  Letters of 1801—The Beginning of Beethoven’s Deafness—The Criticisms of a Leipsic Journal—Bonn Friends in Vienna—Reicha, Breuning, Ries, Czerny—Chronology Adjusted. Let us now turn back to the important letters written in the summer of 1801, beginning with two written to his friend Amenda, which were first published in the “Signale” of 1852, No. 5. The first, without date or record of place, is as follows: How can Amenda doubt that I shall always remember him A thousand times the best of all men that I ever learned to know comes into my mind—yes, of the two men who had my entire love, of which one still lives, you are the third—how can recollection of you die out of my mind. You shall soon receive a long letter from me concerning my present condition and everything about me that might interest you. Farewell, dear, good, noble friend, keep me always in your love, your friendship, as I shall forever remain Your faithful The longer letter which he had promised to send to his friend is dated June 1, 1801: The Composer’s Health in 1801 My dear, good Amenda, my cordial friend, I received and read your last letter with mixed pain and pleasure. To what shall I compare your fidelity, your attachment to me. Oh, it is so beautiful that you have always been true to me and I know how to single you out and keep you above all others. You are not a Viennese friend, no, you are one of those who spring from the ground of my native land. How often do I wish you were with me, for your Beethoven is living an unhappy life, quarreling with nature and its creator, often cursing the latter because he surrendered his creatures to the merest accident which sometimes broke or destroyed the most beautiful blossoms. Know that my noblest faculty, my hearing, has greatly deteriorated. When you were still with me I felt the symptoms but kept silent; now it is continually growing worse, and whether or not a cure is possible has become a Your faithful, and truly affectionate In the same month Beethoven wrote again to the publisher Hoffmeister to this effect: I am a little amazed at what you have communicated to me through the local representative of your business. I am almost vexed to think that you consider me capable of such a trick. It would be a different matter if I had sold my wares only to avaricious tradesmen hoping that they would make a good speculation on the sly, but as artist towards artist it is a bit harsh to think such things of me. It looks to me as if the whole matter had been planned to test me or to be merely a suspicion; in either case I inform you that before you received the Septet from me I sent it to London to Mr. Salomon (for performance at his concerts out of mere friendship) but with the understanding that he should have a care that it should not fall into the hands of strangers, because I intended that it should be published in Germany, concerning which, if you think it necessary, you may make inquiry of him. But in order to prove my honesty I give you the assurance herewith that I have not sold the Septet, Concerto, the Symphony and the Sonata to anybody but you, Hoffmeister and KÜhnel, and that you may consider it (sic) as your exclusive property and to this I pledge my honor. You may make such use of this assurance as you please. As for the rest I believe as little that Salomon is capable of being guilty of having the Septet printed as I am of having sold it to him. I am so conscientious that I have denied the applications of various publishers to print the pianoforte arrangement of the Septet, and yet I do not know whether or not you intend to make such use of it. On June 29, he sent the following longer letter to Wegeler, who published it in his “Notizen”: Vienna, June 29. My good, dear Wegeler! Greetings to Old Friends in Bonn How greatly do I thank you for thinking of me; I have so little deserved it and so little tried to deserve anything from you, and yet you are so very good and refuse to be held aloof by anything, not even by my unpardonable remissness, remaining always my true, good, brave friend. Do not believe that I could forget you who were always so dear to me. No. There are moments when I long for you and would like to be with you. My fatherland, the beautiful region in which I first saw the light, is still as clear and beautiful before my eyes as when I left you. In short, I shall look upon that period as one of the happiest incidents of my life when I shall see you again and greet Father Rhine. When this shall be I cannot now tell you—but I want to say that you will see me again only as a great man. Yon shall receive me as a great artist but as a better and more perfect man, and if the conditions are improved in our fatherland my art shall be employed in the service of the poor. O happy moment! How happy am I that I created thee—can invoke thee!... You want to know something about my situation. It is not so bad. Since last year, unbelievable as it may sound, even after I tell you, Lichnowsky, who has always remained my warmest friend (there were little quarrels between us, but they only served to strengthen our friendship), set aside a fixed sum of 600 florins for me to draw against so long as I remained without a position worthy of me. From my compositions I have a large income and I may say that I have more commissions than it is possible for me to fill. Besides, I have 6 Your On November 16, he wrote in greater detail to Wegeler: My good Wegeler! I thank you for the new evidence of concern in my behalf, all the more since I deserve so little at your hands. You want to know Deafness and a Romantic Attachment For several months Vering has had vesicatories placed on both arms, which consist, as you know, of a certain bark. Your A commentary upon these letters—the first two excepted, which need none—might be made, by a moderate indulgence of poetic fancy, to fill a volume of respectable size; but rigidly confined to prosaic fact may be reduced to reasonable dimensions. Taking up the letters in their order, the first is that to Hoffmeister of April 22nd. I. One of the earliest projects of the new firm of Hoffmeister and KÜhnel was the publication of “J. Sebastian Bach’s Theoretical and Practical Clavier and Organ Works.” The first number contained: 1, Toccata in D-flat; 2, fifteen inventions; 3, “The Well-Tempered Clavichord”—in part; the second number: 1, 15 symphonies in three voices; 2, continuation of “The Well-Tempered Clavichord.” Now compare what Schindler says (third edition, II, 184): Of the archfather Johann Sebastian Bach the stock was a very small one except for a few motets which had been sung at the house of van Swieten; besides these the majority of pieces were those familiarly known, namely, the “Well-Tempered Clavichord,” which showed signs of diligent study, three volumes of exercises, fifteen inventions, fifteen symphonies and a toccata in D minor. This collection of pieces in a single volume is to be found in my possession. Attached to these was a sheet of paper on which, in a strange handwriting, was to be read the following passage from J. N. Forkel’s book “On the Life and Artwork of Johann Sebastian Bach”: “The pretence that the musical art is an art for all ears cannot be substantiated by Bach, but is disproved by the mere existence and uniqueness of his works, which seem to be destined only for connoisseurs. Only the connoisseur who can surmise the inner organization and feel it and penetrate to the intention of the artist, which NÄgele, who professed long to have entertained the design to publish Bach’s “most admirable works,” issued his proposals in February, written with some degree of asperity against “the double competition” which, he had already learned, “was confronting” him. Of his edition of “The Well-Tempered Clavichord” Beethoven also possessed a part. The names left blank in publishing this letter are easily supplied. Baron Carl August von Liechtenstein, the same to whom, from 1825 to 1832, was confided the management of the opera in Berlin, who died there in 1845, had been so extravagantly praised as head of the Princely Music at Dessau that he was called to assume the chapelmastership of the Imperial Opera in Vienna near the end of 1800. The contemporary reports of his efficiency as conductor are highly favorable. He deserves the credit of determining to add to the repertory of the Imperial Opera Mozart’s “ZauberflÖte” which, till then, had been heard by the Viennese only in the little theatre Auf-den-Wieden. It is worth mentioning that Liechtenstein brought with him from Dessau poor Neefe’s daughter Felice, now Mme. RÖsner, and that she was the Pamina of this performance. In the first new work produced (April 16th) upon the imperial stage after Beethoven’s “Prometheus” music, Liechtenstein introduced himself to the Vienna public in the character of a composer. It was in his opera “Bathmendi,” completely revised. The result was a wretched failure. Hoffmeister’s long and familiar acquaintance with Vienna, its musicians and its theatres, would cause him readily to appreciate the fun and wit of Beethoven’s remark that the newly engaged chapelmaster and composer of the Imperial Opera “seems to have taken for an ideal Mr. M. (MÜller)”—the Offenbach of that time—but without reaching “even him.” Considering that the Baron was yet a young man, at the most but three years older than Beethoven, the somewhat bitter remark which follows the jest appears natural enough. The Composer and His Early Critics II. Beethoven had just cause for indignation in the treatment which he had received at the hands of the writers for the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” (the “Leipsic oxen” of his letter of January 15th). Hoffmeister had evidently written him on the The criticisms are a perfect reflex of the conventional musical thought of the period and can be read now with amused interest, at least. There is no room here for their production in full. The writer, “M...,” recognizes the clever pianoforte player in the Variations but cannot see evidences in them of equal capacity as a composer. He likes some of them and “willingly admits” that those on “Une fiÈvre brÛlante” are “more successful than those of Mozart, who in his early youth also treated the same subject.” But Mozart did not write the variations referred to, and when GrÉtry’s “Richard Coeur de Lion,” from which the theme was borrowed, was first performed in Paris, Mozart was not in his “early youth” but 28 years old. The critic descants with disapproval on “certain harshnesses in the modulations,” illustrating them; holds up Haydn as a model chooser of themes, and commends the comments of Vogler on a set of variations on “God save the King” printed in a little book on the subject. Thus Beethoven found, in the first recognition of himself as a composer in that journal, two compositions which he did not think worthy of opus numbers, to the neglect of all his better works, made the subject of censure and ridicule for the purpose of putting and advertising a pamphlet by Vogler. Were his own subsequent Variations on “God save the King” an effect of this article? No. 23 of the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” contains nearly two pages from the pen of Spazier on Liechtenstein’s opera, “Die steinerne Braut,” and a parallel between Beethoven and This Trio, which in part is not easier but more flowing than many other pieces by the same author, makes an excellent ensemble on the pianoforte with accompaniment. The composer with his unusual harmonic knowledge and love for serious composition would provide us many things which would leave many hand-organ things far in the rear, even those composed by famous men, if he would but try to write more naturally. Could one say less? The “Leipsic oxen” are now ruminating upon the noble Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violin, Op.12, and No. 36 (June, 1799), contains the result: The critic, who heretofore has been unfamiliar with the pianoforte pieces of the author, must admit, after having looked through these strange sonatas, overladen with difficulties, that after diligent and strenuous labor he felt like a man who had hoped to make a promenade with a genial friend through a tempting forest and found himself barred every minute by inimical barriers, returning at last exhausted and without having had any pleasure. It is undeniable that Mr. Beethoven goes his own gait; but what a bizarre and singular gait it is! Learned, learned and always learned—and nothing natural, no song. Yes, to be accurate, there is only a mass of learning here, without good method; obstinacy, but for which we feel but little interest; a striving for strange modulations, an objection to customary associations, a heaping up of difficulties on difficulties till one loses all patience and enjoyment. Another critic (M. Z., No. 24) has said almost the same thing, and the present writer must agree with him completely. Nevertheless, the present work must not be rejected wholly. It has its value and may be of excellent use for already practised pianoforte players. There are always many who love difficulties in invention and composition, what we might call perversities, and if they play these Sonatas with great precision they may derive delight in the music as well as an agreeable feeling of satisfaction. If Mr. v. B. wished to deny himself a bit more and follow the course of nature he might, with his talent and industry, do a great deal for an instrument which he seems to have so wonderfully under his control. Let us pass on to No. 38 of the journal, where we find half a dozen notices to arrest our attention. Variations by Schuppanzigh for two violins are “written in good taste and conveniently for the instrument”; variations for the pianoforte by Philip Freund are very satisfactory and “some among them belong to the best of their kind”; variations by Heinrich Eppinger for violin and violoncello “deserve honorable mention”; but “X Variations pour le clavecin sur le Duo ‘La stessa, la stessissima’ par L. v. Beethoven” the critic “cannot at all be satisfied with, because they are stiff Change in the Tone of Criticism Now, however, the tide begins to turn. After an interval of nearly four months, in No. 2 of Vol. II (October, 1799), the Sonatas, Op.12, for Pianoforte and Violin have a page allotted to them. A few sentences to show the tone of the article will suffice; for the praise of Beethoven needs no repetition: It is not to be denied that Mr. v. B. is a man of genius, possessed of originality and who goes his own way. In this he is assured by his extraordinary thoroughness in the higher style of writing and his unusual command of the instrument for which he writes, he being unquestionably one of the best pianoforte composers and players of our time. His abundance of ideas, of which a striving genius never seems to be able to let go so soon as it has got possession of a subject worthy of his fancy, only too frequently leads him to pile up ideas, etc. Fancy, in the extraordinary degree which Beethoven possesses, supported, too, by extraordinary knowledge, is a valuable possession, and, indeed, an indispensable one for a composer, etc. The critic, who, after he has tried to accustom himself more and more to Mr. Beethoven’s manner, has learned to admire him more than he did at first, can scarcely suppress the wish that ... it might occur to this fanciful composer to practise a certain economy in his labors.... This tenth collection, as the critic has said, seems deserving of high praise. Good invention, an earnest, manly style, ... well-ordered thoughts in every part, difficulties not carried to an excess, an entertaining treatment of the harmony—lift these Sonatas above the many. In No. 21 (February, 1800) justice is done to the “Sonate pathÉtique.” Except a passing notice of the publication of the Quartets, Op.18, made by a correspondent, Vol. III of the “Allg. Mus. Zeitung” contains nothing on the works of Beethoven. So that more than a year passed between the favorable review of the “Sonate pathÉtique” and the letter to Breitkopf and HÄrtel of April 22nd. The mild tone of that missive is, therefore, easily explained. The tone of the journal had completely changed; this fact, and time, had assuaged Beethoven’s wrath, and finally the publishers in applying to him for manuscripts had made the amende honorable. In the number of May 26th begins, with a notice of the two Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violin, Op.23 and Op.24, that long series of fair, candid and generously eulogistic articles on Beethoven’s works which culminated in July, 1810, in the magnificent review of the C minor Symphony by E. T. A. Hoffmann—a labor of love that laid the foundation of a new school of musical criticism. III. Upon the last topic of the letter to Breitkopf and HÄrtel something remains to be said. It was in the “Intelligenzblatt” of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” for May, 1800, that Rochlitz made a touching appeal for aid for the last survivor of Sebastian Bach’s children. “This family,” says he, “has now died out down to the single daughter of the great Sebastian Bach, and this daughter is now very old.... This daughter is starving.... The publishers of the ‘Musik Zeitung’ and I offer to obligate if anybody shall entrust us with money to forward it in the most expeditious and careful manner, and to give account of it in the ‘IntelligenzblÄtter’.” The first account is in the paper for December. Regina Susanna Bach publishes her “thanks” for 96 thalers and 5 silbergroschens contributed, as the “careful account” which is appended shows, by sixteen persons, four of whom, in Vienna, sent more than 80 florins, leaving certainly but a small sum as the offering of “her Germany.” One other—and only one—account appears, in June, 1801. It is an acknowledgment by Rochlitz, Breitkopf and HÄrtel and FrÄulein Bach of having received on May 10th the considerable sum of 307 florins Viennese (the equal of 200 thalers) through the Viennese musician Andreas Streicher, collected by Streicher and Count Fries. At the same time the famous Viennese composer Herr van Beethoven declares that he will publish one of his newest works solely for the benefit of the daughter of Bach ... so that the good old lady may derive the benefit of it from time to time. Therefore he nobly urges that the publication be hastened as much as possible lest the daughter of Bach die before his object be attained. Whether or not any such work was published is not known. Unsupported conjectures as to the names left blank in the letter to Amenda when originally printed in the “Signale” are of no use, and if made might hereafter expose the conjecturer to just ridicule; there remain, then, but two topics which require a word of comment—the year omitted in the date, and the friend of his youth of whom Beethoven speaks in such strong terms of affection—both of which, however, may better be disposed of, in what is to be said upon the letter to Wegeler of June 29th. This long, important and very interesting paper affords an illustration of the readiness with which a conjecture may be accepted as a truth, until one is compelled to subject it to rigid examination. Thus, in using this letter for a particular purpose, Arrival in Vienna of Anton Reicha IV. The opinion was before expressed, that the “man” spoken of in the Amenda letter as having come to Vienna, to Beethoven’s comfort, was Anton Reicha. To Beethoven, who was still digesting plans for musical tours, the experience of his friend must have been of great value; not less to Reicha the experience of Beethoven in Vienna. But he Thus Beethoven and Reicha again met and lived on equal terms. “We spent fourteen years together,” V. When Wegeler says of Stephan von Breuning, “But he had, with short interruptions, spent his life in closest association with Beethoven from his tenth year to his death,” he says too much; and too little when he writes that Beethoven “had once broken for a considerable space with Breuning (and with what friend did he not?)” For besides the quarrel, which Ries describes, there came at last so decided a separation that Breuning’s name disappears from our history for a period of eight to ten years—and that, too, not from his fault. It was impossible that the two should have met in 1801 on such terms as those on which they had parted in 1796. Breuning had passed this interval of five years in a small provincial town, Mergentheim, in the monotonous routine of a petty office, in the service of a semi-military, semi-religious institution which had so sunk in grandeur and power as to be little more than a venerable name—a relic of the past. In the same service he had now returned to Vienna. How Beethoven had been employed, and how he had risen, we have seen. Thus, their relative positions in society had completely changed. Beethoven now moved familiarly in circles to which Breuning could have access only by his or some other friend’s protection. In view of the relation in which Wegeler stood to the Breuning family, Beethoven might well have said more about “Steffen,” but not easily less. Even here something of patronizing condescension in the tone makes itself felt, which becomes far too The more thoroughly the character of Breuning is examined, not only in his subsequent relations to Beethoven but also in the light of all that is known of him as a public official, as a husband, father and friend, the higher he stands as a man. Under circumstances, in his office, fitted to try his patience beyond the ordinary limits of endurance, he never failed to bear himself nobly, as a man of high principle, ever ready to sacrifice private and personal considerations to the call of duty. In private life he was invariably just, generous, tenacious of the right. Whatever causes he may have had on divers occasions to complain of Beethoven, we learn nothing of them from his correspondence so far as it has been made public, unless a single passage cited by Wegeler be thought an exception; yet this is but the expression of heartfelt sorrow and compassion—not one word of anger. And we know that Beethoven, when in distress, never turned to him in vain for sympathy nor for such aid as was in his power to give. In the miserable years to come the reader will learn enough of Breuning, though by no means a prominent figure, to feel respect and admiration for his character, and to see for himself how unjust to him were those letters—written by Beethoven under the impulse of short-lived choler—which Ries has contributed to the “Notizen.” There is some temptation to think that Breuning was of those whom Beethoven “estimated at only what they were worth to him”; but let us trust that, should ever the blanks in the Amenda letter be filled from the autograph, his name will not be found—certainly not, if the conjecture as to the time of Amenda’s residence in Vienna prove correct. It is difficult to avoid saying either too much or too little on such a topic as this of Breuning and Beethoven—to strike the just medium in the strength of the language used; but the subject has been made the occasion of so much injudicious comment, it was not possible to pass it over. VI. The “Intelligenz-Blatt” of Bonn, under date of November 30, 1784, announces the baptism, on the preceding day, of Ferdinand, son of Franz Ries. Like many others who have become eminent musicians, his taste and capabilities manifested themselves very early; as, at five years old, he began his musical education under his father, and afterwards under Bernhard Romberg, the celebrated violoncello player. The French invasion, the departure of Romberg in consequence (1794) from Bonn, and the pecuniary straits to which Franz Ries was reduced, prevented much attention being, for some time, paid to the instruction of his son.... At last, when he was about thirteen (“he had reached the age of 13 years”, says the “Rheinischer Antiquarius”), a friend of his father took him to Arnsberg in Westphalia, for the purpose of learning thoroughbass and composition from an organ-player in that neighborhood.... The pupil proved so much the more able to teach of the two, that the organist was obliged to give the matter up at once and proposed to young Ries to teach him the violin instead. As a pis-aller, this was accepted; and Ries remained at Arnsberg about nine months, after which he returned home. Here he remained upwards of two years, improving himself in his art with great industry.... At length, in the year 1801, he went to Munich with the same friend who had formerly taken him to Arnsberg. Here he was thrown upon his own resources; and throughout the trying and dispiriting circumstances which, with slight exception, attended the next years of his life, he appears to have displayed a firmness, an energy, and an independence of mind, the more honorable, perhaps, from the very early age at which they were called into action. At Munich, Mr. Ries was left by his friend, with little money and but very slender prospects. He tried for some time to procure pupils, but was at last reduced to copy music at three-pence per sheet. With this scanty pittance, he not only continued to keep himself free from embarrassments, but saved a few ducats to take him to Vienna, where he had hopes of patronage and advancement from Beethoven.... He set out from Munich with only seven ducats and reached Vienna before they were exhausted! The citations are from that noble musical journal the London “Harmonicon,” and belong to an article on Ries published in March, 1824. They correspond perfectly to a sketch of Ries’s life in the “Rheinischer Antiquarius,” although there are sufficient differences to show that the materials of the two articles were drawn from independent sources. The “Antiquarius” (Part III, Vol. II, p. 62), however, dates Ries’s arrival in Munich 1800, the “Harmonicon” giving it 1801. But the difference is rather apparent than real, since the winter of 1800-1801 includes them both, and is therefore of very little import. But when Ries, in Ayrton, the editor of the “Harmonicon,” could have obtained (in 1824) the date for his article only from Ries himself, as in fact the internal evidence proves him to have done. It was published after the announcement of Ries’s farewell concert in London, with the evident intention of aiding in securing its success, and must have been presented to Ries for revision before it was sent to press. Ries, therefore, must have erred by a lapse of memory, in 1824 as he admitted he may have done, or in December, 1837, when he wrote the “Notizen.” As for the writer, he has no hesitation in accepting September or October, 1801, as the date of Ries’s advent in Vienna. Thus the last of these errors—that of Wegeler in his date of the letter of June 29; that of Schindler (in his first editions) in the date of the “Christus am Ölberg”; and this of Ries—which had thrown all this period of Beethoven’s history into a confusion that seemed inextricable, is satisfactorily rectified, and the current of the narrative now flows as clear and unimpeded here as in any other part. Let us return to it. The “Harmonicon” proceeds: Beethoven and Ferdinand Ries Ries’ hopes from his father’s early friend, were not disappointed; Beethoven received him with a cordial kindness, too rare, alas! from men who have risen to eminence and distinction towards those whose claim upon them is founded on the reminiscences of their humble state. He at once took the young man under his immediate care and tuition; advanced him pecuniary loans, which his subsequent conduct converted to gifts; and allowed him to be the first to take the title of pupil and appear in public as such. So also the “Notizen”: In the letter of recommendation from my father there had been opened a small credit account to be used in case of need. I never made use of it but, when a few times Beethoven discovered that I was short of funds, he sent me money without being asked and never wanted to take it back. He was really very fond of me, of which fact he once in his absent-mindedness gave me a very comical proof. Once when I returned from Silesia, where I had spent some time at the country-seat of Prince Lichnowsky as pianist on the recommendation of Beethoven, and entered his room he was about to shave himself and had lathered his face up to his eyes—for so far his fearfully stiff beard reached. He jumped up, embraced me cordially and thereby transferred so much of the lather “But with all his kindness” continues the “Harmonicon,” Beethoven would not give Ries instruction in thoroughbass or composition. He said it required a particular gift to explain them with clearness and precision, and, besides that, Albrechtsberger was the acknowledged master of all composers. This latter had almost given up teaching, being very old, and was persuaded to take a new pupil only by the strong recommendation of Beethoven and by the temptation of a ducat a lesson. Poor Ries’ ducats ran only to the number of 28; after this he was driven to his books again. So it appears that he was Beethoven’s pupil only upon the pianoforte. The manner in which he was taught is also described in the “Notizen”: The Recollections of Ries and Czerny When Beethoven gave me a lesson I must say that contrary to his nature he was particularly patient. I was compelled to attribute this and his friendly disposition, which was seldom interrupted, chiefly to his great affection and love for my father. Thus, sometimes, he would permit me to repeat a thing ten times, or even oftener. In the Variations dedicated to the Princess Odescalchi (Op.34), I was obliged to repeat the last Adagio variations almost entirely seventeen times; yet he was still dissatisfied with the expression of the little cadenza, although I thought I played it as well as he. On this day I had a lesson which lasted nearly two hours. If I made a mistake in passages or missed notes and leaps which he frequently wanted emphasized he seldom said anything; but if I was faulty in expression, in crescendos, etc., or in the character of the music, he grew angry because, as he said, the former was accidental while the latter disclosed lack of knowledge, feeling, or attentiveness. The former slips very frequently happened to him even when he was playing in public. “I often played on two fortepianos with Ries,” says Czerny, “among other things the Sonata, Op.47, which had been arranged for two pianofortes. Ries played very fluently, clear but cold.” Here we have a key to the identity of so many of Ries’s and Czerny’s facts and anecdotes of those years, written out by them independently; the latter, as he assures us, having first become acquainted with the “Notizen” through the quotations of Court Councillor Lenz. The two brilliant boys, thrown so much together, would never weary of talking of their famous master. The stories of his oddities and eccentricities, minute facts relating to his Another remark of Czerny’s is as follows: When the French were in Vienna for the first time, in 1805, Beethoven visited a number of officers and generals who were musical and for whom he played Gluck’s “Iphigenia in Tauris” from the score, to which they sang the choruses and songs not at all ill. I begged the score from him and at home wrote out the pianoforte score as I had heard him play it. I still have this arrangement (November, 1852). From that time I date my style of arranging orchestral works, and he was always wholly satisfied with my arrangements of his symphonies, etc. A lad who, though not yet fifteen years old, was able to write a pianoforte score of such an opera after a single hearing, certainly deserved the testimonial to his talent which, though written by another hand, was signed at the time by Beethoven and sealed. The testimonial, in the possession of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna, runs as follows: We, the undersigned, cannot withhold from the lad Carl Czerny, who has made such extraordinary progress on the pianoforte, far surpassing what might be expected from a boy of fourteen years, that for this reason, and also because of his marvelous memory, he is deserving of all possible support, the more since his parents have expended their fortune in the education of this promising son. Ludwig van Beethoven. (Seal) Vienna, December 7, 1805. The master had early and wisely warned him against a too free use of his extraordinary memory. “My musical memory,” Czerny writes, enabled me to play the Beethovenian works by heart without exception, and during the years 1801-1805 I was obliged to play these works in this manner at Prince Lichnowsky’s once or twice a week, he calling out only the desired opus number. Beethoven, who was present a few times, was not pleased. “Even if he plays correctly on the whole,” he remarked, “he will forget in this manner the quick survey, the a vista-playing and, occasionally, the correct expression.” Very neat is the anecdote which Czerny relates in the “Wiener Musikzeitung” of September 28th, 1845, how, after he had On the whole he was pleased with my performance of his works ... but he scolded me for every blunder with a kind freedom which I shall never forget. When once, for instance, I played the Quintet with Wind-Instruments with Schuppanzigh, I permitted myself, in a spirit of youthful carelessness, many changes, in the way of adding difficulties to the music, the use of the higher octave, etc.—Beethoven took me severely to task in the presence of Schuppanzigh, Linke and the other players. The next day I received the following letter from him, which I copy carefully from the original draft: “Dear Czerny: “To-day I cannot see you, but to-morrow I will call on you myself to have a talk with you. I burst forth so yesterday that I was sorry after it had happened; but you must pardon that in an author who would have preferred to hear his work exactly as he wrote it, no matter how beautifully you played in general. I will make loud amends at the Violoncello Sonata (I was to play his Violoncello Sonata with Linke the next week). Be assured that as an artist I have the greatest wishes for your success and will always try to show myself, Your This letter did more than anything else to cure me of the desire to make any changes in the performance of his works, and I wish that it might have the same influence on all pianists. |
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