One proceeding Beethoven never omitted, viz., the reading of the evening paper. In these stirring times the newspaper was an absolute necessity, and our musician would never retire to rest without previously ascertaining the state of the political horizon. He used to frequent a coffee-house which boasted another means of exit besides the general one, and taking up his position in the background, he would steadily peruse the _Gazette_ (not a very long task in those days, when "our own"

correspondents were as yet undreamt of), and as soon as the last word of the last page had been scanned, beat a hasty retreat through the private door, and wend his solitary way homewards. Ten o'clock rarely found him out of bed. Such was his simple, innocent day! It was no mere phrase, that declaration of his, "_I live only in my art_,"--it was indeed the one connecting link between him and others.

What he produced in suffering and loneliness stirred, like a mighty wind among the forest branches, the n.o.blest feelings of a thousand hearts, bidding them grapple with Destiny as he had done, and prove themselves _men_ and heroes!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 30: In translating these letters we have thought it best to keep to the original p.r.o.noun,--the simple _thou_ being more suited to Beethoven's ideal love than the coa.r.s.er _you_.]

[Footnote 31: Beethoven could not endure the foreign word _pianoforte_.]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER VIII.

VICTORY AND SHADOW.

Period of Greatest Intellectual Activity--Hummel--The Battle of Vittoria--Congress of Vienna--Maelzel--Pecuniary Difficulties--Adoption of Nephew--The Philharmonic Society--The Cla.s.sical and Romantic Schools--The Ninth Symphony--His Nephew's Conduct--Last Illness.

The period between the years 1805 and 1814 may be considered that of Beethoven's greatest creative energy. It is almost impossible to keep pace with the stream of colossal works which flowed without intermission from his pen. To this period belong the G major and E flat pianoforte concertos, without exception the most poetical and the n.o.blest compositions of the kind which we possess; the fantasia for pianoforte, orchestra, and chorus; the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth symphonies; the "Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage" on Goethe's short but suggestive poem, "_Tiefe Stille herrscht im Wa.s.ser_; _ohne Regung ruht das Meer_;" the First Ma.s.s; the music to "Egmont;" the overtures to Collin's tragedy of "Coriola.n.u.s," and to "King Stephen," and the "Ruins of Athens,"--each of which, from its intellectual grasp of subject, wonderful ideality, and highly finished detail, would merit a volume to itself. Nor do these t.i.tanic orchestral productions occupy the whole of his attention. They are accompanied by a ma.s.s of works for the pianoforte, which, if in one sense slighter than those we have named, yet, in another, stand equally high; the soliloquies and dialogues (if we may be allowed the expression) contained in the pianoforte sonatas breathe thoughts as n.o.ble and as deep as those expressed by the more varied _dramatis personae_ of the orchestra or the quartets. Truly, a perfect acquaintance with Beethoven would claim the devotion of the highest powers, and the study of a lifetime. Any attempt, however, to depict these great works briefly in words would be futile, and we therefore pa.s.s on to the consideration of the poet's outer life. This was almost monotonous--certainly not varied. Beethoven, as we have seen, lived wholly in his art, and the changes which occurred, most momentous to him, were not those of outward circ.u.mstance, but of inner, intellectual development.

In the year 1809 he was offered the post of Kapellmeister to the King of Westphalia, with a salary of six hundred ducats; and this, his great desire of possessing a fixed income made him ready to accept; although he would certainly have been miserable in such a position, as Jerome was not the man to understand either him or his works. Happily, this ordeal was spared him. It was thought derogatory to the dignity of Austria that her greatest composer, the one of whom she had most reason to be proud, should be allowed through pecuniary considerations to quit her bounds; and as the Emperor would do nothing for Beethoven (his abhorrence of etiquette and well-known republican sentiments having prevented his ever getting into favour at Court), an agreement was ultimately entered into by the Archduke Rudolph (Beethoven's pupil, afterwards Archbishop of Olmutz) and the Princes Lobkowitz and Kinsky, to pay the composer annually the sum of four thousand guldens, on condition of his continuing to reside in Vienna. In two years' time this was reduced one-fifth, owing to changes in the Austrian Finance, and subsequently it dwindled down to a mere nothing, from the death and bankruptcy of two of the contracting parties--but Beethoven could get no redress, although he religiously fulfilled his part of the compact.

In drawing the money from the executors of Prince Kinsky he was obliged always to send in a proof that he was still in existence. This annoyed him excessively, and he generally had the affair transacted for him by a friend, which on one occasion produced the following laconic voucher to Schindler:--

"CERTIFICATE OF LIFE.--The Fish lives! _vidi_ Pastor Romualdus,"--an allusion to his eccentric use of water when composing.

In this year also occurred the bombardment of Vienna, out of which Ries has contrived to bring forward an implied accusation of cowardice against the composer, in his statement that Beethoven hid himself in a cellar, burying his head among cushions that he might not hear the firing.

The explanation of this lies on the surface; if he did take refuge underground it was only what every other inhabitant of the city, whose duty did not call him elsewhere, was doing; and as for the cushions--the vibration of the cannonade heard in that vault must have been agony to his diseased nerve. Had Beethoven really been alarmed he might easily have quitted Vienna. Cowardice in any form is the last vice that could be attributed to him; resolute and firm, he feared no danger.

In 1810 the Ma.s.s in C was performed for the first time at Eisenstadt, the residence of Prince Esterhazy, the grandson of Haydn's patron, in whose service Hummel was at the time as Kapellmeister. Esterhazy, accustomed only to the simple services and ma.s.ses of the Haydn-Mozart school, did not know what to make of a production so totally different.

Accordingly, at the _dejeuner_ afterwards given in the palace to the artists and dilettanti who had a.s.sembled for the occasion, he said, with a smile, to our composer, "Now, dear Beethoven, what is this that you have been about again?" The susceptible musician, not a little irritated at hearing his work so lightly spoken of, glanced towards Hummel, who happened to be standing by the Prince's side, wearing a peculiar smile, which seemed to Beethoven full of malicious pleasure. This was too much--the opinion of a fashionable worldling like Esterhazy was nothing to Beethoven, but that a brother in art should so misunderstand him--should rejoice at an apparent failure!--he rose abruptly, and quitted the palace.

Such is the correct account of the rupture between Beethoven and Hummel, which lasted until a few days before the death of the former, when Hummel, hearing of his precarious state, hastened to Vienna to effect a reconciliation before it was too late.[32] Another version of the story is that the two composers were rivals for the hand of the same lady, and that Hummel, owing to Beethoven's deafness and his own better position as Kapellmeister, was the favoured suitor! The practice of tracing every event in our composer's life to a love affair is just as ridiculous as the opposite extreme of denying his capability for the tender pa.s.sion.

A more interesting incident in connection with the First Ma.s.s is that related by Schindler of the effect produced upon Beethoven by the reading of the German text composed for it by some poet, who, though unknown to fame, seems to have translated the master's thoughts from the language of Tones into that of Words, with power and truth. When Beethoven came to the "_Qui tollis_" his eyes overflowed with tears (the first and last time that he was ever seen so affected) as he exclaimed, "Thus I felt while composing this!"

The tide of Beethoven's earthly renown and glory, which had been slowly rising for years, reached its height in 1813-14.

In the former year took place the two celebrated concerts on behalf of the Austrian and Bavarian soldiers wounded in the battle of Hanau, when the Seventh Symphony, and "Wellington's Victory, or the Battle of Vittoria," were performed for the first time. We can easily imagine, from the sensation excited even now by the latter work, how intense must have been the enthusiasm which greeted its performance at a time when popular feeling was strung up to the highest pitch. Beethoven himself directed, regulating the movements of his baton by those of Schuppanzigh's bow. In a notice of the concert written by himself he says: "It was an unprecedented a.s.sembly of distinguished artists, every one of whom was inspired by the desire of accomplishing something by his art for the benefit of the Fatherland; and all worked together unanimously, accepting of subordinate places without regard to precedence, that a splendid _ensemble_ might be attained.... My part was the direction of the whole, but only because the music happened to be of my composition. Had it been otherwise, I would have stationed myself as readily at the great drum, like Herr Hummel; for our only motives were Love to the Fatherland, and the joyful devotion of our powers to serve those who had sacrificed so much for us."

In 1814 occurred the great Congress, when Vienna was for a season the abode of kings, princes, and delegates from every Court in Europe, and the glittering capital was well-nigh intoxicated by its own magnificence. The magistrates of the city invited Beethoven to compose a Cantata for the occasion, which produced the "Glorreiche Augenblick,"

perhaps the composer's most neglected work, and deservedly so, as it is not worthy of him. It won for him, however, the presentation of the freedom of the city, the only distinction which Beethoven valued. Nor was this his only triumph. His genius began to be universally recognised; he was created an honorary member of Academies and Societies in London, Paris, Stockholm, and Amsterdam; and the Philharmonic Society in London presented him with a superb grand pianoforte of Broadwood's manufacture. In short, from every nation in Europe, and even from America, he received striking proofs of the love and admiration in which he was held. Stimulated by these manifestations, excited by the splendour around him, and the stirring, momentous events which were taking place, Beethoven was induced to depart for the time from his usual solitary habits, and to mingle for a few weeks in society. In the apartments of Prince Rasoumowski, the well-known Russian dilettante, he was introduced to many of the ill.u.s.trious visitors, and long retained a lively recollection, half comical, half gratified, of the manner in which he had been idolized;--how the grand seigneurs had paid court to him, and how admirably he had played his part in receiving their homage!

He was most deeply affected by his interview with the gentle Empress Elizabeth of Russia, with whom he conversed in his customary frank, open way, completely setting aside all etiquette; while she, on her part, expressed the highest veneration for the composer, and at her departure left him a gift of two hundred ducats, which he acknowledged after his own fashion by dedicating to her his brilliant Polonaise, Op. 89. This was the only substantial result to our poverty-stricken Beethoven of the attachment professed by the whole of the gay throng!

The bright episode of the Congress, with its fetes and triumphs, soon flitted past, bringing out in sterner and darker contrast the days which followed.

Beethoven had dedicated his "Battle of Vittoria" to the Prince Regent of England (George IV.), but to his great chagrin, no notice was taken of it. He alludes to this in a letter to Ries, and referring to the Prince's well-known character of _gourmand_, says, "He might at least have sent me a butcher's knife or a turtle!"

Another vexation in connection with the symphony, causing him infinite annoyance, arose out of the despicable conduct of Maelzel, afterwards the inventor of the metronome. In the year 1812 he had made the acquaintance of the latter, who had promised to construct for him a sound-conductor, in return for which Beethoven composed a kind of warlike piece for the mechanician's new instrument, the panharmonica, which he was on the point of taking to England for exhibition. The effect of Beethoven's work was so marvellous, that Maelzel urged him to arrange it for the orchestra, and the result was--the "Battle of Vittoria." Maelzel meanwhile went on constructing four machines, only one of which was found available, and Beethoven, without the slightest suspicion of any underhand dealing, allowed him to take the entire management of the concerts for the relief of the wounded. In his hermit life he did not hear much of what was going on around him, and his consternation may therefore be imagined when informed that his false friend was announcing the symphony everywhere as his own property, stating that it had been given to him by Beethoven in return for his machine, and the sum of four hundred guldens which he professed to have lent him! He had actually contrived to have many of the orchestral parts copied out, and those that were wanting supplied by some low musician, and with this mutilated work he was on his way to England. The matter was at once placed in the hands of the law; but it was long before Beethoven recovered from the effects of this fraud; it made him, in fact, suspicious ever after towards copyists. The loan of four hundred guldens proved to have been _fifty_, which Beethoven accepted from him at a time when, as he states in his instructions to his lawyers, he was "in dire necessity; _deserted by every one in Vienna_."

This Maelzel had the impudence subsequently to write to Beethoven, requesting his patronage for the metronome, and pretending that he was busily engaged in preparing a sound-conductor which would enable the master to direct in the orchestra. The latter never made its appearance, but Beethoven, who at first approved of the metronome, did all in his power to have it introduced. Afterwards, when he saw the confusion of _tempo_ which it had occasioned, he used to say, "Don't let us have any metronome! He that has true feeling will not require it, and for him who has none, it will not be of any use."

This affair with Maelzel gives us a glimpse into the pecuniary difficulties which hara.s.sed Beethoven throughout his life, a.s.suming greater prominence towards the end. He was always in want of money, and yet (according to the notions of the times) he was handsomely paid for his compositions. What, then, was the cause of it? Were his means swallowed up by his frequent removals? Did the perplexity arise simply from his unbusiness-like habits? To these questions we must add a third, which may, perhaps, afford a clue to the mystery,--What became of the valuable presents, the watches, rings, breast-pins, snuff-boxes, &c., &c., of which Beethoven had received so many? When asked where such a gift was, he would look bewildered, and say after a moment's reflection, "I really don't know!" The matter would then pa.s.s entirely from his thoughts; but there were those about him who were not equally indifferent!

In 1815 the cloud which for two years had been threatening, burst upon him in those troubles and sorrows which encompa.s.sed him until the end.

He lost his old friend and staunch supporter, Prince Lichnowski, and, a few months after, his brother Carl, who in dying bequeathed to him as a legacy the care of his only child. It seemed as if the annoyance which this man had caused our Beethoven in his life were to be perpetuated and continually renewed in the person of his son. Not so, however, did the master regard the fresh call upon him. After having done all that kindness could suggest, or money procure, to relieve his brother's sufferings and cheer his last days, he took home the orphan child to his heart with a love and tenderness that could not have been greater had the boy been his own.

His first step was to remove him from the care of his mother, a woman of lax morals and low habits. In this Beethoven was actuated by the purest and best motives; but, unfortunately, his zeal went too far. He forgot that the fact of his sister-in-law's having been a bad wife did not necessarily imply that she had lost a mother's heart; and in insisting upon the total separation between the two, he roused all the bitterest feelings of a woman's nature, and prepared much sorrow for himself. The "Queen of Night," as he nicknamed her, sought redress through the law, and for four years a suit for the possession of the lad was pending. In his appeal Beethoven thus n.o.bly expresses the sentiments which dictated his conduct:--"My wishes and efforts have no other aim than that of giving the best possible education to the boy, his talents justifying the greatest expectations; and of fulfilling the trust reposed in my brotherly love by his father. The stem is now pliable; but if it be for a time neglected, it will become crooked, and outgrow the gardener's training hand; and upright bearing, knowledge, and character will be irretrievably lost. I know of no duty more sacred than that of the training and education of a child. The duty of a guardian can only consist in the appreciation of what is good, and the adoption of a right course; and only then does he consult the welfare of his ward; whereas in obstructing the good he neglects his duty."

Misled by the prefix _van_, his advocate unfortunately carried the case to the Aristocratic Court; and, as it went on, Beethoven was called upon to show his right to this proceeding. Pointing with eloquent emphasis to his head and heart, the composer declared that in these lay his n.o.bility; but, however true in the abstract, the law could not admit this plea, and after a decision had been given in his favour, the case had to be re-tried before the ordinary Civil Court. This occurrence wounded Beethoven more than can be described; he felt his honour tarnished as a man and as an artist, and for several months no persuasion could induce him to show himself in public. In addition to this, the evidence necessarily brought forward to strengthen his plea revealed only too plainly the loose life of his sister-in-law, and such an _expose_ of one so nearly related to himself was, for his pure and reserved nature, the height of misery.

The Civil Court reversed the decision of the Aristocratic, and the boy was given over to his mother; while Beethoven, determined to gain his end, brought the case before the High Court of Appeal, where he was finally successful. Let the reader imagine the effect of all this painful publicity, following upon the annoyances with Maelzel, to a mind const.i.tuted like Beethoven's. No Stylites on his pillar could have suffered more than did our composer in his loneliness until the cause was gained. And what return did he meet with from the object of his solicitude?--The basest ingrat.i.tude.

About this time he began seriously to think of visiting London; the Philharmonic Society made him the most handsome offers; and his own inclinations prompted him to quit Vienna. He had at all times cherished the greatest love and admiration for England and the English nation, our free inst.i.tutions harmonizing with his political views; and a commission coming from this quarter was always welcome to him, not only on account of the unwonted _honoraire_ which usually accompanied it, but also because of the high esteem in which he held the English as artists and appreciators of art. During the latter years of his life, therefore, this visit to London was his favourite scheme, and he intended _en route_ to pa.s.s through the Rhine provinces, that he might once more see the home and the friends of his boyhood;--but it was destined never to take place.

The four years of the lawsuit were almost barren of creative result, but in the winter of 1819-20 he began his Ma.s.s in D. This colossal work, written more for future generations than for us, was originally intended for the installation of the Archduke Rudolph as Archbishop of Olmutz; but as the work went on, our composer grew more and more in love with his task, which gradually a.s.sumed such proportions that it was not completed till 1823--two years after the event it was meant to celebrate! A copy of the Ma.s.s, which Beethoven regarded as his most successful effort, was offered to every court in Europe for the sum of fifty ducats. It was, however, accepted only by France, Prussia, Saxony, Russia, and by Prince Radziwill, Governor of Posen, and a musical society in Frankfort. The King of Prussia sent to inquire, through his Amba.s.sador, if the master would not prefer a decoration to the fifty ducats. Beethoven's answer was prompt--"Fifty ducats!" If his work were worthy of a decoration, why not have given it in addition to the paltry sum asked for it? Louis XVIII. acted differently; he sent the composer a valuable gold medal, on one side of which was his bust, and on the reverse the inscription, "_Donne, par le roi, a M. Beethoven_." An application of Beethoven's to Goethe requesting him to draw the attention of Karl August to the Ma.s.s met with no answer, although Goethe might have been able, at very trifling inconvenience to himself, to render material a.s.sistance to the master. His self-love had probably not recovered from the shock it had received during a walk with Beethoven on the Bastei at Vienna, when, struck by the profound respect and deference manifested by every one whom they encountered, Goethe exclaimed, "I really had no idea that I was so well known here!" "Oh!" replies our brusque composer, "the people are bowing to me, not to you!" This was in reality the case, for the circ.u.mstance occurred in Beethoven's palmy days, when he was, as Marx observes, a "universally beloved and popular character, a part of Vienna itself."

The circ.u.mstance which more than any other casts a gloom over the master's last days is, that he was doomed (apparently) to outlive his fame, and to have the inexpressible mortification of witnessing that rupture in the musical world which has lasted down to our days, and will probably never be healed, viz., the separation of the cla.s.sical from the so-called romantic school. Hitherto, the followers of Art had been united; naturally, individual tastes and predilections had occasionally predominated--some admiring one master and some another,--but on the whole, the lovers of music had been unanimous in their adherence to the pure and good. With the appearance of Rossini (that clever scene-painter, as Beethoven called him), this state of affairs underwent a complete revolution. His gay, light-hearted melodies, extravagant roulades, and inexhaustible vivacity took the public by storm--Beethoven and his immortal masterpieces were forgotten. And yet, perhaps, this is only what might have been expected,--the divine in Art is not for all, nor are all for the divine. Beethoven might have known, like Goethe, that he was too profound ever to be popular in a wide sense. The ma.s.s of mankind look upon Art simply as a means of relaxation. So, indeed, it ought to be to all; but never should it stop there. Art, in its highest and best forms, has power not only to provide the weary and careworn with temporary self-forgetfulness, and to dissipate grief, but--and herein lies its true, its G.o.d-given strength--to renew the energies and brace the mind for higher and n.o.bler efforts in the future. Whenever it stops short of this, satisfied with fulfilling its first and lower function, there is developed a tendency to abdicate its real position, and to degenerate into the mere panderer to man's follies, to his vices.

Who could have felt this more keenly than Beethoven? Not the mere loss of his own popularity was it that made him turn away so deeply wounded from grand displays in which s.n.a.t.c.hes of his own works were performed, along with meaningless arias, and shallow, noisy overtures of the new Italian school. So deeply did he take the change to heart, that he resolved to have his Ma.s.s in D and the Ninth Symphony performed for the first time in Berlin. The announcement of this intention produced a warm remonstrance (in the form of an Address) from his attached little circle of friends; and the master, touched by the feeling which called out this manifestation, was induced to forego his determination, and to consent to the two works being brought out in Vienna, provided a hall suitable for the purpose could be obtained.

This was no easy matter, and the difficulties in connection with it gave rise to a half-comical little incident. His enemies were in power, and demanded an absurd sum for the use of the building, to which Beethoven could not be induced to agree. As neither party would yield, the project seemed on the point of shipwreck, when the faithful Schindler, alarmed for the success of the enterprise on which he had set his heart, persuaded Count Moritz Lichnowski and the violinist Schuppanzigh to meet him as if by accident at Beethoven's house, and press the latter to yield to what was inevitable. The plan succeeded, and the necessary papers were signed; but the composer's suspicions were roused, and the three devoted friends received for their pains the following autocratic mandates:--

"TO COUNT MORITZ LICHNOWSKI,--

"Duplicity I despise. Visit me no more. There will be no concert.

"BEETHOVEN."

"TO HERR SCHUPPANZIGH,--

"Come no more to see me. I shall give no concert.

"BEETHOVEN."

"TO HERR SCHINDLER,--