The Baroness Ertmann was also a good friend to Beethoven. He called on her frequently and her ability to interpret his works acceptably must have cemented the friendship between them. Others with whom he came in contact were the Countess Babette de Keglivics (Princess Odeschalchi), and Julia Guicciardi, who became the Countess Gallenberg, and to whom he dedicated the Sonata Fantasia, which is called the language of resignation.

These people on the whole were quite democratic in their relations toward artists. There was a very elaborate ceremonial at court, but elsewhere, cultivated people met on common ground. Ries relates an incident illustrating the cameraderie existing between Beethoven and the aristocratic ladies of his circle. In this instance. Princess Lichnowsky, who was a Countess Thun, and connected with some of the best families in Europe, was the central figure. One evening at Count Browne's, Ries was asked to play a sonata with which he was not familiar. Ries preferring to play something else, begged to be excused from playing this particular one. The company was obdurate, however, and finally appealed to Beethoven, knowing that he, if any one, could carry the point. Beethoven turned to Ries and asked him to play it, saying: "I am sure you will not play it so badly that you would not want me to hear it," whereupon Ries complied, Beethoven turning the leaves for him. He made a break in the bass part, at which Beethoven tapped him on the head with his finger, whether to discipline him or only in play does not appear. Later in the evening Beethoven played a sonata (opus 21), entirely new, with which he himself was not very familiar. Princess Lichnowsky, who had observed Beethoven's act in disciplining Ries earlier in the evening, stationed herself back of Beethoven's chair, while Ries turned the pages. When Beethoven made a mistake similar to that of Ries, the Princess playfully hit him several taps on the head with her hand, saying: "If the scholar is punished for making a slight mistake, the master should not escape, when making a graver one," at which all laughed, Beethoven taking the lead. Then he began again and fairly outdid himself, particularly in the Adagio, in which the mistake occurred.

The virtuosity of some of the Viennese of the period was marvellous. Allusion has been made to the ability of the professional musicians, but the amateur performers were in many cases equally proficient. It is related that Beethoven's friend, Marie Bigot, played the Appassionata Sonata at sight from the manuscript for the delectation of some friends. Madame Bigot was the wife of the librarian of Count Rasoumowsky and evidently took a prominent part in these entertainments. Sight-reading before a critical audience is surely a difficult enough task under the most favoring conditions; how much more so from the manuscript, with its excisions and corrections and general indistinctness! It was, however, an every-day matter especially in chamber-music. Huemmel is reported as saying: "In Vienna there are a hundred ladies who can play the piano better than I." Another musician, writing from Vienna in 1820, said: "In every house there is a good instrument; at one, a banker's, there are five."

On one occasion, some one laid before Beethoven a quartet in manuscript which had just been composed. The band essayed it, of course at sight, not one of the party having seen the manuscript before. The cellist got out in the first movement. Beethoven got up, and while he kept on playing his own part, sang the cellist's part. When this was commented on, he remarked that the bass part had to be this way if the composer understood his business. The composer in this instance was Foerster, his old teacher.

On another occasion, Beethoven played at sight a new and difficult composition which had been brought him. The composer told him that he (Beethoven), had played the Presto so fast that it would have been impossible to see the single notes. "That is not necessary," Beethoven replied. "If you read rapidly, many misprints may occur; you do not heed them, if you only know the language." Wagner in his life of Beethoven says: "The power of the musician is not to be appreciated otherwise than through the idea of magic." It would seem so in very fact. Consider the million combinations of which the brain has to take cognizance while doing so comparatively simple a thing as transposing. Not to play the particular notes which are indicated on the staff, but some others, one or two steps higher or lower; to play four or five at a stroke, as in piano, and to do it quickly, sixty or eighty or a hundred in a minute,—this is almost like magic, but it is nothing to what Beethoven frequently did in music. At a public concert at which he played, he asked his friend Seyfried, a distinguished composer and all-round musician, to turn the leaves for him of a new concerto written for the occasion. "But that was easier said than done," said Seyfried who told the story. "I saw nothing but blank leaves with a few utterly incomprehensible Egyptian hieroglyphics which served him as guides, for he played nearly the whole of the solo part from memory, not having had time to write it out in full; he always gave me a sign, when he was at the end of one of these unintelligible passages." Seyfried, thorough musician that he was, understood the difficulties of the position for Beethoven, and was so apprehensive of turning a page at the wrong time, that his nervousness was observed by the master, who afterward rallied him about it. Extempore playing is not to be compared with this, as the concerto was written for strings and piano, Beethoven taking the piano part.

The three quartets, opus 59, known as the Rasoumowsky Quartets, to which a passing reference has been made, take their name from having been dedicated to Count Rasoumowsky, who was the Russian ambassador. The Count had married a sister of the Princess Lichnowsky and was a cultivated man whose greatest delight was music. He lived in great state in a palace, then on the outskirts of Vienna, now used as the Geological Institute. He was closely identified with the musical life of Vienna, and shortly after these quartets appeared, formed a string quartet of distinguished musicians, which he maintained for many years, taking the part of second violin himself. It is almost needless to state that Beethoven's work took precedence in the repertoire.

The first of the three quartets, the one in F, has an Adagio movement on which Beethoven inscribed in the sketch-book, "Eine Trauerweide oder Akazienbaum aufs Grab meines Bruders." [A weeping willow or acacia tree over my brother's grave.] Beethoven had indeed lost an infant brother twenty-three years before this event, but it is not likely that he was thus tardily commemorating him. His brother Kaspar Karl was married the day before this quartet was begun and it is probably a humorous allusion to that circumstance. But if his brother's marriage was an occasion for humor at the beginning, it lapsed afterward into the sternest tragedy in its effect on the master's life, as will be seen further on in these pages.

These quartets are monuments to Beethoven's genius and are classed among the best examples of chamber-music. The Adagio of the second one was thought out by Beethoven one night while contemplating the stars. Somewhat of the infinite calm and serenity of his mood is imparted to it. The incident is related by Czerny to whom it was related by Beethoven himself. The quartets were generally disliked and condemned by musicians when first produced. Cherubini said that they made him sneeze. Others said that Beethoven was music-mad, that they could not be called music, that they were too difficult, unintelligible, and so on. That was close onto a century ago, and they are still unintelligible to some, but we now know that this is not the fault of the quartets as was so naively assumed at that time. The condemnation of them by the performers has a show of reason in it as they taxed their capacity too severely. Wagner had the same thing to contend with for the same reason.

After the withdrawal of Fidelio, noted in the last chapter, and with the advent of summer, Beethoven left Vienna on a visit to Count Brunswick, at his seat in Hungary. The Count was a man of exceptional intellectual ability, who had the greatest reverence and admiration for Beethoven's genius. Beethoven was also on excellent terms with the Count's sisters, and later became engaged to one of them, the Countess Therese. It is well known that the Countess Therese exercised a powerful fascination over him, but so did many another of the gifted Vienna ladies in the course of his life.

So vast a quantity of work was accomplished by the master during this summer, that it is likely the proximity of these friends only served to stimulate his genius. The Appassionata Sonata was worked over, the Rasoumowsky Quartets were finished, as well as the Fourth Symphony, besides lesser works, so that he could not have spent much time in social intercourse. He was in the period of his greatest productivity; the creative instinct was strong in him and impelled him onward in his work to the exclusion of other desires. Even friendship had to give way in great measure to the passion for creating which had become a necessity of his existence.

That the life was a tranquil and contented one may be inferred by the character of the Fourth Symphony. Beethoven loved country life, and surrounded as he was by his friends, whose first thought was for him, he had everything to make him satisfied. The serenity which speaks to us through the Fourth Symphony is something for which the world should ever be grateful. Our highest happiness often comes to us through the frame of mind superinduced by external influences. This symphony is a song of joy, ecstatic in its pure exuberance of spirits; again, it is a benediction that breathes into our minds somewhat of its own spirit of calm and content. The storm and stress of life is forgotten; all is holiday humor. We are in the midst of a Shakespearian comedy, with its alternations of humor and sentiment, its joyous atmosphere, its idyllic simplicity; the forest of Arden has come to us. It was written to celebrate his engagement to the Countess Therese. In it he is inspired by the very genius of happiness. It is as if, having obtained his heart's desire, he invites us to partake with him the joy that the gods have provided.

But it is only for once, as if to emphasize the fact that happiness is not the object of existence and is not even our right primarily. He gives few instances in which the element of pain or sadness does not enter to some extent. His works abound in psychological suggestion; they illustrate every phase of life. The philosophic import of the Fourth Symphony is plain. He demonstrates the rarity of pure unalloyed happiness in actual life by the few examples in his compositions in which it reigns supreme. Joy enters incidentally into most of his works. Often it dominates them. He recognized it as part of the scheme of life, but it is usually qualified by other conditions and is only attained through persistent effort; it is never our portion until earned. It does not come unsought like pain and suffering. The Fourth Symphony is lighter than the "Eroica" which preceded it, or the C minor which comes next. The language of joy is always more or less superficial. The tragedies of life have to be told in stronger language, since they go deeper. Happiness is negative, pain positive. The comedies of Shakespeare, in which the note is usually buoyant and felicitous, do not stir us as do the tragedies.

Beethoven's visit at Count Brunswick's continued throughout the summer of 1806. He left the Brunswicks in October, but instead of returning to Vienna as was his wont in the autumn, he turned his face toward Silesia, on a visit to Prince Lichnowsky who had an estate there. But the idyllic life left behind at Count Brunswick's was not to be repeated here. His stay was destined to be short owing to a violent quarrel between the Prince and him, which caused an estrangement lasting some years. The circumstances leading up to it can be briefly narrated. When Beethoven arrived at the castle of Prince Lichnowsky, he found other guests there, uninvited but not unexpected, consisting of French officers who had been quartered on the Prince. Napoleon had overrun Germany, and was master wherever he went. Beethoven's rage against him for making himself Emperor had not abated; his dislike extended to the officers as well, and he was not there long before hostilities began in good earnest. It all came about from a desire on the part of the officers that Beethoven play for them. He had the penetration to know that he was regarded simply as a curiosity, that he was called on because no better entertainment was available. Had there been a juggler or a ballet-dancer on hand, these latter might have been preferred. At dinner, a staff-officer had asked him quite innocently if he could play the cello, to which no answer was given; the frown on Beethoven's face, however, boded ill for the evening's festivities. It had been announced that he would play for them, and they expected it as a matter of course.

In the nature of things it could not be expected that these men would be able to appreciate Beethoven, or understand much of his art. His reverence for it was great; he felt that it would be a degradation, in a sense, to play for them under the circumstances, and refused. The Prince, with the amiable desire of pleasing his guests, urged the matter, but Beethoven continued obdurate; upon which he told him, probably by way of a joke, that he must either comply or that he would be confined in the castle as a prisoner of war for disobeying orders. This persistence so enraged him that, although it was night, he left the castle without the Prince's knowledge, and walked three miles to Trappau, the nearest post-town. He remained here overnight, and, while waiting for the post-chaise, wrote the following letter to Prince Lichnowsky:

"Prince! what you are you owe to chance and birth. What I am, I am through myself. There has been, and will yet be thousands of princes, but there is only one Beethoven."[A]

[A] Frimmel's Beethoven.

It was raining when he left the castle, and the manuscript of the Appassionata Sonata, hastily packed, became water-soaked and blurred; it bears the marks of that night's journey to the present day.

Some difficulty was experienced in procuring his passport for Vienna. It could readily have been obtained by having recourse to Prince Lichnowsky, but Beethoven would not permit this. The matter was finally arranged, and he proceeded on his journey. He nursed his wrath all the way, and on reaching his quarters in Vienna, his first act was to smash a bust of the Prince which stood on a bookcase.

Although a reconciliation was effected later, the old cordial relations were never restored. There were times when the Prince called on Beethoven and was not received, when the latter was not in the mood for seeing him. Through his wilfulness, Beethoven lost the annuity which the Prince had settled on him on his coming to Vienna. The initiative in this matter was probably taken by Beethoven himself, as may be inferred from a letter he writes to a friend two years later: "My circumstances are improving without having recourse to people who treat their friends insultingly."

The winter of 1806-7 was a period of great activity for Beethoven, although a felon on his finger must have stopped all work for a while. Some important works were published, notably the Eroica Symphony and the Appassionata Sonata. Along with acceptances came commissions, so that his finances appear to have been in a flourishing condition for the time.

Beethoven's engagement to the Countess Brunswick was entered into with the consent of her brother. Count Brunswick, who was the only one permitted to share the secret. Every precaution was taken to prevent a knowledge of it coming to the ears of Therese's mother, who would not for a moment have listened to an argument leading to a possible union of her daughter with the poor musician.

That Beethoven had marriage in mind is evident from the fact that he once got so far as to write to Bonn for a copy of his baptismal certificate as a necessary preliminary. He wrote in his note-book on the subject as follows: "Oh God! Let me attain her who is destined to be mine and who shall strengthen me in virtue." But it never got any further. The secrecy so strictly enjoined, must have been specially unpleasant to a man of Beethoven's temperament. The opposition that was sure to be developed on the part of the Countess's family may have reverted on his sense of pride to such an extent as to lead him to sacrifice his love to it. He always had his work to fall back on. In the end, his art took precedence of all other considerations; while it permitted friendship, the serenity of which might aid him in his life-work, it excluded love, which might become a rival. His concept of life was to live simply, to entertain no project which would in any way divert his mind from his work. No mere desires of self were to be considered.

The Countess Therese never married, but occupied herself with philanthropic work on reaching middle-age. She founded a home for little children in Vienna, the first of its kind in Austria; her own means not being sufficient to maintain it, she enlisted the support of powerful friends from the Empress down, in its behalf. She died in 1861, aged 83.



CHAPTER VII

VICTORY FROM DEFEAT

To those whom heaven favors, the greatest evils turn to greatest good. —GIORDANO BRUNO.

Of the summer of 1807, the most notable achievement is the Mass in C. It was written at Heiligenstadt, where he wrote the Heroic Symphony some years before. He remained until autumn hard at work on this, his first mass, as well as on some orchestral works, including, probably the Symphony in C minor, as well as the Pastoral Symphony.

It is rather singular that Beethoven, whose nature was on the whole essentially religious, although he affiliated with no church, did not take earlier to mass composition. Some of the best work of Mozart and Haydn is in this form; as organist he must have been familiar with their masses. One can readily believe that the emotional quality of certain portions of Mozart's Mass in B flat, such as the Et incarnatus and the Agnus Dei, must have strongly appealed to him. His thoughts often went toward religious music, and it was easy for him to compose in this style. He recognized the mass as one of the great art-forms, equal to the oratorio or the opera. From Bach's time on, it may indeed be said to have been regarded in this light. It is quite evident that Bach so considered it when composing his grand mass in B minor, which in difficulty of execution, as well as in its extraordinary length, is no longer practicable as a church service, its range in all directions going beyond the requirements of a congregation, or the capacity of the choir.

It is evident that Beethoven enjoyed working on the Mass, and was quite at home in this form of composition. Here was plain sailing; he knew what he wanted to do, and went at it without hesitation. There is none of that doubt and groping which is the case with Fidelio, which was continually being worked over, and in reality, never was finished. That religious works had a great hold on his mind, appears from a letter to his publisher in after years in which he states that if he had an independent income he would write nothing but grand symphonies, church music and perhaps quartets. In another letter dated March 29, 1823, toward the close of his life, he stated his intention of writing three more masses.

In the Mass in C a new theory is developed in mass composition. It differs radically from the style of church composition made popular by Haydn and Mozart, beautiful as some of that is. Their music is a concord of sweet melodies, illustrating the peace and happiness which a contemplation of the religious life affords. Acting on the principle that beauty is its own excuse for being, they give many examples where the music does not even attempt to fit the sentiment of the words. The Kyrie of Haydn's Imperial Mass would do for a Te Deum, or a Song of Triumph rather than a cry for help. The Kyrie of Mozart's Mass in B flat is an Italian street song which he heard on one of his tours in Italy and worked over for this Mass, and is not at all adapted to the words. There are ideas in the Mass in C which neither Mozart nor Haydn would have tried to attain. Beethoven's aim here is not to please the ear by beautiful melodies, although he does that often enough, but to stir the soul. He bears a message to the listener, which it is greatly to his interest to get at. The Mass in C depicts our innermost experiences. It has a mission and is not simply an end in itself. The Symphonist here shows his individuality as may be expected, since it was composed after Coriolanus, the first four symphonies, Fidelio. In many places the orchestra becomes an independent entity, abandons the choral part, and, rising into majestic strains unattainable in choral composition, tells the story of Christianity in its own powerful way. In Beethoven this ascendency of the orchestra is first apparent; he has demonstrated for all time its greater importance as a means of musical expression than the voice.

[Musical notation.]

The work throughout is cast on a higher plane than any mass which had appeared since Bach's Mass in B minor. It was written for Prince Nicholas Esterhazy, whose grandfather was Haydn's patron, and was first sung in the chapel of the Prince at Eisenstadt, on the name-day of his wife, the Princess Marie. Huemmel was Kapellmeister there, but Beethoven conducted the performance on this occasion.

The Prince evidently was of the opinion that having ordered the work, the master would consider his preferences and prejudices in the composition of it, as Haydn would have done, but as Beethoven could not have done, had he wished. The result was that Prince Esterhazy failed to see its purport or significance and was unable to comprehend it. Beethoven should not have been surprised at this, since he knew himself to be in advance of his time. At the conclusion of the service the Prince made the rather inane remark, "but my dear Beethoven, what have you been doing now?" in allusion to the mass. Beethoven, deeply offended, left abruptly, and returned to Vienna. It may be said in passing that Beethoven frequently managed to disappoint the persons for whom he wrote. This did not lead him to doubt or distrust his powers, knowing intuitively that posterity would justify him. The Mass in C is to-day one of the best known of all masses, and is frequently performed at high festivals in churches having a good equipment of chorus and orchestra.

Another great work which was completed about this time was the Symphony in C minor (The Fifth). Here we have a work wholly subjective. It reflects his soul experiences. His approaching deafness brought him face to face with the greatest trouble of his life. The malady progressed slowly but steadily, and rendered him at times hopeless. His suffering, his despair, his resignation and final triumph are embodied in it. It is a subtle analysis of some of the deep problems of life. The history of his own mental state is depicted here. If we consider his malady in its bearing on his life, we have the story of Tantalus told again. Here was a man whose thoughts translated themselves into splendid tone-pictures which the orchestra was to portray. With the mental equipment to create a new era in his art, the medium by which he could apprehend his works was being closed to him. "Is a blind painter to be imagined?" asks Wagner in this connection. If we can imagine a great painter painting his masterpieces, but never being permitted to see any, an analogy may be found in the exclusion of Beethoven from all participation in the rendering of his works, which was the case in his later years, being unable even to conduct them. He wanted to test his work, to ascertain how it would sound in the concert hall, and even at this time the high tones of the violins, which he put to such exquisite uses in later years, and which were such an inspiration to Wagner, were lost to him. By the aid of his philosophy, however, he accepted the situation, resolving to make the best of it; to keep on achieving, to turn his defeats into victories. Beethoven's symphonies mean much in their application to the common life of humanity. Knowing them even approximately, we often find texts which illumine them in the writings of men who went below the surface of things, Emerson, or Carlyle, or Schopenhauer. Thus Carlyle, writing on Dante says: "He has opened the deep unfathomable oasis of woe that lay in the soul of man; he has opened the living fountains of hope, also of penitence." Does not the mind instantly revert to the C minor Symphony?

Next in the order of Beethoven's great works comes the Pastoral Symphony, named at first "Recollections of country life." Easily comprehended, as any picture of country life should be, he yet deemed it necessary to give a short explanation at each movement, illustrating the meaning which he wished to convey, although he qualifies this with the words, "mehr Ausdruck der Empfindung als Malerei." [An expression of sensibility rather than painting.] In everything relating to his art Beethoven was tentative. In the sketch-book of this Symphony there is an inscription in his handwriting, "Man ueberlaesst den Zuhoerer sich selbst die Situationen auszufinden." [The hearer should be left to find out the situations for himself,] showing that, on considering the matter carefully he changed his mind, and concluded after all, that the explanations were permissible. In but few instances has Beethoven vouchsafed any explanation of his musical intent, and then it seems to have been done reluctantly. It was hardly necessary in the case of the Pastoral Symphony as it is comparatively easy of comprehension. The title gives the clew; the occasional bird notes of quail, cuckoo and lark, the scene at the brook, could hardly be mistaken; while the dance-music in Part III, as well as the storm with its forebodings of terror, convey their meaning plainly to the average intelligence. This poem of nature is always enjoyable, refreshing the mind, and resting the jaded faculties, much as a trip to the country helps us physically.

The explanations as Beethoven appended them are as follows:

No. I. Allegro: The awakening of cheerful feelings on arriving in the country.

No. II. Andante: Scene at the Brook.

No. III. Allegro: Merry meeting of country folk.

No. IV. Allegro: Thunder-storm.

No. V. Allegretto: Song of the Shepherds, and glad and thankful feelings after the storm.

Many great composers before and after Beethoven have essayed this portrayal of a storm, Haendel, Haydn (Seasons), Glueck, Mozart, Rossini (William Tell overture), Chopin, Wagner (Flying Dutchman), are a few instances.

The Pastoral Symphony has been dramatized so to speak, that is, it has been put on the stage, the different situations of this nature-poem having been portrayed by living and moving tableaux, pantomimic action and ballet; there was scenery, and the dance of the peasants and the thunder-storm were, no doubt, realistic enough. This representation took place at a festival of the Kuenstler Liedertafel of Duesseldorf in 1863, also in London.



CHAPTER VIII

MEETING WITH GOETHE

Eine schoene Menschenseele finden ist Gewinn. —HERDER.

Beethoven did not have the faculty of teaching except in rare instances. It is not in the nature of things that such a man would consider teaching in any other light than drudgery, and would feel that time so spent could have been much better employed in composition. This was the case already in Bonn, when he had no income and before his creative talent had shown itself. He was only too glad to abandon it as soon as proper encouragement for composition came to him from his publishers. Here and there an attractive lady would be able to cajole him into giving a few lessons on the pianoforte—the Brunswick sisters and Madame Ertmann are instances, but they were intermittent in character, and did not continue long. Two prominent exceptions, however, were the Archduke Rudolph and Ferdinand Ries. True, Czerny was a pupil also, but the lessons did not continue long, as was the case with the Archduke and Ries.

Beethoven's acquaintance with the Archduke began in the winter of 1804. Rudolph, then sixteen years of age, seems to have attached himself to Beethoven, then thirty-four, more as a friend than as a pupil. Other masters could have been found under whom he would have advanced more rapidly, and it is quite likely that the Imperial family would have preferred some other than Beethoven, whose republican principles must have made him disliked by them.

The Archduke was passionately devoted to music and the friendly relations between master and pupil were maintained almost to the end of the master's life. Rudolph had to put up with Beethoven's outbreaks of temper much the same as if he had been a civilian. He treated this young Prince, brother of the reigning Emperor, much the same as his other friends, and Rudolph had to adapt himself to his master's wishes. He ordered his chamberlain to set aside the observance of the rigid etiquette of the Court, established by his mother, Maria Louisa of Spain, when he learned that it was one of the things which made Beethoven lose his temper. Some of the master's best work was written specially for Rudolph and when the latter left Vienna in 1809, Beethoven wrote the sonata, Les Adieux L'absence, et le Retour, to commemorate the occasion. He inscribed it as follows: "Der Abschied am vierten Mai gewidmet und aus dem Herzen geschrieben." Rudolph had an intuitive perception of Beethoven's greatness and was glad to be near him, not only to learn from him, but to enjoy his friendship. He carefully preserved Beethoven's letters and in every way showed his regard for him. On the high level which music made for these men, artificial distinctions were forgotten; the Prince became the disciple. He was a fine performer, with, as may be supposed, special reference to Beethoven's works. Beethoven was, no doubt, impressed by Rudolph's rank, although there is very little evidence of it in the anecdotes which we have relating to them. He met his friends on the common ground of his art, where he found no superior.

As before stated Beethoven did not take to teaching. It was Dientschaft to him in the full sense of the word. He does not seem to have interested himself as much in Rudolph as in Ferdinand Ries. In the case of the latter an artist was being prepared for a career; some of Beethoven's own skill as performer was being perpetuated in Ries, while with Rudolph no amount of technical knowledge would have advanced the art much. He not only accepted no payment from Ries for the lessons given him, but frequently sent him money unsolicited when he had reason to suppose he needed it. In the old Bonn days, after the death of Beethoven's mother, when the young man was in sore straits, Ferdinand's father, who was a member of the Elector's orchestra with Beethoven, had helped the latter in word and deed. Ferdinand then was but four years of age. Beethoven was famous by the time Ferdinand had reached manhood; when he presented himself to the master with a letter from his father, he was cordially received, and was soon on the footing of an intimate friend. Beethoven when giving him lessons was patient to a degree that was not natural to him. "I attribute this," he states, "as well as the long continued friendship he maintained toward me, largely on account of the esteem and regard he felt for my father. He often made me repeat an exercise ten times. The lessons frequently lasted two hours. He was not generally so particular about lapses in execution, but if I was lacking in expression, in crescendo and diminuendo, he would make me repeat the passage until he was satisfied." Ries made good use of his opportunities, and became a distinguished performer on the piano, ranking in this respect as high as any man of his time.

An offer to Beethoven of the post of Kapellmeister by the King of Westphalia, Napoleon's brother, in 1809 brought about one of the inevitable quarrels that marked Beethoven's association with his intimates. Ries was the victim this time. Beethoven's dislike of Napoleon, and the French in general, should have been sufficient to deter him even from considering the matter. The post carried with it a good salary however, 600 ducats (about $1,400), and the duties were light. It meant a comfortable maintenance with plenty of time for composing, and from this point of view, the offer had its attractions. A certain fixed income, through which he could be independent of his publishers, was what he chiefly desired. From every other point of view, however, the project must have been distasteful to him. At middle-age, the mind of such a man, occupied almost wholly with an ideal world, shrinks from encountering new and untried scenes. Had he accepted it, he probably never would have remained, as his love for Vienna and the old and tried friends left behind would have acted as a magnet irresistibly drawing him back. He seems not to have considered it seriously. As soon as the matter became known, however, the Archduke and two other of Beethoven's friends, the dashing young Prince Kinsky (who for bravery at the battle of Aspern was decorated on the field with the Maria Theresa cross by the Archduke Charles), and Beethoven's old friend Prince Lobkowitz—got together and made up an annuity of 4,000 florins, paper money. Of this sum the Archduke contributed 1,500 florins, Prince Lobkowitz 700 and Prince Kinsky 1,800. Owing to the depreciation in paper money the amount was considerably reduced shortly after, but he continued to draw from this source about $700 per year to his death according to Sir George Grove.

Beethoven delayed giving a decided answer while the negotiations for the annuity were dragging along. When it became evident that he would not accept the position, the offer was made to Ries. Some officious person informed Beethoven that Ries was trying to get the post away from him in a questionable manner. This was not true, but Beethoven broke off all relations with him and would not see him for three weeks. The anecdote as related by Ries is as follows: "After Beethoven had declined the position, I at once sought him to ascertain if he really did not intend taking the post, and to get his counsel in the matter. But whenever I called, Beethoven was not in, and my letters to him met with no response. Three weeks elapsed when I met him accidentally on the Redoubte; I went up to him and told him the object of my visits. Beethoven looked me over and said cuttingly, 'So! and do you think you could fill a post that has been offered to me?' and left me. Determined on having an understanding with him I again sought him the following morning. His servant in an impudent manner told me that Beethoven was not in, although I heard him singing and humming in an inner room, as was his habit when composing. I attempted to enter forcibly, upon which the servant took hold of me, with the intention of putting me out. I grappled with him and threw him to the floor. Beethoven hearing the noise came out in a rage. I was equally angry and heaped reproaches on his head. The master was too astonished to answer, but stood looking at me. Finally, explanations were offered and then I first learned of Beethoven's grievance against me. I had no difficulty in proving my innocence in the matter, and Beethoven, to make amends, at once left his work and went out with me to see about the position, but it had already been given out." Ries finally went to England where he acquired fame and fortune. He kept up a correspondence with Beethoven to the end; some of the master's most interesting letters are those written in his later years to his former pupil. Ries became a very prolific composer, whose works embrace almost every class of music, among which is to be mentioned several operas, oratorios, symphonies, much chamber-music, and many pianoforte sonatas, none of which, however have survived to the present day.

The settlement of the question about his remaining in Vienna, and the security of the future brought about by the annuity, had the effect of increasing the productivity of the master. The sketch-books of this period abound in studies for orchestral, chamber and vocal studies. It was characteristic of Beethoven to show in this manner his appreciation of the compliment tendered him. The year 1809 was not propitious to creative work. War raged in Vienna and vicinity. The city was bombarded by the French in May, and was occupied by them much of the summer. Several important battles were fought nearby. Contrary to his usual custom, Beethoven remained in the city throughout the summer. His residence was in an exposed position on the bastion, where he remained the larger part of the time, occasionally visiting his brother Karl, who also remained. He was at Karl's home while the bombardment was going on, and, during the worst of it, sought refuge in the cellar, where he even padded his ears to escape the noise. The terrific reports on the inflamed tissues of his ears distressed him greatly, and must have added permanent injury to the organs already in a bad condition.

That the achievement of the solitary worker during the summer was more important and far-reaching in its effects than that of the belligerents, will hardly be gainsaid. The latter wasted a lot of ammunition, destroyed human beings and property, and made a good deal of noise for the time being, after which things settled down to about the same condition as before; while Beethoven added solid wealth to the world in its most lasting form.

There is a falling off in his compositions the following year, which is generally attributed to the breaking of his engagement with the Countess Therese. That he should have suffered to such an extent on this account, is at least open to question. His art was of more importance to him than any other fact in life. It was only by a complete surrender of everything else that he achieved what he did in it. He had many bitter disappointments at different periods of his life, which, however, did not take him away from his work. At all events, he gave no sign, contrary to his usual habit. He was reticent on the subject of his compositions, but was not averse to talking of his troubles. A man so entirely given over to one idea, as was Beethoven, could hardly take such a step as marriage at the age of forty, thereby changing his whole course of life. The passion for creating had grown to such an extent, that he became impatient of everything which interfered with it. It is possible that the Countess Therese, noting this, felt that there would be little chance for happiness in such a union, and wisely broke it off. He could not have been considered eligible in any event by a family like the Brunswicks, noted for extravagant living and a desire to occupy a prominent place in society. Beethoven's income was never large. It was at times insufficient for his simple wants, owing to his ignorance of the value of money. That he managed to fall in love with a frequency only equalled by his impetuosity, must be admitted. But when the question came fairly before him, marriage or music, he had but one course. His art was a jealous mistress which would brook no rival. If he took the breaking of his engagement so much to heart that it interfered with his work, how was it possible, we may ask, for him to have made violent love to Bettina Brentano during this summer of 1810? Within two years afterward he was as badly smitten with Amalie Seebald the singer. We can only reiterate the former statement, music was his one passion, in this he was supreme. His art had so strong a hold on him that nothing else could come between. These love affairs were episodes in his social life. They were as episodical with the ladies concerned, who later, generally married in their own station, and, let us hope were happy ever afterward.

The artistic temperament will account for these rhapsodies. Ill health in this period probably had as much to do with his lessened productivity as anything else. Schindler states that he had been on bad terms with his stomach for many years of his Vienna life. Confirmation of this is to be found in Beethoven's letters in which complaints about stomach and intestinal troubles are frequently met with in these years. These gastro-intestinal disturbances which so afflicted him had their origin in the chronic liver trouble to which he finally succumbed.

In the spring of 1812 he resolved by the advice of his physician to try the baths of Bohemia, and we find him at Toeplitz, one of many notabilities, who were spending the summer at this place. Here he made the acquaintance of Goethe whom he held in great esteem. It was here also that he met Amalie Seebald of whom mention has already been made. She was a fine singer, and a beautiful, amiable woman of considerable talent. Beethoven wrote the following in her album:

Ludwig van Beethoven Den Sie wenn Sie wollten Doch nicht vergessen sollten.

Ludwig van Beethoven Whom if you would Forget, you never should.

It may be said in passing, that she was not the last to whom Beethoven yielded his susceptible heart. It would make a long list were it arranged chronologically, from the early Bonn days to his forty-fifth year.



[Transcriber's note: The letter reads thus (words that I'm not sure of are marked with asterisks) "Es geht schon liebe A. besser wenn Sie es anstaendig heissen, allein zu mir zu kommen, so koennen Sie mir eine grosse Freude machen, ist [a]ber dass Sie dieses unanstaendig finden, so wissen Sie, wie ich die Frejheit aber Menschen ehre, und *wie Sie dies *heuer hierin und in andren Faellen handeln moegen nach ihren Grund fuer zueinander wie Muehe, mich finden Sie *nur gut und als

"Ihren Freund Beethoven"]

An incident of his visit at Toeplitz, showing Beethoven's humility and kindliness will bear narrating, as it was characteristic of the man. It relates to a stern parent, a lovely daughter, an ardent wooer. The first two characters of the dramatis personae, were the innkeeper, at whose house Beethoven dined, and his daughter. The part of lover was taken by Ludwig Loewe, an actor, while Beethoven's part in the little drama is not much more important than that of scene-shifter. Loewe was a man in good standing, and came from a family of some prominence, but the father objected to him and forbade the daughter speaking to him. It appears that Beethoven was in the habit of coming late for dinner, so the plan was hit upon that Loewe was to take dinner late also, at which hour, the other guests having eaten and gone, and business being over for the time, the father was not apt to be around to interfere. "All the world loves a lover." Beethoven was an interested spectator of the little comedy, no doubt casting occasional friendly glances in the direction of the young couple. The father finally appeared on the scene, ordered the actor to leave the house, and forbade him coming there any more. At this crisis the lovers were in despair, that is for a while. Love laughs at locksmiths, as we know, and it had not got so far as that yet. Loewe, with the resources of a true lover, managed to meet Beethoven accidentally away from the inn, and looked at him so intently that he was rewarded by an answering nod of recognition from the master. The ice being broken, the actor disclosed his troubles. Meeting with sympathy, he was emboldened to ask him to deliver a letter to Fraeulein Therese. To this Beethoven agreed, and, taking the letter, started to go, thus closing the interview. But Loewe was not so easily gotten rid of. With an embarrassed manner, he managed to convey to Beethoven the fact that there would be an answer. "So! And you wish me to deliver it? Well, meet me here to-morrow;" and so Beethoven became the go-between for the lovers during the remainder of his stay in Toeplitz.

Allusion has already been made to the acquaintance which he formed with Goethe this summer. That Beethoven had the highest esteem for the poet, there is no doubt. In speaking of him in after years, he said, "Who can thank sufficiently a great poet? He is the most precious jewel of the nation" (kostbarste Kleinod einer Nation), which is much like Carlyle's remark on the great poet. "The appearance of such a man (Goethe) at any given era, is in my opinion the greatest thing that can happen in it. A man who has the soul to think and be the moral guide of his own nation and of the whole world." Goethe and Beethoven were on friendly terms and saw a good deal of one another during this summer. The acquaintance must have made a powerful impression on Beethoven. Goethe, the senior by many years, whose transcendent intellect had won him a world-wide reputation, was no doubt the cynosure of all eyes. Toeplitz was full of notabilities. Thayer gives a long list of prominent persons, from royalty down, who sojourned there this summer. It must have been a very agreeable experience to the younger genius, whose fame had not yet penetrated much beyond Germany, this friendship. Had he possessed a tithe of the worldly wisdom of the elder man, and had regulated his conduct in accordance with the prejudices of the other, the friendship might have continued. Much as he desired this, it does not seem to have occurred to him to even try to make a good impression. Utterly lacking in self-control, he remained the same headstrong impulsive creature, while in Goethe's company, that he had always been. Whether or not the story is true of his meeting the Imperial family while with Goethe and disdaining even to answer their salutations, walking on and compelling the party to divide so as to give him the middle of the walk, while Goethe stood aside bowing low with uncovered head,—it is nevertheless more than probable that Beethoven showed his scorn for conventionality in numerous ways, thereby calling down on himself Goethe's disapproval. Born courtier that he was, it must have been mortifying in the extreme to him to be with Beethoven and witness his rudeness and contempt for appearances.

So far as known, Goethe never had anything more to do with him after this summer. On leaving Toeplitz he writes to Zelter, Director of the Berlin Singakademie, mentioning Beethoven casually or as an afterthought, and alludes to him as an "entirely untamed (ungebaendigt) person." From this time on, he seems to have excluded him from his thoughts. Beethoven's music was frequently performed at Goethe's house at Weimar. We read in "Eckermann's Conversations" that on such occasions the company would relate incidents from Beethoven's life, but Goethe never mentioned him.

Poet and musician were utterly dissimilar; it is not likely that either influenced the other to any appreciable degree. "It is a great folly," said Goethe in 1824 (Conversations with Eckermann) "to hope that other men will harmonize with us. I have never hoped this. I have always regarded each man as an independent individual, whom I endeavored to study, and to understand with all his peculiarities, but from whom I desired no further sympathy. In this way have I been enabled to converse with every man, and thus alone is produced the knowledge of various characters, and the dexterity necessary for the conduct of life." It was probably in this coldly analytical frame of mind, that the great councillor viewed the composer. But it was a momentous event to the latter to know Goethe. He had before this set to music a number of his ballads and had only recently composed the music to his Egmont. Many years afterward, in 1822, in an interview with Rochlitz who made a pilgrimage from Leipzig to make his acquaintance, he reverts to this time. "Since the Carlsbad summer when I met Goethe, I read him every day, that is when I do read. He has killed Klopstock for me, but Goethe he lives and he wants us all to live. This is why it is so easy to make music to his words."



CHAPTER IX

OPTIMISTIC TREND

Thus, with what has hitherto been effected, the clue to the labyrinth of what is yet to be done is given us. —HERDER: Apotheosis of Humanity.

Beethoven visited quite a number of places during the summer of 1812 in quest of health. While at Carlsbad he gave a concert in aid of the people of Baden, who had lost heavily through a disastrous fire there, on which occasion he extemporized. It seems to have been a success financially, but not artistically. In a letter to the Archduke he cites it as being "a poor concert for the poor." "Es war eigentlich ein armes Koncert fuer die Armen." This was owing to lack of time for rehearsals, and to the fact that only one other person, Herr Polledro, a violinist of Turin, took part in it. The concert was given within twelve hours from its inception, because many noteworthy guests were on the point of leaving town, and their presence was desired to insure a good attendance. The necessity must have been great to induce him to undertake it at all. His dislike for improvising for others was deep-seated, and was increased by his deafness.

In the fall we find him visiting his brother Johann at Linz, where he made quite a long stay. It was not alone Johann whom he was visiting; he had good friends there, among them Kapellmeister Gloeggl, whom he saw nearly every day. At the latter's request the master composed three equali for trombones for All Souls' Day, then near at hand. These equali, as it turned out, were eventually used for Beethoven's funeral. The Kapellmeister's son, then a lad of fourteen, relates an incident of this time with Beethoven as the central figure. A resident of Linz, a certain Herr Graf von Doenhoff, who was a great admirer of Beethoven, gave an entertainment in his honor. After some of his music had been rendered by others, Beethoven was asked to extemporize, which he declined absolutely to do. Shortly after he disappeared. Supper being ready a search for him was instituted, but he was not to be found, so the company, after some delay, repaired to the adjoining room. They had hardly seated themselves at the table, when they heard some one at the piano. Gradually, one by one, they found themselves in the other room, where Beethoven was extemporizing. This he kept up for nearly an hour, when, suddenly coming to a realization of the circumstances, and looking around, he saw the entire company listening in rapt attention. He at once got up from the instrument and hastily left the room, either through anger or embarrassment. Such was his haste that he ran against a table containing fine porcelain bric-a-brac, which, of course, was shattered. The Count, with easy good nature, made some reassuring remark, upon which they all made another essay at the supper.

His object in going to Linz was not altogether for the purpose of making visits. A disagreeable duty had to be performed; Johann's relations with a young woman, whom he had taken as housekeeper, had become a scandal; the good repute of the family was at stake, and Beethoven went there with the express design of putting an end to the matter. Johann was not at all amenable to argument, and contested the elder brother's right to interfere. The dispute became so bitter that a personal combat between the brothers occurred. It finally required the combined ecclesiastical and secular authority of Linz (bishop, magistrate and police), to effect the expulsion of the lady from town. At this turn of affairs, Johann, bound to have his own way, married her.

This year saw the completion of the Seventh and Eighth Symphonies besides other important compositions; not so bad an achievement for a sick man, this record of two years' work. Sick or well, at home or abroad, his work went on; it was a part of his life, as necessary, apparently, as eating or sleeping. In size the Seventh Symphony exceeds any of the preceding ones. "Eine meiner vorzueglichsten" (one of my best), is Beethoven's statement in regard to it. Here the composer's meaning is not so readily elucidated as in the Pastoral, for instance. It means all things to all people. He usually had a clearly defined purpose or idea before him when composing, particularly in the case of his large orchestral works. Of the creations of such a man, it was to be expected that they would increase in grandeur with each succeeding one. Every great thing achieved is only an earnest of still greater in reserve. The fertility of his mind was exhaustless. As he penetrated deeper into this new world of the imagination, wider vistas were constantly being opened before his mental vision. "What I have in my heart must come out when I write," he stated to Czerny. "I never thought of writing for fame and honor." Grandeur and simplicity are prominent traits in Beethoven's character and these are exemplified in the Seventh Symphony. Wagner calls it the Apotheosis of the dance. "Der in Toenen idealisch verkoerperten Leibesbewegung," [an ideal embodiment in tones of the movements of the human form]. This dance element is the characteristic trait of the symphony; the dance element on a colossal scale. Listen to Wagner's summary: "But one Hungarian peasant dance in the final movement of his Symphony in A (the Seventh) he played for the whole of nature; so played that who could see her dancing to it in orbital gyrations must deem he saw a planet brought to birth before his very eyes." In these later symphonies we see the beginnings of the mysticism which so profoundly influenced Beethoven in his last years, reaching its consummation in the Mass in D, the last Quartets, and the Ninth Symphony. From this period on, the picture to be drawn of him is of a man retiring more and more into himself as his growing experience with the world shows him his unfitness for it. Only in his work did he have any real reason for living. His every-day life became, for the most part, a phantasmagoria, wherein persons and events continually changed from grotesque to sublime, where nothing was stable or to be depended upon. The only reality was in his art. The consciousness that he was composing works that would go down the ages and delight many generations to come, was probably satisfaction enough to him to compensate him for anything he was called on to endure. With the progress of his deafness his inability to cope with even the ordinary affairs of life increased, and this also had the effect of withdrawing him from the world. The spiritual insight gained by years of introspection, of communion with the higher part of his nature enabled him to discover truths hidden to the consciousness of the ordinary man. "That power of shaping the incomprehensible now grows with him; the joy in exercising this power becomes humor. All the pain of existence is wrecked upon the immense pleasure derived from the play with it; the creator of worlds, Brahma, laughs to himself as he perceives the illusion with reference to himself; regained innocence plays jestingly with the thorns of expiated guilt; the emancipated conscience banters itself with the torments it has undergone. And all his seeing and his fashioning is steeped in that marvellous gayety (Heiterkeit) which music first acquired through him." (Wagner.)

A peculiarity of Beethoven's work often commented on, is the extreme simplicity of his themes as they first appear in his sketch-books. These are usually elaborated, thus changing their character, taking on new meaning with the growth and development of the idea in the composer's mind; when through with it, however, the thought appears fresh and spontaneous, such was his consummate art, as if it had never undergone any elaboration. But sometimes the theme maintains its original simplicity, and the masterwork appears in the orchestration which surrounds it; at times even this maintains an archaic simplicity. Thus in the coda of the vivace of the Seventh Symphony, a simple melody is reiterated eleven times in succession, with no other orchestration than the pedal-point on E by the rest of the instruments.

The symphonies in general are the language of a buoyant, gay, blithesome mood, as befits their design for concert use. In them, for the most part, he addresses people in their holiday humor. His experience with Fidelio may have impressed the fact upon his mind that sorrow and pain should be sparingly portrayed on festive occasions. Not so with the piano sonatas, which can be heard and studied in the privacy of one's home. Even the quartets may be placed in the category since they do not require an elaborate equipment and preparation for their production.

Take him all in all optimism prevails with him, or rather, in true philosophic spirit, he demonstrates that the sorrow, the inevitable trouble and misery of life, is more than offset by the good things the gods have provided. Life, after all, is a precious gift, which should be duly appreciated. A period of enjoyment, gayety, strengthens and fortifies the mind, and enables it better to bear the burdens when they come. The great creative genius, must perforce, in the very nature of things, be optimistic in his chosen work. He is more alive, more possessed with the belief that life with its opportunities is worth while, than is the case with the ordinary man going about his petty concerns. In common life, the busiest man is the happiest man, that is the most satisfied; and this contentment springs from the consciousness of doing something worth doing, the advantage of which will remain. With the man of genius, the feeling rises to elation, to rapture, when he considers the transcendent, imperishable nature of his work. "Dass Hervorbringen selbst ein Vergnuegen und sein eigner Lohn ist."

The Eighth Symphony which was brought out at the same time as the Seventh is the shortest by a few bars, of the nine. It was completed in about four months from the date of its inception. Here as in the Seventh, the dance element is in the ascendant, commanding, swaying everything, thus coming back to first principles, almost to the origin of the art, as an art. The dance is the primordial, autochthonic form of music; its foundation so to speak. The song had its origin in the dance as indicated by its name "ballad." It is a comparatively simple matter to trace its upward course in instrumental music, as such. It is conceivable that people from remote times on, had the faculty of originating tunes, and of humming and singing them, and dancing to them long before such things as scales and notation were conceived of. Song and dance must have come into being at the same time, and the earliest dancing was done with a singing accompaniment. As people advanced in the art and became able to manufacture instruments with which to produce music to dance by, it is readily apparent that those persons who did not dance, derived pleasure from listening to it. The next step was to play these dance tunes without dancing. This naturally led to a collection of dance tunes. By playing three or four in succession it was soon found that a more agreeable effect was produced by selecting those differing in rhythm. Here we have the suite, the earliest orchestral form. After a while it was found that a change of key heightened the effect, and, when composing purely orchestral music not intended for actual use in dancing, the more original of the composers at times allowed the strict dance form to fall into abeyance in one or two movements to enable them to try their hand in another style, and also for contrast. A broadening and augmenting of the different forms and we have the sonata. The symphony is an enlargement of the sonata. All our intellectual progress is an unfolding, like a flower from the bud. We have first an impression, then an opinion, then demonstration.

Many years were to elapse before the next and last symphony was to appear; years in which the ripening process was to go on, and which were to culminate in the Mass in D, the Choral Symphony and the last quartets,—works that are in a class by themselves in the same sense that the works from the Third Symphony on, up to, and including the Eighth, are in a class apart from the others. His compositions prior to the Third Symphony are in the style of Mozart and Haydn. They are the naive utterances of the young musician who does not yet realize that he has a mission to perform; whose ambition was to be ranked with his great predecessors. Of the works of the second period, it can be said that their most prominent characteristic is gayety (Heiterkeit). They are not all in this mood, and but rarely is the mood maintained throughout a single work, but it exists to the extent that it dominates it, just as the key-note to his later works is to be found in his mysticism. The works of the second period are coincident with his best years physically and when his mental powers had reached their highest maturity. When he found out what manner of man he was and realized the place he was destined to occupy among the great ones of earth; when he had accepted his destiny and had made his peace with himself it is easy to understand how a certain gayety and serenity should have spread itself over his life and have communicated itself to his works; and though this serenity was alternated by periods of despair, he allowed no more of this to appear in his work than his esthetic sense approved of. Like all highly organized people he sounded the gamut of joy and sorrow. His journal entries tell the story. One day, exulting in life and its possibilities he writes, "Oh, it would be glorious to live life over a thousand times." At another time he calls upon his God in abject despair to help him through the passing hour. At one time life is so difficult a problem that he sees not how it can be continued at all. Then he loses himself in his creations and soars into regions where his troubles cannot follow. This joyousness is the portion of many extraordinary people. Haydn and Mozart had it. "He has among other qualities that of great joyousness," says Carlyle, in speaking of Richter. "Goethe has it to some extent and Schiller too. It is a deep laughter, a wild laughter, and connected with it, there is the deepest seriousness."



CHAPTER X

AT THE ZENITH OF HIS FAME

Fate bestoweth no gift which it taketh not back. Ask not aught of sordid humanity; the trifle it bestoweth is a nothing. —HAFIZ.

Napoleon's star, hitherto so uniformly in the ascendant, was now on the wane. His victories at the battles of Luetzen and Bautzen in May of 1813, could not atone for the disaster of Moscow in the previous year. The crushing defeat encountered by the French at the battle of Vittoria by the English under Wellington, and the battle of Leipzig in October of the same year showed the world that here was only a man after all; a man subject to the usual limitations and mutations of mankind. The demigod was dethroned, the pedestal knocked from under, and all Europe rejoiced. The nightmare of fear which had so long pervaded all classes, was after all only a bad dream; the incubus could be shaken off, and mankind again resume its normal mode of living. Waterloo was already foreshadowed in the events of this year, and the people were wild with joy.

The alliance which followed Napoleon's marriage to the Austrian Archduchess did not have the good political results which Metternich expected from it. The war indemnity of fifteen millions of dollars, the cession of provinces whereby three and one half millions of people were lost to Austria, the reduction of the army to 150,000 men, exactions made by Napoleon at the time of the marriage, did not tend to make him popular. The alliance existed in name, not in sentiment. He was still regarded as the conqueror, not the ally. Austria had been lukewarm all along, and when she changed front in 1813, and joined the coalition against him, acting in concert with England, Russia and Prussia, the measure had the moral support of the nation. This was three years after his marriage to the Archduchess.

The news of the battle of Vittoria reached Vienna on July 13. Beethoven was importuned by a clever friend, M. Maelzel, a musician, to write a symphony in commemoration of it, and to call it "Wellington's Victory." Maelzel was a man of remarkable mechanical ingenuity. He had before this won his way into Beethoven's good graces by making him an ear-trumpet, which he used for several years. He was the inventor of the metronome and a man of considerable intelligence. He had invented a Panharmonicon, an automaton instrument containing most of the instruments found in full orchestra, on the principle of the modern orchestrion. Allied to his talents as musician and inventor were those of good business ability and a knowledge of human nature. The Battle Symphony appears to have been written originally for the Panharmonicon. "I witnessed," says Moscheles, "the origin and progress of this work, and remember that not only did Maelzel induce Beethoven to write it, but even laid before him the whole design of it; writing the drum marches and trumpet flourishes of the French and English armies himself, giving Beethoven hints how he should herald the English army by the tune of 'Rule Brittania;' how he should introduce 'Malbrook' in a dismal strain; depict the horrors of the battle, and arrange 'God Save the King,' with effects representing the huzzas of the multitude. Even the idea of converting the melody of 'God Save the King' into a subject of a fugue in quick movement emanates from Maelzel." It is hardly conceivable that Beethoven, if left to himself, would have produced anything of this sort. But it exactly suited the popular feeling, and was such a success that Beethoven was induced to arrange it for full orchestra. This work is never classed among his symphonies, although it served to make him very popular with the Vienna public.

The presence in their midst of the composer of the Eroica Symphony in these stirring times, was a significant fact, which was bound to be duly exploited by the Viennese. The Battle Symphony confirmed and emphasized Beethoven's stand as a patriot. He was consequently greatly looked up to by the young men of the time, in particular by the student element, already of considerable importance in Vienna, who made an idol of him. He was now everywhere in demand, his music of necessity being a part of the programme of every concert or important event in the City.

It is a national characteristic with the Germans to celebrate every issue with music. A great occasion called for a great demonstration. When therefore, it was proposed to give a concert in aid of the Austrian and Bavarian soldiers disabled at the battle of Hanau, where the French were intercepted after their retreat from Leipzig on October 30, the matter was intrusted to Beethoven as being the man best fitted for the work. It was stipulated that Beethoven's music was to occupy the programme exclusively, which gave him a good opportunity to produce the Seventh Symphony, still in manuscript.

An aggregation of eminent musicians volunteered their services for the occasion, sinking their differences in patriotic elation. Moscheles, already then a great pianist, played the cymbals. Meyerbeer presided at the big drum. Spohr took a prominent part, together with Salieri, Romberg and Huemmel. The fact that Beethoven conducted it indicates that his deafness could not have been so bad at this time. The concert took place on December 8, and, as may be supposed, was a brilliant success. It was repeated four days later. At each performance, the principal event, was, not the Seventh Symphony, but rather the Battle-piece, which, performed by full orchestra for the first time, won loud and frequent applause.

After the second performance Beethoven gave a letter to the public in which he says, "The concert was a rare assemblage of eminent performers, each glad to contribute by his presence and talents something towards the benefit of the country, even to the extent of taking subordinate places in the orchestra where required. On me devolved the conduct of the whole, because the music was composed by me. Had it been written by any one else, I would as cheerfully have taken my place at the big drum, for we were all actuated by the feeling of patriotism and the desire to benefit those who had sacrificed so much for us."

The concert had to be repeated in January and in February following, as patriotism was still the ruling idea with the populace. At the February concert the Eighth Symphony was on the programme, but in each case the piece de resistance was the Battle Symphony. It was produced again in March, when Beethoven conducted it, together with the Egmont Overture, at the annual concert for the Theatre-Armenfonds. The symphony soon found its way to England and enjoyed great popularity there from its connection with Wellington. It frequently appeared on the programmes under the name of Wellington's Victory.

The general esteem in which Beethoven was held by the Viennese led to a demand for another hearing of Fidelio, which had been out of sight and mind for eight years. The libretto was again worked over (this time by Treitschke), and submitted to Beethoven. The revised form seems to have pleased him at once, although very important changes were made which imposed on him a herculean task. New music had to be written for certain portions, and the whole rearranged and adapted to the new conditions. Everything was going Beethoven's way in these years, which may explain his good-natured acquiescence in these demands. "Your revision suits me so well," he wrote Treitschke, "that I have decided once more to rebuild the desolate ruins of an ancient fortress." This time the opera was a pronounced success, although alterations and emendations were in order more or less during the entire season. On July 18, it was performed for Beethoven's benefit. Moscheles made a piano arrangement of the score, and must have considered it a great task, as he wrote at the end.

FINIS. WITH GOD'S HELP.

When Beethoven saw this he wrote underneath, "Oh man, help thyself!" The piano arrangement was dedicated to the Archduke and published in August.

The year 1814 was a memorable one for Beethoven. Important events crowded fast on his horizon, chief of which were those proceeding from the meeting of the Congress of Sovereigns in Vienna in the autumn of this year. Napoleon was in the toils; he had been forced to abdicate and was now a prisoner on the island of Elba. When the treaty of peace was signed at Paris on May 30, 1814, between France and the allies, it was agreed that all the powers which had been engaged in the war on either side, should send plenipotentiaries to Vienna in general Congress to arrange for the conclusion of the provisions of the treaty of peace.

The Congress met in November of the same year, and was characterized by a degree of magnificence which renders it unique of its kind. The Emperor and Empress of Russia, the kings of Prussia, Bavaria, Denmark and Wuertemburg were present in person. England and France were represented by their highest nobles. Spain, Sweden and Portugal sent representatives. The advent of a hundred great personages in Vienna naturally brought other distinguished visitors there and the gayeties that supervened, now that the wars were a thing of the past, occupied the time and attention of the visitors to such an extent that for three months nothing of a business nature was attempted by the Congress. These were halcyon days for Vienna. Peace was restored after twenty years of such warfare as only a Napoleon could inflict, the nervous tension became a thing of the past, and sovereign and noble could again take up the chief occupation of life, enjoyment.

The city fathers, on learning that the Congress was to be convened in Vienna, commissioned Beethoven to write a cantata of welcome to honor the visitors. The poem "Der glorreiche Augenblick" (The Glorious Moment), was chosen, which Beethoven set to music. As may be supposed the new cantata served to increase his fame, although as a work of art it is about on a par with the Battle Symphony.

Beethoven occupied a prominent part in the many notable gatherings which were a feature of this winter. Associated in people's minds as a harbinger of the new era, his popularity increased in line with the ever brightening political horizon. The Archduke enjoyed having him at his receptions, introducing him to the sovereigns, and made much of him generally. It was at the Archduke's apartments that Beethoven was introduced to the Empress of Russia, who showed him much attention, both here and when meeting him elsewhere. He met her frequently at Count Rasoumowsky's, who as Russian Ambassador entertained lavishly in honor of his distinguished guests. He afterward related humorously how the crowned heads paid court to him, referring to the urbanity and courtesy which the Empress in particular, used toward him. Beethoven is on record as saying that he liked being with the aristocracy. He seems to have had no difficulty in impressing on the Empress the right concept of his importance as man and artist. In acknowledgment of the courtesies which he received from her, the master composed for her a Grand Polonaise (in C, opus 89) which, in company with the pianoforte arrangement of the Seventh Symphony he dedicated to her.

Shortly after the assembling of the Congress Beethoven gave a concert for his own benefit, at which the new Cantata as well as the Battle Symphony and the Seventh Symphony were performed. The Riding Hall, an immense structure, capable of seating six thousand persons was placed at his disposal, for which, however, a large price, one-half the receipts, was exacted, so Frimmel states. With sublime confidence Beethoven sent out invitations in his own name to the visiting sovereigns and other notabilities, all of whom responded, with the result that the hall was crowded and the concert proved to be a great success.

As a result of the winter's activities, Beethoven's finances were greatly improved. He displayed a degree of business ability during this year, which was not to have been expected from a man of his temperament. His profits from one source or another were such that he invested money to the extent of ten thousand florins, in shares of the Bank of Austria. It was his first and only investment, undertaken as a provision for the future.

That Beethoven kept his head in the face of all this adulation is evident from a letter written at this time to a friend at Prague in which he says, "I write nothing about our monarchs and monarchies. The intellectual realm is the most precious in my eyes, and far above all temporal and spiritual kingdoms."

It was indeed a brilliant winter, but all this joy was suddenly changed to something akin to terror by the news of Napoleon's escape from Elba in March of 1815, and that he was assembling his forces for another campaign. The gayeties had to be discontinued, the members of the Congress confined themselves to the work for which it was convened, the result being that the treaties were signed by the eight powers on June 7, upon which the Congress disbanded. This was just eleven days before the battle of Waterloo.

In November of this year Beethoven's brother Karl died, leaving the composer as an heritage his son Karl, then nine years of age. With the clairvoyance which approaching dissolution often brings, the father saw that the uncle would be a much better guardian for the boy, than the mother, and consigned him to Beethoven's care almost with his last breath. It was characteristic of such a man as was Beethoven, to accept the charge without hesitation, from an exaggerated sense of duty; to fight for its possession even, although it revolutionized his life and brought him face to face with all sorts of difficult and untried conditions.

As might have been expected, Karl's widow, who was the daughter of a rich citizen, contested his right to the control of the boy, and began legal proceedings to obtain possession of him. This was the advance-guard of a series of troubles that began to close in on him at this period, ending only with his life. Years of litigation followed, the issue being at times in favor of one side, then of the other, the boy meanwhile being in charge of the successful party. The new responsibility, assumed with scarcely a thought as to consequences, not only interfered with the bachelor habits of a lifetime, but the mental disturbance occasioned by the lawsuits which ensued, seriously interrupted his work, so that for some years very little was accomplished in the way of new compositions. "The higher a man is," said Goethe (Conversations with Eckermann), "the more he is under the influence of daemons, and he must take heed lest his guiding will counsel him to a wrong path." Could he have foreseen how this adoption of the child would interfere with his cherished work, he might have paused to consider the matter, before binding himself irrevocably by his promise to his brother.

With never a fixed habitation, no sense of the value of money, giving it away to those in need as readily as if it had no value, often enduring privation himself in consequence; with a mode of life so simple that the entire menage was frequently transported elsewhere on slight provocation, this ascetic was now to encounter housekeeping problems, make money, save it (most difficult of all), employ servants, in short undertake in middle-age and in impaired health, duties the nature of which he could not even form an estimate.

The plan of adopting the boy might not have been such a visionary one, could Beethoven have been in entire control from the start. While the litigation went on, discipline was out of the question. There were occasional victories for the mother, who then had the boy under her absolute control until such time as Beethoven was able to get the decision of the Court reversed. Even when the boy was under the uncle's charge, the mother managed at times to gain access to him in order to poison his mind against the uncle. Her influence whenever she was able to exert it was naturally adverse. That there should be a stronger affinity between mother and son, than between uncle and nephew is not surprising. She had had entire control of him up to his tenth year. She was lax in discipline and saw to it that the boy had a better time while with her than he was likely to have when under his uncle's care. That the boy began to show a preference for being with the mother can be easily understood, and it was a bitter trial to the master.

It was not alone mother-love which actuated Madame Beethoven in her extraordinary efforts to gain possession of the boy; money considerations entered into the question to some extent, as some money had been set aside for his support by the father, which she wanted to get hold of. The simple straightforward Beethoven was no match for the wiles of this woman of the world, who generally managed in one way or another to circumvent him, even to the detriment of the child. The boy was sharp enough to take advantage of the situation, and was spoiled long before the uncle was privileged legally to adopt him.

During the proceedings the case was at one time in a high court on the assumption that the "van" in Beethoven's name indicated nobility. The widow contested this, and brought action requesting that the case be tried in a lower court. When Beethoven was examined on this issue, he pointed to his head and heart, saying, "my nobility is here and here." "van" is not a sign of nobility like the German "von," and the case was sent to the lower court.

Beethoven formed high hopes on the lad's account, thinking that he would become a great musician or scholar. He had no prevision that here he was to meet with the greatest disappointment of his life. The boy was handsome and intelligent and soon won the affection of the master, who became much occupied with the interesting task of guiding his mental and spiritual development. "The heart is only for rare occasions," said Thoreau, "the intellect affords us the most unfailing satisfaction." This rather cynical observation was abundantly confirmed in Beethoven's case by subsequent developments. He wasted precious years on account of his nephew, and the anxiety occasioned by his waywardness, was no doubt one of the factors which shortened his life.

With the advent of the nephew into his life he finally abandoned all idea of marriage. In conversation with Giannatasio del Rio, who kept the school at which the nephew was placed, he stated, "I will never be able to form a closer tie than the one which now binds me to my nephew." He took lodgings near the school and visited Giannatasio's family frequently. The daughter, in her journal, published after her death, makes frequent mention of Beethoven, giving interesting glimpses into his character. She tells of his bringing violets to her on March 17, which he found in his walks in the fields, also of his carrying with him on his walks a pocket edition of Shakespeare. The sarcastic, satirical mood, which frequently took possession of Beethoven is touched on in the journal, and is illustrated in the following incident. The father on one occasion had remarked as if in compliment to the master, "My daughter plays your music," upon which Beethoven laughed outright. It is hardly necessary to say that the young lady played no more of Beethoven's music, while he was about. On one occasion, however, she was playing his Kennst Du das Land? when he came in unexpectedly. He recognized it, and at once went to her and stood at the piano, marking time and making suggestions in regard to the rendering of it, thus making amends for his former rudeness.

His interest in his nephew led him to make friendly advances to the father as well as to the daughters, and he spent many pleasant hours with them. On rare occasions he assumed his old air of happy boisterous humor, when young people were about. He greatly enjoyed singing Goethe's "Song of the Flea," calling out as the flea is killed: "Now he'll be smashed! Now he'll be smashed!" (jetzt wird er gegnaxt!) making a crash on the instrument at the word "smashed."

He came to them once after Karl had been placed in another school and wept as he told them that his nephew had left him and gone to his mother. The lad was recovered by the assistance of the police, and was then placed with this family again. He once wrote a sharp letter to the father criticising his methods in the teaching of Karl, but, on reconsidering the matter sent word to the daughter asking her not to show it to her father, as it was written in a blind rage, which he now regretted. All this shows how carefully he looked after the young man's welfare. It was the same with his music, which was intrusted to Czerny. The youth inherited some musical talent and under favoring conditions might have achieved something as a musician. When the instruction began, Beethoven was in the habit of calling at Czerny's house nearly every day with his nephew. On these occasions the master would frequently improvise on the piano, to Czerny's great enjoyment. Czerny, through his devotion to Beethoven, paid particular attention to Karl, and the boy made rapid progress. He accompanied his uncle on visits to other houses, by the latter's desire, with the object of forming his taste and stimulating his ambition for the art.