Alexander Wheelock Thayer

The Year 1814—Popular Performances Repeated—Revision of “Fidelio”—The Opera Succeeds—Anton Schindler Enters Beethoven’s Life—The Quarrel with MÄlzel—Moscheles—The Vienna Congress—J. W. Tomaschek—Count Rasoumowsky’s Palace Burned—Compositions of the Year.

On the last day of 1813, the “Wiener Zeitung” contained this public notice:

Musical Academy

The desire of a large number of music-lovers whom I esteem as worthy of honor, to hear again my grand instrumental composition on “Wellington’s Victory at Vittoria,” makes it my pleasant duty herewith to inform the valued public that on Sunday, the 2d of January, I shall have the honor to perform the aforementioned composition with added vocal pieces and choruses and aided by the most admirable musicians of Vienna in the R. I. large Ridotto Room for my benefit.

Tickets of admission are to be had daily in the Kohlmarkt in the house of Baron v. HaggenmÜller, to the right of the court on the ground floor, in the comptoir of Baron v. Pasqualati; parterre 2 fl. gallery 3 fl. Vienna standard.

Ludwig van Beethoven.

MÄlzel saw, therefore, that the objects for which he had sacrificed the “Battle,” for which he had lost so many precious weeks and had spent so much labor and pains, were accomplished in so far as Beethoven’s new works were now the subjects of general interest and curiosity, and their repeated performance to large and profitable audiences was secured. To his courage and sagacity this was wholly due. It is thoroughly unjust to deny or ignore the value of his services. What his feelings were now, to find himself deprived of all share in the benefit resulting from them, and therefore left without compensation, may readily be conceived. His Mechanical Trumpeter was necessarily discarded with himself, and Beethoven had to find something to take its place on the programme. Hence this note (in December) to Moritz Lichnowsky:

If you, worthy Count, want to take part in our consultation I inform you that it will be held this afternoon at half after 3 o’clock in the Spielmann house on the Graben 1188 in the fourth storey at Hr. WeinmÜller’s—it would rejoice me time permitting if you were to attend.

Entirely your
Beethoven.

The result of this conference was the selection of Nos. 6, 7 and 8 of the “Ruins of Athens” music, viz: the “Solemn March with Chorus” and the concluding Bass Air, sung by WeinmÜller, with the choruses. The last was exceedingly appropriate in a concert in the Redouten-Saal, it being the number in which (as in the old Bonnian “Blick in die Zukunft”) the bust of the monarch is made suddenly to appear. To insure the effectiveness of this is the object of a humorous note to Zmeskall, on New Year’s Day.

All would be well if there were but a curtain, without it the Air will fall through. Only to-day do I learn this from S. and it grieves me—let there be a curtain even if it be only a bed-curtain, only a sort of screen which can be removed for the moment, a veil, etc. There must be something, the Air is too dramatic, too much written for the theatre, to be effective in a concert; without a curtain or something of the sort all of its meaning will be lost!—lost!—lost!—To the devil with everything! The Court will probably come, Baron Schweiger asked me to go there at once, Archduke Karl admitted me to his presence and promised to come. The Empress did not accept nor did she decline.

Hangings!!! or the Air and I will hang to-morrow. Farewell in the new year, I press you as warmly to my heart as in the old—with or without curtain.

The orchestra was for the most part composed of the same professional and amateur artists as had taken part in the two previous concerts, so that the rehearsals were comparatively inexpensive, the only new music being the selections from “The Ruins”; but Salieri, as director of the cannonade, gave place to Hummel. Franz Wild, the singer, was present and records in his “Autobiography” his reminiscences of the occasion thus:

He (Beethoven) mounted the conductor’s platform, and the orchestra, knowing his weakness, found itself plunged into an anxious excitement which was justified only too soon; for scarcely had the music begun before its creator offered a bewildering spectacle. At the piano passages he sank upon his knee, at the forte he leaped up, so that his figure, now shrivelling to that of a dwarf, disappeared under the desk and anon stretched up far above it like a giant, his hands and arms working as if with the beginning of the music a thousand lives had entered every member. At first this happened without disturbance of the effect of the composition, for the disappearance and appearance of his body was synchronous with the dying away and the swelling of the music; but all at once the genius ran ahead of his orchestra and the master disappeared at the forte passages and appeared again at the piano. Now danger was imminent and at the critical moment Chapelmaster Umlauf took the commander’s staff and it was indicated to the orchestra that he alone was to be obeyed. For a long time Beethoven noticed nothing of the change; when he finally observed it, a smile came to his lips which, if ever a one which kind fate permitted me to see could be called so, deserved to be called “heavenly.”

The composer had every reason to be satisfied with the result, for not only was it pecuniarly profitable but

the applause was general and reached the highest ecstasy. Many things had to be repeated, and there was a unanimous expression of a desire on the part of all the hearers to hear the compositions again and often, and to have occasion more frequently to laud and admire our native composer for works of his brilliant invention.

So speaks the “Wiener Zeitung” on the 9th, which on the 24th of January printed this:

Note of Thanks.

I had the good fortune on the occasion of a performance of my compositions at the concert given by me on January 2, to have the support and help of a large number of the most admirable and celebrated artists of the city, and to see my works brilliantly made known by the hands of such virtuosos. Though these artists may have felt themselves rewarded by their own zeal for art and the pleasure which they gave the public through their talents, it is yet my duty publicly to express to them my thanks for their mark of friendship for me and ready support.

Ludwig van Beethoven.

“Only in this room” (the large Redoutensaal), says Schindler, “was the opportunity offered to put into execution the manifold intentions of the composer in the Battle Symphony. With the help of the long corridors and the rooms opposite to each other the opposing forces were enabled to approach each other and the desired illusion was strikingly achieved.” Schindler was among the listeners on this occasion and gives assurance that the enthusiasm awakened by the performance, “heightened by the patriotic feeling of those memorable days,” was overwhelming.

Among the direct consequences of this sudden and boundless popularity of Beethoven’s music, to which MÄlzel had given the occasion and impulse, was one all the more gratifying, because totally unexpected—the revival of “Fidelio.”

“The Inspizienten of the R. I. Court Opera, Saal, Vogel and WeinmÜller, about this time were granted a performance for their benefit, the choice of a work being left to them, without cost.” There was then no opera, German, French or Italian, likely to draw a remunerative house in the repertory of the theatre, which could be produced without expense to the institution. The sensation caused by Beethoven’s new music, including the numbers from “The Ruins of Athens” in which WeinmÜller had just sung, suggested “Fidelio.” All three had been in Vienna at its production and therefore knew it sufficiently to judge of its fitness for them as singers, and the probability of its now being successful; at all events the name of Beethoven would surely secure for their night a numerous audience. “Beethoven was approached for the loan of the opera,” says Treitschke, who had this year been re-appointed stage-manager and poet at the KÄrnthnerthor-Theater after having been employed some years at the Theater-an-der-Wien, “and very unselfishly declared his willingness, but on the unequivocal condition that many changes be made.”

At the same time he proposed my humble self as the person to make these changes. I had enjoyed his more intimate friendship for some time, and my twofold position as stage-manager and opera-poet made his wish a pious duty. With Sonnleithner’s permission I first took up the dialogue, wrote it almost wholly anew, succinct and clear as possible—an essential thing in the case of Singspiele.

Treitschke’s Revision of “Fidelio”

The principal changes made by Treitschke were, by his own account, these:

The scene of the entire first act was laid in an open court; the positions of Nos. 1 and 2, were exchanged; later the guard entered to a newly composed march; Leonore’s Air received a new introduction, and only the last movement, “O du, fÜr den ich alles trug,” was retained. The succeeding scene and duet—according to Seyfried’s description “a charming duettino for soprano voices with concertante parts for violin and violoncello, C major, 6/8 time”—which was in the old book, Beethoven tore out of the score; the former (he said) was unnecessary, the latter a concert-piece; I was compelled to agree with him; the purpose in view was to save the opera as a whole. A little terzetto for Rocco, Marcelline and Jacquino which followed (“a most melodious terzetto in E-flat” as Seyfried says) fared no better. There had been a want of action and the music did not warm the hearers. A new dialogue was desired to give more occasion for the first finale. My friend was again right in demanding a different ending. I made many plans; at length we came to an agreement: to bring together the return of the prisoners at the command of Pizarro and their lamentation.

The second act offered a great difficulty at the very outset. Beethoven at first wanted to distinguish poor Florestan with an aria, but I offered the objection that it would not be possible to allow a man nearly dead of hunger to sing bravura. We composed one thing and another; at last, in my opinion, I hit the nail on the head. I wrote words which describe the last blazing up of life before its extinguishment:

“Und spÜr’ ich nicht linde, sanft sÄuselnde Luft,
Und ist nicht mein Grab mir erhellet?
Ich seh’, wie ein Engel, in rosigem Duft,
Sich trÖstend zur Seite mir stellet.
Ein Engel, Leonoren, der Gattin so gleich!
Der fÜhrt mich zur Freiheit,—ins himmlische Reich!”

What I am now relating will live forever in my memory. Beethoven came to me about seven o’clock in the evening. After we had discussed other things, he asked how matters stood with the aria? It was just finished, I handed it to him. He read, ran up and down the room, muttered, growled, as was his habit instead of singing—and tore open the pianoforte. My wife had often vainly begged him to play; to-day he placed the text in front of him and began to improvise marvellously—music which no magic could hold fast. Out of it he seemed to conjure the motive of the aria. The hours went by, but Beethoven improvised on. Supper, which he had purposed to eat with us, was served, but—he would not permit himself to be disturbed. It was late when he embraced me, and declining the meal, he hurried home. The next day the admirable composition was finished.

Concerning this air, RÖckel writes:

Measurably to satisfy the new Florestan (the Italian Radichi), who wanted to be applauded after his air, which was not possible nor fitting to the situation nor desirable after the pianissimo conclusion of Florestan’s air with the con sordino accompaniment of the violins, without writing a new air, Beethoven cut the Adagio in two and concluded with an Allegro in the high register of the singer; but as the noise of applause would not have been increased by Rocco and Fidelio, who enter at this moment to dig a grave for the supposedly dead man, the composer concluded the noisy Allegro with a coda for the orchestra ending with a new pianissimo, by which device the silence essential to the succeeding scene was again restored.

Treitschke continues:

Nearly all the rest in the second act was confined to abbreviations and changes in the poetry. I think that a careful comparison of the two printed texts will justify my reasons. The grandiose quartet: “Er sterbe,” etc., was interrupted by me with a short pause during which Jacquino and other persons report the arrival of the Minister and make the accomplishment of the murder impossible by summoning Pizarro away. After the next duet Rocco comes and accompanies Florestan and Leonore to the Minister.

At this point, Treitschke avoided what had always appeared to him to be “a great fault”—namely, that the dungeon was the scene of the entire second act—by introducing a change in the scenery so that the conclusion should be “in full daylight upon a bright green courtyard of the palace.”

Before the middle of February the alterations to be made were determined by musician and poet, and each began his task; both were hindered by frequent interruptions, and its completion deferred.[116]

Beethoven’s attention to it was immediately called away by the concert of which these two notes speak:

No. I.
(To Brunswick.)

Vienna, February 13, 1814. Dear friend and brother! You wrote to me recently, I write to you now—you no doubt rejoice over all victories—also over mine—on the 27th of this month I shall give a second concert in the large Ridotto Room—Come up—You know it now. Thus I am gradually rescuing myself from my misery, for from my salaries I have not yet received a penny.[117] Schuppanzigh has written to Michalcovics[118] whether it would be worth while to come to Ofen; what do you think? Of course such a thing would have to take place in a theatre. My opera is going to be performed, but I am writing much of it over. I hope you are living contentedly, that is not a little, so far as I am concerned, good heavens, my kingdom is in the air, like the wind the tones often whirl in my soul—I embrace you.

No. II.
(To Archduke Rudolph.)

I hope for pardon for my non-attendance. Your displeasure would punish me when I am innocent; in a few days I will make it all up. They intend to perform my opera “Fidelio” again. This gives me a great deal of work, and despite my healthy appearance I am not well. For my second concert the arrangements have been made in part, I must compose something new for Milder in it. Meanwhile I hear, and it is comforting to me, that Y. I. H. is in better health,[119] I hope, unless I am flattering myself too much, soon again to contribute to it. In the meantime I have taken the liberty to inform my Lord Falstaff[120] that he will soon graciously be permitted to appear before Y. I. H.

The “Wiener Zeitung” of February 24th contains the advertisement of the “Akademie, next Sunday, the 27th inst. in the large Redoutensaal,” announcing “a new symphony not yet heard and an entirely new as yet unheard terzetto” as novelties. To Hummel, Beethoven now wrote:

I beg of you conduct this time again the drumheads and cannonades with your admirable chapelmaster and field-marshall’s bÂton—do it, I beg of you, and if ever I am wanted to cannonade you, I shall be at your service body and soul.

“Wellington’s Victory” Repeated

The report in the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” contains the programme in full with a few short and pertinent observations:

1. The new symphony (A major) which was received with so much applause, again. The reception was as animated as at the first time; the Andante (A minor) the crown of modern instrumental music, as at the first performance had to be repeated.

2. An entirely new Italian terzetto (B-flat major) beautifully sung by Mad. Milder-Hauptmann, Hrn. Siboni and Hrn. WeinmÜller, is conceived at the outset wholly in the Italian style, but ends with a fiery Allegro in Beethoven’s individual style. It was applauded.

3. An entirely new, hitherto unheard symphony (F major, ¾ time). The greatest interest of the listeners seemed centered on this, the newest product of B’s muse, and expectation was tense, but this was not sufficiently gratified after the single hearing, and the applause which it received was not accompanied by that enthusiasm which distinguishes a work which gives universal delight; in short—as the Italians say—it did not create a furore. This reviewer is of the opinion that the reason does not lie by any means in weaker or less artistic workmanship (for here as in all of B’s works of this class there breathes that peculiar spirit by which his originality always asserts itself); but partly in the faulty judgment which permitted this symphony to follow that in A major, partly in the surfeit of beauty and excellence which must necessarily be followed by a reaction. If this symphony should be performed alone hereafter, we have no doubt of its success.

4. At the close, “Wellington’s Victory in the battle of Vittoria” was given again, the first part, the Battle, having to be repeated. The performance left nothing to be desired; and the attendance was again very large.

The “something new for Milder” resulted in something rather old; for the terzetto in which she sang was the “Tremate, empj, tremate,” fully sketched in 1801-1802, but now first written out and completed in its present form.

Schindler discovered among Beethoven’s papers, and has communicated substantially in his book, certain accounts of expenses incurred in this concert. Only the Eighth Symphony and the terzetto had to be copied; for these “the specification amounted in total: 452 written pages at 12 kreutzers, makes 90 florins, 24 kr.; the specified cost of the orchestra alone at this concert amounted to 344 florins. Nevertheless, only 7 first violinists and only 6 seconds who were paid some 5 some 7 fl. are mentioned by name, because in each part twice as many dilettanti had played.” One of Beethoven’s own memoranda gives the exact number of the string instruments: “At my last concert in the large Ridotto-room there were 18 first violins, 18 second, 14 violas, 12 violoncellos, 17 contra-basses, 2 contra-bassoons.” Whether the audience numbered 5000, as Schindler reports, or 3000, which is more likely, the clear pecuniary profits of the two concerts were very large. Czerny remembered that on this occasion the Eighth Symphony “by no means pleased” and Beethoven was angry thereat, “because it is much better,” he said. Another of his reminiscences is that Beethoven “often related with much pleasure how, when walking on the Kahlenberg after the performance of the Eighth Symphony, he got some cherries from a couple of girls and when he asked the price of one of them, she replied: ‘I’ll take nothing from you. We saw you in the Ridotto-room when we heard your beautiful music.’”

The University Law Students had a composition by Beethoven on the programme of their concert, on February 12; the Medical Students opened their concert, March 6, with the “Egmont” Overture; and the Regiment Deutschmeister, theirs of March 25 with that to “Coriolan”; with these concerts Beethoven had nothing to do; but in the Annual Spring “Akademie,” March 25, in the KÄrnthnerthor-Theater for the Theatre Poor Fund, he conducted the “Egmont” Overture and “Wellington’s Victory.”

Both poet and composer had now been again delayed in their “Fidelio” studies, in this wise: The French Armies had so often taken possession of the capitals of the various Continental states, that the motives are inconceivable, which induced Schwarzenberg to restrain the approach of the allied armies on Paris, until BlÜcher’s persistence, enforced by his victories, at last compelled the Commander-in-Chief to yield the point. When this became known in Vienna, it was determined to celebrate the event, so soon as news of it should arrive, by an appropriate performance in the Court Opera. To this end, Treitschke wrote a Singspiel in one act entitled “Gute Nachricht” (“Good News”). Of the nine pieces of music in it, the overture was given to Hummel and the concluding chorus, “Germania, wie stehst du jetzt im Glanze da,” to Beethoven.

In a note to Treitschke, called out by the proposed changes in the scenery of “Fidelio,” Beethoven wrote:

The arrival of the Spaniards, which is only suggested in the play, not visibly presented, might be utilized for the multitude to open the big hole of the Wiedener Theatre [the stage]—and there might be a good deal of spectacle besides and the music would not be wholly lost, and I should willingly add something new if it were asked.

Towards the end of March, Beethoven received the new text to “Fidelio.” To Treitschke he wrote: “I have read your amendments to the opera with great pleasure; they determine me to rebuild the ruins of an old castle.” A letter to the poet refers again to the chorus which he had composed for Treitschke’s Singspiel:

I beg you, dear T., to send me the score of the song so that the interpolated note may be written into all the instruments—I shall not take it at all amiss if you have it newly composed by Gyrowetz or anybody else—preferably WeinmÜller—I make no pretensions in the matter, but I will not suffer that any man—no matter who he may be—change my compositions.

First Performance of the Trio in B-flat

Beethoven’s attention was now again called away from the opera by a concert in the hall of the Hotel zum RÖmischen Kaiser, arranged by the landlord and Schuppanzigh for a military charity. Czerny relates that a new grand trio had then for some time been a subject of conversation among Beethoven’s friends, though no one had heard it. This work, Op. 97, in B-flat major, was to open the second part of the concert and the composer had consented to play in it. Spohr was by chance in Beethoven’s rooms at one of the rehearsals and heard him play—the only time. “It was not a treat,” he writes:

for, in the first place, the pianoforte was badly out of tune, which Beethoven minded little, since he did not hear it; and secondly, there was scarcely anything left of the virtuosity of the artist which had formerly been so greatly admired. In forte passages the poor deaf man pounded on the keys till the strings jangled, and in piano he played so softly that whole groups of tones were omitted, so that the music was unintelligible unless one could look into the pianoforte part. I was deeply saddened at so hard a fate. If it is a great misfortune for any one to be deaf, how shall a musician endure it without giving way to despair? Beethoven’s continual melancholy was no longer a riddle to me.[121]

The concert took place at noon on Monday, April 11. Moscheles was present and wrote in his diary:

In the case of how many compositions is the word “new” misapplied! But never in Beethoven’s, and least of all in this, which again is full of originality. His playing, aside from its intellectual element, satisfied me less, being wanting in clarity and precision; but I observed many traces of the grand style of playing which I had long recognized in his compositions.

In those days a well-to-do music-lover, named Pettenkofer, gathered a number of young people into his house every Saturday for the performance of instrumental music. One evening a pupil of Schuppanzigh’s requested his neighbor at the music-stand, a youth of 18 years, to take a note from his teacher next day to Beethoven, proposing a rehearsal of the Trio, and requiring no answer but “yes” or “no.” “I undertook the commission with joy,” he records:

The desire to be able to stand for even a moment beside the man whose works had for several years inspired me with the greatest reverence for their author, was now to be so unexpectedly and strangely realized. The next morning the bearer of the note, with beating heart, climbed the four flights in the Pasqualati house, and was at once led by the sartorial servant to the writing table of the master. After he had read the missive, he turned to me and said “Yes”; with a few rapidly added questions the audience came to an end; but at the door I permitted myself to tarry a little while to observe the man, who had already resumed his writing, closely.

This youth was Anton Schindler. He continues his narrative:

This, almost the most important event in the life-history of the poor student up to that time, was soon followed by the acquaintanceship of Schuppanzigh. He gave me a ticket for the concert of April 11, given by him.... On this occasion I approached the great master with more confidence, and greeted him reverently. He answered pleasantly and showed that he remembered the carrier of the note.

And thus ended all personal intercourse between Schindler and Beethoven until the end of the year—a fact to be noted.

A few weeks later Beethoven played in the Trio again at a morning concert of Schuppanzigh’s in the Prater, and thus—excepting once accompanying a song—he took leave of the public as a pianist.

“Gute Nachricht” was first played also on the evening of Monday, April 11; for the news of the triumphal entry of the allied armies (March 31), as Moscheles records in his diary, reached Vienna the day before. It was repeated on the 12th, 14th, 17th, 24th and May 3rd, in the KÄrnthnerthor-Theater, and on June 11th and 14th in the Burg.

Meantime an event had occurred, the effect of which on Beethoven is nowhere indicated; but let us hope and believe that it, for the moment, unfitted him for labor—Prince Carl Lichnowsky, his old friend and protector, died April 15. It is gratifying that the last notice of him in our work is that touching reminiscence by Schindler, which proves that time had neither cooled nor diminished the warm affection that he had conceived twenty years before for the young Bonn pianist.

The following note to Zmeskall was written about this time:

Dear Z.: I am not going on the journey, at least I am not going to hurry—the matter must be pondered more carefully—meanwhile the work has already been sent to the Prince Regent:—If I am wanted I can be had, and then liberty remains with me to say yes or no. Liberty!!! What more do I want???

I should like to consult with you about how to settle myself in my lodging.

This new lodging, for which Beethoven now left the Pasqualati house, was in the 1st storey of the Bartenstein house, also on the MÖlker Bastei (No. 96); so that he still remained in the immediate vicinity of his friends, Princess Christine Lichnowsky and the ErdÖdys.

Beethoven Quarrels with MÄlzel

The other matters mentioned in the note call our attention again to MÄlzel, who, notwithstanding his bitter disappointment at the turn which his affairs with Beethoven had taken, had still lingered in Vienna several weeks in the hope of making some kind of amicable arrangement with him. As his side of the story was never made public, there is little to add to the information on the subject contained in the papers of Beethoven, preserved by Schindler. From them these facts appear; that Beethoven repaid the fifty ducats of borrowed money; that MÄlzel and he had several interviews at the office of the lawyer, Dr. Adlersburg, which had for their subject the “Battle of Vittoria” and the journey to England; that he made various propositions which Beethoven would not accept “to get the work, or at least the right of first performance for himself,” and the like; that, incensed by the conduct of the composer and hopeless of benefit from any farther consultation, he did not appear at the last one appointed; and that he obtained by stealth so many of the single parts of the “Battle” as to be enabled therefrom to have a pretty correct score of the work written out, with which he departed to Munich and there produced it in two concerts on the 16th and 17th of March.

When this became known in Vienna[122] Beethoven’s wrath was excited and, instead of treating the matter with contemptuous silence, or at most making an appeal to the public in the newspapers, he committed the absurdity of instituting a lawsuit against a man already far on his way to the other extremity of Europe, at the same time in all haste preparing a copy of the “Battle” and sending it to the Prince Regent of England, that at least he might prevent MÄlzel from producing it there as a novelty. It was a costly and utterly useless precaution; for, on the one hand, MÄlzel found in London no inducement to attempt orchestral concerts, and on the other, the score sent by Beethoven lay buried in the library of the Prince, who neither then nor ever took the slightest notice of it (except to permit its performance, as we shall presently see) or made any acknowledgment to the composer.

Documents in the MÄlzel Case

Casting aside all extraneous matter contained in Beethoven’s documents, the real question at issue is very clear. The two leading facts—one of which is admitted by implication, and the other explicitly stated by Beethoven himself—are already known to the reader: First, that the plan of the work was MÄlzel’s; second, that the composer wrought it out for the Panharmonicon gratis. In this form, therefore, the composition beyond all doubt was MÄlzel’s property. There was, therefore, but one point to be decided: Did the arrangement of the work for orchestra at MÄlzel’s suggestion and request, transfer the proprietorship? If it did, Beethoven had a basis for his suit; if it did not, he had none. This question was never decided; for after the process had lingered through several years, the two men met, made peace, Beethoven withdrew his complaint, and each paid the half of all expenses that had been incurred![123]

Thus had been caused a new interruption of the work on “Fidelio.”

“The beneficiaries,” says Treitschke, “urged its completion to take advantage of the favorable season; but Beethoven made slow progress. To one of the poet’s notes urging haste, Beethoven wrote, probably in April:

The damned Academy, which I was compelled to give partly by my bad circumstances, has set me back so far as the opera is concerned.

The cantata which I wanted to give robbed me of 5 or 6 days.

Now, of course, everything must be done at once and I could write something new more quickly than add new things to old—I am accustomed in writing, even in my instrumental music—to keep the whole in view, but here my whole, has—in a manner—been distributed everywhere and I have got to think myself back into my work ever and anon—it is not likely that it will be possible to give the opera in a fortnight, I think that it will be 4 weeks.

Meanwhile the first act will be finished in a few days—but there remains much to do in the 2nd Act, and also a new overture, which will be the easiest because I can compose it entirely new. Before my Academy a few things only were sketched here and there, in the first as well as the second act, it was not until a few days ago that I could begin to write the matters out. The score of the opera is as frightfully written as any that ever I saw, I had to look through note after note (it is probably a pilfered one) in short I assure you, dear T. the opera will secure for me the crown of martyrdom, if you had not given yourself so much pains with it and revised everything so successfully, for which I shall be eternally grateful to you, I could scarcely be able to force myself (to do the work). You have thereby saved some good remainders of a stranded ship.

If you think that the delay with the opera will be too long, postpone it till some future time, I shall go ahead now until everything is ended, and just like you have changed and improved it, which I see more and more clearly every moment, but it cannot go so fast as if I were composing something new—and in 14 days that is impossible—do as you think best, but as a friend of mine, there is no want of zeal on my part.

Your Beethoven.

Rehearsals for the Revised “Fidelio”

The repetitions of the “Gute Nachricht” came to a conclusion with the performance in the KÄrnthnerthor-Theater on May 3, and the beneficiaries became more and more impatient. Hence, Treitschke wrote again to Beethoven, asked him what use was to be made of the chorus “Germania,” and urged him to make haste with the work on “Fidelio.” Notwithstanding so much was wanting, the rehearsals had begun in the middle of April, and the performance was now fixed for the 23rd of May. Beethoven’s memorandum of his revisal of the opera reads: “The opera Fidelio [?] March to 15th of May, newly written and improved.” May 15th was Sunday, the “Tuesday” of his answer to Treitschke was therefore the 17th, and the date, doubtless, about the 14th:

Your satisfaction with the chorus delights me infinitely. I was of the opinion that you ought to apply all the works to your profit and therefore mine also, but if you do not want to do this I should like to have you sell it outright for the benefit of the poor.

Your copyists —— [illegible] and Wranitzky were here yesterday about the matter, I told them, most worthy man, that you were entire master in the affair. For this reason I await now your frank opinion—your copyist is—an ass!—but he is completely lacking in the well-known splendid Eselshaut[124]—therefore my copyist has undertaken the work of copying, and by Tuesday little will remain to be done, and my copyist will bring everything to the rehearsal. As for the rest the whole matter of the opera is the most wearisome thing in the world, and I am dissatisfied with most of it—and—there is hardly a piece in it to which in my present state of dissatisfaction I ought not to have patched on some satisfaction. That is the great difference between being able to surrender to free reflection or enthusiasm.

Wholly your Beethoven.

“The final rehearsal,” says Treitschke, “was on May 22d, but the promised new overture was still in the pen of the creator.” It was then, on the 20th or 21st, that Beethoven dined with his friend Bertolini in the RÖmischer Kaiser. After dinner he took a bill of fare, drew lines on the blank side and began to write. “Come, let us go,” said Bertolini; “No, wait a little; I have the idea for my overture,” replied Beethoven, who remained and finished his sketches then and there. Treitschke continues:

The orchestra was called to rehearsal on the morning of the performance. B. did not come. After waiting a long time we drove to his lodgings to bring him, but—he lay in bed, sleeping soundly, beside him stood a goblet with wine and a biscuit in it, the sheets of the overture were scattered on the bed and floor. A burnt-out candle showed that he had worked far into the night. The impossibility of completing the overture was plain; for this occasion his overture to “Prometheus” [?] was taken and the announcement that because of obstacles which had presented themselves the new overture would have to be dispensed with to-day, enabled the numerous audience to guess the sufficient reason.

Schindler says an overture to “Leonore,” Seyfried the overture to “The Ruins of Athens,” was played on this occasion. The “Sammler” in its contemporary notice confirms Seyfried: “The overture played at the first performance does not belong to the opera and was originally written for the opening of the theatre at Pesth.” In 1823, Beethoven in conversation happened to speak of this substitution and remarked: “The people applauded, but I stood ashamed; it did not belong to the rest.” In the manuscript book of the text prepared for use in the theatre on this occasion, one is surprised to see the title begun thus:

“Leonore, Fidelio
An Opera in Two Acts, etc.”

The word “Leonore” is crossed out and “Fidelio” written at the side in red pencil afterwards inked over. There was then on the part of some one—whom?—an intention subsequently abandoned, of thus changing the title. Again, in the list of “properties,” stands

A wallet 2 chains

}

Mme. HÖnig.

and the same name occurs in the list of the

Dramatis PersonÆ

Herr Saal	Don Fernando, minister.
Herr Vogel	Don Pizarro, Governor of a State’s prison.
Herr Radichi	Florestan, a prisoner.
M. HÖnig	Leonore, his wife, under the name of Fidelio.
Hr. WeinmÜller	Rokko, jailer.
Mlle. Bondra	Marzelline, his daughter.
Hr. FrÜhwald	Jaquino.
Prisoners of State, etc., etc.

Madame HÖnig was a new soprano, engaged after the “Hoftheater-Taschenbuch” for 1814 had been printed, whose name appears in that for 1815. Though appointed to the part when this text-book was copied, she gave place before the day of performance to the original Fidelio, Mme. Milder-Hauptmann.

The opera was capitally prepared (says Treitschke), Beethoven conducted, his ardor often rushed him out of time, but Chapelmaster Umlauf, behind his back, guided everything to success with eye and hand.[125] The applause was great and increased with every representation.

“Herr v. B.,” says the “Sammler,” “was stormily called out already after the first act, and enthusiastically greeted.” The opera was first repeated on the 26th, when the new overture in E major “was received with tumultuous applause and the composer again called out twice at this repetition.”

The chorus “Germania,” in pianoforte arrangement, was published in June “im K. K. Hoftheater-Verlag.” A characteristic note of Beethoven to Treitschke asks for the manuscript for the purpose of correcting the proof and introduces to our acquaintance a personage or two, who will often meet us henceforth to the end, and therefore merit a short personal paragraph here.

Tobias Haslinger Becomes Music Publisher

The “K. K. Priv. Chemische Druckerey,” the property of Rochus Krasinzky and Sigmund Anton Steiner, passed about 1810 into the hands of Steiner alone. In that year Tobias Haslinger (of Zell in Upper Austria), who had been one of Chapelmaster GlÖggl’s singing-boys at Linz and assistant in his music-shop, came to Vienna with the design of establishing himself in business, and there soon became acquainted with Steiner. He detailed to him his purposes and plans and induced him to withdraw his prints and other wares from Grund’s bookstore in the Singerstrasse, and open a shop of his own in the narrow passage then existing at the northeast corner of the Graben, known as the “Paternoster-Gassel,” employing him (Haslinger) as bookkeeper and manager; from which position he soon rose to be partner in the firm, “S. A. Steiner and Co.” Beethoven conceived an odd and whimsical liking for the young man, and in a few years his relations to the firm became very much the same as those which formerly existed between him and the “Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir.” Haslinger had learned divers instruments in Linz, had begun the study of composition there and continued it in Vienna. His Opus 10, “Ideal einer Schlacht,” for the pianoforte, had just been published—the subject of Homeric laughter to Jupiter-Beethoven and the other gods. He made his place of business attractive and it became a favorite resort of composers, musicians, singers, writers for the theatre, the public press, and the like. In his correspondence with the firm Beethoven was “Generalissimus”; Steiner “Lieutenant-General”; Haslinger “Adjutant” or rather “Adjutanterl” (the diminutive of Adjutant); their assistants were “Subalterns”; and the shop, “Office of the Lieutenant-General.” These titles make their appearance in a note, typical of many, written to Treitschke:

The thoughts and endeavors (Dichten und Trachten) of Hr. v. Treitschke are directed to the duty of immediately delivering the manuscript to the subaltern of the Lieutenant-General’s office, so that the engraved page scratched full of errors may immediately be rescratched as it ought to be, and, indeed, all the more, as otherwise the thoughts and endeavors will be frightfully scratched and beaten.

Given in Paternoster Lane, at the primitive publishing house of all who publish. June 4, 1814.[126]

One of Beethoven’s minor productions (still unpublished) was now composed for his friend Bertolini. The occasion was an evening festival arranged by the doctor at his own expense on the name-day (St. John’s day) and in honor of Malfatti. It was a little piece for four voices with pianoforte accompaniment to a text written by Abbate Bondi:

Un lieto brindisi
Tutti a Giovanni,
Cantiam cosÌ, cosÌ,
Viva longhi anni, etc., etc.

Invitations were extended not only to Malfatti’s relatives and personal friends but to a large number of artists of the various professions, resident or temporarily in Vienna—Dragonetti among the musicians. The scene was Malfatti’s villa in Weinhaus. There they feasted; the wine flowed; the cantata was sung; Beethoven, “thoroughly unbuttoned,” improvised; fun and frolic ruled the hour. “The sport cost me a few hundred florins,” laughingly said the good doctor fifty years afterwards.

“Fidelio” was repeated on May 26, June 2d and 4th and on Tuesday, June 7th. The theatre was then “closed because of preparations for the spectacle to be presented on the return of the Emperor.” After this the theatre closed again for two days and on the 21st was reopened with “Fidelio.” A letter to Treitschke was written about this time:

Dear and worthy Tr.! What you say about a quarter of the receipts is understood, of course! and for a moment only I must moreover remain your debtor, but I will not forget that I am—as regards a benefit performance for me I should like to have the day set on a week from yesterday, that is next Thursday.

I called on Hrn. Palffy to-day but did not find him in. Do not let the opera rest too much! It is surely injurious.

The day here proposed for the benefit was not granted. The “Wiener Zeitung” of July 1st contained a “Musical Notice” which may be quoted as a comment on the first topic of the above note:

The undersigned, at the request of the Herren Artaria and Co., herewith declares that he has given the score of his opera Fidelio to the aforesaid art establishment for publication under his direction in a complete pianoforte score, quartets, or arrangements for military band. The present musical version is not to be confounded with an earlier one, since hardly a musical number has been left unchanged, and more than half of the opera was composed anew. Scores in the only authorized copy and also the book in manuscript may be had of the reviser of the book, Herrn F. Treitschke, R. I. Court Poet. Other unauthorized copies will be punished by law.

Ludwig van Beethoven.

Vienna, June 28, 1814.

Moscheles’s Pianoforte Score

Moscheles, then just twenty years of age, wrote about this time in his diary: “The offer has been made to me to make the pianoforte score of the masterpiece ‘Fidelio.’ What could be more desirable?” “We now find entries,” says his widow, “of how he carried two, and again two numbers to Beethoven, who looked through them; and then, alternately, ‘he changed little’ or ‘he changed nothing,’ or sometimes ‘he simplified it’ or ‘he reinforced it.’ One note reads, ‘Coming early to Beethoven, he was still in bed; this day he was particularly merry, leaped up at once, and, as he was, went to the window, which opened on the Schottenbastei, to look through the arranged numbers. Naturally the street boys assembled under the window until he cried out: ‘Damn the youngsters, what do they want?’ I smilingly pointed to his garment. ‘Yes, yes, you are right,’ said he and hastily threw a dressing-gown over his shoulders.[127] When we reached the last great duet, ‘Namenlose Freude,’ where I had written down the text ‘Ret-terin des Gat-ten,’ he crossed it out and wrote ‘Rett-erin des Gatt-en’; for it was not possible to sing on ‘t.’ Under the last number I had written ‘fine with God’s help.’ He was not at home when I carried it to him; and when he sent it back under mine were the words: ‘O man, help yourself.’”

Before bidding Moscheles farewell for the next half a dozen years, let us look at a few sentences from the preface to the English translation of Schindler’s book, partly for the information they impart and partly to prevent a mistake or two from passing into history on his authority. He thus writes:

In the year 1809[128] my studies with my master, Weber (Dionysius), closed; and being then also fatherless, I chose Vienna for my residence to work out my future musical career. Above all, I longed to see and become acquainted with that man, who had exercised so powerful an influence over my whole being; whom though I scarcely understood, I blindly worshipped. I learnt that Beethoven was most difficult of access and would admit no pupil but Ries; and for a long time my anxiety to see him remained ungratified. In the year 1810, however, the longed-for opportunity presented itself. I happened to be one morning in the music-shop of Domenico Artaria, who had just been publishing some of my early attempts at composition, when a man entered with short and hasty steps, and, gliding through the circle of ladies and professors assembled on business, or talking over musical matters, without looking up, as though he wished to pass unnoticed, made his way direct for Artaria’s private office at the bottom of the shop. Presently Artaria called me in and said: “This is Beethoven!” and to the composer, “This is the youth of whom I have just spoken to you.” Beethoven gave me a friendly nod and said he had just heard a favorable account of me. To some modest and humble expressions, which I stammered forth, he made no reply and seemed to wish to break off the conversation[129].... I never missed the Schuppanzigh Quartets, at which he was often present, or the delightful concerts at the Augarten, where he conducted his own Symphonies.[130] I also heard him play several times, which, however, he did but rarely, either in public or in private. The productions which made the most lasting impression upon me, were his Fantasia with orchestral accompaniments and chorus and his Concerto in C minor. I also used to meet him at the lodgings of Zmeskall and Zizius, two of his friends, through whose musical meetings Beethoven’s works first made their way to public attention [?]: but, in place of better acquaintance with the great man, I had mostly to content myself on his part with a distant salute.

It was in the year 1814, when Artaria undertook to publish a pianoforte arrangement of Beethoven’s “Fidelio,” that he asked the composer whether I might be permitted to make it: Beethoven assented upon condition that he should see my arrangement of each of the pieces, before it was given into the engraver’s hands. Nothing could be more welcome to me, since I looked upon this as the long wished-for opportunity to approach nearer to the great man and to profit by his remarks and corrections. During my frequent visits, the number of which I tried to multiply by all possible excuses, he treated me with the kindest indulgence. Although his increasing deafness was a considerable hindrance to our conversation, yet he gave me many instructive hints, and even played to me such parts as he wished to have arranged in a particular manner for the pianoforte. I thought it, however, my duty not to put his kindness to the test by robbing him of his valuable time by any subsequent visits; but I often saw him at MÄlzel’s, where he used to discuss the different plans and models of a Metronome (the Chronometer), which the latter was going to manufacture, and to talk over the “Battle of Vittoria,” which he wrote at MÄlzel’s suggestion. Although I knew Mr. Schindler, and was aware that he was much with Beethoven at that time [?], I did not avail myself of my acquaintance with him for the purpose of intruding myself upon the composer.

As to the “Fidelio,” Moscheles told the writer (February 22, 1856) that he was selected to arrange it because Beethoven was on bad terms with Hummel; and that to hasten the work, Hummel did arrange one of the finales; but when Beethoven received it and looked it through, he tore it to pieces without remark, or explaining why he did so. Two errors in these last sentences will at once strike the reader—that Schindler was then much with Beethoven, and that Beethoven was on bad terms with Hummel. The explanation is easy. Moscheles had translated Schindler’s book, and unconsciously had adopted certain ideas from it, which in course of time had taken the form of memories. This is a common experience with us all. The true reason why Beethoven rejected Hummel as the arranger of “Fidelio” is obvious: Hummel was a man of sufficient talent and genius to have a style of his own—and one (as is well known) not much to Beethoven’s taste; “Fidelio” arranged by him would necessarily exhibit more or less of this style; moreover, Beethoven could not feel the same freedom in discarding, correcting, making suggestions if the work were done by him, as when performed by a young man like Moscheles.

So the score was not now published—a mistake, as the event proved, and as Beethoven himself confessed in the note to Treitschke below. “In accordance with his wish,” says Treitschke, in concluding the relation from which so much has been cited,[131] “I offered our work to foreign theatres; several ordered it, others declined because they already had the opera by PaËr. Still others preferred to get it in a cheaper way by hiring cunning copyists who, as is still the custom, stole the text and music and sacrificed them for a few florins’ profit. It was of little use to us that others translated ‘Fidelio’ into several languages and made large sums by it. The composer received scarcely more than a handsome laurel-wreath, and I a little leaf, and the sincere affection of the Immortal.”

Meantime the season had far advanced, the summer heats were approaching, the departure of the nobility and the wealthy for their country-seats was near, and Beethoven thought, perhaps justly, that new attractions must be added to “Fidelio” and the public journals moved to say an appropriate word, to secure him a full house at his benefit, so long deferred. Doubtless with this last object in view, he now gave the “FriedensblÄtter” the song “An die Geliebte” (text by Stoll), which was engraved as a supplement to the number for July 12, and a notice closing with

This was certainly to the purpose. The earliest hint as to what the new attractions of the opera were to be is found in a note to Treitschke:

Beethoven’s benefit performance of “Fidelio” took place on Monday evening, July 18, 1814. The song so impatiently awaited could have been no other than Rocco’s “gold aria” which had been sung only in the two performances of 1805. Beethoven, desiring now to give WeinmÜller a solo, restored it to the score. Jahn, in his edition of “Leonore,” gives two texts—the original by Sonnleithner and one which he conjectures may have been written by Breuning. From them Treitschke now prepared a text, as we have it, by changing somewhat and improving Sonnleithner’s first stanza and joining to it the second stanza of the other, unchanged except by the omission of its close.

As to the new piece for Milder, Treitschke says explicitly it was “a grand aria for Leonore, but as it checked the rapid movement of the rest it was again omitted.” In the advertisement of his benefit Beethoven says only: “For this performance ... two new pieces have been added.” The notice in the “FriedensblÄtter” next day is somewhat more explicit: “‘Fidelio’ will be given with two entirely new arias to be sung by Mme. Milder and Hrn. WeinmÜller, for the benefit of the composer”; and from the “Sammler” we learn that at the performance the new air sung by Madame Milder-Hauptmann “was very effective and the excellent performance seemed to labor under peculiarly great difficulties.” What is known from printed sources concerning this air is this: it was in E-flat major with four horns obbligati;[133] the text was “Komm’ Hoffnung, etc.”; it was not the aria already sung by the Milder six times this season; it was one which the composer is not certain that she can sing after fourteen days’ study; it was not the one which Moscheles had arranged for the new edition of the opera.

Now we read in the “Fidelio” sketchbook about the time when Beethoven wrote to Treitschke about “sending out the opera” (p. 107): “Hamburg, 15 ducats in gold; GrÄtz, 12 fl.; Frankfort, 15 ducats in gold; Stuttgart, 12 ducats in gold; Carlsruhe, 12 ducats in gold; Darmstadt, 12 ducats in gold”—evidently the price of the opera; and on the next page, “Abscheulicher, wo eilst du hin!” i.e., sketches for the recitative; but sketches for the aria are not known. Are not our informants in error? Was not the new air after all the one which Moscheles arranged and which is still sung? And if not, what has become of it?[134]

Shortly before the performance on July 14, 1814, Beethoven wrote a letter to Archduke Rudolph in which he said:

Next day, Friday the 15th, appeared, over his own signature, the advertisement of “Beethoven’s Benefit” on Monday, the 18th. “Boxes and reserved seats may be ordered Saturday and Sunday in the lodgings of the undersigned on the MÖlkerbastei, in the Baron Pasqualati house, No. 94, in the first storey.” Imagine his comical consternation when the “Wiener Zeitung” came to hand and he read the “Pasqualatischen” instead of the “Bartenstein’schen” house! But the number was correct and that would save his friends the needless ascent of four flights to his old lodging. The contemporary reports of the performance are numerous and all very eulogistic. Forti, as Pizarro, was “entirely satisfactory”; the “gold aria,” although well sung by WeinmÜller, “did not make a great effect”; “beautiful and of large artistic value was the aria in E-flat major with four [!] obbligato French horns, but the reviewer is of the opinion that it retards the rapid progress of the first act. The house was very full; the applause extraordinary; the enthusiasm for the composer, who has now become a favorite of the public, manifested itself in calls before the curtain after every act.” All free tickets were invalid; the pecuniary results must therefore have been in a high degree satisfactory.

Another consequence of Beethoven’s sudden popularity, was the publication of a new engraving of him by Artaria, the crayon drawing for which was executed by Latronne, a French artist then in Vienna. Blasius HÖfel, a young man of 22 years, was employed to engrave it. He told the writer,[136] how very desirous he was of producing a good likeness—a matter of great importance to the young artist—but that Latronne’s drawing was not a good one, probably for want of a sufficient number of sittings. HÖfel often saw Beethoven at Artaria’s and, when his work was well advanced, asked him for a sitting or two. The request was readily granted. At the time set, the engraver appeared with his plate. Beethoven seated himself in position and for perhaps five minutes remained reasonably quiet; then suddenly springing up went to the pianoforte and began to extemporize, to HÖfel’s great annoyance. The servant relieved his embarrassment by assuring him that he could now seat himself near the instrument and work at his leisure, for his master had quite forgotten him and no longer knew that anyone was in the room. This HÖfel did; wrought so long as he wished, and then departed with not the slightest notice from Beethoven. The result was so satisfactory, that only two sittings of less than one hour each were needed. It is well known that HÖfel’s is the best of all the engravings made of Beethoven. In 1851, Alois Fuchs showed to the writer his great collection, and when he came to this, exclaimed with strong emphasis: “Thus I learned to know him!”

HÖfel in course of the conversation unconsciously corroborated the statements of Madame Streicher, as reported by Schindler, in regard to Beethoven’s wretched condition in 1812-13. The effect upon him of his pecuniary embarrassments, his various disappointments, and of a mind ill at ease, was very plainly to be seen in his personal habits and appearance. He was at that time much accustomed to dine at an inn where HÖfel often saw him in a distant corner, at a table, which though large was avoided by the other guests owing to the very uninviting habits into which he had fallen; the particulars may be omitted. Not infrequently he departed without paying his bill, or with the remark that his brother would settle it; which Karl did. He had grown so negligent of his person as to appear there sometimes positively “schmutzig” (dirty). Now, however, under the kind care of the Streichers, cheered and inspirited by the glory and emolument of the past eight months, he became his better self again; and—though now and to the end, so careless and indifferent to mere externals as occasionally to offend the sensitiveness of very nice and fastidious people—he again, as before quoted from Czerny, “paid attention to his appearance.” From a note of apology to the Archduke, written while busy with the “arrangements for my opera,” we learn that Beethoven contemplated another visit to Teplitz; but the public announcement of a royal congress to meet in Vienna, August 1, put an end to that project, and Baden again became his summer retreat, for recreation but not for rest. Sketches for the “Elegiac Song” (“Sanft wie du lebtest”) are found among the studies for the new “Fidelio,” and this short work was probably now completed in season to be copied and delivered to his friend Pasqualati on or before the 23rd of August, that day being the third anniversary of the death of his “transfigured wife,” in honor of whose memory it was composed. The Sonata in E minor, Op. 90, bears date August 16. Then comes a cantata—as it is named in the “Fidelio” sketchbook, where some hints for it are noted; in fact, it is but a chorus with orchestra—a piece of flattery intended for the royal personages of the coming congress.

This is the text; but as the congress was deferred, there was no haste, and the chorus was not finished until September 3rd.

Meanwhile the controversy with the Kinsky heirs had entered upon a new phase. Dr. Johann Kanka, a lawyer in Prague, in a communication to the author,[137] wrote:

Then, after a rather protracted history of the annuity and the effect produced upon it by the Finanz-Patent of 1811, “whereby Beethoven’s means of subsistence were materially reduced and his longer residence in Vienna rendered impossible,” he continues:

Dr. Kanka closed with the promise to grant for use in this work, such letters of Beethoven—“precious relics”—as remained in his possession—a promise fulfilled a few days afterwards. Thus, in half a dozen lines—indeed, by the single statement that he was the curator of the Kinsky estate and as such effected a compromise between the parties—the venerable doctor exposes the mistakes and destroys the hypotheses of all who treated the topic at length from Schindler onward. Beethoven’s lawyer in Vienna was Dr. Adlersburg, and his “legal friend” in Prague, Dr. Wolf, who must have already become heartily weary of his client, for Beethoven himself writes in a letter to the court at Prague:

That, as is here insinuated, Wolf instituted the suit against the Kinsky heirs without explicit instructions from his client, is doubtful; but at all events that proceeding brought matters to a crisis, and led to an interview in the course of the summer between Beethoven and the Verlassenschafts-Curator, with the object, on the part of the latter, of effecting a settlement of the affair by compromise. Kanka, a fine musician and composer, an old friend, or rather acquaintance of Beethoven’s, and of the same age, was a man also whose legal talents and knowledge must have no less deeply than favorably impressed him. The letters written during the next six months to his new friend, show us how Beethoven first relinquished the notion of a legal claim to the 1800 florins in notes of redemption, then abandoned the claim in equity, and at length came into a rational view of the matter, saw the necessity of compromising, and sought no more than to effect this on the best terms possible.[138]

There is a letter to Thomson dated September 15, and another in October, the day not specified. Both are in Italian and only signed by Beethoven. In the first, the demand of “4 zecchini” per melody is renewed and “mille ringraziamente” sent to the author of a sonnet printed in the “Edinburgh Magazine” which Thomson had enclosed to the composer. The occasion of the poem was the performance of selections of Beethoven’s music at a rural festival of artists in England. The hour was advanced to near midnight, when Grahame, the Scotch poet, who was present, inspired by the music and by the beauty of the bright moonlit night, improvised the lines:

Beethoven’s thanks came too late; Grahame was dead. The letter of October again presses the demand of “4 zecchini,” but is for the most part devoted to urging Thomson to purchase for publication the “Wellington’s Victory”—about as preposterous as if Professor Max MÜller had solicited the editor of a popular magazine, to which he had contributed articles, to undertake a Sanskrit dictionary. Our narrative brings us to a letter

Beethoven’s “Lord Castleregt” was Viscount Castlereagh, now in Vienna as British plenipotentiary in the coming congress; and his object was to obtain through him some recognition from the Prince Regent for the dedication of the “Wellington’s Victory.” Nothing came of it.

The Sonata was the Op. 90, dated “August 16, 1814”—the subject of one of Schindler’s authentic and pleasantest anecdotes. Lichnowsky, after the decease of his first wife, fell in love with FrÄulein Stummer, a singer just now transferred from the Theater-an-der-Wien to the Hoftheater, whose talents and unblemished character rendered her worthy of the Count’s affection. Difference in social position long prevented their marriage, nor was it solemnized until some time after the death of Prince Karl.

The only new work suitable for a grand concert which Beethoven now had, was the chorus; “Ihr weisen GrÜnder.” Over the title of the manuscript is written in pencil by him: “About this time the Overture in C.” This work he had now in hand; also a vocal composition of considerable length. The author of the text, whoever he was, must have profoundly studied and heartily adopted the principles of composition as set forth by Martinus Scriblerus in his “Treatise on Bathos, or the Art of Sinking in Poetry”: for anything more stilted in style, yet more absurdly prosaic, with nowhere a spark of poetic fire to illuminate its dreary pages, is hardly conceivable. It begins something like this:

Neither the Overture nor the Cantata was finished, when the arrival at Vienna of the King of Wurtemberg on the 22d of September, of the King of Denmark on the 23d and the announcement of the coming of the Russian Emperor with the King of Prussia on Sunday the 25th, brought Beethoven back to the city. Owing to the failure of Lobkowitz, the Court theatres had passed under the management of Palffy. If there be any truth whatever in his alleged hostility to Beethoven, it is not a little remarkable that the first grand opera performed in the presence of the monarchs—Monday the 26th—was “Fidelio.” One of the audience on that evening, in a published account of his “Journey to the Congress,” records: “To-day I went to the Court Theatre and was carried to heaven—the opera ‘Fidelio’ by L. v. Beethoven was given.” Then follow some fifteen pages of enthusiastic eulogy. That auditor was Alois Weissenbach, R. I. Councillor, Professor of Surgery and Head Surgeon of the St. John’s Hospital in Salzburg, where after sixteen years’ service in the Austrian armies he had settled, devoting his leisure to poetry and the drama. His tragedy “Der Brautkranz” in iambics, five acts, was produced January 14, 1809, at the KÄrnthnerthor-Theater. Whether his “Barmeciden” and “Glaube und Liebe” were also brought out in Vienna we have no means of deciding. At all events, he was a man of high reputation. Of him Franz Graeffer writes:

Weissenbach himself writes:

Remarks follow upon Beethoven’s ignorance of the value of money, of the absolute purity of his morals (which, unfortunately, is not true) and of the irregularity of his life. “This irregularity reaches its climax in his periods of productiveness. Then he is frequently absent days at a time without any one knowing whither he is gone.” [?]

We know no reason to suppose that Beethoven received Weissenbach’s poem before the interview with him; but, on the contrary, think the citations above preclude such a hypothesis. Moreover, the composer’s anxiety to have an interview at the earliest possible moment arose far more probably from a hint or the hope, that he might obtain a text better than the one in hand, than from any desire to discuss one already received. What is certain is this: Beethoven did obtain from Weissenbach the poem “Der glorreiche Augenblick,” and cast the other aside unfinished—as it remains to this day.

First, Beethoven had to complete his overture, the supposed scope and design of which may occupy us a moment.

Scott said, that when he wrote “Waverly, or ’Tis Sixty Years Since,” it had already become impossible for the people of England and Scotland, in their greatly changed and improved condition, to form any correct conception of the state of public feeling in those kingdoms in 1745, when the Pretender made that last effort against the House of Brunswick which is the subject of “Waverly,” and the defeat of which is commemorated by Handel in “Judas MaccabÆus.” It is equally difficult for us to conceive adequately the sensations caused by the downfall of Napoleon at the time of which we are writing.

When monarchs play chess with armies, “check to the king” means the shock of contending foes and all the horrors of war; but in perusing the history of Bonaparte’s campaigns, we become so interested in the “game” as to forget the attendant ruin, devastation and destruction, the blood, carnage and death, that made all central Europe for twenty long years one vast charnel-house. But only in proportion as the imagination is able to form a vivid picture of the horrors of those years, can it conceive that inexpressible sense of relief, the universal joy and jubilee, which outside of France pervaded all classes of society, from prince to peasant, at the fall of the usurper, conqueror and tyrant. And this not more because of that event, than because of the all-prevailing trust, that men’s rights, political and religious—now doubly theirs by nature and by purchase at such infinite cost—would be gladly and gratefully accorded to them. For sovereign and subject had shared danger and suffering and every evil fortune together, and been brought into new and kindlier relations by common calamities; thus the sentiment of loyalty—the affectionate veneration of subject for sovereign—had been developed to a degree wholly unprecedented. Nothing presaged or foreboded the near advent and thirty years’ sway of Metternichism. No one dreamed, that within six years the “rulers” at this moment “of happy states” would solemnly declare, “all popular and constitutional rights to be holden no otherwise than as grants and indulgences from crowned heads”;[139] that they would snuff treason in every effort of the people to hold princes to their pledged words; and that their vigilance would effectually prevent the access of any Leonore to the Pellicos, Liebers and Reuters languishing for such treasons in their state prisons. At that time all this was hidden in the future; the very intoxication of joy and extravagant loyalty then ruled the hour. It was, as we believe, to give these sentiments musical expression, that Beethoven now took up and wrought out certain themes and motives, noted by him five years before in connection with the memorandum: “Freude schÖner GÖtterfunken Tochter—Ouverture ausarbeiten.”[140] The poetic idea of the work was not essentially changed—the joy of liberated Europe simply taking the place of the joy of Schiller’s poem. But the composer’s particular purpose was to produce it as the graceful homage of a loyal subject on the Emperor’s name-day. How else can the autograph inscription upon the original manuscript be understood: “Overture by L. v. Beethoven, on the first of Wine-month, 1814—Evening to the name-day of our Emperor”? In the arts, as in literature, there is no necessary connection between that which gives rise to the ideas of a work, and the occasion of its composition; the occasion of this overture was clearly the name-day festival of Emperor Franz; why then may it not in the future, as in the past, be known as the “Namensfeier” Overture?

Assuming the “first of the Wine-month” (October 1) to date the completion of the work, there remained three days for copying and rehearsal. The theatre had been closed on the 29th and 30th of September, to prepare for a grand festival production of Spontini’s “La Vestale” on Saturday evening, October 1st; but for the evening of the name-day, Tuesday the 4th, “Fidelio” (its 15th performance) was selected. It was obviously the intention of Beethoven to do homage to Emperor Franz, by producing his new overture as a prelude on this occasion. What, then, prevented? Seyfried answers this question. He writes: “For this year’s celebration of the name-day of His Majesty, the Emperor, Kotzebue’s allegorical festival play ‘Die hundertjÄhrigen Eichen’ had been ordered. Now, as generally happens, this decision was reached so late that I, as the composer, was allowed only three days, and two more for studying and rehearsing all the choruses, dances, marches, groupings, etc.” This festival play was on the 3d and rendered the necessary rehearsals of Beethoven’s overture impossible.[141]

“Fidelio” was sung the sixteenth time on the 9th. Tomaschek, one of the auditors on that evening, gave to the public in 1846 notes of the impression made upon him, in a criticism which, by its harshness, forms a curious contrast to Weissenbach’s eulogy. Having exhausted that topic, however, Tomaschek describes his meetings in an account which has a peculiar interest not only because, though general descriptions of Beethoven’s style of conversation are numerous, attempts to report him in detail are very rare. The description is also valuable because of its vivid display of Beethoven’s manner of judging his contemporaries, which was so offensive to them and begat their lasting enmity. A dramatic poem, “Moses,” words by Klingemann, music (overture, choruses and marches) by von Seyfried, was to be given on the evening of Tomaschek’s first call. Tomaschek says he has no desire “to hear music of this kind” and the dialogue proceeds as follows:

Before Tomaschek visited Beethoven again, Meyerbeer’s opera “Die beiden Caliphen” had been produced at the KÄrnthnerthor Theatre. Tomaschek comes to take his farewell. Beethoven is in the midst of preparations for his concert and insists upon giving him a ticket. Then the conversation goes on:

Of some minor compositions belonging to this autumn, this is the story: The Prussian King’s Secretary, Friedrich Duncker, brought to Vienna, in the hope of producing it there, a tragedy, “Leonore Prohaska,” “which tells the story of a maiden who, disguised as a soldier, fought through the war of liberation.” For this Beethoven composed a soldiers’ chorus for men’s voices unaccompanied: “Wir hauen und sterben”; a romance with harp, 6/8, “Es blÜht eine Blume”; and a melodrama with harmonica. It is also stated, that he instrumentated for orchestra the march in the Sonata, Opus 26, Duncker preferring this to a new marcia funebre.[143] Dr. Sonnleithner had also a note from some quarter—discredited by him—that even an overture and entr’actes were written. Nothing of the kind is known to exist, and doubtless never did. “It is said the censor would not allow the piece”—it certainly never came to performance; and until its production was made sure, Beethoven would of course—even if he had the time—not have engaged in a work of such extent.

Beethoven had announced a grand concert for November 20, in the large Ridotto Room, but advertisements in the “Wiener Zeitung” of the 18th postponed it till November 22d, then till the 27th, and finally till the 29th. On November 30th, the newspaper reports:

One would like to know what Beethoven said when he read this; for the symphony supposed by the writer to be composed as a companion-piece (Begleitung) to the “Wellington’s Victory” was the magnificent Seventh![144]

The solo singers in the Cantata were Mme. Milder, Dem. Bondra, Hr. Wild and Hr. Forti, all of whom sang well, and the Milder wonderfully. “The two Empresses, the King of Prussia” and other royalties were present and “the great hall was crowded. Seated in the orchestra were to be seen the foremost virtuosi, who were in the habit of showing their respect for him and art by taking part in Beethoven’s Academies.” All the contemporary notices agree as to the enthusiastic reception of the Symphony and the Battle, and that the Cantata, notwithstanding the poverty of the text, was, on the whole, worthy of the composer’s reputation and contained some very fine numbers. The concert, with precisely the same programme, was repeated in the same hall on Friday, December 2d, for Beethoven’s benefit—nearly half the seats being empty! And again in the evening of the 25th for the benefit of the St. Mark’s Hospital, when, of course, a large audience was present. Thus the Cantata was given three times in four weeks, and probably Spohr, who was still in Vienna, played in the orchestra; yet he gravely asserts in his autobiography that “the work was not performed at that time.”

The proposed third concert for Beethoven’s benefit was abandoned and there is no clue to the “new things in hand” for it, which Beethoven mentioned in a letter to Archduke Rudolph, unless possibly the “Meeresstille und glÜckliche Fahrt” may have been begun for the occasion. The most remarkable and gratifying thing in the letter, however, is to find Beethoven once more speaking of “pleasures and joy”—whence arising, we learn from Schindler. True, he does not, nor cannot yet, speak from personal observation; but his well-known relations to the composer began while the memories of these days were still fresh; and what he records is derived from Beethoven himself for the most part, though, as usual, he has inserted a statement or two, honestly made, but not the less incorrect on that account. But first, a paragraph from an article by Schindler in Raumer’s “Hist. Taschenbuch,” published in 1863:

Turn we to Schindler:

As Rasoumowsky was not elevated to the rank of Prince until June 3rd, 1815, Schindler, in his next sentences, is all wrong in making that incident “the cause of festivities of a most extraordinary character to which Beethoven was always invited.”

There is reason to believe that these receptions in the apartments of the Archduke did not begin until those at Rasoumowsky’s had come to their disastrous end. Huge as the palace was, it lacked space for the crowds invited thither to the Czar’s festivities. A large temporary structure of wood was therefore added on the side next the garden, in which, on the evening of December 30th, a table for 700 guests was spread. Between five and six o’clock of the morning of the 31st, this was discovered to be on fire—probably owing to a defective flue—the conflagration extending to the main building and lasting until noon.

And thus Rasoumowsky also passes out of our history.—Among the visitors to Vienna at the time of the Congress was Varnhagen von Ense, who had gone into the diplomatic service; he came in the company of the Prussian Chancellor von Hardenburg. His attitude toward Beethoven had cooled—probably because of Oliva’s complaints touching Beethoven’s behavior towards him. His brief report of his meeting with the composer derives some interest from its allusion to Prince Radziwill, to whom Beethoven dedicated the Overture, Op. 115 (which was not published until 1825). The report (printed in Varnhagen’s “DenkwÜrdigkeiten,” Vol. III, pp. 314-15) is as follows:

The compositions of the year 1814 were these:

The publications of the year: