Excerpts from a letter written on June 2, 1806, by Stephan von Breuning to his sister and brother-in-law, make a fair opening for the story of the year 1806. In it he reports on “Fidelio.” The letter, though written in the middle of the year, has reference to the period between the original performance late in 1805 and the repetition in the spring of 1806, a period in which it would seem, from the absence of all epistolary writings, Beethoven was in no mood, or too much occupied otherwise, for correspondence. Von Breuning writes:

The words “Fidelio” and “Leonore” are here misplaced, interchanged, whether by Breuning or his copyist is not known. The letter is a reflection of Beethoven’s disappointment and indignation at fancied injuries; it was written in ignorance of divers material facts, and contains inaccuracies, which—since its publication by Wegeler in 1838—have colored many attempts to write the early history of the opera.

It is a circumstance, noteworthy and not easily to be explained, that Breuning, instead of Sonnleithner, revised the text and made the new disposition of the scenes. For the alterations and suppressions, both in the text and the music, made at this time, the reader is referred to the edition of “Leonore” prepared by Otto Jahn, and published by Breitkopf and HÄrtel in 1852, and the preface to the edition of the “Fidelio” of 1805 published by Erich Prieger.

At the performances in November, the effect of the overture had been ruined by a passage in the Allegro, which was too difficult for the wood-wind instruments. “Instead of simply removing this obstacle (31 measures),” says Schindler, “Beethoven thought it advisable to rewrite the whole, inasmuch as he was already engaged upon a revision of other parts of the work. He retains the motivi of the Introduction as well as the Allegro, has the motivo of the latter played by violoncellos and violins simultaneously for the sake of greater sonority, and on the existing foundation rears a new structure, including several new thoughts.”[35]

And thus for Beethoven the winter passed. To compete with successful new works which Schikaneder offered the Vienna audiences of 1806, was no light matter; and it is easy to imagine, that Beethoven felt this, and determined, at all events in his own field of instrumental composition, to leave no doubt who was master. Hence, that monumental work, the great overture to “Leonore” in its second form. He was, as usual, dilatory in meeting his engagements. January and February passed and March drew to its close, and the overture was not ready. This was too much for Baron Braun’s patience. He, therefore, selected the best night of the season—Saturday, March 29, the last before the closing of the theatre for Holy Week and Easter—and gave Beethoven distinctly to understand, that if the opera was not performed on that evening, it should not be given at all. This was effectual and the new score was sent in; but so late, as RÖckel well remembered, as to allow but two or three rehearsals with pianoforte and one only with orchestra; and these were directed by Seyfried—the composer appearing at neither.

Beethoven and Breuning supposed that a change of title from “Fidelio” to “Leonore” had been agreed to by the directors, and indeed the new text-book and Breuning’s poem on the occasion were so printed; but it was determined otherwise. By the new arrangement of the scenes, the number of acts was reduced to two. The new playbill therefore substitutes “Opera in two Acts” for “three”; excepting this, the change of date, and of RÖckel’s for Demmer’s name as Florestan, it is a facsimile of the previous ones, and announces: “Fidelio oder die Eheliche Liebe.” For this determination the directors may well have urged, not only a proper regard for the composer of “Sargino” and the (Italian) “Leonore,” but the manifest impropriety of misleading the public by giving a new title to a work which remained essentially unchanged. As on the original production, Breuning wrote a poem: “To Herr Ludwig van Beethoven, on the occasion of the reproduction of the opera composed by him and first performed on November 20, 1805, now given under the new title ‘Leonore.’”

The correspondent of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.,” under date of April 2, writes: “Beethoven has again produced his opera ‘Fidelio’ on the stage with many alterations and abbreviations. An entire act has been omitted, but the piece has benefited and pleased better.” On Thursday, the 10th, it was given again. The following letters from Beethoven to Sebastian Meier, referring to this performance, complain of “many blunders” in the choruses, ask for new rehearsals, and say:

Seyfried’s autograph record of all performances in the Theater-an-der-Wien, through a long series of years, gives “Sargino” instead of “Fidelio,” for Saturday the 12th—and “Agnes Bernauer” for the Sunday and Monday following. That this old, well-known drama was so repeated affords a strong presumption that an opera—we think “Fidelio”—was withdrawn “because obstacles had suddenly appeared” after it was too late to supply its place with another. At all events, the production of “Fidelio” on Thursday, April 10th, was the last; for which fact, two explanations are given—that in Breuning’s letter, and one by RÖckel in his letter to the author. Breuning attributes it to the composer’s enemies—to a cabal, to “several persons whom Beethoven had offended, especially at the second representation”; RÖckel, to Beethoven’s own imprudence and folly.

Breuning, a Secretary in the War Office, could have had little leisure for theatrical matters in those melancholy days during the French occupation and immediately after; it is a cause of surprise, that he found time for the revision of the “Fidelio” text; his record, therefore, could hardly have been made except upon the representations of his friend—the last man to admit that he was in fault. But RÖckel was behind the scenes in a double sense: he sang the part of Florestan and while Beethoven’s “friends were, most of them, married men, not able to walk and dine out with him (as he writes) like myself, another bachelor, to whom he took a fancy—I could call upon him in the morning and in fine weather stroll and dine with him in the country.” Breuning and RÖckel are alike men of unimpeachable veracity; but the latter speaks from personal knowledge and observation.

Breuning’s statement is improbable. Who were Beethoven’s enemies? Who formed the cabal? Baron Braun, Schikaneder, Seyfried, the Stage-manager Meier, Director Clement, the solo singers (Mlle. Milder, Weinkopf, RÖckel), were all his friends; and, for anything now known, so were Mlle. MÜller, Rothe and CachÉ. As to orchestra and chorus, they might refuse to play under Beethoven as conductor—nothing more; and, as he had already conducted four if not five times, this would create no great difficulty, as the baton would necessarily pass into the hands of Seyfried at the first or second subsequent performance. Moreover, now that the opera was fairly upon the stage and making its way, it was for the interest of all parties, from Baron Braun down to the scene-shifters, to continue it so long as it would draw an audience. That it was making its way is proved not only by all the contemporary accounts, but by this: that notwithstanding the necessarily empty houses in November, Beethoven’s percentage of the receipts finally amounted to nearly 200 florins.

In the second of the notes to Meier, Beethoven is guilty of monstrous injustice. A moment’s reflection shows this. The orchestra and chorus had duly rehearsed and three times publicly performed “Fidelio” as first written. Since then (see Jahn’s edition) most of the numbers, perhaps every one, had been more or less changed. Now every musician knows that it is easier to play a piece of new music correctly at sight, than a well-known composition in which material alterations have been made. And yet, because some forty men—playing on a dozen different instruments, and after a single rehearsal at which the composer was not present to explain his intentions—did not effect the impossibility of reading the music correctly and at the same time note all the marks of expression, Beethoven writes: “I cannot think otherwise than that is done purposely!”

All things considered, there can be no hesitation in preferring the testimony of the singer of Florestan, to that of the Court War Councillor.

In truth, Beethoven had overshot the mark. The overture was too novel in form and grand in substance to be immediately understood; and, in 1806, there was not an audience in Europe able to find, in the fire and expression of the principal vocal numbers, an adequate compensation for the superficial graces and melodic beauties of the favorite operas of the time, and which seemed to them to be wanting in “Fidelio.” Even Cherubini, who was all this time in Vienna, failed to comprehend fully a work which, though a first and only experiment, was destined to an ever-increasing popularity, when nearly all his own then universally admired operas had disappeared from the stage. Schindler records that he “told the musicians of Paris concerning the overture that because of its confusion of modulations he was unable to recognize the principal key.” And farther, that he (Cherubini), in listening to “Fidelio,” had come to the conclusion that till then Beethoven had paid too little heed to the art of singing, for which Salieri was not to blame.

In 1836, Schindler conversed with the Fidelio of 1805-06, Madame Milder-Hauptmann, on the subject: “She said, among other things, that she, too, had had severe struggles with the master chiefly about the unbeautiful, unsingable passages, unsuited to her voice, in the Adagio of the air in E major—but all in vain, until, in 1814, she declared that she would never sing the air again in its then shape. That worked.”

Anselm HÜttenbrenner, who became a pupil of Salieri a dozen years later, wrote in a letter to Ferdinand Luib, under date February 21, 1858: “Speaking of Beethoven Salieri told me the composer had submitted ‘Fidelio’ to him for an opinion: he had taken exception to many things and advised Beethoven to make certain changes; but Beethoven had ‘Fidelio’ performed just as he had written it—and never visited Salieri again.” These last words are too strong; Beethoven’s pique against his old master was in time forgotten; for Moscheles (also in a letter to Luib) writes on February 28, 1858: “I cannot recall seeing Schubert at Salieri’s, but I do remember the interesting circumstance that once I saw a sheet of paper lying at Salieri’s on which in great letters written by Beethoven were the words: ‘The pupil Beethoven was here!’”

A letter by Beethoven to Baron von Braun refers to the incidents just described and asks permission to get from the theatre orchestral parts, as follows:

There were other reasons why Beethoven desired to render his score perfect. Whether the opera was performed in the Lobkowitz palace is not recorded; but Breuning ends his letter of June 2nd thus: “I will not write you the news that Prince Lichnowsky has now sent the opera to the Queen of Prussia, and that I hope the performances in Berlin will show the Viennese what they have at home.”

Breuning’s hope was vain; the opera was not given in Berlin.

The order of time requires a passing notice of a family event which proved in the end a cause of infinite trouble and vexation to Beethoven and all connected with him by the ties of kindred or friendship. Whether his brother Kaspar’s salary was increased above 250 florins, before his appointment in 1809 as Liquidators’-Adjunct with 1000 florins and 160 fl. for lodgings, does not appear; beyond a doubt it had been. But, be this as it may, he now found himself in a position to marry, and on the 25th of May “a marriage contract was closed between Carl Caspar v. Beethoven, R. I. Officer of the Revenue, and of this city (Vienna) and Theresia Reiss, daughter of Anton Reiss, civilian, upholsterer.” Their only child, a son, was born—according to the baptismal certificate—on September 4th, 1806.

Reiss was a man of considerable wealth, for one in his sphere of life, and able, it is said, to give his daughter a marriage portion of 2000 florins; it appears, too, that the valuable house in the Alservorstadt, owned by Karl at the time of his death, was an inheritance of his wife from her father’s estate; indeed, half the right to the property was legally secured to her. So much has been wantonly and falsely written upon this marriage and its consequences, as to render it proper to add here: Karl van Beethoven’s character and temperament were not fitted to render a wife permanently happy; on the other hand his wife, before her husband’s death, dishonored him by an intrigue with a medical student; but there is no reason whatever to believe that the marriage, at the time it took place, was not considered a good one for, and by, all parties concerned.

The notices of Beethoven’s own movements during this year are scanty. “Fidelio” and studies to instrumental works employed him during the winter (1805-6), but not to the exclusion of the claims of social intercourse, as one of his characteristic memoranda indicates. It is written with lead pencil on a page of the new quartet sketches: “Just as you are now plunging into the whirlpool of society—just so possible is it to compose operas in spite of social obstacles. Let your deafness no longer be a secret—even in art.”

Breuning’s report (June 2), that Beethoven “had lost a great deal of his pleasure in and love for work,” had even then ceased to be true. On the 26th of May, the first of the Rasoumowski Quartets had been begun—and with it began a series of works which distinguished the year 1806 as one of astonishing productiveness—but more on this point in due time. It is quite certain that he took no summer lodgings: this and other considerations confirm Schindler’s statement, that, when the revision of a copy of his opera for Berlin had been finished, he went into Hungary to enjoy “a short rest with his friend Count Brunswick.” Thence he journeyed into Silesia to the seat of Prince Lichnowsky near Troppau.

Two documents now come up for consideration which fill a hiatus left by the author in the original edition of this work. They are the letters to which reference was made by the English editor in his comments on Beethoven’s love-affairs (Vol. I, p. 344). Both are addressed to Breitkopf and HÄrtel, the first dated “Vienna, July 5, 1806,” the second “GrÄtz, den 3ten Heumonath, 1806”—“Heumonath” meaning July. The inaccuracy of the latter date is too obvious to call for extended comment; Beethoven could not apologize on the third day of the month for tardiness in replying to a letter in answer to one which he had dispatched on the fifth. It is not permissible to play fast and loose with Beethoven’s dates, despite their frequent faultiness; we must accept them when they are upheld by corroborative evidence, but reject them when it is plainly impossible to conceive them as correct. In explanation of the obvious incorrectness of the second date it is suggested that when Beethoven wrote “Heumonath,” i.e., July, he meant to write “Herbstmonath,” i.e., September. Irrespective of their dates, however, the letters furnish evidence of Beethoven’s creative activity during the summer of 1806. The first letter is as follows:

The pianoforte concerto referred to is that in G major, Op. 58; the Quartets, the set Op. 59; the symphony, the “Eroica.” The second letter was written from Prince Lichnowsky’s castle, GrÄtz, near Troppau in Silesia. Breitkopf and HÄrtel’s endorsement shows that it was received and answered in September:

Breitkopf and HÄrtel’s endorsement is as follows: “Resp. (i.e., responsum). Let him propose the honorarium; if acceptable we will send him a contract for three years.” In reply to this Beethoven wrote a letter dated Vienna, Nov. 18, 1806, in which he said:

Partly my distractions in Silesia, partly the events which have taken place in your country, were to blame that I did not answer your letter before now—should the present condition of affairs prevent your entering into an engagement with me, you are not bound to anything—only I beg you to answer at once by post, so that in case you do not care to make a contract with me—I need not let my works lie idle. With regard to a contract for three years I am disposed to enter into it with you at once if you will agree that I sell several works to England or Scotland. It is understood of course that the works which you have received from me or which I sold you belong only to you, namely are your sole property and have nothing to do with those of France, England or Scotland—but I must have the privilege to dispose of other works in those countries—But in Germany, you and no other publisher would be the owner of my works. I would willingly renounce the sale of my works in those countries, but I have received from Scotland such weighty offers and such an honorarium as I could not ask of you, besides a connection with foreign countries is always important for the fame of an artist and in the event of his travelling—As, for instance, in the case of Scotland, I have the right to sell the same works in Germany and France, I would gladly let you have them for Germany and France—so that only London and Edinburgh (in Scotland) would be lost to your sales.... For the present I offer you three quartets and a pianoforte concerto—I cannot give you the promised symphony yet—because a gentleman of quality has taken it from me, but I have the privilege of publishing it in half a year. I ask of you 600 florins for the three quartets and 300 fl. for the concerto, both amounts in Convention Florins according to the 20 florin scale.