  Ascending dotted motif is said to be borrowed from a piece of Kreutzer’s already in print. I had this assurance immediately after the publication of the Beethoven Sonata from a French musician (1805). It would be worth while to investigate the matter. Perhaps therein lies the reason of its dedication.” And further: “Bridgetower was a mulatto and played very extravagantly; when he played the sonata with Beethoven it was laughed at.” “Last Wednesday, June 2nd, I attended a concert here in Hanover Square where two young heroes contested with each other on the violin and all music-lovers and cognoscenti found most agreeable entertainment for three hours. The two played concertos alternately and both won the warmest applause. The quartet, however, which was played by young virtuosi whose combined ages did not reach 40 years, by virtue of a fine, cheerful, witty and yet harmonious performance exceeded all the expectations that experienced players could gratify. The first violin was played by Clement of Vienna, eight and one-half, the second by Bridgetower of Africa, ten years of age.” The Prince of Wales, afterwards King George IV, took the youth into his service as first violinist in the Pavilion at Brighton. The next piece of information which reached Thayer told of Bridgetower’s first concert in Dresden on July 24, 1802. A second concert was given on March 18, 1803, at which a brother of the violinist, who played the violoncello, took part. A letter from Friedrich Lindemann, a member of the Prince of Wales’s orchestra, dated January 14, 1803, contained the information that a letter of Bridgetower’s forwarded to Brighton by a certain “Billy” Cole had been placed in the hands of the Prince, who read it at once, appeared to be highly satisfied, and granted the writer’s request to be permitted to go to Vienna. Thayer did not learn the dates of Bridgetower’s birth or death, but Dr. Riemann in his revision of the second Volume says that he died “between 1840 and 1850.” This is an error. In the May number for 1908 of “The Musical Times” (London) Mr. F. G. Edwards printed the results of an investigation into Bridgetower’s life, and provided some new and definite information from a collection of letters and documents in the possession of Arthur F. Hill, F.S.A. From this article it appears that Bridgetower was a pupil of BarthÉlemon, Giornovichi, Thomas Attwood and—as he claimed—Haydn. If he really was a pupil of Haydn, he must, as Mr. Edwards pointed out, have been in the neighborhood of Vienna before he had completed his tenth year. To this the present writer adds that if he had been a pupil of Haydn’s the latter would not have omitted his name in the list of names which he made of the London musicians on his first visit to the English metropolis, for he included “Clement petit,” who was then between ten and eleven years old. (See, “Music and Manners in the Classical Period,” by H. E. Krehbiel, p. 77.) He made his first public appearance in Paris at a Concert Spirituel on April 13, 1789. In the announcement of this concert he was described as “Mr. Georges Bridgetower, nÉ aux colonies anglaises, ÂgÉ de 9 ans.” (Yet his passport issued by the police authorities, gives Biala in Poland as his birthplace.) A concert for his benefit was given on May 27, 1789, at the Salle du PanthÉon. Soon thereafter he crossed the channel and, if his father is to be believed, he played for the first time in England before George III and his court at Windsor Castle. Next he appears at Bath, the “Morning Post” of November 25, 1789, reporting “Amongst those added to the Sunday promenade were the African Prince in the Turkish attire. The son of this African Prince has been celebrated as a very accomplished musician.” The same newspaper, on December 8, a fortnight later, tells of a concert given on the Saturday morning immediately preceding the publication which was “more crowded and splendid than has ever been known at this place, upwards of 550 people being present. Rauzzini was enraptured, and declared that he had never heard such execution before, even from his friend La Motte, who was, he thought, much inferior to this wonderful boy. The father was in the gallery, and so affected by the applause bestowed on his son, that tears of pleasure and gratitude flowed in profusion.” It would seem as if the modern methods of advertising musical artists is far behind the old in the impudent display of charlantanry. The plain “Georges” of the first Paris concert, the later George Polgreen, in the announcement of his first concert in Bath becomes George Augustus Frederick. Why? The Christian name of the Prince of Wales was George Augustus Frederick. In this announcement he is described as “a youth of Ten Years old, Pupil of the celebrated Haydn.” The newspapers were amiable or gullible, or both. The lad played a concerto between “the 2d and 3d Acts” of “The Messiah” at a performance of Handel’s oratorio given for the benefit of Rauzzini on Christmas eve of the same year. He gave a concert in Bristol on December 18, 1789, leading the band “with the coolness and spirit of a Cramer to the astonishment and delight of all present,” and on New Year’s day, 1790. Next he went to London, where, at Drury Lane Theatre on February 19, 1790, he played a solo at a performance of “The Messiah.” Referring to the Lenten concerts of that year, Parke says in his “Musical Memoirs”: “Concertos were performed on the oboe by me and on the violin for the first time by Master Bridgetower, son of an African Prince, who was attended by his father habited in the costume of his country.” The concert described by Abt Vogler was under the patronage of the Prince of Wales. At the Handel Commemoration of 1791 in Westminster Abbey, Bridgetower and Hummel, in scarlet coats, sat on either side of Joah Bates at the organ and pulled out the stops for him. He played in the orchestra at the Haydn-Salomon concerts in 1791, at several of the Lenten concerts in the King’s Theatre in 1792, and on May 28 he performed a concerto by Viotti at Mr. BarthÉlemon’s concert, the announcement stating that “Dr. Haydn will preside at the pianoforte.” (Haydn’s note-book contains no mention of the concert, which would in likelihood have been the case had Bridgetower ever been his pupil.) He was plainly on terms of intimacy with such musicians as Viotti, FranÇois Cramer, Attwood, and later of Samuel Wesley, who wrote of him in a tone of enthusiastic appreciation. In 1802, being then in the Prince of Wales’s band at Brighton, he obtained leave, as Thayer notes, to visit Dresden and take the baths at Teplitz and Carlsbad; eventually, too, as we have seen, to visit Vienna. The passport issued to him in Vienna for his return to London described him as “a musician, native of Poland, aged 24 years, medium height, clean shaven, dark brown hair, brown eyes and straight, rather broad nose.” He seems to have become a resident of London and to have continued in favor with musical and other notables for a considerable space, for Dr. Crotch asks his aid in securing the patronage of the Prince Regent for a concert. He received the degree of Bachelor of Music, on presentation of the usual exercise, from the University of Cambridge in 1811. There follow some years during which his life remains obscure, but in which he lived on the Continent. He was in Rome in 1825 and 1827; back in London in 1843, when Vincent Novello sent him a letter which he signed “your much obliged old pupil and professional admirer.” John Ella met him in Vienna in 1845, but he was again in London in 1846, and there he died, apparently friendless and in poverty, on February 29, 1860. In the registry of his death, discovered by Mr. Edwards, his age is set down as 78 years; but he must have been eighty if he was nine when he played at the first concert in Paris in 1789. He was born either in 1779 or 1780. He published some pianoforte studies in 1812 under the title “Diatonica Armonica” which, with a few other printed pieces, are to be found in the British Museum. A ballad entitled “Henry,” which was “Sung by Miss Feron and dedicated with permission to Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales,” was evidently composed in 1810. “In 1807 Breitkopf and HÄrtel published three numbers from the second revision of 1806—viz: the Trio in E-flat, ‘Ein Mann ist bald gewonnen’ (afterwards elided), the canon quartet, and the duet ‘Gut, SÖhnchen, gut’; not until 1810 was a vocal score of the second version published. It came from the press of Breitkopf and HÄrtel, but was without overtures and finales. The overture in C, No. 3, which was performed with the opera in 1806, was published by Breitkopf and HÄrtel, also in 1810; the overture in C, No. 2, with which the representation of 1805 began, edited by Otto Jahn, was published by B. and H. at the end of 1853. (It was performed in Leipsic on January 27 of that year.) Nottebohm notes the performance of the four overtures on January 11, 1840, and a publication in 1842; but this refers to the work as disfigured by cuts. The so-called ‘first’ C major overture found amongst Beethoven’s posthumous effects and published by Haslinger as Op. 138 is in reality the first of the series, the one which, according to Schindler’s report (third edition, I, 127), was tried over once at Prince Lichnowsky’s and put aside as too simple, but purchased at once by Haslinger. It is true that Nottebohm discovered sketches for the overture in company with sketches for the symphony in C minor and, from this fact, argued that the overture had been composed between April, 1807, and December, 1808 (see ‘Beethoveniana,’ pp. 60 et seq.): but in his analysis of the sketchbook of 1803, extending from October, 1802, to April, 1804, he shows the presence of sketches for ‘Leonore’ among such for the ‘Eroica,’ which proves that Beethoven worked on the opera as early as 1803 and that ‘these labors were so far advanced when the performance of PaËr’s opera became known (October 3, 1804) that there could be no thought of an abandonment.’ But this demolishes the theory that Op. 138 must have been composed in 1807-08, and we are compelled to believe with Kalischer that Schindler’s account is correct and that Haslinger (Steiner and Co.) had for years been in possession of the first overture to ‘Leonore’ which ‘had been laid aside after a trial in 1805,’ and that in 1823, at a time when Schindler was Beethoven’s confidant, the composer demanded that it be published and Haslinger refused, saying: ‘We bought those manuscripts and paid for them; consequently they are our property, and we can do with them as we will.’ Only one thing remains problematical, and that is, what could have persuaded Haslinger to state that he had found the overture in a packet of dances which he purchased at the sale of Beethoven’s effects. Kalischer calls attention to a letter from Fanny Hensel to Rebekka Dirichlet, written after the music festival at DÜsseldorf in 1836 under the direction of Mendelssohn (see ‘Die Familie Mendelssohn,’ II, 9): ‘Oh, Becky! We have got acquainted with an overture to ‘Leonore’; a new piece. It is notorious that it has never been played; it did not please Beethoven and he put it aside. The man had no taste! It is so refined, so interesting, so fascinating that I know few things which can be compared with it. Haslinger has printed a whole edition and will not release it. Perhaps he will do so after this success.’ That seems to have been the case; but Haslinger permitted the work to be played as early as February 7, 1828, at a concert of Bernhard Romberg’s and elsewhere. In his book ‘Beethoven’s Studien im Generalbass, etc.,’ 1832, Seyfried connects this overture with the project, never carried out, of a production of the opera in Prague in 1807. ‘For the theatre in Prague,’ he says, ‘Beethoven wrote a less difficult overture which Haslinger, afterward R. I. Court Music Dealer, acquired at auction’; to which Haslinger replied: ‘This overture is already engraved in score and orchestral parts and, together with other arrangements of it, will yet appear in the course of this year.’ Nottebohm, too, convinced that the sketches for the overture had to be placed in 1807, and doubtless influenced by Seyfried’s statement, accepted the theory that it had been intended for Prague. Seyfried’s statement, however, in view of the involved story of the manuscript in the hands of Haslinger, lacks credibility, and is probably to be charged to the account of Haslinger, who may not have wanted to tell the truth for fear that it might lessen the market value of the work.”— To this the English editor feels in duty bound to say that Nottebohm’s argument seems to him at all points invulnerable. The autograph of the overture is no longer in existence. The score bought by Haslinger and the parts are copies which Beethoven corrected. On the first violin part the copyist had written “Ouvertura”; Beethoven added “in C, Characteristic Overture.” Under this title the composition was announced by Haslinger in 1828. He did not publish it at the time, but there were many references to it at its performance at Romberg’s concert and at other times as a “Characteristic” overture which had been found among Beethoven’s posthumous papers. Between 1828 and 1832, when Haslinger finally gave the work to the public, somebody made the discovery, which ought to have been made at sight of the manuscript, certainly at the first performance in 1828 (the melody of Florestan’s song occurring in it as one of the themes), that there was a connection between it and “Fidelio.” When Haslinger published it, therefore, he abandoned the title under which he had announced it four years before, and called it: “Overture in C, composed in the year 1805 for the opera ‘Leonore,’ etc.” Every student knows how valuable Nottebohm’s studies of the sketches are in the determination of dates. Composers usually write the overtures to their operas last; indeed, they must do so when utilizing thematic material drawn from the vocal numbers. Mr. Thayer has already called attention to the fact that the vocal numbers were taken up in the order of their occurrence, as Beethoven’s sketches show. They also show that the overture was sketched after all the vocal numbers had been planned. And the overture thus sketched was that known as No. 2. There is no hint of the overture No. 1 in the sketches made in 1804 and the beginning of 1805. Schindler says that Haslinger bought the overture immediately after it had been laid aside by Beethoven. That would have been in 1805. But Haslinger was not in Vienna till 1810. If Steiner and Co., with which firm Haslinger associated himself shortly after his arrival in the Austrian capital and of which the firm of Tobias Haslinger was the successor, was meant by Schindler, it remains a mystery that the publishers, so intimately connected with Beethoven, should have kept an overture under lock and key for 23 years and then have given it out as a work bought at the sale of Beethoven’s effects. That circumstance could only awaken the suspicion that the composer did not think it worthy of his name and fame. If he did so think, he would not have demanded that Haslinger publish it in 1823. Judging by internal evidence the overture certainly seems to be an earlier work than the overtures which the world knows by the titles “Leonore,” Nos. 2 and 3; but contemporary reports (a letter from Vienna printed in the “Journal des Luxus und der Moden,” Weimar, 1808) offer evidence in addition to the testimony of Seyfried that Beethoven did write a new overture for the projected Prague performance. No doubt Beethoven was convinced, soon after the revival in 1806, that the third “Leonore” was too long and too severe a piece for its purpose; he was still of that opinion when he revised the opera for the revival of 1814, as is evidenced by his composing the “Fidelio” overture in E, and, more than that, consenting to the use of the overture to “The Ruins of Athens” at the first performance. Mr. Thayer was quite as capable of judging of the value of the evidence in the case as his editors; he was familiar with Nottebohm’s contention; and in his history of the year 1807 he unhesitatingly sets down the overture known as “Leonore, No. 1” as that designed for Prague. There is no new evidence so far as this writer knows which could justify a reversal of the opinion which has prevailed amongst musical scholars since 1872. The symphony is dedicated to Count Oppersdorff, a Silesian nobleman. The castle of the Counts Oppersdorff lies near the town of Ober-Glogau, which in early times was under their rule. Count Franz von Oppersdorff, who died in Berlin in 1818, was a zealous lover of music who maintained in his castle an orchestra which he strove to keep complete in point of numbers by requiring all the officials in his employ to be able to play upon an orchestral instrument. Partly through bonds of blood and marriage, partly through those of friendship, the family of Oppersdorff was related to many of the noble families of Austria—Lobkowitz, Lichnowsky, etc. The castle of Lichnowsky at GrÄtz, near Troppau, was scarcely a day’s journey from Ober-Glogau. Thus it happened that Prince Lichnowsky, in company with Beethoven, paid a visit to Count Oppersdorff at his castle, on which occasion the orchestra played the Second Symphony. This, as the evidence indicates, was in the fall of 1806. On November 1, 1808, Beethoven writes the letter printed above in the body of the text. Why Dr. Riemann should have thought it necessary to consider the first letter of contemporaneous date with the first receipt is not plain, nor why he should surmise that Beethoven had enclosed the receipt in the letter before he received the money which was not paid at the time. To this Editor it seems as if the confused tangle might be explained in part, at least, as follows, though the explanation leaves Beethoven under a suspicion which cannot be dispelled until more is learned of the dealings between him and Count Oppersdorff: On the occasion of Beethoven’s visit to Count Oppersdorff in company with Lichnowsky in the summer or fall of 1806, the Count commissioned the composer to write a symphony for him; Beethoven had begun work on the Fifth Symphony, but laid it aside and during the remainder of his stay at GrÄtz and in the winter of 1807 wrote the Symphony in B-flat which is dedicated to Count Oppersdorff; for this he received 500 florins on February 3, 1807; he did not send the Count the score, as was the custom, for exclusive use during a fixed period, but turned it over to Lobkowitz for performance, being in urgent need of money; a year later he substituted the Fifth for the Fourth and accepted from Count Oppersdorff 150 florins in March and 200 in June for it without delivering it, this sum being, it may be presumed, a bonus for the larger work, the Count apparently having asked for something employing an unusual apparatus (hence the “3 kettledrums”); this symphony was also withheld in the end, for reasons which are not known, and Oppersdorff had to content himself with the mere dedication of the Symphony in B-flat originally designed for him. Dr. Riemann’s comment on the transactions is this: “The letter of November 1, 1808, proves conclusively that Count Oppersdorff could not have received either the C minor or the B-flat Symphony for his use for the customary half year; for the B-flat Symphony was performed by Lobkowitz in March, 1807; it was sold to Clementi and also to the Industriecomptoir in the summer, delivered for publication at the latest in the fall of 1807 when Beethoven had to return the 1500 florins to his brother Johann. The C minor Symphony was performed at the concert in the Theater-an-der-Wien on December 22, 1808, offered to Breitkopf and HÄrtel as early as June, 1808, sold on September 14, 1808, and published in April, 1809. To all appearances, Count Oppersdorff was compelled to look upon the 350 florins as remuneration for the mere dedication of the Symphony in B-flat which was published by the Industriecomptoir in March, 1808 (score not until 1821 by Simrock). The name of Count Oppersdorff does not appear again in the life-history of Beethoven.” It seems proper at this place for the English Editor to remark that Mr. Thayer’s argument in favor of the authenticity of the Bettina letters was printed in the Appendix to Vol. III of the original edition with a concluding foot-note by Dr. Deiters in which he said that he had not been convinced by his author’s painstaking exposition that the letters are genuine. Dr. Riemann in the second German edition prints the letters and the argument in the text, distributing the latter in two chapters and appending a foot-note in which he gives it as his opinion that only the second (that dated February 10, 1811, the autograph of which is in existence) is authentic as a letter, while the other two, though probably based on observations made by Beethoven to Bettina, were put into epistolary shape by her. One of Bettina’s letters to PÜckler-Muskau, which tells of Beethoven’s rudeness to Goethe as illustrated in the anecdote which plays so important a rÔle in the third letter, would seem to bear out this theory. But it is also likely that Beethoven’s original letters were tricked out by her for literary effect, which would help to explain the disappearance of the autographs of the letters of 1810 and 1812. The second letter, which was printed in facsimile in the Marx-Behncke critical biography of Beethoven (4th ed., 1884), was in possession of Pastor Nathusius in Quedlinburg in 1902. Carlsbad, June 25, 1811. Your friendly letter, very highly esteemed Sir, was received through Herr von Oliva much to my pleasure. For the kindly feelings which it expresses towards me I am heartily grateful and I can assure you that I honestly reciprocate them, for I have never heard any of your works performed by expert artists or amateurs without wishing that I might sometime have an opportunity to admire you at the pianoforte and find delight in your extraordinary talents. Good Bettina Brentano surely deserves the friendly sympathy which you have extended to her. She speaks rapturously and most affectionately of you and counts the hours spent with you among the happiest of her life. I shall probably find the music which you have designed for Egmont when I return home and am thankful in advance—for I have heard it spoken of with praise by several, and purpose to produce it in connection with the play mentioned on our stage this winter, when I hope thereby to give myself as well as your numerous admirers in our neighborhood a great treat. But I hope most of all correctly to have understood Herr von Oliva, who has made us hope that in a journey which you are contemplating you will visit Weimar. I hope it will be at a time when the court as well as the entire musical public will be gathered together. I am sure that you would find worthy acceptance of your services and aims. But in this nobody can be more interested than I, who, with the wish that all may go well with you, commend myself to your kind thought and thank you most sincerely for all the goodness which you have created in us. “There is nothing inconsistent with ordinary experience and observation—certainly not with Beethoven’s character as a lover—in placing this occurrence here, a year after the failure of the marriage project. His weakness was not in seeking a wife, for this was wise and prudent, but in the selection of the person; in imagining that the young girl’s admiration for the artist—her respect and regard for the friend of her parents and of Gleichenstein—had with increasing years (she was now nineteen) grown into a warmer feeling; and in misconceiving the attentions, civilities and courtesies extended to him by all the members of the family, as encouragement to a suit, the possibility of which had, probably, never entered the mind of any one of them. As Gleichenstein could not have been ignorant of his friend’s recent love-troubles, one may well conceive the surprise, dismay and perplexity, which this sudden whim must have caused him. It placed him in a dilemma of singular difficulty. How he escaped from it, there are no means of knowing; the affair was, however, so managed, that the rejection of Beethoven’s proposal caused no interruption—or at most a temporary one—in the friendly relations of all the parties immediately concerned. At this distance of time and in the feeble light afforded us, the whole matter has all the appearance of a mere whimsical episode in the composer’s life causing him some fleeting disquiet and mortification; but there is no reason to infer that his disappointment was either very severe or very lasting. If, however, this be a mistaken view, it was all the more fortunate that a previous engagement now forced him to turn his thoughts again to composition and gave him no leisure to play the love-lorn Corydon.” “Through Franz I have also received a souvenir of our noble Beethoven which gave me much joy; I do not mean his sonatas, which are very beautiful, but a little writing which I will immediately copy literally: “‘Even without prompting, people of the better kind think of each other, this is the case with you and me, dear and honored Therese; I still owe you grateful thanks for your beautiful picture and while accusing myself as your debtor I must at the same time appear before you in the character of a beggar in asking you if perchance you feel the genius of painting stirring within you to duplicate the little hand-drawing which I was unlucky enough to lose. It was an eagle looking into the sun, I cannot forget it; but do not think that I think of myself in such a connection, although it has been ascribed to me, many look upon a heroic play without being in the least like it. Farewell, dear Therese, and think occasionally of your truly revering friend Beethoven.’” Therese complied with Beethoven’s request. On February 23 she admonished her sister: “My request to you, dear Josephine, is to reproduce that picture which you alone are able to do; it would not be possible for me to create anything of the kind.” And later she repeats in French: “You have told me nothing about Beethoven’s eagle. May I answer that he shall receive it?” If the picture referred to by Beethoven in his letter to the Countess was in his possession before February 11, 1811, as appears from the Countess’ letter to her sister, how came it to be in the hands of Count Brunswick in July? Here is another unsolved riddle. Treble clef with theme in D Major was nothing more nor less than a Lower-Austrian Pilgrimage Hymn (Wallfahrtgesang), which the AbbÉ himself had frequently heard sung.” This correspondent’s father was the W. Speyer, or Speier, whose name so often appears in old volumes of the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” Ludwig van Beethoven Den Sie, wenn Sie auch wollten, Doch nicht vergessen sollten. Teplitz, August 8, 1812. The couplet might be rudely translated: Whom, even if you would Forget, you never should. “At that date,” says Thayer, Beethoven “was not in Teplitz; the 1812 should doubtless be 1811, and was probably added long afterwards by some one who knew nothing of their meeting the previous year.” “The convincing reasons advanced in the preceding chapter for placing the love-letter of July 6-7 in the year 1812, give an entirely different light to the so-called ‘Journal’ in the Fischoff manuscript. If that day, in the beginning of July, 1812, which led to a mutual confession of love forms a climax in Beethoven’s heart-history, which can scarcely be doubted, the entry in the journal makes it sure that the obstacles to a conjugal union which are intimated have not disappeared, but, on the contrary, have proved to be insuperable. The first entry is dated merely 1812, and in likelihood was written at the end of the year. Whether or not the initial which shows a flourish is really an A is a fair question. Those who see more than superficial playfulness in the relations between Beethoven and Amalie Sebald will of course see her name in the letter.” It should be observed here that in the chapter devoted to the year 1812, Dr. Riemann interpolated an extended argument, following the lines of Dr. San-Galli’s brochure, to show that the letters were written in 1812 from Teplitz—Dr. San-Galli says to Amalie Sebald, Dr. Riemann to Countess Brunswick. Deposition Of my own volition I had composed a Battle Symphony for MÄlzel for his Panharmonica without pay. After he had had it for a while he brought me the score, the engraving of which he had already begun—[Beethoven probably meant that MÄlzel had begun the preparation of the cylinder—H.E.K.] and wanted it arranged for full orchestra. I had previously formed the idea of a Battle (Music) which, however, was not applicable to his Panharmonica. We agreed to perform this work and others of mine in a concert for the benefit of the soldiers. Meanwhile I got into the most terrible financial embarrassment. Deserted by the whole world here in Vienna, in expectation of a bill of exchange, etc., MÄlzel offered me 50 ducats in gold. I took them and told him that I would give them back to him here, or would let him take the work with him to London in case I did not go with him—in which latter case I would refer him to an English publisher who would pay him these 50 ducats. The Academies were now given. In the meantime MÄlzel’s plan and character were developed. Without my consent he printed on the placards that it was his property. Incensed at this he had to have these torn down. Now he printed: “Out of friendship for his journey to London”; to this I consented, because I thought that I was still at liberty to fix the conditions on which I would let him have the work. I remember that I quarrelled violently with him while the notices were printing, but the too short time—I was still writing on the work. In the heat of my inspiration, immersed in my work, I scarcely thought of MÄlzel. Immediately after the first Academy in the University Hall, I was told on all hands by trustworthy persons that MÄlzel was spreading it broadcast that he had loaned me 400 ducats in gold. I thereupon had the following printed in the newspaper, but the newspaper writers did not print it as MÄlzel is befriended with all of them. Immediately after the first Academy I gave back to MÄlzel his 50 ducats, telling him that having learned his character here, I would never travel with him, righteously enraged because he had printed on the placards, without my consent, that all the arrangements for the Academy were badly made and his bad patriotic character showed itself in the following expressions—I [unprintable]—if only they will say in London that the public here paid 10 florins; not for the wounded but for this did I do this—and also that I would not let him have the work for London except on conditions concerning which I would let him know. He now asserted that it was a gift of friendship and had this expression printed in the newspaper without asking me about it in the least. Inasmuch as MÄlzel is a coarse fellow, entirely without education, or culture, it may easily be imagined how he conducted himself toward me during this period and increased my anger more and more. And who would force a gift of friendship upon such a fellow? I was now offered an opportunity to send the work to the Prince Regent. It was now impossible to give him the work unconditionally. He then came to you and made proposals. He was told on what day to come for his answer; but he did not come, went away and performed the work in Munich. How did he get it? Theft was impossible—Herr MÄlzel had a few of the parts at home for a few days and from these he had the whole put together by some musical handicraftsman, and with this he is now trading around in the world. Herr MÄlzel promised me hearing machines. To encourage him I composed the Victory Symphony for his Panharmonica. His machines were finally finished, but were useless for me. For this small trouble Herr MÄlzel thinks that after I had set the Victory Symphony for grand orchestra and composed the Battle for it, I ought to have him the sole owner of this work. Now, assuming that I really felt under some obligation for the hearing machines, it is cancelled by the fact that he made at least 500 florins convention coin, out of the Battle stolen from me or compiled in a mutilated manner. He has therefore paid himself. He had the audacity to say here that he had the Battle; indeed he showed it in writing to several persons—but I did not believe it, and I was right, inasmuch as the whole was not compiled by me but by another. Moreover, the honor which he credits to himself alone might be a reward. I was not mentioned at all by the Court War Council, and yet everything in the two academies was of my composition. If, as he said, Herr MÄlzel delayed his journey to London because of the Battle, it was merely a hoax. Herr MÄlzel remained until he had finished his patchwork (?), the first attempts not being successful. Beethoven, m. p. II. Explanation and Appeal to the Musicians of London by Ludwig van Beethoven Herr MÄlzel, who is at present in London, on his way thither performed my Victory Symphony and Wellington’s Battle at Vittoria in Munich, and, according to report, will also give concert performances of it in London as he was also willing to do in Frankfort. This leads me publicly to declare: that I never under any circumstances yielded or gave these works to Herr MÄlzel, that nobody possesses a copy of them, and that the only one which I gave out was sent to his Royal Highness, the Prince Regent of England. The performance of these works on the part of Herrn MÄlzel, therefore, is a fraud on the public, inasmuch as according to this explanation he is not in possession of them, or if he is in possession of them an infringement on my rights, as he has obtained them in an illegal manner. But even in the latter case the public will be deceived, for that which Herr MÄlzel will give them to hear under the title: Wellington’s Battle at Vittoria and Victory Symphony, must obviously be a spurious or mutilated work, since he never received anything of these works from me except a single part for a few days. This suspicion becomes certainty when I add the assurance of musicians of this city whose names I am empowered to mention in case of necessity, that Herr MÄlzel said to them on leaving Vienna that he was in possession of the work and showed them parts of it, which, however, as I have already proved, could be nothing else than mutilated and spurious parts. Whether Herr MÄlzel is capable of doing me such an injury?—is answered by the circumstance that he had himself announced as the sole undertaker of my two concerts given here in Vienna for the benefit of the soldiers wounded in the war, at which only works of mine were performed, in the public prints, without an allusion to my name. I therefore call upon the musical artists of London not to suffer such an injury to me, their colleague, by a performance arranged by Herrn MÄlzel of the Battle of Vittoria and the Victory Symphony, and to prevent such an imposition on the London public in the manner set forth. Vienna, July 25, 1814. III. Certificate We, the undersigned, certify in the interest of truth and can vouch under oath if necessary: that there were several conferences between Herrn Louis van Beethoven and the Court Mechanician, Herrn MÄlzel of this city, at the house of the undersigned. Dr. Carl v. Adlersburg, the which had for their subject the musical composition called: “The Battle of Vittoria” and the visit to England; at these, Herr MÄlzel made several propositions to Herrn van Beethoven to secure the work aforementioned, or at least the right of first performance for himself. But as Herr MÄlzel did not appear at the last meeting arranged for, nothing came of the matter, the propositions made to the former not having been accepted by him. Vienna, October 20, 1814. Joh. Freiherr v. Pasqualati, Carl Edler von Adlersburg, The so-called “Deposition” is, says Thayer, in truth, nothing more than an ex-parte statement prepared for the use of his lawyer by a very angry man, in whom a tendency to suspicion and jealousy had strengthened with advancing years and with the increase of an incurable infirmity. MÄlzel’s contra-statement to his lawyer is lost. He had no young disciple planning with zeal to preserve it and give it, with his version of the story, to posterity. The Merits of MÄlzel’s Case No one, who is ignorant of Schindler’s honestly meant, but partisan representations, or who, knowing them, can disabuse his mind of any prejudgment thence arising, can read Beethoven’s statement without misgivings; all the more, if the facts proved by Moscheles and Stein—tacitly admitted, though utterly suppressed, in the document—are known to him. Nor will he be convinced by all the force of the harsh language of denunciation, that MÄlzel did not act honestly and in good faith, when he called the “Victory” his property. There is nothing in the first part of the statement that requires comment; though in passing it may be observed, that the pathos of “deserted by the whole world here in Vienna” would be increased if one could forget the Archduke, the Brentanos, the Streichers, Breitkopf and HÄrtel, Zmeskall, and others. It must be borne in mind (in Beethoven’s favor) that the paper was written several months after the events of which it speaks; that it was drawn up at a time when its writer was excessively busy; that it bears all the marks of haste and want of reflection; that it was obviously intended for his lawyer’s eye alone; that there is evident confusion of memory as to times and events; and that—be it repeated—it is the ex-parte statement of an angry man. Take the “400 ducats in gold”; here Beethoven’s memory must have played him false, certainly as to the time, probably as to the substance of what he heard from the “trustworthy persons.” MÄlzel could have had no possible motive to utter so glaring a falsehood; but every motive not to do so. A few weeks later, he might and very probably did assert, that the damages to him arising from the sacrifice of the “Victory” as a piece for his Panharmonicon, from the expense of his prolonged stay in Vienna, from the loss of the holiday season in Munich, from the time, study and labor spent in experiments on Beethoven’s ear-trumpets, and from his exclusion from all share in these profitable concerts, which he alone had made possible—that these damages were not less than 400 ducats. Nor does such an estimate appear to be a gross exaggeration. “I therefore had the following printed in the newspaper,” continues Beethoven. If the passage which follows be what he desired to have printed, the reasons why the editors refused are sufficiently obvious; if they had cherished no regard for MÄlzel and had believed him in the wrong, they must have suppressed such a communication for Beethoven’s own sake. The character of MÄlzel—drawn in a few dark lines by his opponent—has no bearing on the real point at issue; it may, however, be observed as remarkable, that Beethoven alone made the discovery, and this not until—after some years of close intimacy and friendship—he had quarrelled with him. There are not many, who having so sagaciously planted and seen the harvest gathered in by another—who, smarting under the disappointment, and irritated by the loss of so much time, pains and labor—would sit down quietly, exhibit Job’s patience, and refrain from all expressions of feeling not suited to a lady’s boudoir; nor is it to be supposed that MÄlzel acted this Christian part; but then Beethoven was hardly the man to cast the first stone at the sinner. The sudden resolution to send the “Wellington’s Victory” to the Prince Regent of England, was obviously part and parcel of the proceedings against MÄlzel, the object being to defeat there any production of the work by him. Beethoven himself was the only loser by it. The prince never said “thank you” for it. In the argument against the correctness of MÄlzel’s copy of the work, Beethoven is, to say the least, unfortunate. His opponent may have had, from him, only single parts (in the second paper it stands “a single part”!); but the circumstances were such that MÄlzel could have had no difficulty in obtaining temporary use of most if not all the parts, and there were plenty of “musical handicraftsmen” amply capable, after so many rehearsals and public performances, of producing a copy in the main correct. It is painful to one who loves and reveres the memory of Beethoven, to peruse the closing passages of this document; it is, fortunately, not necessary to comment upon their character. It was not necessary for Beethoven to speak of MÄlzel’s share in the composition of the work, in the first of these papers; the opposing lawyer would attend to that; but was it just and ingenuous to suppress it entirely in the appeal to the London musicians? Schindler asserts that this appeal prevented MÄlzel from producing it. It could have had no such effect. The simple truth is, that in those days for a stranger like MÄlzel to undertake orchestral concerts in London would have been madness. The new Philharmonic Society, composed of all the best resident musicians, had hardly achieved an assured existence. The third paper is testimony to a single fact and is so impartially drawn, so skilfully worded, as not to afford a point for or against either of the parties. Schindler closes his history of the affair thus: “The legal proceedings in Vienna were without result, however, the defendant being far away and his representatives knowing how to protract the case unduly, whereby the plaintiff was subjected to considerable expense and ever new annoyances. For this reason our master refrained from prosecuting the case further, since meanwhile the facts had become widely known and had frightened the false friend from making new attempts. The court costs were divided evenly by the litigants. MÄlzel never returned to Vienna, but at a later period appealed in a letter to the friend whom he had swindled when he thought that he needed his recommendation for the metronome. This letter, dated Paris, April 19, 1818, is here. In it he represents to Beethoven that he was at work for him upon a hearing machine for use in conducting; he even invites him to accompany him on a journey to England. The master expressed his satisfaction with the metronome to the mechanician; but he never heard more concerning the machines.” Now Schindler’s own account of the first two occasions when he spoke with Beethoven, copied into the text, partly with a view to this, shows that he could have no personal knowledge of the MÄlzel affair, except its issue; and an examination of his pages proves further, that his account of it is but a paraphrase of Beethoven’s statement. His own words, written in a Conversation Book, demonstrate that the greater portion of the above citation is nonsense; for those words inform us that MÄlzel returned to Vienna in the autumn of 1817; that, then and there, peace was made between the parties, and the old friendship restored; and that thereupon they passed a jovial evening together in the “Kamehl,” where Schindler himself sang soprano in the “Ta, ta, ta,” canon to the bass of MÄlzel! What is the historic value of a narrative so made up and ending with such an astounding lapse of memory? MÄlzel spent his last years mostly in Philadelphia and other American cities. A few men of advanced years are still living there, unless recently passed away—(Thayer is writing in the eighth decade of the nineteenth century)—who retain an affectionate and respectful memory of him as a gentleman and man of culture; they will rejoice in this, at the least, partial vindication of their old friend. Candor and justice compel the painful admission that Beethoven’s course with MÄlzel is a blot—one of the few—upon his character, which no amount of misrepresentation of the facts can wholly efface; whoever can convince himself that the composer’s conduct was legally and technically just and right, must still feel that it was neither noble nor generous. MÄlzel died suddenly on July 21, 1838, on an American brig, while on a voyage between the United States and the West Indies. “Highly respected Sir! “To your valued letter I have to make reply as follows: I certainly have in my autograph collection the autograph of the orchestral score of the funeral march contained in the great Sonata for Pianoforte, Op. 26: The score consists of six sheets and twelve pages—written throughout in Beethoven’s hand. On the 1st, 8th and 12th pages there are marginal notes for the copyist. “The piece is orchestrated for 2 flutes, 2 clarinets in C, 2 horns in D, 2 horns in E, to which are added four staves for instruments which are not named, probably for trumpets and trombones. [To judge by the setting rather for the string quartet.] “I received this score of the celebrated master from the art and music dealer Tobias Haslinger in the year 1829-30 with the remark, here faithfully reported, that he gave me the manuscript with pleasure as a souvenir, inasmuch as he would by no means print or publish the composition in this form. This score therefore is unique! The piece is in B minor.... “Your ever ready Together with the other music to “Leonore Prohaska” the march is printed in the Complete Edition of Breitkopf and HÄrtel, Series 25, No. 272. As our reading of the English paper mentioned in the text differs from that in the “JahrbÜcher” it is here subjoined. “Mr. Beethoven send word to Mr. Birchall that it is severall days past that he has sent for London, Wellington’s Battel Simphonie and that Mr. B. may send for it at Thomas Coutts. Mr. Beethoven wish Mr. Bl. would make ingrave the sayd Simphonie so soon as possible and send him word in time the day it will be published, that he may prevent in time the publisher at Vienna. “To regard the 3 Sonatas which Mr. B. shall receive afterwards there is not wanted such a gt. hurry and Mr. B[eethoven] will take the liberty to fixe the day when the are to be published. Mr. B[eethoven] sayd tha Mr. Solomon has a good many tings to say concerning the Simphonie in (?) Mr. B[eethoven] wish for an answer so soon as possible concerning the days of publication.” The letter here queried, does not belong to the English Alphabet, but the “Battle and Victory Symphony” is meant. “Long life to our dear Prince May he live! May noble deeds be his loveliest calling, Then shall he not forgo the loveliest reward. May he live, etc.” A copy of this, received many years ago from Dr. Edmund Schebek, is inscribed “Evening of April 12, 1822, before the birthday of His Ser. Prince Ferdinand Lobkowitz.” This young Prince completed his 25th year on April 13, 1822. It is clear, therefore, that this inscription refers to a performance, not to the composition of the little work. A Young Woman’s Sentimental Journal In explanation of the sentimental tinge of some of the young woman’s utterances, which taken alone might easily be interpreted as secret confessions of a deeper feeling than mere admiration, friendship and sympathy, it is urged that Fanny Giannatasio del Rio began her diary, which is not a continuous record, on January 1, 1812, when she was twenty-two years old; she, therefore, was twenty-six when Beethoven became a frequent visitor at her father’s house. She was very musical (so much so that Beethoven did not hesitate to play four-hand pieces with her), and had been an admirer of his music before she met him. Two affairs of the heart, both unhappy in their outcome—(her first lover proved unworthy, her second was an invalid and like an honorable man unwilling to burden her life with his sufferings; he died in 1815)—had left her inclined to the melancholy mood, with a hunger for affection and an almost passionate longing to extend sympathy to those who seemed to her to be in need of care and love. Her outpourings frequently touch on the border of extravagant sentimentality; but calm reflection generally intervenes with its wholesome clog. So that, on the whole, they can be, perhaps ought to be, interpreted as nothing more than a disclosure of a warm interest in the great composer on the part of a generous-souled young woman filled with the literary habits of the period mixed with an overwhelming admiration for his genius and nobility of character and an impulsive desire to bring some cheer into his lonely life. Moreover, after the withdrawal of the nephew from the institute and the cessation of intercourse between Beethoven and the Giannatasio family, his name disappears from the diary, though it was continued till 1824. The friendship which existed for years between Thayer and Frau Pessiak is attested in two letters from the latter to the former in which the lady’s recollections of her grandparents and their intercourse with Beethoven are set forth. Some of the anecdotes contained in these letters deserve record here. Once, Frau Pessiak relates, there arose a serious disagreement between her grandfather and Beethoven concerning the latter’s nephew, which resulted in the boy’s dismissal from the institute. Thereupon Beethoven wrote to Anna Giannatasio begging her to intercede with her father and get his consent to Karl’s return, but at the same time to keep the fact of the writing secret and to burn the letter as soon as it had been read. The lady respected both wishes, the latter dictated by the composer’s pride, but she burned the letter with a heavy heart. “My mother’s admiration for Beethoven,” adds Frau Pessiak, “was like that of my aunt, so that his wish was to her a command.” While at a picnic party in the environs of Vienna, Beethoven stood beside the writer’s mother on the most beautiful observation point. Suddenly he took out his note-book, tore out a leaf, drew a staff upon it, jotted down the melody of the song, “Wenn ich ein VÖglein wÄr” (Treitschke’s “Ruf vom Berge,” No. 219, in Thayer’s “Chronological Catalogue”) and handed it to his companion with the words: “Now, Miss Nanni, do you write the bass for it.” “My mother cherished the leaf as a precious souvenir for a long time, then gave it to me because, as she said, I was the most musical one of the family, and would best appreciate the treasure. I have it preserved under a glass and frame.” One day Beethoven brought with him the song from “Faust” beginning: “Es war einmal ein KÖnig, der hatt’ einen grossen Floh” (“Once upon a time there was a king who had a large flea”). “Aunt and mother had to try it.” Then Beethoven took his seat at the pianoforte and played the conclusion in which he turned his thumb and with it struck two adjoining keys at the same time, laughed and said: “That’s the way to kill him!” On the occasion of Anna Giannatasio’s birthday, Beethoven came and offered a musical congratulation. Approaching her he sang with great solemnity the melody of a canon to the words: “Above all may you want happiness and health, too,—”. Then he stopped and the lady protested that the wish that she might fail in happiness and health was scarcely a kind one; whereupon Beethoven laughed and finished the sentiment with “at no time.” Here is the canon: GlÜck fehl Dir vor allem, Gesundheit auch niemalen! “Best Madame von Streicher! “It was not possible to reply to your last letter sooner. I would have written to you a few days ago when the servants were sent away, but hesitated in my determination until I learned that it was Frau D. in particular who hindered Karl to make full confession. “He ought to spare his mother,” she told him; and Peppi coÖperated with her; naturally they did not want to be discovered; they worked together shamefully and permitted themselves to be used by Frau v. Beethoven; both received coffee and sugar from her, Peppi money and the old one probably also; for there can be no doubt that she was herself at the house of Karl’s mother; she said to Karl that if I drove her away from my service she would go straight to his mother. This happened at a time when I had reproved her for her conduct with which I had frequent occasion to be dissatisfied; Peppi who often played the eavesdropper when I spoke with Karl appears to have tried to tell the truth, but the old one accused her of stupidity and scolded her stoutly—and so she remained silent and tried to throw me off the trail. The story of this abominable deception may have lasted about six weeks—they would not have got off so easy with a less magnanimous man. Peppi borrowed 9 or 10 florins for stuff for shirts and I afterwards made her a present of the money and instead of 60 she got 70 florins; she might have denied herself these wretched bribes. In the case of the old woman, who was always the worse, hate may have played a part as she always thought herself neglected (although she got more than she deserved) for the scornful smile on her face one day when Karl embraced me, made me suspect treachery and how shameless and deceitful such an old woman could be. Just imagine, 2 days before I came here K. went to his mother one afternoon without my knowledge and both the old woman and P. knew it. But now listen to the triumph of a hoary-headed traitress; on the way hither with K. and her, I spoke with K. about the matter in the carriage, although I did not know all, and when I expressed the fear that we should not be safe in MÖdling, she exclaimed “I should only rely upon her.” O the infamy of it! This was only the 2nd time in the case of a person of such venerable age that such a thing happened to me. A few days before I sent both away I had told them in writing that under no circumstances were they to accept anything for Karl from his mother. Instead of repenting, Peppi tried secretly to take revenge on Karl, after he had confessed all which they knew from the fact that in writing, I had said that all had been discovered—I expected that they would both beg my pardon after this, instead of which they played me one wicked trick after the other. As no betterment was to be expected in such obstinate sinners and I had every moment to fear another piece of treachery, I decided to sacrifice my body, my comfort to better self, my poor, misguided Karl and out of the house they went as a warning example to all those who may come after. I might have made their certificates of character a little less favorable; I set down the time of service of each at full six months although it was not true. I never practise vengeance; in cases where I oppose myself to other people, I never do more against them than is necessary to protect myself against them or to prevent them from doing further harm. On account of Peppi’s honesty in general I am sorry to have lost her for which reason I made her certificate more favorable than that of the old woman, and she appears to have been led astray by the old woman but that P.’s conscience was not at ease she showed by saying to Karl that “she did not dare go back to her parents,” and, in fact I believe she is still here—I had suspected treachery for a long time until one evening before my departure I received an anonymous letter the contents of which filled me with dread; but they were only suspicions. Karl, whom I took to task at once in the evening confessed but not all. As I often treat him harshly and not without cause, he was too greatly afraid to admit everything at once. In the midst of the struggle we reached here. As I often questioned him, the servants noticed it and the old woman in particular tried to persuade him not to admit the truth. But when I gave Karl my sacred assurance that all would be forgiven if he would but confess the truth, while lying would plunge him into a deeper abyss than that in which he already was, everything came to the light of day—add to this the other data which I gave you before concerning the servants and you will have the shameful story of the two traitresses clearly before you. K. did wrong, but—mother—mother—even a bad one remains a mother. To this extent he is to be excused, particularly by me who know his intriguing, passionate mother too well. The priest here knows already that I know about him for K. had already told me. It is likely that he was not fully informed and that he will be careful; but to guard against K.’s being mistreated by him, since he appears to be rather a rude man, the matter may rest for the nonce. But as K.’s virtue was put to the test for there is no virtue without temptation, I purposely pass the matter by until it happens again (which I do not expect) in which case I will so bethwack his reverence with such spiritual cudgels, amulets with my sole guardianship and consequent privileges that the whole parish will shake. My heart has been terribly shaken up by this affair and I can scarcely recover myself. Now to my housekeeping; it needs your help; how necessary it is to us you already know; do not be frightened away, such a thing might happen anywhere, but if it has once happened and one is in a position to hold it up to one’s new servants, it is not likely that it will occur again. You know what we need—perhaps the French woman, and whatever can be found in the way of a chambermaid, good cooking remains the principal thing, even in the matter of economy, for the present we have a person who cooks for us, but badly. I cannot write you more to-day, you will perceive that in this matter I could not act differently; it had gone too far. I do not yet invite you to visit me here for everything is still in confusion; nevertheless it will not be necessary to send me to a lunatic asylum. I can say that I already suffered from this thing fearfully while I was yet in Vienna, though I kept silent. Farewell; do not make anything of this known as some one might think prejudicially of K.; only I who know all the driving wheels here can testify for him that he was terribly misled. I beg of you soon to write us something comforting, touching the art of cooking, washing and sewing. “I am very ill and in need of a stomach restorative. “MÖdling, June 18 (10?), 1818.” |
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