TO THE COUNT MORITZ VON LICHNOWSKY,— I despise these artifices, visit me no more. Academy (the concert) will not take place. BEETHOVEN.

TO M. SCHINDLER,— Do not come near me again until I send for you. No Academy. BEETHOVEN.

TO M. SCHUPPANZICH,— Do not visit me again. No concert. BEETHOVEN.

From the above it will readily be seen, as Schindler plaintively asserts, that the office of friend to Beethoven was no sinecure. But he appreciated the advantage of living in the reflected glory of the great master, and such tact as he possessed was brought to bear, to continue the relations of friend, counsellor and general factotum, which were maintained to the end. Beethoven at times spoke slightingly in his letters of his humble follower, but there is no doubt that Schindler was of great service to him, and that this was appreciated by the master is equally true. Schindler did not deliver the letters just quoted, and the affair did not sever the relations of the parties concerned.

Beethoven's contention all along was for an advance in price of admission to the concert, owing to the heavy expense for theatre hire, copying, etc. As the works to be performed had not yet been published, it was necessary to copy out the separate parts for the members of the orchestra and chorus,—an immense task. The manager objected to any advance in prices, and insisted also that the concert be held on a subscription night—a good arrangement for the patrons of the theatre who would thus have free admission, but a bad one for the master. He finally had to submit, however. "After these six weeks' squabbling," he writes to Schindler toward the end of April, "I feel absolutely boiled, stewed and roasted," a state of mind brought about by his conflict with copyists, managers and performers.

The concert which took place on May 7, 1824, was the occasion for great enthusiasm. The programme consisted of the Overture Weihe des Hauses, as well as the Kyrie, Credo and Agnus Dei of the Mass in D, and the Ninth Symphony. The solo parts were taken by Madame Sontag and Fraeulein Unger, who protested more than once at the unsingable nature of some of the parts in the Choral Finale when practising them at Beethoven's house.

The applause from the very beginning was phenomenal. The people became vociferous on seeing him, and this enthusiasm was continued throughout the evening. At the close of the performance the demonstrations became, if possible, more forcible than before, owing, perhaps, to the fact that Beethoven maintained his former position, facing the orchestra and with his back to the audience, as if unaware of the applause. At last Fraeulein Unger turned him about so that he could see the demonstrations of the audience. The picture is presented of excited masses of people carried away by the emotions of the moment, rending the air with boisterous applause, and in the midst this great one, unresponsive to the homage showered on him, unconscious, seeing visions, perhaps planning a Tenth Symphony.

Beethoven's deafness was not total. He was no doubt able to hear some of this extraordinary applause, and, in any event, must have known that it would be forthcoming. He had probably become wearied with it all, and let his thoughts go far afield. The utter vanity of this kind of thing must often occur to great minds at such a time. These frenzied people by their very actions showed their inability to comprehend his work, and could not confer honor in this manner.

But the enthusiasm of the audience had the practical effect of leading the manager to make an offer to Beethoven for another concert, guaranteeing him five hundred florins ($250). It was held on May 23, at noon. On this occasion all of the Mass but the Kyrie was omitted, some Italian music being substituted. The house was only half filled at the second concert and the management lost money. Beethoven's apprehensions as to the profits from the first concert were well founded. He made less than two hundred dollars from the undertaking, and was so disappointed with this pitiful result after all the work of preparation, that he refused to eat any supper, and would not go to bed, but remained on a couch with his clothes on for the night. When he learned that the management lost eight hundred florins on the occasion of the second concert, it was with difficulty that he could be prevailed on to accept the amount guaranteed him. It is not likely that this reluctance was owing to any consideration for the manager, but rather to umbrage at the course of things in general. His temper was not improved by these disappointments, and he even charged Schindler with having conspired with the manager to cheat him. This led to a rupture between the two of several months' duration. Beethoven at length called on Schindler and apologized for the offence, begging him to forget it, upon which the old relations were restored.

Notwithstanding that Beethoven had personally solicited the attendance of the members of the Imperial family, and had promises from some of them, not one came, the Emperor's box being the only empty space in the theatre. The slight was no doubt intentional, and affords the last instance of which there is record, of the lifelong contest waged between Beethoven and the court. He was usually the aggressor, making it impossible for the Imperial family to favor him, or even to show him much attention. They could not have been insensible to the historical importance of having in their midst such a man; they must have had the prescience to know that Beethoven's achievements, if furthered by them, would place them in the lime-light for the admiration of future ages; but they were thwarted by the man himself, who went out of his way more than once, most unjustifiably, to offend them.

There is a letter from Count Dietrichstein, court chamberlain, on the subject of a mass which Beethoven was invited to write for the Emperor, which is unintentionally humorous. In it, all sorts of suggestions are made as to the style of the music, the length of the mass (it being enjoined on him that the Emperor did not like long church services) and other like stipulations. Beethoven's remarks in answer to this letter are not recorded, but the mass was not written. Here was a case where kingly prerogative did not avail.

Simultaneously with the appearance in the sketch-books of motives for the Ninth Symphony, another is projected, as was the case when composing his previous ones, which generally appeared in pairs, as already noted. A wealth of ideas flowed in on him while engaged on any great work, much of which, when not available for the one, could be utilized on the other. While working on the Mass in D, he had in mind composing another mass, as is evidenced by the following memorandum in the sketches of the Agnus Dei: "Das Kyrie in der neuen Messe bloss mit blasenden Instrumenten und Orgel." (The Kyrie in the new Mass only with wind instruments and organ.) The new Symphony was to be religious in character, and was projected on a broader scale even than the Ninth. A memorandum on the subject of the Tenth Symphony appears in the sketch-books of the latter part of the year 1818. It is as follows: "The orchestra (violins, etc.) to be increased tenfold, for the last movements, the voices to enter one by one. Or the Adagio to be in some manner repeated in the last movements. In the Allegro, a Bacchic festival."[C] His labors, however, on the Mass and Ninth Symphony had so exhausted him that no strength was left for this great work, and no part of it was even drafted. Later he thought to substitute a shorter work, something which would not have taxed him so much physically. He then makes the memorandum, "also instead of a new Symphony, an overture on Bach." Sehr fugirt (greatly fugued.)

[C] Nottebohm's Zweite Beethoveniana.

Now that the concerts were over and summer approaching, Beethoven's thoughts turned to the country. A comfortable house was secured for him at Schoenbrun on the bank of the river, but his stay here was short. A bridge near the house made it possible to obtain a good view of the master, and it soon got to be the custom for people to station themselves on it and watch for his appearance. He stood the ordeal for three weeks, and then fled to his beloved Baden, where he appears to have been safe from such annoyances.



CHAPTER XV

CAPACITY FOR FRIENDSHIP

Genius lives essentially alone. It is too rare to find its like with ease, and too different from the rest of men to be their companion. —SCHOPENHAUER.

For many years Beethoven had not been on speaking terms with the friend of his youth, Stephen von Breuning. The year 1815, which had cost him his brother Karl, also deprived him of Stephen's friendship. Two versions are given as to the cause of the quarrel which estranged them. One is that Stephen had warned him not to trust his brother Karl in money matters. Another, and probably the correct one, is that Stephen endeavored to dissuade the master from adopting the young Karl in event of his brother's death. In either case Von Breuning acted entirely in Beethoven's interest without considering the possible consequences to himself; his disinterestedness was poorly rewarded however. Beethoven was bound by every obligation of friendship to him, but, with his usual want of tact, told his brother just what Stephen had said. Naturally Karl resented this interference in their family affairs, and succeeded in inflaming his brother's mind against Von Breuning. The estrangement resulted. Karl died shortly after, and a mistaken sense of loyalty toward his dead brother helped to keep alive Beethoven's anger against his former friend. There is no record of his having so much as mentioned the latter's name in the following ten years, although he and Von Breuning lived in the same city and had many friends in common.

As time passed, and one after another of Beethoven's friends were lost to him—through death or otherwise—his thoughts no doubt often reverted to this old friend. It must often have occurred to him that Breuning's companionship would be more enjoyable than that of some of the friends of these years. An accidental meeting with him on the bastion one evening in August of 1825, happily led to a reconciliation. Beethoven's eyes were at last opened to the injustice done Von Breuning, upon which he wrote him a letter, so imbued with penitence, so fraught with the desire of obliterating his past unkindness, so filled with yearning and tenderness, that it must have compensated Stephen for all the pain of the past years.

Accompanying the letter was his portrait painted many years before. The letter has been frequently published. It is so characteristic of the man that it can hardly be omitted:

"Behind this portrait, dear, good Stephen, may all be forever buried which has for so long kept us apart. I have torn your heart I know. The agitation that you must constantly have noticed in me has punished me enough. It was not malice that prompted my behavior toward you. No! I should then be no longer worthy of your friendship. I was led to doubt you by people who were unworthy of you and of me. My portrait has long ago been intended for you. You know that I had always intended it for some one. To whom could I give it so with warmest love as to you, true, faithful, noble Stephen. Forgive me for causing you suffering. My own sufferings have equaled yours. It was not until after our separation that I realized how dear you are and always will be to my heart."

All this in English sounds cold and stunted when compared with the fire of the original. Beethoven never spared himself when making amends for past misconduct.

From this time on the name of Von Breuning appears again in his letters and he found much comfort in intercourse with his family. He was always a welcome guest at Breuning's house. A friendship was soon inaugurated between the master and Stephen's son, a bright lad of twelve years. He nicknamed him Ariel, when sending him on errands, probably with reference to his agility.

Such incidents as the quarrels with Breuning, his dismissal of Schindler, Schuppanzich, and Count Lichnowsky during the preliminary work of the testimonial concert, his suspicions of his friends at the second concert when he invited them to a dinner, and then charged them with an attempt to defraud him,—these at first glance, especially if considered apart, lead to the conclusion that Beethoven was not intended for friendship. This was not the case however. His deafness and preoccupation with his work, led him to keep aloof to some extent from others, but it is undeniable that he greatly valued this sentiment and actively fostered it. Perhaps, like Thoreau, he expected too much from it, and could find no one to respond to the measure of his anticipations. He was probably disappointed one way or another, with every friend that came to him, but to the end kept alive his faith in humankind, and managed always to maintain intimate and friendly relations with one or more persons. There is no interval from his twentieth year up to his death, of which this cannot be said. He was essentially gregarious and recognized the need of friendship. That he was unlike his fellow human beings—essentially different—he knew. He often sought to bridge these differences, in order to make friendly intercourse with others possible.

Among the friends of this period may be mentioned Huettenbrenner, Schubert's friend. Schubert himself would have prized Beethoven's friendship in the highest degree, but he was too modest to bring it about. The junior by twenty years, and in Beethoven's lifetime unknown to fame, it devolved on him to take the initiative in this matter. A meeting could easily have been arranged as both dined at the same restaurant, and Huettenbrenner could have managed to bring them together. Beethoven was generally approachable when not at work, and was always well disposed toward young musicians of talent, but the habitually modest estimate which Schubert placed on himself, coupled with the regard amounting to reverence which he entertained for Beethoven, was sufficient to deter the younger man. He indeed attempted a meeting in 1822, but the result was a fiasco owing to his extreme diffidence. Having composed some variations on a French air (opus 10) he desired to dedicate them to Beethoven and prevailed on Diabelli to arrange a meeting, as well as call with him on the master, since he feared to go alone. Beethoven's demeanor toward him was genial and friendly. When Schubert attempted conversation the master handed him a pencil and paper. He was too nervous to write in reply, but managed to produce his composition, which Beethoven examined with some appearance of interest. The master finally came upon some incorrect harmonization (Schubert had never received a proper technical training) and in mild terms called the young composer's attention to it. This so disconcerted him that he fled to the street, regardless of consequences. The incident is related by Schindler, but is called into question by Kreissle, who wrote an exhaustive biography of Schubert. Kreissle says that Beethoven was not at home when Schubert called.

Excessive diffidence was not the distinguishing trait of another young man, Karl Holz, who had ingratiated himself into the master's favor in these years. Holz had a post under government, was of good social position, possessed fine conversational powers, and was an all-round entertaining and agreeable person. He was a musician of first-rate attainments, a member of the Schuppanzich Quartet, and occasionally acted as director of the Concert Spirituel of Vienna.

Holz's gayety and light-heartedness helped to dispel the melancholy which had become habitual with Beethoven at this time. He had the discernment to see that such an atmosphere was unsuited to a young man of Karl's temperament, and may very well have encouraged Holz's visits on his nephew's account. The situation had its defects however, as Holz's convivial habits were communicated to Beethoven, who was led at times to drink more wine than was good for him. Beethoven, in one of his letters to his nephew, reproached him with being a thorough Viennese, to which the young man retorted in kind, alluding to the master's friendship with Holz. This was before the reconciliation with Von Breuning had been effected. After that event he saw him less frequently. The young man however, retained his hold on the master's regard and maintained the footing of an intimate friend for the remainder of his life. Flashes of the old humor constantly appear in his letters to Holz, which, though tinctured somewhat with coarseness, make pleasanter reading than his remark to Fanny del Rio—"My life is of no worth to myself. I only wish to live for the boy's sake." Holz took him out of this mood.

In the last year of his life Beethoven, at Holz's request appointed him his biographer as follows:

VIENNA, Aug. 30, 1826. I am happy to give my friend, Karl Holz, the testimonial he desires, namely,—that I consider him well qualified to write my biography if indeed, I may presume to think this will be desired. I place the utmost confidence in his faithfully transmitting to posterity what I have imparted to him for this purpose. LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.

Holz, however, was not equal to the requirements, and this duty was relegated to Schindler.

A curious change affected Beethoven in his later years on the subject of money. It was not avarice, that "good old-gentlemanly vice" of Byron's which influenced him, but it resembled it at times. With his nephew as the inciting cause, money, to which he had hitherto been indifferent, now assumed a new value to him. This is evidenced by absurd economies (alternated it is true by occasional extravagances), which are a feature of this time. The diminution of his pension, the nature of the compositions of these years from which for the most part no money was available, the cessation of his teaching (Von Frimmel mentions a pupil, Hirsch, who had a few lessons from him in 1817, which was probably the last of Beethoven's sporadic attempts in this direction, as his deafness must have made teaching extremely difficult), were all factors which rendered money a scarce article with him. In the same ratio in which his income had been diminished, his expenses were increased by the maintenance and education of his nephew, which in large part was borne by Beethoven.

This new estimate of the value of money was strengthened by the conviction that Karl would never do anything for himself, and that provision must be made for his future. To this must be attributed his solicitude for money which is constantly in evidence in his letters to his friends, as well as to his publishers, in which latter the disposition to drive a good bargain comes to the fore now for the first time. His letters to Ries are full of the subject of making money. "Waere ich nicht noch immer der arme Beethoven," he says with unconscious humor, in one of the letters. "If I could but get to London, what would I not write for the Philharmonic Society. If it please God to restore my health, which is already improved, I may yet avail myself of the several propositions made me, not only from Europe, but even North America, and thus my finances might again prosper."

His naive reference to this country[D] refers to the offer made him by the Haendel and Haydn Society of Boston for an oratorio, the text of which was to be furnished by them. His work on the Ninth Symphony prevented him from accepting it, but it is something that will always redound to the credit of the society. That the critical faculty should, already at that time, have been sufficiently well developed in this country as to lead to such a commission, augurs well for its future art-history. While one portion were engaged in subduing the wilderness, fighting Indians, extending the frontier, others were already reaching out for the highest and best in art and literature.[E] It is a pleasant reflection that this country is no longer the terra incognita in musical matters that it was in Beethoven's time. The ready recognition extended Wagner from the first here, has, no doubt, helped to bring this about.

[D] When writing this letter Beethoven could have had no prevision that in this aboriginal North America, in a little village called Natick, there was then living a five-year-old boy, answering to the name of Alexander W. Thayer, who was eventually to furnish a biography of the master, so painstaking, exact and voluminous, that it is unique in its class. The Beethoven biography was Thayer's life-work, to which he gladly sacrificed his means as well, and was then only brought down to the year 1816. Thayer's name will always be associated with that of Beethoven, it is such a record-making work. It is published only in German at this writing (1904), but an English translation is promised on completion of the second edition, one volume of which has appeared in 1902. Mr. Thayer died in 1897.

[E] That Beethoven's genius had at an early date impressed itself on the minds of Americans, was commented on by Margaret Fuller in 1841. She says:

"It is observable as an earnest of the great future which opens for this country, that such a genius (Beethoven) is so easily and so much appreciated here, by those who have not gone through the steps that prepared the way for him in Europe. He is felt because he expressed in full tones the thoughts that lie at the heart of our own existence, though we have not found means to stammer them as yet."

Meanwhile Ries, in London, was making active propaganda for him, with the result that an offer had come to him from Charles Neate asking him to come to London with a symphony and a concerto for the Philharmonic Society. Neate was a great admirer of Beethoven. He had spent eight months in Vienna some years previously, and the two became good friends during this sojourn. Three hundred guineas, and a benefit concert in which five hundred pounds more was to be guaranteed him, was the inducement held out for coming. This large sum tempted him strongly, placing him, so to speak, between two fires. The character of his nephew was such that he could not be left behind, while his education would be interrupted if he took him along. His entries in his journal show with what dread and apprehension he faced the ordeal of going among strangers. The project never would have been considered but for his desire to provide for Karl's future. The journey was never undertaken, but the project was never abandoned. It occupied his thoughts even in his last illness.

The scores of the Mass and Symphony were sold to Messrs. Schott of Mayence, one thousand florins having been obtained for the Mass, and six hundred for the Symphony. This put him in easy circumstances for a while, although the money question was a source of anxiety to him, more or less, for the remainder of his life. The ten thousand florins invested in Bank of Austria shares in 1815 was almost intact. He had drawn on it once or twice when matters had come to an extremity with him, but to touch it in any other case seemed to him like betraying a trust, since it had been set aside as a provision for his nephew. Just before the testimonial concert, he was at times absolutely without funds, his housekeeper being occasionally required to advance money from her savings to tide him over until a windfall should happen. The proceeds from the seven subscriptions to the Mass in D, amounting to three hundred and fifty ducats (about eight hundred dollars) helped him out to some extent, and something must have been coming in all the while from his previous publications. With good management there would have been sufficient for a man of his simple requirements, but in nothing was he so deficient as in business ability, or the faculty of looking after his worldly concerns. He was probably cheated right and left in his household matters.



CHAPTER XVI

THE DAY'S TRIALS

Those who are furthest removed from us really believe that we are constituted just like themselves, for they understand exactly so much of us as we have in common with them, but they do not know how little, how infinitesimally little this is. —WAGNER: Letter to Liszt.

Beethoven was in no sense a hero to his servants. In their eyes he was not the great artist, whose achievement was to go ringing down the ages; he was simply a crank or madman, who did not know his own mind half the time, from whom abuse was as likely to be predicated as gratuities, who could be ridiculed, neglected, circumvented with impunity. When the dereliction became glaring enough to arrest his attention, he would deliver himself of a volley of abuse which sometimes had to be made good by presents of money. At other times, he desired nothing so much as to be left alone.

That he found the world a more difficult problem than ever in these later years, goes without saying. "Have you been patient with every one to-day?" he asks himself in one of the note-books of this period, indicating the dawn of a perception that fate is too much for him, that it can be defied no longer, but rather must be propitiated. Had he answered his question, it would no doubt have been in the negative; but this attitude, so new to him, is significant. It comes up also in his letters to Zmeskall, in which he speaks of his patience in enduring the insolence of a butler, who had been sent him by Zmeskall.

Complaints about servants appear frequently in his correspondence. Peppe, the "elephant-footed," and Nanny, who seems to have had a particular faculty for making trouble, are specially in evidence. "I have endured much from N. (Nanny) to-day," he writes in a letter to his good friend Madame Streicher, who was very helpful to him in his domestic matters. On one occasion, when her conduct became unbearable, he threw books at her head. Strangely, this method of disciplining the refractory Nanny produced better results than could have been expected. He reports soon after to Madame Streicher, "Miss Nanny is a changed creature since I threw the half dozen books at her head. Possibly, by chance some of their contents may have entered her brain, or her bad heart. At all events we now have a repentant deceiver."

In another letter of this time he writes to the same lady, "Yesterday morning the devilry began again, but I made short work of it, and threw the heavy settle at B (another servant), after which we had peace for the remainder of the day." "Come Friday or Sunday," he writes Holz. "Better come on Friday, as Satanas in the kitchen is more endurable on that day." This advice to come on Friday when purposing to dine with him, is repeated in a subsequent letter to Holz. "If I could but rid myself of these canaille," he writes to another person, when complaining of the hostility and insolence of his servants.

That his own mode of life helped largely to bring about this state of things, did not make it any easier to bear. As stated, system was out of the question in this household. There was no regular time for meals, often no meals were thought of by the master while occupied with his work. When hungry, if nothing were forthcoming at home, he sought a restaurant. Careless in general as regards his food, abstemious to a degree in this respect, he was particular only on one matter, his coffee. He delighted in making it himself, often counting the beans that were required for each cup.

"My house resembles very much a shipwreck" is a remark attributed to him by Nohl. Even under favoring conditions, discipline was not to be expected, but matters were further complicated by Karl's mother, who made a practice of bribing the servants to get information about the young man. There is no doubt her influence tended to increase the discomfort and disorder that would have existed in any event. "Some devils of people have again played me such a trick that it is almost impossible for me to mix with human beings any more," he said in a letter to Madame Streicher, which remark Mr. Kalischer (Neue Beethovenbriefe, Berlin, 1902), attributes to intrigues against him by his sister-in-law.

To illustrate the slight regard his servants had for Beethoven and their absolute ignorance of the value of his work, an incident related by Schindler about the loss of the manuscript of the Kyrie of the Mass in D is in point. On reaching Doebling in 1821 on his annual summer migration, he missed this work and the most diligent search failed to bring it to light. Finally the cook produced it; she had used the separate sheets for wrapping kitchen utensils. Some of them were torn, but no part was lost. No copy had yet been made, and its loss would have been irreparable.

The difficulties which he experienced with the world in general existed with his copyists and engravers to an exaggerated degree as may be supposed, since proofreading was a matter on which he was extremely particular. He was apt to make unreasonable demands on them, not understanding human nature. He wanted them to work quickly and accurately and they were very often slow and careless; they tried his patience more than his servants did. A little deftness on his part when in contact with them, would have made things easier all around. As it was, they received little consideration from him, and gave but little in return. He was so deeply interested in his compositions that he frequently recalled them after they were in the engraver's hands, in order to make alterations and additions. The Sonata, opus 111 was withdrawn twice, after the engraver had actually begun work on it. It had been sold to Diabelli, who finally refused to return it again, as the engraver's work in each case was thrown away. This called out a sarcastic letter from Beethoven to Schindler, in which he refers to Diabelli as an arch-churl (Erzflegel), and threatens him (Diabelli), if he is not more amenable.

"I have passed the forenoon to-day, and all yesterday afternoon in correcting these two pieces and am actually hoarse with stamping and swearing," he wrote the copyist in reference to the A minor Quartet. Elsewhere he complains about the carelessness of the publishers of his earlier quartets, which are "full of mistakes and errata great and small. They swarm like fish in the sea, innumerable."

When referring to the testimonial concert, allusion was made to the enormous labor involved in copying out all the parts required for the occasion, in which over one hundred persons participated. To examine and correct each copy before placing it in the hands of the performers was in itself no slight task. The labor of making the seven subscription copies of the Mass, was probably a still greater one. In these days of cheap publications, one can hardly form an estimate of what it really meant. Many months elapsed after the Mass was completed, before a clean copy could be gotten for the Archduke even.

No doubt the copyists often misunderstood the master's instructions, always given in writing in his later years. He was so careless with his handwriting that some of his letters are undecipherable in part, to this day. Schindler, with good common-sense made a practice of transcribing Beethoven's words on the back of any letter received from him before filing it away. The master's extraordinary carefulness in proof-reading has already been mentioned. This was to him a matter of the utmost importance, second to none. Press of work, illness even, was not allowed to interfere with the careful revision of his work.

He might write about patience in his note book, but it was exercised very little when dealing with his copyists. There were times in this connection in which the situation became so strained that they refused to work for him. In one such instance a man, Wolanck by name, returned the manuscript which the master had sent him, writing him at the same time an impertinent letter. This copyist was evidently of a literary turn, with a talent for satire. He begins by begging to be permitted to express his gratitude for the honor which Beethoven has done him in being allowed to drudge for him, but states that he wants no more of it. He then proceeds to philosophize on the situation, saying that the dissonances which have marked their intercourse in the past have been regarded by him with amused toleration. "Are there not" asks this Junius, "in the ideal world of tones many dissonances? Why should these not also exist in the actual world?" In conclusion he ventures the opinion that if Mozart or Haydn had served as copyist for Beethoven, a fate similar to his own would have befallen them.

A wild Berserker rage took possession of Beethoven on receipt of this letter which he appeased characteristically by writing all sorts of sarcastic comments over the sheet, and by inventing compound invectives to suit the case. He heavily criss-crossed the whole letter, and across it in heavy lines wrote, "Dummer Kerl" (foolish fellow), "Eselhafter Kerl" (asinine fellow), "Schreibsudler" (slovenly writer). On the edges at the right: "Mozart and Haydn you will do the honor not to mention"; at the left: "It was decided yesterday, and even before, that you were not to write for me any more." On another spot he writes: "correct your blunders that occur through your fatuity, presumption, ignorance and foolishness." (Unwissenheit, Uebermuth, Eigenduenkel, und Dummheit). "That will become you better than to try to teach me."

In better vein is a letter from Beethoven to the copyist Rampel, who had worked for him during a period of many years. He had Beethoven's favor more than any other copyist, on account of a peculiar faculty he possessed for deciphering the master's handwriting.

_Bestes Ramperl,—

Komme um morgen frueh. Gehe aber zum Teufel mit deinem Gnaediger Herr. Gott allein kann nur gnaedig geheissen werden._

BEST RAMPEL,—

You can come to-morrow morning, but go to the devil with your "Gracious Sir," (Gnaediger Herr). God alone should be addressed as "Gracious Lord."

This letter was published in the Beethoven number of Die Musik, February, 1902.



CHAPTER XVII

LAST QUARTETS

Every extraordinary man has a certain mission, which he is called upon to accomplish. If he has fulfilled it he is no longer needed on earth, in the same form, and Providence uses him for something else. But as everything here below happens in a natural way, the daemons keep tripping him up until he falls at last. Thus it was with Napoleon, and many others. Mozart died in his thirty-sixth year. Raphael at the same age. Byron a little older. But all these had perfectly fulfilled their missions, and it was time for them to depart that others might still have something to do in a world made to last a long while. —GOETHE, Conversations with Eckermann.

In the midst of these ironies of fate, this satyr-play of the nether forces with the master, in which he occupies at times so undignified a position, it is gratifying to note that the artist-life goes on apace. In the last quartets which now come up for consideration, the labors of the tone-poet are brought to a close.

The quartet was a favorite musical form with the master. Here the more intimate side of his nature is revealed. A more personal relation is established between composer and audience than is the case in the other forms in which he worked. As we have seen, the quartet, in the time of which we write, was universally in use at informal gatherings for the delectation of friends in the privacy of the home, and was not intended for concert use. The stateliness which characterizes the large symphonic forms is absent in chamber-music, but it has qualities of its own which we value as much.

The last quartets owe their existence to Prince Galitzin, a Russian nobleman, who had spent some time in Vienna in 1805, and became acquainted with Beethoven at the house of the Russian Ambassador, Count Rasoumowsky, for whom it will be remembered Beethoven composed three quartets, opus 59. In November of 1822 the Prince wrote Beethoven in the most flattering terms, asking him to compose three quartets at his own price, which were to be dedicated to him. The master accepted the commission gladly, fixing the modest sum of one hundred and fifty ducats (about $330) for the three, reserving, however, the right to sell the quartets to a publisher. Prince Galitzin was then living in state in St. Petersburg. His wife was a fine pianist, he himself a first-rate performer on the cello. They occupied a prominent position in the musical life of the city. The Prince was one of the original subscribers to the Mass in D, and has the credit of having brought about the first complete performance of this colossal work ever given.

When we consider the enormous expense of this undertaking, the copying of the many parts, as well as the sums paid for soloists, chorus and orchestra, most of which was probably borne by the Prince, and reflect that this is only an instance among many of his extravagant mode of living, it is not surprising to find that he became financially embarrassed, and was unable to carry out in full his obligation to Beethoven as regards paying for these works.

The Oratorio, "The Victory of the Cross," which had already been begun, was laid aside in favor of the quartets; it was never resumed. Notwithstanding his enthusiasm, work on the new commission made but slow progress. Ill health and preoccupation in his nephew's concerns took up much of his attention. Occasional sketches were made, but it was more than a year and a half before the first one was actually begun. It was outlined at Baden in the autumn of 1824, and finished on his return to Vienna. Mention is made of this quartet by the master in an interesting letter to Messrs. Schott of Mayence, who had bought the mass and symphony, and had also purchased the quartet, paying fifty ducats for it. Cordial relations had been established with these gentlemen, dating from the time of selling them the two great works just mentioned. Some of Beethoven's best letters are those written to his publishers. An extract from the letter above referred to follows:

"The quartet you shall also receive by the middle of October. Overburdened by work, and suffering from bad health, I really have some claim on the indulgence of others. I am here on account of my health, or rather to the want of it, although I already feel better.

"Apollo and the Muses do not yet intend me to become the prey of the bony scytheman, as I have yet much to do for you, and much to bequeath, which my spirit dictates and calls on me to complete before I depart hence for the Elysian Fields; I feel as if I had written scarcely more than a few notes."

The initial performance of the first of the Galitzin Quartets took place in the spring of 1825. Beethoven regarded the event as a momentous occurrence and required the four performers, Schuppanzich, Weiss, Linke and Holz, to sign a compact, each to "pledge his honor to do his best to distinguish himself and vie with the other in zeal."

The quartets once begun were carried on with ardor in the midst of most distressing occurrences, chief of which were ill health and its twin demon, poverty, as well as the waywardness of his nephew, all of which tended to draw him to the spiritual life. The character of Beethoven's work changed from the period of the Mass in D. An altered condition, an altogether new, different strain is apparent thenceforth. The deeply religious, mystical character of the first movement of the Ninth Symphony can be attributed to his previous absorption on the Mass. He worked out of this vein somewhat in the other movements as not being adapted to the uses for which the symphony is designed, but it reappears again in the quartets to the extent of dominating them.

The one in B Flat, opus 130, completes the three for Prince Galitzin. Of the Cavatina of this quartet, Holz is authority for saying that Beethoven composed it with tears, and confessed that never before had his own music made such an impression on him; that even the repetition of it always cost him tears. In this movement Beethoven used the word Beklemmt (Beklommen) (oppressed, anxious) at a point where it modulates into another key. His loneliness, superinduced by his life of celibacy, by his deafness, his disappointment in his nephew, all had the effect of separating him from the world. The spiritual side of his nature, always active, had been brought into new life during his work on the Mass, as we have seen. It was never thenceforth allowed to fall into abeyance, but was developed in direct ratio with his withdrawal from the world. An atavism from some remote Aryan ancestry inclined him, as in the case of so many Germans, to mysticism and the occult. It was a condition which had its compensations. That there were periods when he saw visions may be conjectured by the character of the last quartets. When they were written, Beethoven was in the shadow of death, on the border-land of the other world, and from that proximity he relates his experience. These works receive the reverence of all musicians for their spirituality, their mysticism, their psychological qualities. They are the revelations of the seer, awe-inspiring mementos of states and conditions of mind which transcend the experiences of ordinary life. In these last impassioned utterances of the master, we find a strain holier, more profound, different from anything which the art of music has yet produced.

The Cavatina on its first performance, on March 21, 1826, was received with indifference, and the finale, which was an exceedingly long and difficult fugue, fared even worse. Self-sufficient as Beethoven was on all matters connected with the working out of his musical thoughts, he coincided for once with his friends and the publisher on the matter of the fugue. He wrote a new finale for the quartet, and published the fugue separately as opus 133. Joseph Boehm, the noted violinist, then in his twenty-eighth year, rehearsed this fugue under Beethoven's direction, and often played the violin part subsequently.

The great C sharp minor Quartet opus 131, is the next one to claim our attention. Beethoven characterized it as a piece of work worthy of him. This colossal work was one which Wagner continually held up for the commendation of mankind. It occupies among quartets a position analogous to that of the Ninth Symphony in its own class. The summer of 1826 in which it was composed, was a period fraught with momentous occurrences to the master, chief of which was the attempted suicide of his nephew. The circumstances which led up to this catastrophe can be briefly narrated. Beethoven had been disappointed in any and every plan formed for the future of the young man. He at first looked for great things from him; by gradual stages his expectations were so modified that at last he began to fear that he would never be able to provide for his own maintenance.

The musical education of the young man had first engaged the master's attention, in the hope that some of the family talent might have been transmitted to him. When it became plain that nothing could be achieved by him in a musical career, he was entered at the university of Vienna with a view of making a scholar of him. Here he was unable to keep up with his studies, owing to inattention. He failed to pass his examination and left the school in consequence. Literature being closed to him, he entered the Polytechnic school, intending to fit himself for business life, but failed here also. That Karl's conduct caused the master much anxiety appears in his letters to him. In some of them he entreats him to do better, in others he upbraids him. Both lines of reasoning seem to have been equally obnoxious to this careless, indifferent young man, who objected to being taken to task for his misdeeds, and hated "rows" and "scenes" with his uncle. When he failed the second time he was at his wits' end in dread of his uncle's reproaches. Many a stormy scene had occurred between them during the two preceding years. So violent had these become, that the master was on one occasion requested to find another apartment on account of the complaints that came from other occupants of the house. It may very well be that Beethoven expected too much from this carelessly reared youth, whose mother lost no opportunity of embittering him against the master. The young man probably never seriously contemplated suicide, but wanted to give his uncle a scare. By working on his fears he reasoned that he would be able to have his own way for a long while to come. He threatened suicide, and the day following this threat actually went so far as to shoot himself. He was not severely injured, but the attempt on his life rendered him amenable to the laws of his country, and a short confinement in the government hospital followed.

Beethoven was greatly agitated on learning of the rash act. He had some difficulty in finding him, as the young man had left his quarters and went to another part of the city before carrying out his threat. With the aid of friends he was finally located and an affecting scene followed in which the master loaded him with kindness, treating him very much as that other prodigal son was treated by his father.

Beethoven's personal intervention with the magistrate eased the situation for the nephew. Two very interesting letters from the master in this connection were published some years ago in the Neuen Freien Presse of Vienna, and are included in Herr Kalischer's Beethovenbriefe published in Berlin in 1902. The following one shows Beethoven's ethical character in strong light:

To the Magistrate Czapka:

DEAR SIR:

Hofrath von Breuning and I have carefully considered what is best to be done. We think for the time being no other course is practicable than that Karl should remain with me a few days (during the interval until he can enter the military service). His language is still excitable under the impression that I would reprimand him since he was capable of making an attempt on his life. He has, however, shown himself quite affectionate toward me. Be assured that to me fallen humanity is still holy. A warning from you would probably have good results. It would do no harm to let him know that unobserved he will be watched while with me. Accept my highest esteem for yourself, and consider me as one who loves his kind, who desires only good wherever possible. Yours respectfully, BEETHOVEN.

In accordance with the English custom of putting the fool of the family into the army, Stephen von Breuning had hit upon the plan of a military career for Karl since all others seemed closed to him. Von Breuning, who always had a faculty of being of service to Beethoven, was a counsellor in the war-office. He urged on Beethoven the feasibility of procuring an appointment for Karl in the army, and interested his superior, Field-marshal Lieutenant von Stutterheim, in the matter. Beethoven was not greatly in favor of a military career for the young man. "Uebrigens bin ich gar nicht fuer den Militaerstandt," he says in a letter to Holz of September 9, when the subject was first broached. He opposed it for a while, but finally bowed to the inevitable.

Toward the end of October, and before the negotiations in regard to the army appointment were concluded, the young man was released from the hospital, and placed under the control of the master, with the injunction that he be removed from Vienna at once. At this juncture brother Johann placed his country house at Gneixendorf at the disposal of the master and nephew, and thither the two repaired, the elder, stricken, bowed with grief; the youth, sullen and indifferent. The master had never entered Johann's house since the summer of 1812, when he had tried so ineffectually, as noted in a previous chapter, to break up the relations existing between the pair while the lady was as yet only the housekeeper. It must have been with great reluctance that he considered visiting him at all. The sacrifice, if such there was, was made in the interest of Karl; where this young scapegrace was concerned, the master was generally willing to sink his own preferences. The situation must have been embarrassing for all concerned, less so in reality for the master than for the others. Absorbed in the composition of the new finale, and also in the finishing up of the great C sharp minor Quartet, he was for the most part oblivious to anything unusual in his surroundings. Johann's wife, with the policy of her class, bore no resentment, or at least showed none outwardly. A pleasant room on the ground floor was fitted up for him, but the welcome must have been a cold one at best.

No doubt the Gutsbesitzer took much pleasure in showing off his possessions to the brother whom he knew had little esteem for him at heart. He paraded his own importance in the neighborhood, taking the composer on business visits to prominent people. On these occasions he would not usually introduce his brother, treating him as a kind of appendage. The master, deep in the thought of creative work, was, no doubt, to a great extent unconscious of this sordidness. At all events he gave no sign. But he contributed very little to the social well-being of the family. Two aims only seem to have occupied his mind at this time: the welfare of his nephew, and the carrying to completion of a few great works already sketched or begun. These included a Tenth Symphony, (for the Philharmonic Society of London), the Oratorio, The Victory of the Cross, for the Vienna Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, music to Goethe's Faust, which latter he must have been in good mood for,—as well as an overture on Bach. "I hope yet," he writes from Johann's home, "to bring some great works into the world, and then like an old child, to close my earthly career somewhere among good people." He worked with feverish haste in the latter years of his life, whenever his health permitted, even abandoning his books in favor of his work. Failing health prevented him from forcing it ahead as in former years, but he worked up to the limit of his powers.

His habits while composing have been referred to in a previous chapter, namely, that he was in the habit of singing, stamping, gesticulating, while under the spell of his inspiration. This kind of thing was new to the maid who looked after his room, and she managed to extract amusement from it. Beethoven finally discovered her laughing at him, and forthwith bundled her out of the room, giving orders that no female would be admitted again. One of the men about the place, Michael Kren, was then engaged, who performed his duties faithfully, and helped materially to establish a more comfortable existence for the sick, helpless man. He has narrated circumstantially the master's mode of life while at Gneixendorf. He was up and at work at half-past five, beating time with hands and feet, singing, humming. This went on until breakfast time, half-past seven. This meal over he would hurry out of doors, (the weather was fine that particular autumn) spending the morning going about the fields, note-book in hand, his mind intent on his musical thoughts, occasionally singing or calling out, going now slowly, then very fast, at times stopping still to write out his ideas. This would go on until noon, when he would return to the house for dinner. This was served at half-past twelve, after which he would go to his room for about two hours, then again to the fields until sunset. He was never out in the evening as night air was considered bad for him. Supper was served at half-past seven. His evenings were spent in his room, and at ten o'clock he went to bed.

This simple, regular life, with the healthful country air, should have restored Beethoven's health in some measure could it have been continued longer. His letters from here indicate that he expected some improvement in this respect. Had not some untoward circumstances intervened, the master's life might have been spared long enough to enable him to carry to completion the list of works outlined above.

That Johann had an ulterior object in asking his brother to visit him is quite probable. The growing fame of the composer and the ever-increasing value of his copyrights was well known to him. He had made money in his dealings between composer and publisher in the past, and could have made still more had he possessed his brother's confidence in a greater degree. His cupidity however, prevented him from keeping up for long even the semblance of kindness or hospitality. Fuel was so scantily provided the sick guest that he suffered from cold, and he was told that a charge would be made for the room. Other circumstances may have contributed to bring about a climax. At all events the situation became so unpleasant that he suddenly decided to return to Vienna.



CHAPTER XVIII

IN THE SHADOWS

As a day well spent gives joyful sleep, So does a life well spent give joyful death. —LEONARDO DA VINCI.

The C sharp minor Quartet and the one in F, opus 135, which rounds out this wonderful series, were all but completed before leaving Vienna on the visit to Johann. That there was some polishing still to be done on the latter is apparent from the fact that it has the superscription in the master's handwriting, "Gneixendorf am 30 Oktober 1826." The finale has these curious sentences: "Der schwergefasste Entschluss. Muss es sein? Es muss sein." Question and answer turn on the subject of paying his room rent according to Schindler, the dialogue being a reminiscence of previous times. Beethoven often made some discussion when his rent was demanded, either from the desire to extract some sport from the situation, or from fear of being cheated. It often had to be demonstrated to him by the aid of an almanac that the time was up and the money really due.

The only work begun and completed by the master while at Gneixendorf was the new finale, which replaced the long fugue of the B flat Quartet. It proved to be his last work. The series of unpleasant events referred to in the last chapter ensued, and, without considering consequences, he returned to Vienna.

It is not likely that Johann or his wife exerted themselves much to keep him longer. They intended spending the winter in Vienna themselves, and were probably relieved to have the visit ended so that they could make their preparations for the journey. With his usual impatience, he must needs take the first conveyance which was to be had. Johann had a closed carriage, but would not let him have it, and the journey was made in a light open wagon. December had arrived and the weather, which had been fine all the fall, was now bad. He was insufficiently clothed for the two days' drive in such weather. He contracted inflammation of the lungs on the way, and reached his quarters in the house of the Black Spaniards, a very sick man.

This house, his last earthly abiding-place, had been his home for the past year. It was a disused monastery, which had been established in 1633 by the daughter of Philip III of Spain on taking up her residence in Vienna after her marriage. The original building was destroyed in one of the wars of that turbulent time, but was rebuilt at the end of the seventeenth century. The building was demolished in 1904. It was situated on the glacis, in a part of the city where Beethoven had lived much of the time since coming to Vienna.

The fates seem to have been against him from the beginning of his journey. His sleeping-room was an enormous one on the second floor, which, with two small anterooms, composed the apartment. The facilities for heating a room of that size, in those times must have been wholly inadequate. Several days elapsed before a physician could be found to attend him. He had quarrelled with two of his former physicians and each refused his aid. Finally, a professor from the medical college, a Dr. Wawruch, was summoned, who took the case in hand. Schindler states that it was several days before he or any of the master's friends knew of his arrival in Vienna, and leaves the inference that he was unattended during this interval except by his nephew. When they learned of his return, Schindler and Stephen von Breuning were unremitting in their attentions.

As Beethoven had taken a violent prejudice against Dr. Wawruch, another physician, Dr. Malfatti, was engaged, who acted in conjunction with the former. The treatment was now changed, large quantities of iced punch being administered, probably with the view of relieving the congestion of the stomach. This mode of treatment exactly suited the sick man, a result which was probably foreseen by the astute Dr. Malfatti, who had prescribed for Beethoven during previous illnesses and knew his patient's idiosyncrasies. Beethoven's childlike simplicity is illustrated in the difference of his demeanor toward his two physicians. He always had a warm welcome for the one who had administered the iced punch, remembering no doubt its immediately alleviating and beneficial results, but Dr. Wawruch fared poorly at his hands, especially when he was in a bad humor. On more than one occasion when the latter appeared the patient turned his face to the wall with the remark, "Ach der Esel."

Everything possible was now done to add to his comfort. Two servants were engaged to attend him. His friends cheered him by their visits. Huemmel called, bringing his young pupil Ferdinand Hiller. Some of Schubert's songs were brought him, probably by Huettenbrenner. They consisted of Die Junge Nonne, Der Taucher, the Ossian songs, Die Buergschaft. Schindler states they awakened the master's surprise and delight, eliciting from him the remark, "Truly, Schubert has the divine fire."

Beethoven was so eager for work that he attempted composition again in the intervals of his illness, but his strength was not sufficient to enable him to go on with it. Hitherto his one resource in every difficulty had been his work. The injunction of Saint-Simon, to lead during the whole of the vigorous portion of manhood the most original and active life possible, had been perforce carried out by him. Now that his one resource, work, failed him, he was bereft. He sought to pass the time by reading, and began with Kenilworth in a German translation, but soon threw it down saying: "The man writes only for money."

The volatile Holz did not fail him in his need, but manifested his friendship by many kind acts. His former publishers the Haslingers, Tobias and Karl, as well as Diabelli, called occasionally. The Archduke at Olmuetz could hardly have been expected to come, especially as a fatal termination was not for some time considered probable. We hear nothing of Czerny, of Schuppanzich, of Linke, or of Zmeskall, which to say the least, is singular. Schindler's omission of these names, however, has no particular significance; he wrote many years after the event, and forgot or omitted the mention of circumstances of greater importance than this. It is not like what we know of the character of Czerny, or Zmeskall, to neglect Beethoven in his extremity. The master's old friend, Stumpf, of London, sent him a splendid edition of Haendel's works in forty volumes, with which he occupied himself a good deal. They afforded him much enjoyment.

Anxiety on account of money, so prevalent all through these latter years, was increased by his enforced abstinence from work. What he chiefly desired now was sufficient ready money to carry him through, so that he would not have to break into the little hoard put by for Karl many years before. At this juncture the Philharmonic Society of London sent him one hundred pounds, being an advance payment on account of a concert they intended giving for his benefit. The initiative in this matter was taken by Beethoven himself, and it is safe to say that nothing that was done for him during this period was so appreciated, or gave him so much pleasure, as this act of kindness from the Society. The money reached him about ten days after an operation had been performed on him for the relief of the dropsical accumulations incidental to his liver trouble. Four such operations had been found necessary during this illness. They were at best only palliative. His joy on receiving the letter and money from London was such that the wound, not yet healed, opened, and a great discharge followed. A letter of thanks was sent to the Society, dictated by the master, but he was too weak even to sign it.

Schindler relates that Beethoven on nearing middle-age, was wont to indulge himself in day-dreams of a prosperous future, in which he could have sufficient means to enable him to live in comfort, keep his carriage like brother Johann, and have leisure for the refinements of life. This illusion, maintained by most workers, no doubt brightened his prosaic, solitary life. Pity that he could not have realized it in some measure: after the heat and burden of the day, in which he had so well acquitted himself, it would seem fitting, had he had an evening of life such as was vouchsafed Wagner, with opportunity for completing his life-work in peace and contentment.

One result achieved by the master as a consequence of his visit to Gneixendorf would have afforded him great satisfaction could he have known it. The matter of making suitable provision for Karl in event of his own death had lain on his conscience for some time before this visit, as already stated. While there, he begged his brother Johann to make a will in Karl's favor, which eventually came to pass.

The army appointment, of which mention has been made, became an established fact early in December, and the young man soon after left Vienna to join his regiment. Beethoven never saw him again. He by this time concurred with his friends in the opinion that the discipline of military life might be beneficial to him, and was resigned to the separation.

The great C sharp minor Quartet is indelibly associated with Karl, through its dedication to Baron von Stutterheim, through whom the appointment came. The decision to dedicate this work to the Baron, was arrived at only two weeks before the master's death. The work had been for some time in the hands of the publishers, Messrs. Schott of Mayence. Beethoven, finally becoming aware that no more works could be produced by him, and wishing to reward the Baron in the only way possible, dictated an urgent letter to Messrs. Schott on the subject. "The Quartet," he said, "must be dedicated to Field-marshal von Stutterheim, to whom I am under great obligations. Should the first dedication by any possibility be already engraved, I beg of you, on every account, to make this alteration. I will gladly pay any extra expense connected with it."

The last Quartet, opus 135, is dedicated to Johann Wolfmayer, a merchant of Vienna with whom he had much friendly intercourse. Wolfmayer showed his interest in the master's work in many ways. It may be mentioned that he offered him a sum equal to several hundreds of dollars to carry out his project of writing a Requiem Mass. "Write to Stumpf and Smart," he said to Schindler a few days before his death, when already too weak to speak above a whisper. His consideration for others was paramount even in the face of approaching death.

Notwithstanding the hopeful tone which characterized the letters written during his last illness, there were times when he knew that he was making a losing fight. Already on January 3, a month after his return from Gneixendorf, he wrote a letter to his attorney, Dr. Bach, in the form of a will, in which as may be supposed, his nephew is his sole heir. No conditions were imposed on the young man, who, had the will remained in this form, might have squandered the entire amount. (The estate netted $5000). This was pointed out to Beethoven by his counsellor, Dr. Bach, and also Von Breuning, who urged on him the necessity of adding a codicil to the will, in which the principal would be tied up for life, leaving only the income available. This he resisted to within a few days before the end, but finally gave in, and, not without great difficulty, wrote with his own hand a codicil, consisting of but three lines, in which the income only was to be enjoyed by the nephew, the principal to revert to his natural or testamentary heirs, after Karl's death. Breuning, true to his sense of duty, not satisfied with having gained his point, endeavored, at the risk of antagonizing the master, to change the words "natural or testamentary heirs," to "legitimate heirs." Beethoven was obdurate on the point, however, saying, "the one term is as good as the other." Von Breuning, good faithful friend that he was, survived Beethoven but one year.

Schindler dwells on the perfect tranquillity of Beethoven in the face of approaching death. "Plaudite amici, comoedia finita est," he said on the day when the codicil was written. On the following day at noon, he received the last rites of the church. The event was no doubt a solemn one. Soon after, the death-struggle began, and continued without interruption for two days. Huettenbrenner was a faithful attendant during these last days. His friend Schubert also called, at least once, and, it is said, was recognized by Beethoven, although he was unable to speak to him.

The nervous strain on his friends in witnessing this struggle between life and death, in which but the one issue was possible, must have been great. It was, no doubt, a relief to Schindler and Von Breuning to leave the master in Huettenbrenner's charge on the afternoon of the 26th of March, and go to Wahring in order to secure a burial-place. While on this necessary errand, a terrific storm arose, which prevented their return until night. Meanwhile, Huettenbrenner, left alone with the master, endeavored to ease his position by sustaining his head, holding it up with his right arm. His breathing had been growing perceptibly weaker, carrying the conviction that the end was near. The storm was of unusual severity, covering the glacis with snow and sleet. The situation of the building was such that it was exposed to the full fury of the tempest. No sign was given by the master that he was conscious of this commotion of the elements. With the subsidence of the storm at dusk, the watcher was startled by a flash of lightning, which illumined everything. This was succeeded by a terrific peal of thunder which penetrated even Beethoven's ears. Startled into consciousness by the unusual event, the dying man suddenly raised his head from Huettenbrenner's embrace, threw out his right arm with the fist doubled, remained in this position a moment as if in defiance, and fell back dead.

The two friends returned some hours after all was over. The master died at a quarter before six o'clock on the evening of March 26, 1826. He was in his fifty-seventh year.

The funeral took place on March 29 at 3 P.M. from the church of the Minorites and was attended by many of the most prominent people of the city. Eight musicians bore the coffin from the house to the church, while thirty-two torch-bearers followed it, among the number being Czerny and Schubert. This was followed by a choir of sixteen male singers, and four trombones, which alternated in singing and playing. The music consisted of two equali composed by Beethoven many years before, arranged for this occasion by Seyfried, to the words of the Miserere and Amplius.

Notwithstanding the immense concourse of people assembled at the obsequies, estimated at twenty thousand, there was but one relative to occupy the position of mourner, and that was Johann.

On April 3, Mozart's Requiem was sung at the church of the Augustines, and shortly thereafter, Cherubini's Requiem was sung for him at the Karlskirche.

The magnificence of his funeral, when compared with his simple mode of life, calls to mind the great contrasts which he was always producing in his music. Equally great contrasts had always come up in his life. Living in the proudest most exclusive and bigoted monarchy in Europe, at a time when feudal authority had not yet been entirely abolished, he held himself to be as good or better than Emperor or Cardinal. On receiving a request one morning from the Empress of Austria to call on her, he sent back word that he would be busy all that day, but would endeavor to call on the following day. There is no record of his having gone at all. His unjustifiable conduct toward the Imperial family, while at Toeplitz with Goethe, has been touched on in a previous chapter. Frimmel states that something similar occurred at Baden, but does not give his authority. Beethoven arraigned the Judiciary, even when writing conciliatory letters to the judges. In his letters to the different magistrates during the litigation over his nephew, he is often satirical and sarcastic in spite of himself. His criticisms of other judges, his references to the manner in which justice is administered in Austria, illustrate his temerity and independence. His scorn of the King of Saxony, on account of being dilatory in paying the subscription for the Grand Mass, was pronounced. He alludes to him as "the poor Dresdener" in his letters, and he even went so far as to talk about suing him when the payment was still longer withheld.[F] All this from a man who at times did not have a decent coat to wear, or a second pair of shoes; who sometimes accepted advances from his housekeeper for the necessaries of life. His life was so simple and circumscribed that he never saw the ocean, or a snow-covered mountain, although living within sight of the foothills of the Alps. He never returned to his native city though living not a great distance from it.

[F] Kalischer. Neue Beethovenbriefe. Berlin, 1902.

The immediate cause of death, as demonstrated by the post-mortem held the day after his decease, was cirrhosis of the liver, the dropsy, of which Schindler makes such frequent mention, being an outcome of, and connected with, the liver trouble. The organ showed every indication of chronic disease. It was greatly shrunken, its very texture being changed into a hard substance. That alcoholism is the commonest cause of cirrhosis is well known, but in Beethoven's case some other cause for the disease must be found. He was in the habit of taking wine with his meals, a practice so common in Vienna at that time that not to have done so would have been regarded as an eccentricity, but he never indulged in it to excess, except possibly on a few occasions when in the company of Holz. It can hardly be brought about by the use of wines, but is produced by the inordinate use of spirituous liquors, something for which Beethoven did not care. Cirrhosis was probably the cause of his father's death, as he was a confirmed inebriate; but this cannot be connected with the cirrhosis of the son; the disease is not transmissible.

Beethoven's deafness probably began with a "cold in the head" which was neglected. The inflammatory process then extended to the Eustachian tubes. When it reached this point it was considered out of the reach of treatment in his time, and for long after. Even in our own time, in the light of advanced medical science, such a condition is serious and is not always amenable to treatment, some impairment of the hearing frequently occurring even with the best of care and under conditions precluding the thought of a congenital tendency. The difficulty as revealed by the post-mortem, lay in a thickening of the membrane of the Eustachian tubes. The office of these tubes is to supply air to the cavity on the inner side of the drum-membrane, known as the middle ear. As is well known, a passage exists from the outer ear to the drum. The Eustachian tubes connect the middle ear with the upper portion of the throat from whence the air supply to the middle ear is obtained. We cannot imagine a drum to be such unless there is air on both sides of the membrane. Exhaust the air of an ordinary drum, and its resonance would be gone. A similar condition obtained with Beethoven. With the closure of the Eustachian tubes the air supply to the middle ear was cut off; the air in the cavity finally became absorbed, and a retraction and thickening of the drum-membrane with consequent inability to transmit sound vibrations followed.

The hypothesis of heredity, sometimes brought forward to account for his deafness, would have more weight had the lesion shown itself in the case of either of his other brothers. As it is, there is no hint to be found of even a tendency to deafness in any other of the Beethovens, whether Johann, Karl, or the nephew. In any event a congenital tendency of this kind would have been more likely to develop itself in Karl, the weakling, than in the sturdy Ludwig.

The master's known impulsiveness and carelessness in matters connected with the preservation of his health, lead to the conclusion that he himself contributed much to his deafness. He was fond of pure air outside, but sometimes had for a sleeping room an alcove wholly without ventilation, so dark that he had to dress in another room. We hear much of his practice of taking brisk walks on the ramparts or in the suburbs, in the intervals of his work. There is at least one instance on record,—there were probably many such cases,—of his coming in after a walk, overheated, perspiring, and seating himself before an open window in a draught. Another hygienic measure which he abused was his custom of frequently bathing his head in cold water while at work, probably to counteract the excessive circulation of the blood in the head brought about by his brain-work. A chilling of the body, particularly in the neck and the back of the head when overheated is a frequent cause of inflammation of the middle ear. Von Frimmel calls attention to the dust-storms which are a feature of Vienna. They were probably worse in Beethoven's time than now, as but little attention was paid to hygienic measures in those days. This no doubt aggravated the trouble.



CHAPTER XIX

LIFE'S PURPORT

Das Grenzenlose braust um mich. Weit hinaus glaenzt mir Raum und Zeit. Wohlan! Wohlauf! altes Herz. —FRIEDERICH NIETZSCHE.

Beethoven's life in its devotion to the attainment of a single end, the perfection of his art, affords an object lesson, which cannot fail to encourage and stimulate every one engaged in creative work of any kind. His earnestness and industry is the key-note to his achievement. He worked harder than any composer we have any record of, with the possible exception of Wagner. If we consider how the compositions improved in his hands, while being worked over, as is shown by the sketch-books, a simple process of reasoning will convince the reader that any man's work, in any line, can be improved by adopting the same methods. Beethoven's own words in this connection are, "the boundary does not yet exist, of which it can be said to talent cooperating with industry, 'Thus far shalt thou go and no farther.'" The more he worked over his compositions the better they became. When he required a theme for a particular purpose, if the right thought did not at once come to mind, his practice was to write as near it as possible. By the time this was done an improvement would suggest itself. He would then write it again, and before the ink was dry, would start at it yet again, each effort bringing him nearer the goal, and this progress was the incentive that led him to continue until the idea he was reaching for became a reality. His intuitive faculties were highly developed, and he had Goethe's "heavenly gift" of imagination, but this would have been as nothing without his power of concentration. All his abilities were focused on his art. He made everything else subservient to the one idea of attaining perfection in it. He succeeded too, by giving his genius free play, by allowing his individuality to shape itself in accordance with its own laws. The circumstances of his life favored this action. Responsible to no one for years before reaching maturity, he was nowhere hampered or repressed as might have been the case had he had a home life. Strong characters are best left alone to work out their own development. It is only the weak ones that have to be supported. He met every demand that his art made on him. It was only by a complete surrender, by a concentration of all his forces into one channel, that he attained his results. By losing the world, he gained it. The great ones in every age, in every art or calling,—those who attained to saintship,—seers,—prophets,—all went this road.

He had absolute confidence in his judgment. He seldom considered what his audience would like. The best that was in him was what he gave to the world. He knew its value, and if others could not understand it, he knew the time would come when it would be appreciated. In art as in religion, faith is a necessary preliminary to all great achievements.

In going so far beyond us, in pushing the art to the limit of its possibilities, Beethoven has made portions of his work inaccessible to the large body of people who look upon music as an art for enjoyment only. The same kind of problem that is presented to this generation in the works of his last years, confronted his contemporaries in those of his middle life, which were as far beyond the comprehension of his own generation as the more abstruse works of his last years are beyond the ability of the present. To a future age, seemingly, has been relegated, as an heritage of the past, the best fruit of Beethoven's genius. When the Mass in D and the last Quartets can be heard frequently, a new era in the art will have been inaugurated.

It would be a mistake to suppose that Beethoven was a pessimist, or a misanthrope. Placed here to live and suffer, not knowing why it should be so, he yet teaches that relentless fate cannot prevail against those who make a good fight. "I did not wish to find when I came to die that I had not lived," said Thoreau, paraphrasing from Voltaire, (most men die without having lived). "I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear." Beethoven's idea of the purport of life was similar. He believed, and put his theory into practice, that each man has within himself the potentialities with which he shapes his own destiny. Fate and Destiny are verities that have to be faced, but they do not have all their own way with us. Each of us has the power to control his destiny to some extent. By willing it so the tendency is toward betterment. Always the highest powers are on our side. Life, after all, is worth while. This was the gist of his philosophy. He sought to establish an optimistic view of life, with the object of making the problem easier to solve.

Fichte, in his work "Ueber das Wesen des Gelehrten", gives the literary man the place of priest in the world, continually unfolding the Godlike to man. This was also Beethoven's aim. Haydn charged him with being an atheist, but his works as well as his life refute this charge. The Kyrie and the Agnus Dei of the Mass in D, could never have been produced had he been other than a devout, religious man. In his journals he continually addresses the Godhead. Outwardly, however, he gave no sign. "Religion and general-bass," he said once, with a touch of humor, "are in themselves two inscrutable things (abgeschlossene Dinge) about which one should not argue."

He was solicitous that his nephew should receive proper religious instruction, and made this a point in his letters to the magistrates while the lawsuit over him was in progress. After giving his ideas as to the proper education of the young man, in which French, Greek, music and drawing take a prominent place, he adds, "I have found a holy father who has undertaken to instruct him in his duties as a Christian, as well as a man, for only on this foundation can we bring up genuine people." Again, "It is for his soul's welfare that I am concerned. Wealth can be achieved, but morality must early in life be inoculated" (eingeimpft). He saw the necessity of religion; that it has been called forth through the consciousness of utter helplessness in the individual. Man is encompassed on all sides by inexorable laws, produced and perpetuated by a power beyond and outside the comprehension. The expression of the religious sentiment is his effort at propitiation, and is his one resource. This is the point of view on which Beethoven projected the grand mass. It is what governed his life.

An inner pressure led him to choose a life of self-abnegation and rectitude. He saw through and over and beyond the illusions and allurements of the senses, and so was enabled to live entirely in harmony with the moral order of the world, in an age, and among a people, largely given over to the pursuit of pleasure.

A long life is generally considered the best gift which the Fates have to bestow. In the summary of a man's life it is usually treated of as implying special virtues in the subject. But a long life in itself is as nothing in comparison to the quality of the life that is lived. It is by achievement only that its value can be determined.



WAGNER'S INDEBTEDNESS TO BEETHOVEN

FOREWORD

Beethoven, in Wagner's estimation, is a landmark in music, just as Shakespeare is in literature, as Jesus or Buddha in religion. He is the central figure; all others are but radii emanating from him. To Beethoven was it given to express clearly what the others could but dimly perceive. The relation of men like Bach or Haendel toward Beethoven, Wagner held to be analogous to that of the prophets toward Jesus, namely, one of expectancy. The art reached its culmination in Beethoven. This is Wagner's summary of the significance of Beethoven's work, and he proclaimed it continually, from the housetops. It was in some sort a religious exercise to him to make propaganda for the master to whom he felt himself so deeply indebted. The burden of his utterances on the subject of the musician's art is, "A greater than I exists. It is Beethoven."



Chiefly, perhaps, of the philosopher and the poet must we needs feel that if any genius reaches out into an interpenetrating spiritual world, theirs must do so.—F.W.H. MYERS, Human Personality, Chapter on Genius.

In art the best of all is too spiritual to be given directly to the senses; it must be born in the imagination of the beholder, although begotten by the work of art.—SCHOPENHAUER.

Wagner's achievement can be attributed, in part, to a certain quality of intellectual receptivity, by virtue of which he was enabled to appropriate to himself the genius of two of his predecessors for whom he had a special affinity. His epoch-making work was rendered possible through Shakespeare and Beethoven, who served him as models all his life.

Every great achievement is referable to some preceding one often quite as great but more obscure. No man stands alone in his deed. The doer of every great work has been helped thereto by his predecessors working the same soil. The greater the performance, the more prominently this comes out sometimes, as in the case of Shakespeare whose indebtedness to Christopher Marlowe and others will at once come to mind.

To Beethoven and to Shakespeare, Wagner paid tribute on all occasions. Especially is this true in his relation to Beethoven, to whom he readily yields the palm in the realm of music. In the eight volumes of his Gesammelte Schriften, no single fact stands out more clearly than his recognition of Beethoven as his chief, his master, from whom proceeds all wisdom and knowledge and truth. One can hardly read any of Wagner's prose writings without seeing how readily he falls into the place of disciple of Beethoven. "I knew no other pleasure," he says in A Pilgrimage to Beethoven, "than to plunge so deeply into his genius that at last I fancied myself become a portion thereof." The Pilgrimage, though an imaginative work, is the medium he employed to give utterance to his regard for Beethoven. His letters to musical friends, to Liszt, to Fischer, especially those to Ulig, are filled with praise of the older master. In a letter to Meyerbeer, in 1887, he states how he came to be a musician. "A passionate admiration of Beethoven impelled me to this step." The only one who was good enough in Wagner's eyes to be compared with Beethoven, was Shakespeare. These two names are frequently brought into juxtaposition in his works. No musician is worthy of comparison with his demigod. "Mozart died when he was just piercing into the mystery. Beethoven was the first to enter in," he says in his Sketches. As if even this praise were too great, he severely criticises Mozart's operas and symphonies elsewhere.

The deferential attitude which Wagner assumes toward Beethoven is not accorded any other musician. Consciously or not, when he talks about other musicians (except Bach) he, for the most part, assumes the role of censor. But Beethoven comes in for unstinted praise. "It is impossible," he says, "to discuss the essential nature of Beethoven's music without at once falling into the tone of rhapsody."