Beethoven: A Memoir Part 14

"Do not come to me until I send for you. No concert.

"BEETHOVEN."

This did not in the least deter them, however, from doing what they believed necessary for his benefit: the concert took place, and was the scene of a triumph such as few have experienced. The glorious Jupiter Symphony seemed to act upon the immense ma.s.s of human beings that thronged the building in every part, like ambrosial nectar; they became intoxicated with delight, and when the refrain was caught up by the choir, "_Seid umschlungen Millionen!_" a shout of exuberant joy rent the air, completely drowning the singers and instruments. But there stood the master in the midst, his face turned towards the orchestra, absorbed and sunk within himself as usual,--he heard nothing, saw nothing.

Fraulein Unger, the soprano, turned him gently round, and then what a sight met his astonished gaze,--a mult.i.tude transported with joy! Almost all were standing, and the greater number melted to tears, now for the first time realizing fully the extent of Beethoven's calamity.--Probably in all that great a.s.sembly the master himself was the most unmoved.

Simply bowing in response to the ovation, he left the theatre gloomy and despondent, and took his homeward way in silence.

Verily, he, like a Greater, knew what was in man. In eight days from this eventful epoch he was completely forgotten; a second concert proved an utter failure, and Rossini's star was again in the ascendant. Nor did the flighty Viennese public cast another thought upon our Beethoven until the news of his death came upon them like the shock of an earthquake, and they hastened, when it was too late, to repair the past.

But if it was painful to meet with ingrat.i.tude from the public, how much harder must it have been for the master to endure the same from one nearly related to him! We have said that he adopted his brother's orphan child. This nephew, also a Carl Beethoven, was at his father's death about eight years of age, and a boy of great talent and promise.

The four succeeding years, during which the lawsuit dragged its weary length, were extremely detrimental to him, as he seems to have been tossed about from one person to another--now with his mother, and again with his uncle--in a manner very prejudicial to any good moral development. Events showed him only too plainly the character of his mother, but nature--stronger still--urged him to take her part in the contest so far as he dared; and, incited by her evil counsels, he soon began secretly to despise his uncle's authority, and openly to follow a path he had laid down for himself,--the path of self-will and sensual indulgence. Expelled from the University where he was attending the Philosophical Course, his more than father received the repentant prodigal with open arms, and placed him in the Polytechnic School to study for a mercantile career, that he might be under the supervision of Herr Reisser, Vice-President of the Inst.i.tute, and co-guardian with himself over Carl. In the summer of 1825 the composer wrote no fewer than twenty-nine letters to his erring nephew, every one of which exhibits his character in the most beautiful light. They breathe the cry of a David, "Oh! Absalom! my son! my son!"--but it is a living Absalom who has to be lamented, and the most energetic appeals, the most loving remonstrances are invoked to move that stony heart. In vain,--Carl went from bad to worse, and in 1826 the master was compelled to give up the habit which had been his only solace for years--that of spending the summer in the country--and to remain in Vienna to watch over the young man. Matters soon came to a crisis,--Carl, urged to pa.s.s an examination which he had long neglected, attempted, in a fit of despair, to put an end to his own life. Here the law stepped in, and after he had been treated in an asylum where his spiritual as well as his bodily condition was cared for, the miserable youth was restored to his no less wretched uncle, with orders to quit Vienna within four-and-twenty hours.

Beethoven's old friend, Stephan Breuning, exerted himself to procure a cadets.h.i.+p for the lad, and he was at length permitted to join the regiment of the Baron von Stutterheim, to whom the composer gratefully dedicated one of his last quartets. Pending this arrangement the unhappy uncle and nephew took refuge at Gneixendorf, the estate of Johann v.

Beethoven, who had offered them a temporary asylum. A few days here, however, were enough for the composer; irritated by the unjust reproaches and low taunts of his brother, he determined at once to return to Vienna, taking his nephew with him. It was a raw, cold, miserable day in December; Johann refused to lend his close carriage to him to whom he owed all his prosperity, and Beethoven was obliged to perform a long journey in an open conveyance, with no shelter from the keen wind and pitiless rain. His health, which had long been failing, sank under this exposure, and he arrived in Vienna with a severe attack of inflammation of the lungs, which ultimately caused his death.

As soon as they arrived at home, Carl was charged instantly to procure a physician for his uncle, one Dr. Wawruch; but this loving nephew's whole thoughts were for his old companions and his old haunts. He went to play billiards, entrusting his commission to the tender mercies of a servant of the establishment, who, in his turn, let the affair pa.s.s entirely from his memory until two days after, when he happened to be taken ill himself, and to be carried _by chance_ to the same hospital in which the doctor practised. At the sight of the physician his instructions flashed upon his memory, and he besought him to go at once to the great Beethoven. Horror-struck, Dr. Wawruch, who was an enthusiastic admirer of the composer, hastened to his house and found him lying in the most precarious state, completely alone and neglected. His unwearied efforts so far succeeded that Beethoven rallied for a time, when his first care was--to appoint his worthless nephew sole heir to all his effects! Soon symptoms of dropsy showed themselves, he had to be tapped four times, and it became evident that the master spirit would soon leave its earthly tabernacle for a better and more enduring habitation. He was always resigned and patient, remarking, with a smile, when a painful operation was being performed, "Better water from my body than from my pen!"

The Philharmonic Society sent him a magnificent edition of Handel, and the greatest pleasure of his last days consisted in going through the works of his favourite composer.

His illness, however, lasted some time; in the meanwhile he was making nothing, and his small resources began to fail him. The money he had recently made by his works he had added to the fund which he sacredly kept for his nephew, and which no persuasion could induce him to touch; he had been disappointed in a sum owing to him by the Russian dilettante, Prince Galitzin; and in great distress the question arose, what was he to do? to whom could he turn? He bethought him of the offer made by the Philharmonic Society in London to give a concert for his benefit, and after much hesitation, finally applied to them, through Moscheles and Sir George Smart, for the fulfilment of the promise. His countrymen have never been able to forgive Beethoven for this step, especially as it was found after his death that he had left about 1,200; but this, as we said before, he looked upon as his nephew's property, and would not appropriate any of it to his own use--therefore, what was he to do? _Forsaken by the whole world in Vienna_, was he to starve? The society rejoiced in the opportunity of showing the grat.i.tude of England to him who has placed the whole human race under an eternal obligation, and immediately despatched 100 to Vienna, with the intimation that if this were not sufficient more would be forthcoming.

Alas! more was not required; a few days after the gift arrived the great musician breathed his last. We leave the description of the closing scene to Schindler:--

"When I went to him on the morning of the 24th of March, 1827, I found him with distorted face, and so weak that only by the greatest effort could he utter a few words. In a short time the physician entered, and, after looking at him in silence, whispered to me that Beethoven was advancing with rapid steps towards dissolution. As we had fortunately provided for the signing of the will some days previously, there remained to us but _one_ ardent wish--that of proving to the world that he died as a true Christian. The physician, therefore, wrote a few lines, begging him in the name of all his friends to allow the holy sacrament to be administered to him, upon which he answered calmly and collectedly, 'I will.' The physician then left, that I might arrange for this; and Beethoven said to me, 'I beg you to write to Schott, and send him the doc.u.ment, he will require it; write to him in my name, I am too weak; and tell him that I beg him earnestly to send the wine he promised. If you have time to-day, write also to England.' The pastor came about twelve o'clock, and the holy office was performed with the greatest solemnity.

"Beethoven himself now began to believe in his approaching end; for hardly had the clergyman gone than he exclaimed, '_Plaudite amici, comedia finita est_; have I not always said that it would come thus?' He then begged me again not to forget Schott, and to thank the Philharmonic Society once more for their gift, adding that the society had cheered his last days, and that even on the verge of the grave he thanked them and the whole English nation. At this moment the servant of Herr von Breuning entered with the little case of wine sent by Schott. I placed two bottles of Rudesheimer on the table by his side; he looked at them and said, 'What a pity!--too late!' These were his last words. In a few moments he fell into an agony so intense that he could no longer articulate. Towards evening he lost consciousness, and became delirious.

This lasted till the evening of the 25th, when visible signs of death already showed themselves. Notwithstanding, he lingered till the evening of the 26th, when his spirit took flight, while without a violent storm of thunder and lightning seemed to reflect his death struggle in Nature herself--his best friend."

The last agonies of the master were soothed by but _one_ friendly touch, that of Anselm Huttenbrenner from Gratz, who had hurried into Vienna to press the loved hand once more. He was borne to his last resting-place by an immense concourse, exceeding twenty thousand; composers, poets, authors, artists, surrounded his coffin with lighted torches, while the choristers sang to one of his own melodies the words of Grillparzer:--

"Du, dem nie im Leben, Ruhestatt ward, und Heerd und Haus, Ruhe nun im stillen Grabe, nun im Tode aus,"--

Thou, who ne'er in life hadst resting-place, nor hearth, nor home--rest thee now in the quiet grave--in death. Amen.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 32: Of those last interviews between the two great composers, Dr. Ferdinand Hiller, the veteran composer and probably the last link between the "cla.s.sical" period and our own, has published an interesting account. He was at the time a pupil of Hummel, whom he accompanied to Beethoven's residence. His description of the Master in his helplessness is most touching.]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE PIANOFORTE SONATAS.[33]

From Domenico Scarlatti down to Frederic Chopin a succession of cembalists, clavecinists, and pianists rich in talent, art, and genius, have created a series of select works, the counterpart of which, in number, variety, and lasting fame, can probably be displayed by no other branch of musical literature. Two collections, however, take precedence of all this wealth of tone-poetry; these are the Fugues and Preludes (the "Wohl-temperirte Clavier") of Johann Sebastian Bach, and the Sonatas of Ludwig van Beethoven. Both works have been so much discussed, have been a.n.a.lyzed in so many different ways, have had such multifarious constructions put upon them, have been praised and extolled from so many different standpoints, that the conviction must be impressed upon every observer--_they are inexhaustible_. This is really the case--they are an ever-flowing spring of study for the composer and the pianist, and of enjoyment for the educated hearer. At present, however, we have only to do with the Sonatas of Beethoven, and must therefore direct our attention to them.

Most of the German composers have become great at the pianoforte. They learned to command the technicalities of this compendium of sound, song, harmony, and polyphony, and it became to them a voice, a second tongue, a part of themselves. Upon it they could express every whispering musical emotion, and lend words, we may even say, to every pa.s.sing mood which stirred their sensitive souls; the utterances which Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven confided to their pianoforte in lonely hours may have surpa.s.sed in beauty (if not in perfection of form) what they committed to writing. In no other master, however, does this familiar intercourse between the tone-poet and his instrument present itself to our minds with such wondrous clearness as in Beethoven. In his mighty symphonies he speaks to the crowd like an ideal world's orator, raising them to the highest emotions of purified humanity; in his quartets he strives to impart to each instrument an almost dramatic individuality; but in his Pianoforte Sonatas he speaks to himself; or, if you will, to the instrument, as to his dearest friend. He relates his most secret joys and sorrows, his longing and his love, his hope and his despair. An entire, full, real, inner human life is revealed to us--sound, energetic (_kernig_), manly. Whether he gives himself up to pa.s.sionate outpourings or to melancholy laments, whether he jests, plays, dreams, laughs, or weeps; he continues always simple and true. We find no straining after effect, no oddity, no coquettishness, no sentimentality; the greatest depth of thought appears unadorned and unpretentious. There are a few great men who can express the n.o.blest sentiments without a wish that they should be heard, and who yet have no cause to dread listeners for the most trifling thing that they have uttered; and such is Beethoven in his Pianoforte Sonatas.

We frequently encounter the impression that Beethoven, in contradistinction to the other loftiest tone-poets, is specially the singer of melancholy and sorrow--of the most intense, pa.s.sionate soul-suffering. Nothing can be less true. Certainly he depicted the night side of the human mind as no one had done before him. But when we view his compositions as a whole, there speaks to us out of them all--even the last, so deeply furrowed--a predominating vigorous cheerfulness, a sympathetic joy, a loving meditativeness, an earnest, resolute, fresh life. How often he sinks into blissful dreams, or gives himself up to childlike merriment! A mature man, yet seized at times by the extravagance of youth, while the battle of life makes him earnest, sometimes gloomy, but never faint-hearted or misanthropic (_weltschmerzlich_). "He was a _man_, take him for all in all;" we have not looked upon his like.

The special application of what has been said to the separate Sonatas would lead to nothing. Although it is indisputable that the emotions and frames of mind portrayed in them are almost infinite in compa.s.s, yet it would be proportionally difficult to express the same with regard to each single piece in words, the very definiteness of which would conclusively prove their inadequacy to the task. It is no empty phrase, however often it may have been repeated, that Music begins where Language ends,--of course with the proviso that the former content herself with the sovereignty in the domain a.s.signed to her. How many tone-poems should we be compelled to characterize by words not only a.n.a.logous to each other, but having the very same purport, even though a Goethe's wealth of language were at our command! and what a dissimilarity in the tone-forms would notwithstanding be apparent even to the most uninitiated listener!

Far more important than the invention of characteristic expressions is it, for those who would devote themselves to the study of Beethoven's pianoforte sonatas, to get a clear idea of them in _outline_ as well as in _detail_. The comprehension of them is facilitated by this, with the natural result of a higher intellectual enjoyment. Is it not elevating to see how the most daring fancy, after having been nourished by deep thought, becomes the willing, submissive subject of the all-regulating mind? Beethoven never lost the reins, even in what seem the wildest flights of his genius: his Pegasus may spring up into highest s.p.a.ce--he is able to direct and guide it.

No earnest, conscientious teacher should neglect to explain to those entrusted to him the essential nature of the laws which for centuries, by a kind of natural necessity, have developed themselves in the forms of instrumental music. They are so simple that their princ.i.p.al features may be made clear to the most childish comprehension, and every step in advance will bring with it a deeper insight. That Beethoven, in the closest relation to his great predecessors, submitted to these laws, makes his appearance doubly great: he did not come to destroy, but to fulfil the law.

O that our art, the most spiritual of all, were not bound by so many and such rigorous ties to matter! O that Beethoven's sonatas were within the reach of all educated minds, like the lyrics of our great poets! But not this alone does Nature deny to our art; she withholds from the greater number of those even who are striving as musicians and as pianists the full enjoyment of these lofty works, at least in their totality. They make demands upon the executants which are not easily met. Here and there we find the necessary talent. Were it but accompanied by the indispensable earnestness and diligence!

Beethoven's pianoforte music demands (apart from the consideration of the extraordinarily difficult works) sound and solid execution. The first conditions of this are also the rarest, viz., a powerful and yet gentle touch, with the greatest possible independence of finger.

Beethoven never writes difficulties merely to win laurels for those executants who shall overcome them, but neither is he deterred by any technical inconvenience, if it be necessary to give firm and clear expression to an idea. Thus we meet, in works reckoned amongst the easiest, with pa.s.sages which presuppose a pretty high degree of technical skill; and since a pure style properly demands that there shall be at least the _appearance_ of ease on the part of the performer,--with compositions of the intellectual depth of Beethoven's this is an indispensable qualification. Therefore it is not advisable to take or place the sonatas of our master in hands which are not educated for their reception. When that degree of progress has been attained which will insure the mastery of the technical difficulties, the enjoyment and advantage to be derived from their thorough study will be doubled, and the effort to grasp them intellectually unhindered.

The most essential figures which Beethoven employs are built upon the scale and the arpeggio. They belong, therefore, to that style which is specially designated the Clementi-Cramer school. The studies of these n.o.ble representatives of pure pianoforte playing will always be the best foundation for the performance of Beethoven's works, and the practice of them ought to accompany without intermission the study of the master.

Happily, the rich productions of Beethoven's imagination offer fruits for every epoch of life and of--pianoforte-playing. We can reward the diligence of the studious child by allowing him to play the two sonatinas published after the master's death, which sound to us rather as if they had been written _for_ than _by_ a beginner. But we should carefully guard against giving to immature young minds pieces which, though easy in a technical point of view (and this, after all, is sometimes only _apparent_), require a power of conception and of performance far beyond the demands made upon the fingers. Who, for example, with any experience in musical life, does not remember having heard the Sonata Pathetique played with a _navete_ of style which might prove the narrowness of the boundary line between the sublime and the ridiculous? And similar misconceptions are met with every day.

We give below a list of the sonatas in the order in which they ought to be studied, arranged with a view to the demands made upon the heart and mind, as well as upon the hand and finger of the performer. It is evident, however, that this cannot be done with mathematical precision, and that individual views and capability must, after all, decide; since _difficulty_ and _ease_ are but relative terms, and depend in each case upon other and pre-existing conditions. If, however, our attempt succeed so far as to render the selection easier to the student, and prevent his making any great mistakes, we shall not consider our trouble thrown away.

_May Beethoven speedily find a home in every house--in every heart!_

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 33: From an edition of the Sonatas published in Breslau.]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CLa.s.sIFICATION OF BEETHOVEN'S PIANOFORTE SONATAS.

1. Op. 49, No. 2, in G major.

2. Op. 49, No. 1, in G minor.

3. Op. 14, No. 2, in G major.

4. Op. 14, No. 1, in E major.

5. Op. 79, in G major.

6. Op. 2, No. 1, in F minor.

7. Op. 10, No. 1, in C minor.

8. Op. 10, No. 2, in F major.

9. Op. 10, No. 3, in D major.

10. Op. 13, in C minor (_Pathetique_).

11. Op. 22, in B flat major.

12. Op. 28, in D major (_Pastorale_).

13. Op. 2, No. 2, in A major.

14. Op. 2, No. 3, in C major.

15. Op. 78, in F sharp major.