Beethoven: A Memoir Part 8

The Prince, astonished, asked him how he could sing music with which he was not acquainted. Beethoven smiled and replied, "The ba.s.s _must_ have been so, otherwise the author could have known nothing whatever of composition." On the Prince remarking further, that Beethoven had taken the _Presto_ so quickly that it was impossible for him to have seen the notes, he answered, "That is not at all necessary. A mult.i.tude of faults in the printing do not signify. If you only know the language, you don't see them or pay any heed to them."

To show the good understanding between Beethoven and the Princess Christiane, we give the following anecdote here, although it properly belongs to a later period.

One evening, Ries, while still Beethoven's pupil, in performing a sonata before a large company, played a wrong note, on which the master tapped him on the head with one finger by way of reminder. Beethoven next took his seat at the pianoforte, and the Princess (who always felt for the weak, and had observed that Ries was rather vexed by the occurrence) stationed herself behind the composer. Beethoven played the beginning of one of his own compositions rather carelessly, as he was often wont to do in commencing, when the Princess seized her opportunity, and giving him several well-directed blows, said: "When a pupil is punished with one finger for having failed in a single note, the master deserves to be punished with the whole hand for graver faults!" "Everybody began to laugh," adds Ries, "and Beethoven the first. He recommenced, and played admirably."

In the year 1793, the first of that unparalleled series of works which ended only in 1827 with Beethoven's death--the three Trios for pianoforte, violin, and 'cello, Op. I.,--was publicly performed; that is to say, before a large and brilliant a.s.sembly in the Lichnowski Palace.

The result was most gratifying, alike to the composer and to his friends--Beethoven was at once recognised as the successor of Mozart.

One incident alone detracted from the happiness of the young author.

Haydn, who was present, while warmly praising the two first trios, strongly recommended that the last, in C minor, should not be published.

Beethoven's suspicion, already on the alert, was fairly roused by this apparently well-meaning advice. Why should that particular trio be kept back? He himself thought it the best and most original of the three, and as such it is now generally regarded.

It offered, however, such a contrast to his own simple style of trio-writing, that Haydn was, perhaps, honest in stating as his reason for advocating its non-publication that he did not believe the public would understand it. Beethoven, however, was strengthened by this occurrence in his conviction that Haydn "did not mean well by him;" and, though he deferred to the criticism at the time (probably more out of regard to Lichnowski's representations) a bitter feeling towards his former master rankled in his heart. This did not prevent his dedicating the three Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. II., to Haydn. The dedication, however, was a mere mark of appreciation, not of the man, but of his works, a compliment from one artist to the other--not a grateful recognition of the master by the pupil. In fact, when Haydn wished him to inscribe on the t.i.tle-page, "Pupil of Haydn," he flatly refused, saying that he "had never learned anything from him!"

We have said that he deferred to Haydn's criticism, but he went beyond it. If the C minor trio was not to be published, neither should the other two. So the unlucky works were thrust back into his portfolio, where they lay for two years, during which the irate composer paved the way for their proper reception by publis.h.i.+ng an immense number of bagatelles, especially variations on different themes, which have no great value beyond that attached to them as studies in the development of Beethoven's genius.

Although evincing more ingenuity and variety than the themes treated by Mozart in the same way, they are often found unequal to the latter in clearness.[14] Beethoven seems to have had a lingering partiality for this style of writing. After having abandoned it, we find it adopted again in the Thirty-two Variations Serieuses on an original theme, which were written after he had more than established his success in the Sonata form; and, so anxious was he to have them well understood and rendered, that he made Ries, when studying them with him, repeat the last no fewer than seventeen times before he was satisfied with the effect; "though," adds Ries rather navely, "I thought I played it as well as Beethoven himself!"

The growth of the Thirty-three Variations, Op. 120, we must leave to Schindler to relate:--

"In the villa of Hetzendorf, Beethoven wrote the Thirty-three Variations on a Waltz by Diabelli, a work which delighted him uncommonly. At first there were only to be six or seven variations, for which modest number Diabelli had offered him eighty ducats (the price he received for almost each of his later Sonatas). But when he set to work, there sprang into life first ten, then twenty, then twenty-five--and still he could not stop. When Diabelli heard of the twenty-five variations, he was greatly concerned lest the work should be too large, but was at last obliged to accept for his eighty ducats, not _seven_, but _three and thirty variations_." The following story is a proof of the ease with which he invented variations. Being one evening in a box with a lady during a performance of "La Molinare," she lamented to him that she had once possessed a number of variations on the air "Nel cor non piu mi sento,"

which she had lost. Next morning she received "Sei variazioni perdute per la--ritrovate per Luigi v. Beethoven."

The year 1795 brought with it two events: one the arrival of his brothers in Vienna; the other his first appearance in public as a virtuoso. Hitherto his performances had been confined to the Lichnowski Palace, and other private houses, and public curiosity had long been whetted by the various rumours which flew about concerning him. At length it was to be gratified, on the occasion of the Annual Concert for the Widows and Orphans of Musicians. The direction of this was usually entrusted to Salieri, who held the _baton_ at the Italian Opera-house, and his programme for the year 1795 consisted of an operetta, composed by one of his pupils, and a Pianoforte Concerto in C major by another, Herr Louis van Beethoven.

Wegeler relates that two days before the date fixed for the event the Concerto was not yet finished, and there did not seem much probability of its being ready in time, as Beethoven was suffering much from attacks of colic, to which he was often subject. Wegeler, from his medical knowledge, was able to render a little a.s.sistance, and so the work progressed, Beethoven writing as fast as he could, and handing over each sheet as it was finished to four copyists who were in attendance in the antechamber. Next day, at the rehearsal, the pianoforte was found to have been tuned half a tone lower than the other instruments; when Beethoven, to save time, played the whole Concerto through in the key of C sharp!

Seyfried tells us that when Beethoven asked him to turn over the leaves of several of his concertos for him while playing in public, he found nothing but a sheet of paper with here and there a bar filled in, or a ma.s.s of notes unintelligible to any one but the composer. Jahn describes Mozart as doing the same, but what a difference is there between his concertos and--say, _the Emperor_!

The year 1796 was marked by a slight variation; Beethoven made a short journey to Prague and Berlin, the only occasion, with the exception of his visit to the Baths, on which he ever left Vienna or its neighbourhood. In both cities he met with a flattering reception. In Berlin he played his two sonatas for pianoforte and 'cello, Op. 5, before Frederick William II., who presented him with a snuff-box filled with Friedrichs-d'or; "not an ordinary snuff-box," as Beethoven was wont to remark with grim satisfaction, "but one similar to those given to amba.s.sadors!"

Here, also, he unwittingly incurred the enmity of the pianist Himmel.

The latter had begged Beethoven for an improvisation, with which request our musician complied, and then asked Himmel to favour him in return.

Nothing loath, Himmel seated himself at the pianoforte and began a succession of smooth running pa.s.sages and arpeggios, skilfully linked together. Beethoven listened for a while in silence, imagining this to be the prelude, but as it seemed to "go on for ever," he said with some impatience, "Pray do begin now!" Himmel, however had already exhausted his imagination and finished his (_quasi_) improvisation.

No better fate awaited others who opposed themselves to Beethoven as improvisatori, not excepting the celebrated pianists Woelfl and Steibelt. That the former could ever have been seriously regarded as the rival of Beethoven is scarcely credible to us. Such was the case, however, and as with Gluck and Picini in Paris, and Handel and Buononcini in London (connected with which Swift's well-known _jeu-d'esprit_ will occur to every amateur), so it was with Beethoven and Woelfl in Vienna. Each had his allies, and party spirit ran so high that Beethoven, although devoid of any feeling of rivalry, accepted a challenge to improvise. The meeting took place at the villa of Baron von Wetzlar, Woelfl's patron; the pianofortes were placed side by side, and the two artists played and improvised by turns.

Inspired by the ardour of contest, each seemed to surpa.s.s himself; never had Woelfl's technical skill seemed greater; never had the wealth of Beethoven's ideas shone out more resplendently. Some of Woelfl's stoutest adherents contended that he had gained the day in a technical point of view, and this may, perhaps, have been the case, since his immense hand, which enabled him to grasp tenths with the same ease as octaves, undoubtedly gave him an advantage. His sonata, "Non plus ultra," gives us an idea of his execution.

Beethoven, on the other hand, never cared to make a display of mere dash and brilliancy; technicalities were always subordinated by him to idea and feeling.

The gift of improvisation must have been his to an extent unparalleled either before or since. His wealth of idea, certainty of form, and poetry of expression, combined to produce an effect very different from that achieved by ordinary extempore players, who in general, as we have seen in the case of Himmel, mistook the art of preluding for that of improvising. Only one conversant with that language of music to which Beethoven often alluded, could venture, without preparation, to speak to any purpose in it.

A circ.u.mstance that contributed to his success was his _power of abstraction_, which, in common with all deep thinkers, he possessed in a remarkable degree. With the first few bars of the given Thema, the scene before his eyes, the daylight, the bystanders, all vanished; and Beethoven was as fully immersed in the solitude of his own thoughts as though he had been suddenly transported to some desert island, with penguins and sea-gulls for listeners.

Ries gives a curious instance of this utter disregard of all outward things, in the story of the great master's commencing one day, while giving him a lesson, to play with the left hand the first fugue from Graun's "Tod Jesu." Gradually the right hand was added, and regardless of his awkward position, the fugue developed in all conceivable manners for the s.p.a.ce of half an hour, when he suddenly awoke to discover that his pupil was still in his place before the pianoforte.

In 1800 a more formidable rival appeared at Vienna in the person of Steibelt. Having conceived a great idea of his own powers from the flattery of his Parisian admirers, Steibelt came to the capital sure of conquest, and did not even consider it necessary to visit the opponent so far beneath him. They met accidentally at the house of Count Fries, "where," says Ferdinand Ries, "Beethoven played for the first time[15]

his Trio in B flat major for piano; clarionet, and 'cello, Op. 11, in which there is not much room for display. Steibelt heard it with a kind of condescension, paid Beethoven several compliments, and believed himself sure of victory. He played a quintet of his own composition, and then improvised, and produced a great sensation by his free use of _tremolo_, which was at that time something quite new. To ask Beethoven to play again was not to be thought of. Eight days after there was again a concert at Count Fries'. Steibelt played another quintet with great success; he had besides, as might be easily perceived, _studied_ a brilliant improvisation, and chosen for a subject the theme on which the finale of Beethoven's trio was built. This disgusted the admirers of Beethoven, and displeased the latter also. It was his turn to seat himself at the pianoforte and to improvises. He placed himself at the instrument with his ordinary air--I might say, rather ill-humouredly, and as if pushed there. In pa.s.sing, he seized the violoncello part of Steibelt's quintet, placed it upside down on the desk (was this designedly?), and drummed out with one finger the theme of the first few bars.

"Then, impelled by his insulted and excited feelings, he improvised in such a manner that Steibelt quitted the room before Beethoven had ceased. He would never meet him again, and, when invited anywhere, always stipulated that Beethoven should not be present."

But enough of such anecdotes! Triumphs which would have been glory to others were nothing to him. Let us pa.s.s on and see the master in the great struggle which prefaced the real commencement of life's work, and was continued without intermission until the victory was won.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 14: Marx, vol. i., p. 66.]

[Footnote 15: This is evidently an error. The Trio had been published in 1798.--Thayer, Vol. II., p. 101.]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER VI.

CONFLICT.

Deafness and its Consequences--His Brothers' Influence--Letters to Wegeler--"Mount of Olives"--Beethoven's Will--Beethoven as an Instructor--a Conductor--Sinfonia Eroica--"Leonora"

("Fidelio")--"Adelade."

Suffering and genius! apparently so far apart, in reality so near!

The bitter cry of Milton,--

"Dark, dark, dark, amidst the blaze of noon!"

has gone up from many a thousand hearts to the eternal throne; but who may presume to fathom the dispensations of a mysterious providence? or to question that wisdom which gives to every earthborn soul the necessary discipline for immortality? Let us rather wonder and adore, and--

"Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and _be strong_."

We left our young musician in the full flush of success, in apparently vigorous health, caressed and flattered by princes, without a rival as a virtuoso, and fast leaving all compet.i.tors behind him as a composer, when suddenly a cloud appears, the brightness is overcast, and darkness comes on apace. _Beethoven became deaf._

For three years he had had premonitory fears, which were too sadly realized in the year 1801.

The loss of hearing is deprivation enough in ordinary cases; but to a young man of excitable artist temperament, and a musician! it seemed for a while worse than the loss of life itself. Our Beethoven writes thus to Wegeler:--

"If I had not read somewhere that man must not of his own free will depart this life, I should long ere this have been no more, and that through my own act."

From this despair he was mercifully rescued. The strong, secret voice within, impelling Beethoven onwards and upwards to that aim which he "felt, but could not describe," spoke now in more stirring accents and with more thrilling emphasis amid the profound silence and desolation of his nature.

He "was not disobedient" to the heavenly call; the triumph of mind was achieved; and from the dark prison-house the n.o.blest strains the world has ever heard escaped to wake responsive echoes in the hearts of all who have felt and suffered.