Alexander Wheelock Thayer

The Year 1808—Beethoven’s Brother Johann—Plans for New Operas—The “Pastoral Symphony” and “Choral Fantasia”—A Call to Cassel—Appreciation in Vienna.

Slanders against Johann van Beethoven

The history of the year 1808 must be preceded by the following letter to Gleichenstein:

Dear good Gleichenstein:

Please be so kind as to give this to the copyist to-morrow—it concerns the symphony as you see—in case he is not through with the quartet to-morrow, take it away and deliver it at the Industriecomptoir.... You may say to my brother that I shall certainly not write to him again. I know the cause, it is this, because he has lent me money and spent some on my account he is already concerned, I know my brothers, since I cannot yet pay it back to him, and the other probably who is filled with the spirit of revenge against me and him too—it were best if I were to collect the whole 1500 florins (from the Industriecomptoir) and pay him with it, then the matter will be at an end—heaven forefend that I should be obliged to receive benefactions from my brothers.[55]

Beethoven.

Of all the known letters of Beethoven, perhaps no one is so much to be regretted as this, written near the end of 1807, just when the contracts with the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir, and Simrock—he had received nothing as yet on the Clementi contract—made his pecuniary resources abundant, doubtless increased by a handsome honorarium out of the receipts of the Liebhaber Concerts. True, the letter was intended for Gleichenstein’s eye alone; still it is sad to know that even in a moment of spleen or anger and in the privacy of intimate friendship, the great master could so far forget his own dignity, and write thus abusively of his brother Johann, whose claim was just and whose future career was dependent upon its payment at this time.

The case, in few words, was this:—Eleonore Ordley, sole heir of her sister, Theresia Tiller, was, in the autumn of 1807, seeking a purchaser for the house and “registered apothecary shop” which, until 1872, still existed directly between the market-place and the bridge at Linz on the Danube, and was willing to dispose of them on such terms of payment, as to render it possible even for Johann van Beethoven with his slender means to become their owner. “I know my brothers,” writes Beethoven. His brothers also knew him; and Johann had every reason to fear that if he did not secure his debt now when his brother’s means were abundant, he might at the crisis of his negotiation find himself penniless. His demand was too just to be resisted and Gleichenstein evidently drew the money from the Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir and paid it; for on the 13th of March, 1808, the contract of sale was signed at Vienna. By the terms of the contract which fixed the price at 25,000 florins, the vendee agreed to assume incumbrances on the property amounting to 12,600 florins, pay 10,400 florins in cash and 5% interest on 2,000 florins to the vendor during her life, and to be in Linz and take possession of the property on or before March 20, i.e., within a week after the signing of the contract.

The expenses incurred in the negotiations, in his journey to Linz, and in taking possession, left the indigent purchaser barely funds sufficient to make his first payment and ratify the contract; in fact, he had only 300 florins left. The profits of his shop and the rents of his house were so small, that Johann was almost at his wit’s end how to meet his next engagements. He sold the iron gratings of the windows—but they produced too little to carry him through. It was a comical piece of good luck for him that the jars and pots upon his shelves were of pure, solid English tin—a metal which Napoleon’s non-intercourse decrees fulminated against England had just then raised enormously in price. The cunning apothecary sold his tin, furnished his shop with earthenware, and met his payments with the profits of the transaction. But it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good; the reverses of the Austrian arms in April, 1809, opened the road for the French armies to Linz, and gave Apothecary Beethoven an opportunity to make large contracts for the supply of medicines to the enemy’s commissariat, which not only relieved him in his present necessities but laid the foundation for his subsequent moderate fortune.

This concise record of facts effectually disposes of the current errors, which are, first: that about 1802-3 Beethoven established his brother in Linz as apothecary, advancing to him the necessary capital; second: that, through his personal influence, he obtained for Johann profitable contracts with the Austrian Commissariat for medicines—which contracts were the basis of his subsequent prosperity; third: that consequently, in obtaining monies from his brother, Beethoven was only sharing in the profits on capital furnished by himself; and, fourth: that hence, Johann’s urgent request for payment in 1807 was an exhibition of vile selfishness and base ingratitude! All this is the exact reverse of the truth.

No other performances of Beethoven’s works at the Liebhaber Concerts, than those before enumerated, are reported; perhaps none were given, for reasons indicated in a letter from Stephan von Breuning to Wegeler, written in March, 1808: “Beethoven came near losing a finger by a Panaritium [felon], but he is again in good health. He escaped a great misfortune, which, added to his deafness, would have completely ruined his good humor, which, as it is, is of rare occurrence.”

The series of concerts closed with the famous one of March 27th, at which in honor of Haydn, whose 76th birthday fell on the 31st, his “Creation” with Carpani’s Italian text was given. It is pleasant to know that Beethoven was one of those who, “with members of the high nobility,” stood at the door of the hall of the university to receive the venerable guest on his arrival there in Prince Esterhazy’s coach, and who accompanied him as “sitting in an armchair he was carried, lifted high, and on his entrance into the hall was received with the sound of trumpets and drums by the numerous gathering and greeted with joyous shouts of ‘Long live Haydn!’”

Some pains have been taken in other chapters to show that the want of taste and appreciation so often alleged for the works of Beethoven at Vienna is a mistake. On the contrary, generally in the concerts of those years, whenever an orchestra equal to the task was engaged, few as his published orchestral compositions then were, they are as often to be found on the programmes as those of Mozart or even Haydn; none were more likely to fill the house. Thus, immediately after the close of the Liebhaber Concerts, Sebastian Meier’s annual benefit in the Theater-an-der-Wien opened with the “Sinfonia Eroica.” This was on Monday evening, April 11. Two days after (13th) the Charity Institute’s Concert in the Burg Theatre offered a programme of six numbers; No. 1 was Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony in B-flat; No. 5, one of his Pianoforte Concertos, played by Friedrich Stein; and No. 6, the “Coriolan” Overture—all directed by the composer; and, at a benefit concert in May, in the Augartensaal, occurred the first known public performance of the Triple Concerto, Op. 56.

Rust’s Meetings with the Composer

The once famous musical wonder-child, Wilhelm Rust, of Dessau, at the time a young man of some twenty-two years, had come to Vienna in 1807, and was now supporting himself by giving “children instructions in reading and elementary natural science.” In a letter to his “best sister, Jette,” dated Haking (a village near Vienna), July 9, 1808, he wrote of Beethoven.

You want much to hear something about Beethoven; unfortunately I must say first of all that it has not been possible for me to get intimately acquainted with him. What else I know I will tell you now: He is as original and singular as a man as are his compositions. On the other hand he is also very childlike and certainly very sincere. He is a great lover of truth and in this goes too far very often; for he never flatters and therefore makes many enemies. A good fellow played for him, and when he was finished Beethoven said to him: “You will have to play a long time before you will realize that you can do nothing.” I do not know whether you heard that I also played for him. He praised my playing, particularly in the Bach fugue, and said: “You play that well,” which is much for him. Still he could not omit calling my attention to two mistakes. In a Scherzo I had not played the notes crisply enough and at another time I had struck one note twice instead of binding it. He must be unable to endure the French; for once when Prince Lichnowsky had some French guests, he asked Beethoven, who was also with him, to play for them as they had requested; but he refused and said he would not play for Frenchmen. In consequence he and Lichnowsky had a falling out.[56]

Once I met him at a restaurant where he sat with a few acquaintances. He berated Vienna soundly and the decay of its music. In this he is certainly right, and I was glad to hear his judgment, which confirmed mine. Last winter I frequently attended the Liebhaber Concerts, the first of which under Beethoven’s direction were very beautiful; but after he retired they became so poor that there was not one in which something was not bungled....

It is very possible that Beethoven will leave Vienna; at any rate he has frequently spoken of doing so and said: “They are forcing me to it.” He also asked me once how the orchestras were in the North. You wanted to know if any new sonatas by him have been published. His last works were symphonies and he is now writing an opera, which is the reason why I cannot go to him any more. Last year he composed a piece which I have not heard and an overture “Coriolan” which is extraordinarily beautiful. Perhaps you have had an opportunity to hear it in Berlin. The theme and variations in C minor which you refer to I also have; it is very beautiful, etc.

In December Rust, writing to his brother Carl, was obliged to correct what he had said about Beethoven’s new opera; “All new products which have appeared here are more or less mediocre except those of Beethoven. I think I have written you that he has not yet begun his new opera. I have not yet heard his first opera; it has not been performed since I have been here.” These last sentences of Rust remind us of the once current notion that disgust and disappointment at the (assumed) failure of “Fidelio” prevented Beethoven from ever undertaking the composition of another opera. The error was long since exploded, and, indeed, amply refuted by his proposition to the “princely theatre rabble” for a permanent engagement. It is now universally known how earnestly Beethoven all his life long sought a satisfactory text for an opera or an oratorio; his friends always knew it; and his essays in vocal composition had, in spite of the critics, so favorably impressed them and the dramatic writers of the day, that all were eager to serve him.

Thus Schindler writes to Gleichenstein from Gratz, on March 19, 1807: “Speak at once to our friend Beethoven and particularly with the worthy Breuning, and learn if Beethoven has a mind to set a comic opera to music. I have read it, and found it varied in situation, beautiful in diction.” Nothing came of this.

A somewhat more promising offer came from another quarter, but also without result. The celebrated Orientalist, Hammer-Purgstall, had just returned from the East to Vienna. Although but thirty-three years of age, he was already famous, and his translations and other writings were the talk of the day. An autograph note by Beethoven without address or date, preserved in the Petter Collection, was evidently written to him:

Almost put to shame by your courtesy and kindness in communicating your still unknown literary treasures in manuscript, I thank you heartily while returning the opera texts; overwhelmed in my artistic calling it is impossible for me just now to go into details about the Indian opera particularly, as soon as time permits I shall visit you in order to discuss this subject as well as the oratorio, “The Deluge,” with you.

No oratorio on the subject of the deluge appears in the catalogue of Hammer-Purgstall’s works.[57]

An Operatic “Macbeth” in Contemplation

The new directors of the theatres began their operatic performances at the KÄrnthnerthor January 1 and 2, and at the Burg January 4, 1807, with Gluck’s “Iphigenia in Tauris.” It was new to Collin and awakened in his mind new ideas of the ancient tragedy, which he determined to embody in a text for a musical drama in oratorio form. According to his biographer, Laban, he projected one on the Liberation of Jerusalem, to offer to Beethoven for setting; but it was never finished. Another essay in the field of musical drama was a “Macbeth,” after Shakespeare, also left unfinished in the middle of the second act, “because it threatened to become too gloomy.” He carried to completion a grand opera libretto, “Bradamante,” for which he had an unusual predilection. It also was offered to Beethoven, but “seemed too venturesome” to him in respect of its use of the supernatural; there were probably other reasons why it did not appeal to him. “And so it happened that although at a later period Beethoven wanted to undertake its composition, Collin gave the book to Reichardt, who set it to music during his sojourn in Vienna in 1808.”

A writer in Cotta’s “Morgenblatt” remarks: “The clever Beethoven has a notion to compose Goethe’s ‘Faust’ as soon as he has found somebody who will adapt it for the stage for him.” Nottebohm (“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 225 et seq.) says that the first act of Collin’s “Macbeth” was printed in 1809 and must have been written in 1808 at the latest. He also prints a sketch showing that Beethoven had begun its composition. The “Macbeth” project therefore preceded the negotiations about “Bradamante.” Collin’s opera begins, like Shakespeare’s, with the witches’ scene, and the sketch referred to is preceded by the directions: “Overture Macbeth falls immediately into the chorus of witches.”[58]

The consequence of Beethoven’s fastidiousness and indecision was that on removing again to Heiligenstadt for the summer, he had no text for a vocal composition and devoted his time and energies to an instrumental composition—the “Sinfonia Pastorale.”

Those who think programme music for the orchestra is a recent invention, and they who suppose the “Pastoral” Symphony to be an original attempt to portray nature in music, are alike mistaken. It was never so much the ambition of Beethoven to invent new forms of musical works, as to surpass his contemporaries in the use of those already existing. There were few great battles in those stormy years, that were not fought over again by orchestras, military bands, organs and pianofortes; and pages might be filled with a catalogue of programme music, long since dead, buried and forgotten.

A remark of Ries, confirmed by other testimony, as well as by the form and substance of many of his master’s works, if already quoted, will bear repetition: “Beethoven in composing his pieces often thought of a particular thing, although he frequently laughed at musical paintings and scolded particularly about trivialities of this sort. Haydn’s ‘Creation’ and ‘The Seasons’ were frequently ridiculed, though Beethoven never failed to recognize Haydn’s high deserts,” etc. But Beethoven himself did not disdain occasionally to introduce imitations into his works. The difference between him and others in this regard was this: they undertook to give musical imitations of things essentially unmusical—he never.

On a bright, sunny day in April, 1823, Beethoven took Schindler for a long ramble through the scenes in which he had composed his Fifth and Sixth symphonies. Schindler writes:

After we had looked at the bath-house and its adjacent garden at Heiligenstadt and he had given expression to many agreeable recollections touching his creations, we continued our walk towards the Kahlenberg in the direction past Grinzing [?]. Passing through the pleasant meadow-valley between Heiligenstadt and the latter village,[59] which is traversed by a gently murmuring brook which hurries down from a near-by mountain and is bordered with high elms, Beethoven repeatedly stopped and let his glances roam, full of happiness, over the glorious landscape. Then seating himself on the turf and leaning against an elm, Beethoven asked me if there were any yellowhammers to be heard in the trees around us. But all was still. He then said: “Here I composed the ‘Scene by the Brook’ and the yellowhammers up there, the quails, nightingales and cuckoos round about, composed with me.” To my question why he had not also put the yellowhammers into the scene, he drew out his sketchbook and wrote:

Treble clef with ascending pattern

“That’s the composer up there,” he remarked, “hasn’t she a more important rÔle to play than the others? They are meant only for a joke.” And really the entrance of this figure in G major gives the tone-picture a new charm. Speaking now of the whole work and its parts, Beethoven said that the melody of this variation from the species of the yellowhammers was pretty plainly imitated in the scale written down in Andante rhythm and the same pitch.[60] As a reason for not having mentioned this fellow-composer he said that had he printed the name it would only have served to increase the number of ill-natured interpretations of the movement which has made the introduction of the work difficult not only in Vienna but also in other places. Not infrequently the symphony, because of its second movement, had been declared to be child’s play. In some places it shared the fate of the “Eroica.”

Jokes in the “Pastoral Symphony”

Equally interesting, valuable and grateful is Schindler’s account of the origin of Beethoven’s “Merrymaking of the Countryfolk” in this symphony. Somewhat curtailed it is this:

There are facts to tell us of how particular was the interest which Beethoven took in Austrian dance-music. Until his arrival in Vienna (1792), according to his own statement, he had not become acquainted with any folkmusic except that of the mountains, with its strange and peculiar rhythms. How much attention he afterwards bestowed on dance-music is proved by the catalogue of his works. He even made essays in Austrian dance-music, but the players refused to grant Austrian citizenship to these efforts. The last effort dates from 1819 and, strangely enough, falls in the middle of his work on the “Missa Solemnis.” In the tavern “To the Three Ravens” in the vordern BrÜhl near MÖdling there had played a band of seven men. This band was one of the first that gave the young musician from the Rhine an opportunity to hear the national tunes of his new home in an unadulterated form. Beethoven made the acquaintance of the musicians and composed several sets of LÄndler and other dances for them. In the year mentioned (1819), he had again complied with the wishes of the band. I was present when the new opus was handed to the leader of the company. The master in high good humor remarked that he had so arranged the dances that one musician after the other might put down his instrument at intervals and take a rest, or even a nap. After the leader had gone away full of joy because of the present of the famous composer, Beethoven asked me if I had not observed how village musicians often played in their sleep, occasionally letting their instruments fall and remaining entirely quiet, then awaking with a start, throwing in a few vigorous blows or strokes at a venture, but generally in the right key, and then falling asleep again; he had tried to copy these poor people in his “Pastoral” symphony. Now, reader, take up the score and see the arrangement on pages 106, 107, 108 and 109. Note the stereotyped accompaniment figure of the two violins on page 105 and the following; note the sleep-drunken second bassoon[61] with his repetition of a few tones, while contra-bass, violoncello and viola keep quiet; on page 108 we see the viola wake up and apparently awaken the violoncello—and the second horn also sounds three notes, but at once sinks into silence again. At length contra-bass and the two bassoons gather themselves together for a new effort and the clarinet has time to take a rest. Moreover, the Allegro in 2-4 time on page 110 is based in form and character on the old-time Austrian dances. There were dances in which 3-4 time gave way suddenly to 2-4. As late as the third decade of the nineteenth century I myself saw such dances executed in forest villages only a few hours distant from the metropolis—Laab, Kaltenleutgeben and Gaden.

The subject of Beethoven’s imitations, even in play, are therefore musical, not incongruous; and in his “Portrait musical de la Nature” are so suggestive as to aid and intensify the “expression of feelings,” which was his professed aim.

Count Oppersdorff and the Fourth Symphony

Beethoven wrote to Count Oppersdorff on November 1:

You will view me in a false light, but necessity compelled me to sell the symphony which was written for you and also another to someone else—but be assured that you shall soon receive the one intended for you soon.... I live right under Prince Lichnowsky, in case you ever make me a visit in Vienna, at Countess ErdÖdy’s. My circumstances are improving—without the help of persons who wish to treat their friends with a threshing. I have also been called to be Chapelmaster to the King of Westphalia, and it is easily possible that I shall accept the call.

Such an apology for not having dedicated the promised Symphony to Oppersdorff, and the promise soon to supply its place with another, are ample testimony that the relations between the composer and that nobleman were of a character well worth the trouble of investigation by any one who has the opportunity to make it. Whatever information can be obtained upon this matter will be new.[62]

The allusion in the above letter to Lichnowsky’s lodging renders it certain that the Prince had made no recent change. Now Carl Czerny writes to Ferdinand Luib (May 28, 1852): “About 1804, he (Beethoven) already lived on the MÖlkerbastei in the vicinity of Prince Lichnowsky, who lived in the house (now demolished) over the Schottenthor. In the years 1806-7-8-9, he certainly lived on the MÖlkerbastei with Pasqualati, and, as I believe, for a time hard by. It is thus ascertained, that, on returning from Heiligenstadt at the close of the summer, 1808, Beethoven left the rooms which he had now occupied for four years, for others in the house (now demolished) over the Schottenthor.” In his words: “persons who wish to treat their friends with a threshing,” he doubtless refers to Lichnowsky. Now, it is hardly conceivable that he should have taken up his abode in the very house in part occupied by the Prince, unless at the time they had been, ostensibly at least, on amicable terms. It has been seen that the old quarrel of 1806 was so far made up, as to admit of the loan by the composer to Lichnowsky of the “Coriolan” overture in manuscript. There must have been, therefore, some new and very recent outbreak between them. But here again, doubtless through the good offices of the motherly Princess Christine, all difficulties between them were soon adjusted.

The circumstance that the composer’s new apartments were in the lodging of Count Peter ErdÖdy strongly suggests the probability that his great intimacy with the Countess dates from the time when he became her near neighbor upon his moving into the Pasqualati house four years before.

The close of the letter to Oppersdorff contains the earliest discovered allusion to one of the most singular events in Beethoven’s life. In the autumn of 1807, Jerome Bonaparte, the Corsican lawyer’s youngest son, who had spent his boyhood and youth mostly at sea, and had not yet completed his 23d year, found himself at Cassel, bearing the pompous title of “King of Westphalia.” What could have induced this half-educated, frivolous, prodigal and effeminate young satrap and sybarite to sanction an invitation to his court of the composer most distinguished since Handel for his masculine vigor and manly independence in his art, is one of those small mysteries which seem impenetrable. The precise time when, and by what agency this call was communicated to Beethoven are alike unknown; we only know that before the first of November, 1808, “Beethoven received the same through the High Chamberlain of the King of Westphalia, Count Truchsess-Waldburg, that it was to the office of first Chapelmaster”; and that it led to events, which will be noticed hereafter. The lists of “Arrivals in Vienna” during this season contain the names of several old and new friends of Beethoven, the dates of whose arrival avail in some instances to correct certain current errors. The following seem worth copying:

In the carefully considered “Übersicht des gegenwÄrtigen Zustandes der Tonkunst in Wien” of the “VaterlÄndische BlÄtter” for May 27 and 31, 1808, it is noted that the violinists Anton Wranitzky and Herr Volta are “in the service of Prince Lobkowitz; Herr Schlesinger in that of the Graf ErdÖdy; Herr Schmidgen of Count ArmadÉ; Breimann of Esterhazy”; and the like of various performers on other instruments. But no such note follows the name of Schuppanzigh, “who is particularly distinguished among quartet players and probably stands alone as a performer of Beethoven’s compositions.” Nor do the names of Weiss and Linke appear in the article. This of itself is perhaps enough to expose the mistake as to the time when the famous Rasoumowsky Quartet was founded, and to correct the erroneous conclusions drawn from it. But the date of Linke’s arrival in Vienna is proof positive.

Rasoumowsky lived in his new palace on the Donau Canal, into which he had very recently removed from the Wallzeil and in which he had put his domestic establishment on a footing of great splendor. It suited his taste to have the first string quartet of Europe in his service. His own skill rendered him amply competent to play the second violin, which he usually did; but the young Mayseder, or some other of the first violinists of the city, was ever ready to take his part when required. Three permanent engagements only were, therefore, necessary, and these now, in late summer or early autumn, 1808, were made. To Schuppanzigh—then the first of quartet players, but still without any permanent engagement—was given the appointment for life of violino primo, and to him was entrusted the selection of the others. He recommended Weiss for the viola, whom Rasoumowsky accepted and to whom, for himself and family, he granted a suitable lodging in one of the houses connected with the palace.

Schuppanzigh had been so favorably impressed with the talents and skill of Linke as to secure him the place of violoncellist. He was a young man of 25 years—slightly deformed in person—an orphan from his childhood.

As before stated, FÖrster was the Count’s instructor in musical theory, the accomplished Bigot was librarian and his talented wife pianist. These were the years (1808-1815) when, says Seyfried, “as is known Beethoven was, as it were, cock of the walk in the princely establishment; everything that he composed was rehearsed hot from the griddle and performed to the nicety of a hair, according to his ideas, just as he wanted it and not otherwise, with affectionate interest, obedience and devotion such as could spring only from such ardent admirers of his lofty genius, and with a penetration into the most secret intentions of the composer and the most perfect comprehension of his intellectual tendencies; so that these quartet players achieved that universal celebrity concerning which there was but one voice in the art-world.”

The date of Dragonetti’s arrival in Vienna, on this, his second visit, disposes of an English tradition, that Beethoven wrote the famous contrabass passage in the Scherzo of the C minor Symphony expressly for him. The story contains doubtless so much of truth as this: that it was the display of the possibilities of that instrument, made by its greatest master, which induced Beethoven to venture the introduction into that symphony of what has so often proved a stumbling-block and rock of offence to contrabassists of no common and ordinary skill.

But a new topic demands our attention. Beethoven in his later years, in moments of spleen and ill humor, gave utterance both in conversation and in writing to expressions, which have since served as the basis of bitter diatribes against the Vienna public. Czerny—than whom no man could be better informed on the subject of the master’s actual position—takes occasion in his notes for Jahn to remark:

Upon the correctness of these statements, in so far as they relate to Beethoven’s last years, the reader will have ample means of judging hereafter; he knows, that Czerny is right, up to the present date. Indeed, this month of November, to which the letter to Oppersdorff has brought us, affords him excellent confirmation. For, as in the spring so now in autumn, it is Beethoven’s popularity that must insure success to the Grand Concert for the public charities; it is his name that is known to be more attractive to the Vienna public than any other, save that of the venerable Haydn; and as Haydn’s oratorios are the staple productions at the great charity concerts of vocal music in the Burg theatre, so the younger master’s symphonies, concertos and overtures form the most alluring programmes for the instrumental “Academies” in the other theatres—at all events, in 1808, this was the opinion of Joseph Hartl. Beethoven’s “princely rabble” had, after a year’s experience and pecuniary losses, turned over the direction of the theatre to Government Councillor, now Court Councillor, Joseph Hartl. It was not so much for his love of art, as for the great reputation which his administrative talents had gained him, that Hartl was called to assume the labors of directing the three theatres, then sunk “into the most embarrassing conditions”—a call which he accepted. For three years he administered them wisely, and with all the success possible in the troubled state of the public business and finances.

A supervisor of the public charities, who at the same time controlled the theatres, he was of course able to secure the highest talent for benevolent concerts on terms advantageous to all parties concerned; and thus it came about, that at the concert for public charities in the Theater-an-der-Wien on the evening of Leopold’s day, Tuesday, November 15th, Beethoven conducted one of his symphonies, the “Coriolan” Overture, and a pianoforte concerto—perhaps he played the solo of the last; but the want of any detailed report of the concert leaves the point in doubt. Which of the symphonies and concertos were performed on this occasion is not recorded; it is only known that they were not new. In return for Beethoven’s noble contribution of his works and personal services to the charity concerts of April 17 and November 15, Hartl gave him the free use of the Theater-an-der-Wien for an Akademie, thus advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of December 17.

The importance of the works produced on this occasion, the whimsical occurrences that are related as having taken place, and the somewhat conflicting statements of persons present, justify an effort to sift the evidence and get at the truth, even at the risk of being tedious. It is unfortunate that the concert of November 15 was so completely forgotten by all whose contemporary notices or later reminiscences are now the only sources of information; for it is certain that, either in the rehearsals or at the public performance, something happened which caused a very serious misunderstanding and breach between Beethoven and the orchestra; but even this is sufficient to remove some difficulties otherwise insuperable. Ries records in the “Notizen” (p. 84) that a scene is said once to have happened in which the orchestra compelled the composer to realize his injustice “and in all seriousness insisted that he should not conduct. In consequence, at the rehearsal, Beethoven had to remain in an anteroom, and it was a long time before the quarrel was settled.” Such a quarrel did arise at the time of the November concert. In Spohr’s Autobiography is a story of Beethoven’s first sweeping off the candles at the piano and then knocking down a choir boy deputed to hold one of them, by his too energetic motions at this concert, the two incidents setting the audience into a “bacchanalian jubilation” of laughter. It is absolutely certain, however, that nothing of the kind occurred at the concert itself, and that the story has its only foundation in Spohr’s fancy.

Compare now these statements by Ries and Spohr with citations from notes of a conversation with RÖckel: “Beethoven had made the orchestra of the Theater-an-der-Wien so angry with him that only the leaders, Seyfried, Clement, etc., would have anything to do with him, and it was only after much persuasion and upon condition that Beethoven should not be in the room during the rehearsals, that the rank and file consented to play. During the rehearsals, in the large room back of the theatre, Beethoven walked up and down in an anteroom, and often RÖckel with him. After a movement Seyfried would come to him for criticisms.” RÖckel believed the story (i.e., if told of a rehearsal) of Beethoven in his zeal having knocked the candles off the pianoforte, and he himself saw the boys, one on each side, holding candles for him.

But the concert-giver’s troubles were not ended even by his yielding to the demands of the orchestra. A solo singer was to be found and vocal pieces to be selected. In a note to RÖckel Beethoven wrote: “... in the matter of the vocal pieces I think that we ought to have one of the women singers who will sing for us, sing an aria first—then we will make two numbers out of the Mass, but with German text, find out who can do this for us. It need not be a masterpiece, provided it suits the Mass well.” And again: “Be clever in regard to Milder—say to her only that to-day you are begging her in my name not to sing anywhere else, to-morrow I will come in person to kiss the hem of her garment—but do not forget Marconi....”

Milder was to sing the aria “Ah, perfido! spergiuro,” said RÖckel, and accepted the invitation at once. But an unlucky quarrel provoked by Beethoven resulted in her refusal. After other attempts, RÖckel engaged FrÄulein Kilitzky, Schuppanzigh’s sister-in-law. Being a young and inexperienced singer, her friends wrought her up to such a point that when Beethoven led her upon the stage and left her, stage fright overcame her and she made wretched work of the aria. Reichardt in a letter describes the Akademie:

Such a programme, exclusive of the Choral Fantasia, was certainly an ample provision for an evening’s entertainment of the most insatiably musical enthusiast; nor could a grander termination of the concert be desired than the Finale of the C minor Symphony; but to defer that work until the close was to incur the risk of endangering its effect by presenting it to an audience too weary for the close attention needful on first hearing to its fair comprehension and appreciation. This Beethoven felt, and so, says Czerny,

The particulars of this scene, in which Reichardt suffered so, are more or less circumstantially related by Ries, Seyfried, Czerny, Moscheles and Dolealek. Their statements when compared are not inconsistent and supplement each other, except as to Ries, whose memory evidently exaggerated what really occurred. Substantially they are as follows:

The pecuniary results of this concert to Beethoven are not known.

One of the two December concerts for the Widows and Orphans Fund was on the 22d, the same evening as Beethoven’s; the other on the next. The vocal work selected was, in compliment to the venerable Haydn, his “Ritorno di Tobia,” first performed in these concerts thirty-three years before. Being too short to fill out the evening, it was preceded, on the 22d, by an orchestral fantasia of Neukomm—on the 23d by a pianoforte concerto of Beethoven. Ries says

For this concert Beethoven received 100 florins from Esterhazy, who apparently ranked the composer with the leading actors of the theatre. Towards the close of 1808, Clementi again arrived in Vienna and was not a little surprised to learn from Beethoven that he had not yet received from London payment for the compositions which he had sold to Clementi in April, 1807. He wrote on December 28, 1808, to his partner asking that the money, £200, due Beethoven, as he had delivered the six compositions contracted for, be sent at once. But in September, 1809, the account had not yet been liquidated, as we shall see. There is reason to believe that a large number of compositions of greater or less extent was projected and in part sketched during this year; but the number known to have been completed, and therefore properly bearing the date 1808, is small. These compositions are: The “Pastoral” Symphony, Op. 69; the Sonata for Pianoforte and Violoncello, Op. 69; the Trios for Pianoforte, Violin and Violoncello, in D and E-flat, Op. 70; the Fantasia for Pianoforte, Orchestra and Chorus, Op. 80; the Song (with four melodies) “Die Sehnsucht.”

The Sonata for Pianoforte and ’cello was sketched in 1807, and practically completed in that year, the only sketches appearing among those of 1808 being a couple evidently made while the work was being written out. The earlier sketches appear among those of the C minor Symphony. It is dedicated to Gleichenstein. On June 8 Beethoven offered it, as has been seen, to Breitkopf and HÄrtel, and it was included in the works for which HÄrtel signed a contract in person on September 14. On January 7, 1809, Beethoven wrote to Breitkopf and HÄrtel asking that Gleichenstein’s title “K. K. Hofconcipist” be elided from the dedication, because it was distasteful to him. It was published in 1809, but with a large number of errors which gave occasion to three letters from the composer to the publishers. (La Mara, “Musikerbriefe aus fÜnf Jahrhunderten,” 1886; Frimmel, “II. Beethoven Jahrbuch”; Kalischer, “Beethoven’s SÄmtliche Briefe,” II, 262—where the date is incorrectly given as 1815.)

The two Trios are dedicated to Countess ErdÖdy, in whose house Beethoven lived when they were written. The first sketches for them found by Nottebohm belong to the second in E-flat and occur amongst the sketches for the Finale of the “Pastoral” symphony. The Trios are not mentioned in the first letter, in which Beethoven offers the Fifth and Sixth Symphonies besides other works to Breitkopf and HÄrtel. In the second letter, of July, Beethoven speaks of two pianoforte sonatas, and in a later letter of two trios. This has led to the conclusion that Beethoven first conceived them as solo sonatas and later developed them as trios. Beethoven played them at Countess ErdÖdy’s in the Christmastide of 1808, when Reichardt was present; he wrote an enthusiastic account of them under date December 31. On May 26, Beethoven wrote to Breitkopf and HÄrtel suggesting changes in the text and also asking that the name of Archduke Rudolph be substituted for that of Countess ErdÖdy in the dedication. The reason given was that the Archduke had become fond of the works and Beethoven had observed that in such cases his patron felt a gentle regret when the music was dedicated to somebody else. Beethoven, of course, says nothing of his quarrel with the Countess (of which something will be said in the next chapter). There was a reconciliation, and Beethoven’s solicitude for the feelings of the Archduke seems to have evaporated; at any rate, the original dedication remained.

The Choral Fantasia was obviously finished only a short time before its performance and is plainly one of the few compositions on which Beethoven worked continuously after once beginning it, though the plan of the work had occurred to him long before. The early sketch, to which allusion has been made, shows that the use of the melody of the song “Gegenliebe” was part of the original scheme. A sketchbook of 1808, whose contents were analyzed by Nottebohm (“Zweite Beethoveniana,” p. 495), is devoted entirely to the Fantasia and the Pianoforte Concerto in E-flat, which was not worked out till later. The most interesting disclosures of Nottebohm’s study are that there is no hint of a pianoforte introduction such as Beethoven improvised at the performance; that Beethoven first thought of beginning with the string quartet of the orchestra; that work was begun before a text had been found; and that, as in the case of the Choral Symphony, of which the Fantasia is so interesting a prototype in miniature, Beethoven thought of paving the way for the introduction of the voices by words calling attention to the newcomers among the harmonious company (HÖrt ihr wohl?). Czerny’s statement that the text was written by Kuffner is questioned by Nottebohm, who points out that the poem is not included in the collected writings of that author, though all manner of fragments and trifles are. Because of the ingenuity and effectiveness with which the words were adapted to the music, Nottebohm suspects Treitschke of having written them in accordance with Beethoven’s suggestions as to form and contents. The introductory pianoforte fantasia which was published to take the place of Beethoven’s improvisation at the first performance, was composed in 1809.

The publications of the year 1808 were: