master
to whom he felt himself so deeply indebted. The burden of his utterances
on the subject of the musician's art is, "A greater than I exists. It is
Beethoven."




     Chiefly, perhaps, of the philosopher and the poet must we needs
     feel that if any genius reaches out into an interpenetrating
     spiritual world, _theirs_ must do so.--F.W.H. MYERS,
                               Human Personality, Chapter on Genius.

     In art the best of all is too spiritual to be given directly to the
     senses; it must be born in the imagination of the beholder,
     although begotten by the work of art.--SCHOPENHAUER.

Wagner's achievement can be attributed, in part, to a certain quality of
intellectual receptivity, by virtue of which he was enabled to
appropriate to himself the genius of two of his predecessors for whom he
had a special affinity. His epoch-making work was rendered possible
through Shakespeare and Beethoven, who served him as models all his
life.

Every great achievement is referable to some preceding one often quite
as great but more obscure. No man stands alone in his deed. The doer of
every great work has been helped thereto by his predecessors working the
same soil. The greater the performance, the more prominently this comes
out sometimes, as in the case of Shakespeare whose indebtedness to
Christopher Marlowe and others will at once come to mind.

To Beethoven and to Shakespeare, Wagner paid tribute on all occasions.
Especially is this true in his relation to Beethoven, to whom he readily
yields the palm in the realm of music. In the eight volumes of his
_Gesammelte Schriften_, no single fact stands out more clearly than his
recognition of Beethoven as his chief, his master, from whom proceeds
all wisdom and knowledge and truth. One can hardly read any of Wagner's
prose writings without seeing how readily he falls into the place of
disciple of Beethoven. "I knew no other pleasure," he says in A
Pilgrimage to Beethoven, "than to plunge so deeply into his genius that
at last I fancied myself become a portion thereof." The Pilgrimage,
though an imaginative work, is the medium he employed to give utterance
to his regard for Beethoven. His letters to musical friends, to Liszt,
to Fischer, especially those to Ulig, are filled with praise of the
older master. In a letter to Meyerbeer, in 1887, he states how he came
to be a musician. "A passionate admiration of Beethoven impelled me to
this step." The only one who was good enough in Wagner's eyes to be
compared with Beethoven, was Shakespeare. These two names are frequently
brought into juxtaposition in his works. No musician is worthy of
comparison with his demigod. "Mozart died when he was just piercing into
the mystery. Beethoven was the first to enter in," he says in his
Sketches. As if even this praise were too great, he severely criticises
Mozart's operas and symphonies elsewhere.

The deferential attitude which Wagner assumes toward Beethoven is not
accorded any other musician. Consciously or not, when he talks about
other musicians (except Bach) he, for the most part, assumes the rôle of
censor. But Beethoven comes in for unstinted praise. "It is impossible,"
he says, "to discuss the essential nature of Beethoven's music without
at once falling into the tone of rhapsody."

Wagner seems hardly to have been able, when writing about music, to
refrain from mention of Beethoven, he is so full of the subject. It has
a bearing on every important event in his life. At the ceremonies
attending the laying of the foundation-stone of the Festival Play House
at Bayreuth, the Ninth Symphony was performed, and in a little speech he
says: "I wish to see the Ninth Symphony regarded as the foundation-stone
of my own artistic structure." In "Religion and Art" we find these
words: "to whom the unspeakable bliss has been vouchsafed of taking one
of the last four symphonies of Beethoven into his heart and soul."

Many enthusiasts have worked in Wagner's cause from Liszt down, but none
have equalled Wagner in this respect--in enthusiasm for _his_ master. He
pays tribute to Beethoven in all conceivable places. He first heard of
him when told of his death. His first acquaintance with Beethoven's
music was a year after the master's death, on his arrival at Leipzig at
the Gewandhaus concerts. Wagner was then in his sixteenth year. "Its
impression on me was overpowering," he says. "The music to his Egmont so
inspired me that I determined not to allow my own completed tragedy to
be launched until provided with such like music. Without the slightest
diffidence I believed that I could write this needful music." He had up
to this time no special leaning toward music. He had not previously
entertained a thought of it as a career, but his first hearing of
Beethoven's music decided him to adopt it, such was the kinship between
these two minds. Through Beethoven he discovered that "music," to use
his own words, "is a new language in which that which is boundless can
express itself with a certainty impossible to be misunderstood."[G]

[G] Thoreau, in 1840, expressed himself similarly. We quote from the
recently published Service. "Music is a language, a mother tongue, a
more mellifluous and articulate language than words, in comparison with
which speech is recent and temporary. There is as much music in the
world as virtue. In a world of peace and love music would be the
universal language and men greet each other in the fields in such
accents as a Beethoven now utters at rare intervals at a distance."

The episode made a turning-point in his life. Hitherto his whole mind
and thought had been placed on literature, the drama in particular, as a
career. Through Beethoven he first learned what a power music possesses
in the portrayal of the emotions and passions. He had, as he says, an
intimate love and knowledge of Mozart without apparently being much
influenced thereby. Up to this time Shakespeare had been his archetype.
Now, with a fine discriminating intelligence, marvellous in a youth of
sixteen, Beethoven is to be included in this hero-worship, and is
eventually to supplant his former ideal. "It was Beethoven who opened up
the boundless faculty of instrumental music for expressing elemental
storm and stress," he says in the "Art-Work of the Future," and
elsewhere in the same article, "the deed of the one and only
Shakespeare, which made of him a universal man, a very god, is yet but
the kindred deed of the solitary Beethoven, who found the language of
the artist-manhood of the future."

Wagner's criticisms on music are admirable. Here he expresses his
thoughts as plainly as in his compositions. His disquisitions on music
as an art and on Beethoven in particular, are always lucid and forcible.
He may be misty in his philosophical speculations, but when he speaks
on music it is in the authoritative tone of the master, familiar with
every phase of his subject. He always contributes something of value,
and his thoughts are an illumination.

Had Wagner never written a line of music, had he elected to be a
literary man, a poet, a dramatist, philosopher, his fame to-day would
still be world-wide. Had he confined his genius into this one channel of
literary expression, as was his original intention, with his mental
equipment, and a Napoleonic ambition that balked at nothing, the product
would have been as original and extraordinary, we may be sure, as is his
art-product in music. Wagner, the musician, is so commanding a figure
that the literary man is obscured; but when we consider the magnitude of
his literary achievement, the dramas Tannhäuser, Lohengrin, Flying
Dutchman, Tristan, Parsifal, the stupendous Ring of the Nibelung, the
essays on music, philosophy, criticism and sociology, and reflect that
it is, so to speak, a by-product, it becomes apparent that, had he made
literature his chief aim in life, the result would have been notable in
the annals of the century.

Wagner seriously contemplated writing a biography of Beethoven at one
time, and devoted several months to collecting materials for it. But his
finances were still in bad shape, and he was unable to undertake it
without an order from some publisher, who would have been required to
advance money. He was unable to find such a party, and the project was
abandoned, most unfortunately, as he would have made a valuable
contribution to the subject. The short biographical sketch he wrote on
Beethoven on the centenary anniversary of the master's birth, shows
marvellous insight, especially in relation to the critical and
analytical parts of it. This work, instinct with worship of the master,
is a product of Wagner's mature years. Here, as in his earliest
utterances on Beethoven, he is the disciple glad to do homage to his
master.

"A century may pass," said Schopenhauer in a letter to the publishers of
the (English) Foreign Review and Continental Miscellany, offering to
translate Kant for them, in response to a wish he had seen expressed in
their journal that England might ere long have a translation of Kant, "a
century may pass ere there shall again meet in the same head so much
Kantian Philosophy, with so much English, as happen to dwell together in
mine." Likewise centuries may elapse before another such musician will
appear possessing the literary ability, critical faculty, ardor and
enthusiasm that Wagner had for this work.

There is an affinity between them in which mind speaks to mind. When
writing on Bach's influence on Beethoven, he says:[H] "If Haydn passed
as teacher of the youth, for the mightily unfolding art-life of the man,
our great Sebastian Bach became his leader. Bach's wonder-work became
his Bible; in it he read, and clean forgot that world of clangor heard
no longer." This describes Wagner's own spiritual relationship to
Beethoven, and the exaltation that must have been his on reading the
symphonies, the Mass in D, the overtures. He exhausts himself in praise
of each. He makes the Third Leonore Overture of as much account as the
entire opera; he continually refers to the Egmont and the Coriolanus
Overtures, and says that in the latter and in the Third Leonore,
Beethoven stands alone and beyond all imitation.

[H] Mr. Ellis's translation.

An evidence of Wagner's overpowering genius exists in the originality
and unique character of his work, while giving himself up so
unreservedly to this spiritual guidance. The two, however, were quite
unlike in many respects. Neither could have done the work of the other.
Beethoven, almost a failure in operatic composition, undertook it no
more after one trial, while Wagner was irresistibly drawn to this style
from the beginning. He felt that with Beethoven the last word had been
said in pure instrumental music, while his literary talents also served
to draw him into this field of operatic composition where they could
find their proper outlet. With that unerring poetic sense which guided
him in the selection of his subjects, he always has the romantic element
to the fore. The atmosphere of romanticism which invests all his works,
is what gives them much of their value. Through the force and purity of
his literary instinct, he was enabled to select topics of supreme
interest, so that his imagination was kept at white heat while
composing. His originality and absolute confidence in himself prevented
him from following Beethoven to any marked extent. He was forced to hew
out a new path for himself. He was, however, not averse to occasionally
taking a hint from him when it would serve his purpose. It is the
prerogative of genius to take its material wherever it can be found.
"Plato," said Emerson, "plays sad havoc with our originalities."
Beethoven's influence is plainly discernible in the preludes and
overtures of the Wagner dramas, which are symphonic throughout. The
frequent use Wagner makes of the trombones, when he wishes to be
particularly impressive, recalls Beethoven. Each had a high opinion of
the trombone where solemnity was required, and made constant use of it.
Beethoven applied it with peculiar effect in the Benedictus of the Mass
in D, and in the Ninth Symphony, which is paralleled by Wagner's use of
it in Parsifal, and in the Funeral march in Siegfried. The extraordinary
uses to which he puts the pedal-point, as well as the variation form,
are instances which show the influence of the older master.

When, however, he takes an idea from Beethoven, he improves on it,
broadening and amplifying it, in general putting it to a better use than
it was where he found it. A great dramatic work admits of fuller and
longer treatment of an idea than is possible in the other forms in which
music can be embodied. The instances just quoted are minor ones of
general application. Of the conceptions in which he is specially
indebted to Beethoven, the most important come from the Mass in D. Here
the older master, by the very form in which the ideas are cast, had to
hold himself in. He was not able to give them the significance in the
Mass, which is perfectly proper in great music dramas; and this
enlarging and widening of the poetic conception,--this splendor in which
it is portrayed,--not only justifies the course of his follower in
adopting it, but also calls attention anew to the commanding genius to
whom such things are possible.

Some of Wagner's most entrancing effects have their origin in Beethoven.
His method of using the violins and flutes in the highest register in
prolonged notes, as in the Lohengrin Prelude, and in general when
portraying celestial music, are obtained from this source. The Mass in D
gives several instances where this idea is presented, not by harp (the
customary way), but as Wagner has done in Lohengrin, by the violins and
wood-winds in the highest register, beginning pianissimo, gradually
descending and augmenting in volume and sonority as the picturing merges
from spiritual to worldly concerns. Beethoven's work abounds in
intellectual subtleties of this kind. Wagner is sometimes credited with
having originated this method for the portrayal of celestial music. Mr.
Louis C. Elson says: "Wagner, alone, of all the great masters, does not
use the harp for celestial tone coloring, but violins and wood-winds, in
prolonged notes in the highest positions. Schumann, Berlioz,
Saint-Saens, in fact all the modern tone colorists who have given
celestial pictures, use the harp in them, purely because of the
association of ideas which come to us from the Scriptures, and this
association of the harp with heaven and the angels, only came about
because the instrument was the most developed possessed by man at the
time the sacred book was written. Wagner's tone coloring is
intrinsically the more ecstatic.... Wagner is the first who has broken
through this harp conventionality."

In the Wagner-Liszt correspondence, Wagner states that the Lohengrin
Prelude typifies choirs of angels bearing the Holy Grail to earth. This
idea and the method of its development can be found in the symphonic
thought which follows the Preludium to the Benedictus of the Beethoven
Mass.

It will be necessary to make a short digression and explain a portion of
the canon of the Mass to enable the reader to understand what follows.
During the office of the Eucharist the celebrant repeats certain prayers
inaudible to the congregation. These begin during the latter part of the
Sanctus, which immediately precedes the Benedictus, and are connected
with the ceremony of the consecration of the Host. A part of them are
conducted in absolute silence. The choir is not required to be silent
during all the prayers said by the celebrant, and the occasion is
frequently utilized, particularly at high festivals, by the introduction
of orchestral music or a brilliant chorus. The choir is silent during
the elevation of the Host and chalice, which takes place immediately
after the consecration. It is a period of peculiar solemnity, the
congregation kneeling in silent prayer at the signal of a gong. After
the consecration the priest elevates the Host and chalice, and with the
people still kneeling, offers up a prayer silently, the conclusion of
which is as follows: "We most humbly beseech Thee, Almighty God, command
these things to be carried by the hands of Thy holy angels to Thy altar
on high, in the sight of Thy Divine Majesty, that as many as shall
partake of the most sacred body and blood of Thy Son at this altar may
be filled with every heavenly grace and blessing." The central thought
of this prayer is that the sacred elements are borne to heaven by
invisible hands.

In the Beethoven Mass a Preludium for orchestra is introduced, to fill
in the interval while the celebrant is occupied with these silent
prayers. It is an innovation, showing how thoroughly alive Beethoven was
to the development of every phase of his subject. Ordinarily, no
provision is made for this by the composer, the organist being permitted
the privilege of interpolating hymns like the O Salutaris or the Tantum
ergo. The Preludium is so timed that it ends at the conclusion of the
prayer we have quoted, when the sacred elements are in heaven and are
about being returned to earth. It is at this point that the symphonic
thought begins, which at the first bar calls to mind celestial
harmonies. Here we have the tone-figure, as in the Lohengrin Prelude,
given by the violins and flutes in the highest register, beginning in
faintest pianissimo. At the second bar the melody begins to descend,
being augmented in force by the gradual addition of the more powerful
instruments as well as voices when the elements are again on earth. The
Lohengrin Prelude has the same idea, but it is developed to a greater
extent, with a richer orchestration, the idea being carried to greater
length, and rendered more significant in every way, as befits its
dramatic character. In both cases, however, the orchestral figure is
introduced by the same instruments, and in much the same manner.

The Mass in D furnishes another instance where the celestial harmonies
are introduced to still better purpose than in the Benedictus. It is in
that portion of the Credo, beginning with the Et incarnatus. The
delicate ethereal nature of this music, as indicated by the violins and
flutes in the highest positions, is so transcendental, so imbued with
spirituality, as almost to evade analysis. By the magic of Beethoven's
art the impression is conveyed that the listener overhears far-off angel
voices from other spheres, when the heavens were opened for the descent
of the Son of God to earth. The instruments give out the merest
intimations of sound, scintillations that suggest it rather. In the
opening bars of the movement, just before the introduction of this
tone-figure, he uses an ancient ecclesiastical style, the Plagal, a mode
that obtained centuries before Palestrina. Harsh and strident,
inharmonious, are the tones, which in the opening Adagio typify the
dread, the foreboding and dismay, that can be supposed to have been felt
by the Son of God when the time came to give up a beatific state and
enter on the actualities of earthly existence. The sin of the world is
already being borne in anticipation. Suddenly we are in the midst of
celestial harmonies, delicate gradations and mergings of tones,
subtleties of expression, ethereal, evanescent, that come faintly at
first on the senses, giving us revelations of spiritual heights, of
transcendent states and conditions of the soul. Mankind is here afforded
a glimpse beyond the veil. These strains continue until the words _et
homo factus est_ (and was made man) are reached. At this point the
melodies are suddenly cut off, the doors are closed, and we are excluded
from further participation in things not meant for mortal ears. A change
of tonality and time further accentuates the changed conditions that
prevail as the story goes through the events of the crucifixion, death
and burial of Christ.[I]

[I] Beethoven's love of strongly defined contrasts is nowhere better
illustrated than here. The sharp discordant tones, which characterize
the opening bars of the movement, are simply pushed aside by the new. It
is the subjugation of the worldly by the spiritual, of suffering by
happiness.

The Mass in D can be said to be the parent of some of the Parsifal
music. Wagner had the discernment to seize on the intellectual
subtleties he found there, and to put them to happiest uses. If we
compare the instrumental effects just noted with the exquisitely
delicate music that opens the Parsifal Prelude after the introductory
_leit motif_, we find a solution to each, as well as an affinity, in the
religious mysticism in which each is enveloped. There is a central
theme, but so shadowy and unreal as to be hardly apparent. Like a nimbus
these shimmerings of sound from the violins surround and permeate it, so
that one is not aware of any particular melody, but rather it is
perceived that the atmosphere is full of a divine melody, as if by
spiritual insight the listener had attained to a state of mind akin to
that of the seer, and had, for the time being, become one with the
composer. The effect is produced of being in the presence of something
holy.

The _Naturlangsamkeit_ necessary to the birth of any great art-work
sometimes extends to its recognition and appreciation by the public.
Beethoven considered the Mass in D his greatest achievement, but it
gains ground very slowly. It is rarely mentioned, and seldom performed.
Similarly Bach's greatest works slumbered nearly a century until brought
to light by Mendelssohn.

It is significant that Wagner was as world-weary from middle-age on as
was Beethoven. Like him he took refuge in creative work. Both were
pioneers, always in advance of their time, cheerfully making the
sacrifices which this position entails, diverging ever more and more
with advancing years from beaten paths and the ideas of others on the
subject of their art. Resignation and asceticism, the goal of mankind,
was Wagner's solution of the problem of existence, a conclusion arrived
at after reading Schopenhauer. Beethoven had also come to it long before
reaching middle-age. Wagner was, in his later years, a mystic, as was
Beethoven; and like Beethoven his most congenial work in those years was
of a religious character.




INDEX

Adagio, the, 62.
Adversity, school of, 6.
Altruism, 43, 164.
American Revolution, 3, 4.
Andante, the, 123.
Antwerp, 4.
Appassionata Sonata, 14, 44, 63, 66, 70, 71.
Archduke Rudolph, 80 et seq., 84, 93, 107, 108, 129, 188, 206,
  Appointed Archbishop, 145-146,
  Disciple of Beethoven, 81,
  Installation of, 148, 154,
  as performer, 81,
  regard for Beethoven, 146.
Aristocracy, of Vienna, 41.
Art, office of, 4.
Art-history (this country), 181.
Artist-manhood, of Beethoven, 227.
Artistic temperament, 87.
Art-work, 236.
Art-workers, 39.
Aryan ancestry, 195.
Aspern, battle of, 83.
Atterbohm, 121.
Attrition, of mind on mind, 15.
Augustines, church of, 212.
Austria, Emperor of, 42, 81, 172.
Austria, Empress of, 5.
Austrians in Italy, 42.

Bach, Dr., Beethoven's attorney, 209.
Bach, J.S., 8, 20, 27, 28, 32, 73, 75, 147, 173, 220, 225,
  Beethoven's regard for, 20,
  and humor, 133,
  Leader of Beethoven, 236,
  Life-work of, 143,
  Mathematician of music, 1,
  Mass in B minor, 51, 74,
  Overture on name of, 172,
  Protestant, 52,
  and old ecclesiastical modes, 147,
  and Variation form, 158,
  Well-tempered clavichord, 139,
  "Wonder-work," 229.
Baden, 116, 158, 173, 193.
Battle Symphony, 103 et seq.
Bautzen, battle of, 102.
Bavarian soldiers, 104.
Bayreuth, 226.
Beautiful in music, 4.
Beethoven: Altruism of, 40, 164,
  Adagios, 123,
  Aim, 219,
  Age of, 211,
  Absorption in his work, 18, 121,
  Art-life of, 229,
  Artist-life, 191,
  Artistic instinct, 34,
  Approachable, 177,
  Asceticism, 111, 116, 161,
  Adopts nephew, 110,
  Awkwardness, 134,
  Bach's influence on, 229,
  Brevier, 141,
  Catholic, in religion, 161,
  Creative talent, 27,
  Conduct of life, 39,
  Court suit, buys a, 38,
  Concert for Philharmonic Society of London, 182,
  Copyrights, 201,
  Consideration for others, 209,
  Copyists, his, 187, 188,
  Church music, predilection for, 147,
  Concept of life, 7,
  Drama, and the, 14,
  Dancing, and, 39,
  Destiny, accepts his, 100,
  Deafness, progress of, 96,
  Ethical character of, 126, 197,
  Every-day life, 96,
  Father, his, 4,
  Favorite authors, 13,
  Failing health, 200,
  Forecasts his future, 37,
  Friendship, need of, 177,
  and Goethe, 90-92,
  Gastro-intestinal disturbances, 88,
  Grandfather, 4, 5,
  Grammar, lapses from in letters, 138,
  Habits, at Johann's, 201,
  and Happiness, 38,
  Helplessness, his, 137,
  Humor, 126, 133, 135,
  History, insatiable reader of, 140,
  Intellectual bias, 14, 28, 141,
  Infinitude, 124,
  Introspection, 37, 97,
  Illnesses of, 88, 204, 207,
  Individuality, 27,
  Intuitive faculties, 41, 217,
  Improvising: in Allegro movements, 29.
  Improvising: in Variations, 29,
  Improvising at a charity concert, 93,
  Journal, his, 101, 116, 147, 161, 182, 184, 219 (note-book), 71,
     123, 165,
  Kindliness and humility, 88,
  Lawsuits, 145,
  Line extinct on male side, 118,
  Laughter, virtuoso in, 135,
  Last words of, 210,
  Library, 140,
  Life-work of, 71, 160,
  Life-drama, 162,
  Letters to publishers, 193,
  Litigation over nephew, 111,
  Life, a difficult problem, 101,
  Love affairs of, 60, 87-88,
  "Last five symphonies," 226,
  Landmark in music, 223,
  Ménage, the, 111, 116,
  Mother, his, 6; death of, 9,
  Muse, his, 145,
  Musical library, 139,
  Mental processes of, 15,
  Mysticism, his, 96, 195,
  Nature, love of, 122,
  Naïveté of, 135,
  Optimism, his, 98,
  Opera, early familiarity with, 14,
  Orchestra, and the, 3, 14, 75,
  Organist, as, 7,
  the Philosopher, 52,
  as Patriot, 104-105,
  Philosophy, gist of, 218,
  and Persian literature, 140,
  Quartets, his, 98,
  Republicanism, his, 41, 81, 146,
  Repartee, ready in, 136,
  Religion, his, 219,
  Rhenish ancestry, 121,
  Servants, difficulties with, 184, 186, 188,
  Seer, the, 163, 195, 217, 236,
  Scherzo, and the, 33, 34,
  Sarcastic moods, his, 187,
  Spiritual insight, 97, 194,
  Strenuousness, his, 121,
  Sonatas, 98, 145,
  Social successes, 27,
  Symphonies of, language of buoyant mood, 98,
  Sociological questions, 165,
  Solitary life, 86, 208,
  Subtleties, in works of, 232,
  Sketch-books, 18, 27, 32, 49, 85, 97, 122, 123, 147,
  the Symphonist, 49, 75,
  Two masses, 124,
  Teaching, dislike of, 80,
  Tone-poet, 191,
  Unique work of, 38,
  Virtuosity of, 63-64,
  Works, happy ending to, 164,
  Work, his one resource, 206,
  Work, significance of his, 220,
  Will, codicil added, 209,
  World, a difficult problem to, 184,
  World-weary, 236,
  World, at odds with the, 24,
  World, withdrawing from, 97,
  World, "the play with it," 97.
Beethoven, Johann van, 93, 94, 199, 204, 208, 215,
  marries his housekeeper, 95,
  as Landed proprietor, 136,
  Sordidness of, 200,
  his cupidity, 202,
  his wife, 199, 204.
Beethoven, Karl van, brother of composer, 86,
  marriage of, 65,
  dies, 110,
  his widow, 110, 186.
Beethoven, Karl van, nephew of composer, 110, et seq., 116, 180, 182,
     198, 199, 207-208, 210, 215, 219,
  after career of, 117,
  Posterity of, 117,
  Waywardness of, 196-197.
Beklemmt, cavatina B quartet, 194.
Bergman, C., 166.
Berlioz, 232.
Bernadotte, Gen., 43, 45; king of Sweden, 43.
Bigot, Marie, virtuosity of, 63.
Black Spaniards, house of, 204.
Boehm, J., violinist, 195.
Boehme, Madame, 13.
Bohemia, Baths of, 88.
Bonn, 13, 16, 17, 18, 23, 31, 37, 80, 82, 88,
  University, 10,
  Old Roman city, 4.
Boswell, 130.
Bouilly, 49.
Brahma, 97.
Brentano, Bettina, 87.
Breuning, Stephen von, 11, 13, 56, 174 et seq., 198, 205, 209, 210,
  Madame von, 11-13,
  family, 17.
British Museum, 27.
Broadwood piano, Beethoven's, 135-136.
Brotherhood of man, 40.
Browne, Count, 26, 62.
Bruno, Giordano, 73, 132.
Brunswick, Count, 27, 44, 68, 71,
  Therese, 60, 66, 67, 86-87,
  engaged to Beethoven, 71-72,
  founds home for children, 72.
Buddha, 164, 223.
Bundeslied, 142.

C minor Symphony (see Fifth Symphony).
Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage, 141.
Carlsbad, 92, 93.
Carlyle on Goethe, 90,
  on Jean Paul, 101.
Castle Garden, 165.
Celestial music, 232, 235.
Chamberlain, H.S., 120.
Chamber-music, 46, 63, 65, 85, 192,
  Variations in, 157.
Character, and environment, 116.
Cherubini, 57, 66, 123; Requiem, 140, 212.
Chopin, Improvising, 28.
Choral Fantasia, 29.
Christianity, 4, 143.
Cirrhosis, 213,
  Dropsical accumulations in, 207,
  Cause of, 213,
  not transmissible, 214.
Clementi, Sonatas, 139.
Cologne, 17.
Concert, Spirituel, of Vienna, 178, 179,
  of Paris, 14.
Congress of Vienna, 107 et seq.
Coriolanus overture, 14, 75, 124, 229.
Corsican, the young, 41.
Critics on Second Symphony, 36,
  Seventh Symphony, 159.
Czerny, 29, 66, 80, 96, 127, 128, 130, 131, 140, 159, 167, 207, 211,
  Teacher of young Karl, 110.

Dance, the, 99,
  the, favorite musical form, 157.
Dante, 77.
Damrosch, Dr. Leopold, 166.
De Profundus, 151.
Diabelli, 157, 167, 187.
Dietrichstein, Count, 172.
Dignity, of the artist, 2.
Don Giovanni, 9, 48, 139, 140.
Dönhoff, Graf von, 94.

Egmont music, 92, 106, 142, 156, 226, 229.
Eighth Symphony, 95, 98, 100, 106, 145,
  Dance element in, 99.
Eisfeld, Theo, 166.
Elector of Cologne, 4, 5, 13, 24,
  his Orchestra, 15, 16, 18, 82.
Eliot, George, 134.
Elysian Fields, 193.
Emerson, 77, 145, 147, 148, 228.
England, 103, 106, 107.
Erdödy, Countess, 60, 61.
Erlkönig, Beethoven's setting of, 142.
Eroica Symphony (see Third Symphony).
Ertmann, Baroness, 60, 61, 80, 128.
Esterhazy, Prince, 75-76,
  Princess Marie, 76,
  the Princes, 51.
Eucharist, 232.
Euryanthe, 159, 160.
Eustachian tubes, office of, 214.

Fate, struggle with, 163,
  Relentless, 218,
  Propitiated, 184,
  and Destiny, 218.
Fates, the, 204, 220.
Fatherland, Poets of, 14.
Faust, 38, 156, 157, 162, 200.
Fichte (quoted), 219.
Fidelio, 11, 48, 98, 155,
  libretto of, 49-50,
  First production of, 54, 55,
  revision of, 56, 74, 75, 98, 106, 123, 155, 159,
  dedication of piano score, 107,
  its Spanish background, 49.
Fielding and humor, 134.
Fifth Symphony (C minor), 14, 68, 73, 76, 77, 152.
First Symphony, 33, 34, 37.
Fischer, 225.
Förster, teacher of Beethoven, 63.
Fourth Symphony, 66-68,
  Serenity of, 67,
  Philosophic import of, 68.
France, 42, 43, 107.
France, King of (Louis XVIII), 45, 154, 155.
Freemasonry, among musicians, 10.
Freischütz, 139.
French Revolution, 3, 4, 41, 133.
Friends of music, Society of, 129.
Friendship, 176.
Frimmel von, 180, 215.
Fugue, the, 124, 125, 129,
  of the C# minor quartet, 121,
  Credo of Mass in D, 153.
Fuller, Margaret (footnote), 181.

Gayety, 100.
Galaxy of virtuosi, 17.
Galitzin, Prince, and last quartets, 192-194,
  and Mass in D, 192.
Genius, prerogative of, 230.
Germanic Order, 10.
Germans, the, 104.
Gewandhaus Concerts, 226.
Glacis, the, 204, 210.
Glück, 79.
Goethe, 13, 38, 80, 88, 90, 101, 111, 125, 129, 141, 191, 212, 217,
  Worldly wisdom of, 90,
  as Courtier, 91,
  Councillor, 92,
  Spiritual mentor, 162.
Gothic architecture, 143.
Greece, 143.
Greek Classics, 140-141.
Grillparzer, 160.

Hafiz (quoted), 102.
Hanau, battle of, 104.
Händel, 27, 79, 139, 143, 223,
  Beethoven's opinion of, 20,
  Oratorios of, 143, 144,
  works of, 207.
Händel and Haydn Society of Boston, 181.
Happiness, and Beethoven, 38.
Hatzfeld, Prince von, 154.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 18.
Haydn, 4, 17, 18, 19, 29, 30, 33, 43, 46, 73, 76, 79, 100, 101, 123,
     140, 219, 229,
  Important work of, 143,
  Distinguishing trait, 123,
  Kyrie of Imperial Mass, 74,
  and the Minuet, 34,
  Humor in music, 34, 133,
  Sonatas, 34,
  Teacher of Beethoven, 19-20,
  Visits Bonn, 17.
Haydn and Mozart, 4, 20.
Haydn and Beethoven, life-work of, 20.
Heiligenstadt, 73.
Herder, 141,
  quoted, 80, 93.
Higher law, the, 38.
Hiller, Ferdinand, 205.
Hirsch, Beethoven's last pupil, 180.
Holy Grail, 232.
Holz, 178, 185, 194, 198, 206, 213.
Homer, 13.
Host, the, elevation of, 233,
  Consecration of, 233.
Humanity, 43,
  at bay, 163,
  Golden age for, 164.
Humor, in music, evolution of, 133,
  a test of genius, 134.
Hümmel, 22, 29, 31, 63, 76, 105, 206.
Hüttenbrenner, 8, 177, 210, 211.

Imperial family (of Austria), 5, 41, 81, 91, 170, 171, 212.
Impedimenta, 39.
Improvising, 28, 125,
  Bach, excelled in it, 28,
  Chopin, last to exercise it in public, 28,
  Beethoven, genius in, 28-29,
  by Karl, 117.
Instrumental music, 227, 230.
Intellect of mankind, 2.
Intuition, 2.
Italian vocalism, 4.

Jeitteles, 121.
Jesus, teaching of, 164.
Johnson, Dr., 130.
Joy, language of, 68.
Joyousness (quoted), 101.
Judiciary, the, of Austria, 212.

Kalischer, 186, 197.
Kantian Philosophy, 229.
Karlskirche, 212.
Kenilworth, 209.
Keyboard, of piano, 3.
Kiel University, 16.
Kinsky, Prince, 26, 83, 84,
  death of, 145, 160.
Klober, 148.
Klopstock, 92.
Kren, Michael, 200.
Kreutzer, R., 45,
  Sonata, 44, 45.
Krumpholz, 38,
  death of, 130-131.

Leipzig, 92,
  battle of, 102, 105.
Leonore overtures, 49, 56,
  the Third, 56, 57, 229.
Lessing, 13.
Letter to a young girl, 141,
  Holz, appointing him his biographer, 179,
  Breuning, Stephen von, 175,
  Czapka, a magistrate, 198,
  Rampel, his copyist, 190,
  Lichnowsky, Prince, 70,
  Messrs. Schott, 193,
  Zmeskall, 137-138.
Lichnowsky, Prince von, 23, 25, 26, 35, 55, 56, 59, 127,
  Settles annuity on Beethoven, 24,
  Beethoven visits him, in Silesia, 68,
  quarrels with him, 69,
  death of, 130.
Lichnowsky, Princess von, 62, 65,
  as peacemaker, 25, 56.
Lichnowsky, Count Moritz von, 26, 43, 129, 168, 176.
Life, a precious gift, 98.
Life's problem, 4, 218.
Life's tragedy, 36.
Liszt, 5, 29, 52, 127, 136, 225, 226,
  advent of, in concert, 159,
  pupil of Czerny, 29.
Liszt's father, 159.
Lobkowitz, Prince von, 26, 44, 45, 59, 84,
  bankruptcy of, 145,
  death of, 130.
Loder, George, 165.
Lohengrin, Prelude, 231, 232, 234.
London, 117.
Louis, Ferdinand of Prussia, 44.
Love, 165,
  Magic power of, 164.
Lützen, battle of, 102.

Man of genius, elation of, 98.
Mantua, Mozart at, 28.
Maria Louisa, of Spain, 81.
Marie Antoinette, 45.
Marengo, battle of, 42.
Marlowe, Christopher, 224.
Mass, the, a great art-form, 73,
  Stateliness of, 144,
  Canon of, 232,
  Sanctus of, 232,
  Benedictus of, 232.
Mass in C, Beethoven's, 73 et seq., 160,
  German version of, 147.
Mass in D, Beethoven's (or Grand Mass), 39, 47, 51, 96, 100, 123, 144,
     147, 150, 160, 161, 162, 163-164, 166, 172, 183, 234, 236,
  Agnus Dei, 169, 219,
  Apotheosis of friendship, 146,
  Benedictus, trombones in, 231,
  Credo, 153, 169, 234,
  Soli of, 153,
  Celestial harmonies in, 235,
  Congenial work to Beethoven, 146,
  and the copyist, 188,
  Beethoven's absorption in, 147, 160,
  Christe eleison, 151,
  Et incarnatus of, 234,
  Interpretation by the orchestra, 150,
  Lydian and Dorian modes in, 147,
  Marvels of, 154,
  Mysticism of, 96,
  a Symphony to Wagner's view, 150,
  Subscription price of, 154,
  Sale of score, 182,
  proceeds from, 183,
  First production by Prince Galitzin, 192,
  Preludium in, 232, 233,
  Kyrie of, 101, 124, 151, 153, 163, 169, 171, 186, 219,
  Splendor of conception of, 151,
  its symphonic style, 151,
  German direction in, 153,
  Loss of manuscript of, 186,
  its rhythm, 151.
Melusina, 160.
Mendelssohn, 232, 236.
Messiah, The, 139.
Metaphysical, 2.
Metronome, inventor of, 104.
Metternich, Prince, 102.
Meyerbeer, 105, 225.
Minorites, church of, 7, 211.
Minuet, the, 133.
Mödling, 147.
Monasteries, old chorales of, 147.
"Moonlight" Sonata, 35-36.
Moscheles, 103, 105,
  and piano arrangement of Fidelio, 106.
Mount of Olives, 35.
Mozart, 9, 20, 22, 28, 33, 46, 48, 50-51, 79, 100, 134, 139, 225, 227,
  Early death of, 191,
  Genius of, 140,
  his precocity, 8,
  praised by Beethoven, 140,
  Requiem, 51, 212,
  Sonatas, 34, 139,
  his widow, 31,
  his operas at Bonn, 14.
Mozart's Mass in Bb, 51, 73,
  Agnus Dei of, 73,
  Et incarnatus of, 73,
  Kyrie of, 75.
Mozart and Haydn, 11, 20, 33, 73, 74, 75, 131.
Music, its function, 4,
  outward expression of, 39,
  dramas, great, 231,
  a language, 226, 227,
  Religious, 144,
  Origin in the dance, 99.
Musician, the, social obligations of, 39.
Mystery in life, 153, 225.
Mysticism, and the artistic nature, 144.

Napoleon, 41, 44, 54, 83, 103, 191,
  Arch-enemy of Austria, 42,
  Campaign against Austria, 41, 42,
  escapes from Elba, 109,
  declared emperor, 44,
  Greatest military achievement, 42,
  In the toils, 107,
  Marriage to Archduchess Maria Louisa, 102,
  Marriage to Josephine, 43,
  overruns Germany, 69,
  takes Vienna, 54.
National opera at Bonn, 13.
Neate, Charles, 182.
Neefe, Beethoven's teacher, 6, 7, 17.
New Testament, 161.
Nietzsche, Friederich, 40, 216.
Ninth Symphony (choral), 29, 96, 100, 166, 167, 172, 181, 196, 226,
  Choral finale, 170,
  an outburst of joy at deliverance, 164,
  First movement of, 163,
  First performance in this country, 165,
  Psychological problems in, 162,
  Sontag, and soprano part of, 160,
  Trombones in, 230,
  Variations in, 157.
Nohl, 186.
North America, 166, 180.

Ode to Joy, revolutionary spirit of, 165.
Odeschalchi, Princess, 61.
Opera, the, an alien soil to Beethoven, 49,
  as a work of art, 50,
  a combination of arts, 51.
Operatic composition, 52.
Orchestra, range and mobility of, 150,
  More important than voices, 150,
  its resources increased through Beethoven, 3.
Orchestral forms, development of, 99.
Ossian-like dæmonism, 149.
Ossian Songs (Schubert), 206.

Pain of existence, 132.
Palestrina, 234,
  Masses of, 143.
Paris Conservatoire, 16.
Parsifal, 164 (footnote), 231, 235,
  mysticism of, Prelude to, 235.
Passion music, 35, 144.
Pastoral Sonata, 35.
Pastoral Symphony (see Sixth Symphony).
Patriotism and altruism, 43.
Paur, Emil, 166.
Pedal-point, 231.
Pennsylvania, Founding of, libretto, 156.
Persian literature, 140.
Pessimism, 132.
Pinnacle of greatness, 40.
Pity, and the divine in man, 164.
Plagal mode, 234.
Plato, 230,
  Republic, 140.
Playing from manuscript, 10.
Philharmonic Society of New York, 166.
Philharmonic Society of London 200, 207.
Philip III, of Spain, daughter of, 204.
Prague, 9, 109.
Problem of life, 77, 164.
Prometheus, Ballet, 33, 34, 35.
Prussia, King of, 154.
Psychological element, the, 27.

Quartet, the, 98, 191, 194,
  Last quartets, 96, 100, 158, 191-192, 194, 195,
  Mysticism of, 96, 195,
  Psychological qualities of, 195, 218,
  Spirituality of, 195,
  Variations in, 157,
  Written in great mental trouble, 194.
Quartet, in A minor, 187,
  in C# minor, 195, 199, 203,
  its dedication, 208,
  in Bb, cavatina of, 194,
  new finale of, 203,
  see chamber-music, also Rasoumowsky quartets.

Rasoumowsky, Count, 59, 63, 65, 108, 192,
  Entertains Empress of Russia, 108.
Rasoumowsky quartets, 65-66, 192,
  Adagio of the second, 65.
Religion and General-bass, 219.
Religious sentiment, the, 219.
Renunciation, 163.
Requiem Mass, 140, 160, 161, 209.
Ries, Ferdinand, 44, 62, 82, 83, 84, 135, 180,
  Pupil of Beethoven, 80,
  Prolific composer, 85,
  efforts for Beethoven while in London, 181-182.
Ries, Franz, 12, 17, 82.
Rochlitz, 92, 153, 156.
Romberg, 16, 105.
Rossini, 79, 153, 166,
  calls on Beethoven, 139.
Ruins of Athens, 155.
Russia, Emperor of, 36, 107, 108, 154,
  Empress of, 107, 108.

Saint-Saens, 232.
Saint-Simon, and the strenuous life, 206.
Salieri, 105.
Satanas in the kitchen, 185.
Saxony, King of, 154, 213.
Second period, works of, 40,
  characterized by gayety, 100.
Second Symphony, 26, 36, 37,
  Larghetto of, 36.
Seebald, Amalie, 87, 88,
  facsimile of letter to her, opp. page 88.
Sehnsucht (Goethe's), 142.
Seidl, Anton, 166.
Sensenman, the, 116.
Seventh Symphony, 95, 96, 109,
  Dance element in, 99,
  First performance of, 105,
  Coda of Vivace of, 97,
  Hungarian peasant dance in, 96,
  Weber's strictures on, 159.
Scherzo, 33, 34, 132, 133,
  Peculiar to Beethoven, 133,
  developed by Beethoven, 132,
  makes sport of humanity in, 133-134.
Schiller, 16, 131, 141, 148, 165.
Schindler, 59, 88, 127, 136, 152, 154, 156-158, 168, 169, 171, 176,
     186, 188, 203, 205, 206, 207, 209, 210, 213,
  Beethoven's biographer, 179.
Schroeder-Devrient, 155, 159.
Schopenhauer, 22, 77, 143, 174, 229, 236,
  and humor, 134.
Schubert, 8, 127, 177, 206, 210, 211,
  Reverence of, for Beethoven, 178,
  Calls on Beethoven, 178,
  Songs of, 206.
Schuman, 136, 232.
Schuppanzich, 168, 176, 206.
Schott, music publishers, 208, 209.
Scott, Walter, 134,
  Kenilworth, 209.
Seyfried, 22, 64, 135, 212.
Shakespeare, 13, 68, 134, 139, 141, 223, 225,
  Comedies of, 68,
  the Tempest, 152,
  a Universal man, 227,
  Wagner's archetype in youth, 227.
Siegfried, 231.
Sight playing, from Ms., 63, 64.
Sixth Symphony (Pastoral), 14, 73, 78-79, 95, 122,
  Dance tunes in, 78,
  Dramatization of, 79,
  Nature-poem, a, 78, 79,
  Storm in, 78, 79.
Socrates, 161.
Solitary, Beethoven, the (quoted), 227.
Sonata in Ab, 35,
  Fantasia, language of Resignation, 61,
  Kreutzer, 44,
  "Moonlight," 35,
  opus 111, 187,
  Pathetique, 26,
  Pastorale, 35,
  Waldstein, 11, 18, 44,
  opus, 102, 129.
Sonata, the (form), 100.
Sonatas, 33, 36, 39,
  Last (opus 109, 110, 111), 155,
  Lofty imaginings of, 155,
  Wondrous second movement of op. 111, 158,
  F minor and D minor, 152.
Sonnleithner, 49, 56.
Sontag, 160, 170.
Spohr, 105.
Stadler, Abbe, 139, 167.
St. Just, 133.
St. Stephen's, Vienna, 22.
Streicher, Madame, 185, 186.
Stumpf, 139, 207, 209.
Stutterheim, Field-marshal von, 198, 208, 209.
Suite, the, earliest orchestral form, 99.
Süsmayer, 31.
Swieten, Baron von, 27, 59.

Tacitus, 4, 46.
Tact, woman's, 12.
Tenth Symphony (proposed), 170, 200,
  Adagio of, 173,
  Allegro of, a Bacchic festival, 173,
  Religious in character, 172.
Tetralogy, variations in, 157.
Thackeray, 134.
Thayer, A.W., 59, 90.
Third Leonore overture, 56, 229.
Third Mass (proposed), Kyrie of, 172
Third period, mysticism of, 100.
Third Symphony (Eroica), 11, 40 et seq., 68, 71, 73, 100, 104, 123,
  Composed in spirit of altruism, 43,
  First dedicated to Napoleon, 43-44,
  Last movement of, 158,
  Unique as a Symphony, 43.
Thomas, Theodore, 166.
Thoreau, 3, 113, 123, 161, 176, 218, 227.
Thun, Countess, 62.
Tolstoy, 45.
Tone-figure, 234.
Tone-pictures, 148.
Transposing, 31.
Treitschke, 106.
Trombones, 211,
  for Solemnity, 230.
Turin, 93.

Unger, Fräulein, 170.
Unrest, 4.

Vander Stucken, 166.
Variation form, 231,
  in the Diabelli Waltzes, 157,
  in Beethoven's Symphonies, 157,
  in Beethoven's Sonatas, 157.
Vienna, bombarded by French, 85,
  Conservatory of, 118,
  Italian element in, 58,
  Population in Beethoven's time, 58,
  Musical atmosphere of, 9, 10, 65,
  Society, attitude toward Beethoven, 60,
  its student element, 104.
Viennese, virtuosity of, 62-63,
  aristocracy, 149.
Vittoria, battle of, 102, 103.
Voltaire, 218.

Wagner, 4, 30, 50, 51, 56-57, 64, 66, 77, 79, 96, 120, 123, 125, 126,
     127, 141, 150, 156, 157, 223,
  Art-product of, 228,
  biographical sketch of Beethoven, his, 228,
  C# minor quartet, 195,
  Criticisms on music, his, 227,
  Disciple of Beethoven, 225, 229,
  Early recognition of, in this country, 181,
  Evening of life, 208,
  Flying Dutchman, 79,
  Industry of, 216,
  Is influenced by Beethoven, 230, 231,
  Literary achievement, his, 228,
  Life's Problem, solution of, 236,
  Life-work of, 208,
  Mystic, a, 236,
  Napoleonic ambition, 228,
  Ninth Symphony, 163, 165,
  Originality of, 230,
  Poetic temperament, 52, 53,
  Romanticism, his, 53, 230,
  Seventh Symphony, and the, 96,
  Tribute to Beethoven, 224,
  Tribute to Shakespeare, 224,
  Unerring poetic sense, 230,
  Variation form, and the, 157, 158.
Wagner and Beethoven, Affinity between, 229,
  Pioneers, 236,
  their Spiritual relationship, 229,
  World-weary, 236.
Wagner-Liszt correspondence, 232.
Waldstein, Count, 10, 11, 12, 28, 44.
Waterloo, battle of, 102, 110.
Weber, 139, 159, 160.
Wegeler, Dr., 12, 37.
Weihe des Hauses, 155, 169.
Weimar, 91.
Wellington, Duke of, 102, 106.
Weltschmertz, 126, 164.
Westphalia, King of, 83.
Wolfmayer, 29.
World's stage, 3.
World, torment of, 164,
  and Beethoven's influence on it, 15,
  ideal of, 15,
  in transition, 3.

Zauberflöte, 137, 185, 206.
Zehrgarten, at Bonn, 10.
Zeitgeist, the, 4.
Zelter, 91, 152.
Zmeskall, 137, 185, 206.
Zukunftsmusik, 150.





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