BEETHOVEN

Maclure & Macdonald, Lith. London

BEETHOVEN

A Memoir

By ELLIOTT GRAEME

WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY

By Dr. FERDINAND HILLER
OF COLOGNE

SECOND EDITION

"How glorious it is to live one's life a thousand times!"

Beethoven

LONDON
CHARLES GRIFFIN AND COMPANY
STATIONERS' HALL COURT

1876.
[The right of translation is reserved.]

PREFACE

The following brief sketch can lay no claim to originality; it is merely a slight résumé of the principal events in the master's life (from the works of Schindler, Ries, and Wegeler, and more especially from Marx and Thayer), and is intended for those who, without the leisure to go deeply into the subject, yet desire to know a little more about the great Tone-poet than can be gathered from the pages of a concert programme, however skilfully annotated.

The few letters introduced have been translated as nearly as possible in the manner in which they were written. Beethoven's epistolary style was simple, fervent, original, but certainly not polished.

The author feels convinced that any shortcomings in the "Memoir" will be more than atoned for by Dr. Hiller's eloquent and appreciative "Festrede," which seems to have been dictated by that poetic genius, the possession of which he so modestly disclaims.

E.G.

London,
17th December, 1870.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

The first edition of this little book was exhausted within a few months of publication, and I have repeatedly been asked since to reprint it, but have hitherto withheld my consent, trusting to be able to undertake a more comprehensive work on the subject. As, however, the necessary leisure for this is still wanting to me, and the demand for the "Memoir" continues, it is fated to reappear, and I can but commend it again to the kind indulgence of the reader.

Several rectifications as to dates, &c., have been made throughout, in accordance with the recent researches of Alexander Thayer, and the chapter entitled Lehrjahre has been partly rewritten on the basis of Nottebohm's Beethoven's Studien (Part I., Unterricht bei Haydn und Albrechtsberger) by far the most important contribution to Beethoven-literature which has appeared for some time. It may, indeed, be considered the first step to the systematic study of the Master, and as such deserves to be better known in England than is at present the case.

E.G.

London,
August, 1876

CONTENTS

THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF BEETHOVEN'S BIRTH[1]

"Quasi Fantasia."

The year 1749 brought us Goethe; 1756, Mozart; 1759, Schiller; and 1770, Beethoven. Thus, within the short space of twenty-one years four of the greatest poetic geniuses were born—four men of whom not only the German Fatherland, but all mankind must be proud.

And even more happy than proud, since the most splendid gift which the Divine Being from time to time vouchsafes to poor humanity is that of genius. Through it we receive the highest good in which we are capable of participating—the forgetfulness of self in a nobler life. Genius it is that gives us, if but for a few short hours, that which the believer awaits with earnest hope in another and a better world.

Has there ever existed a poet who transported our souls into his ideal kingdom with more irresistible force than our Beethoven? Certainly not. More universal effects have been achieved by others, but none more deep or noble. Nay, we may say without exaggeration that never did an artist live whose creations were so truly new;—his sphere was the unforeseen.

Amidst so much that is trivial and dispiriting in art and life, the widely diffused interest, the delight in the creations of the wondrous man is a bright sign of our times. I do not say the comprehension of them; that is not, and cannot be the case. But there are, perhaps, no poems in the love and admiration of which so many of the highest intellects concur as the tone-poems of our master. To the essential nature of our Art, which bears within itself the all-reconciling element of love, must we attribute the fact that against it the most violent differences in religious, political, and philosophical opinion make no stand—it is the might of Beethoven's genius which subdues the proudest minds, while quickening the pulsations of the simplest hearts.

If in anything the will of man shows itself weak, nay, helpless, it is in the matter of intellectual creation. A very strong will (is not even this beyond the reach of most?) may lead to great learning, to brilliant technical acquirements, to virtue itself—a spontaneous poetic thought in word, tone, or colour, it will never be able to bring forth. Thus, the true relation of genius to us is that of a star, diffusing light and warmth, which we enjoy and admire. Since, however, to the higher man recognition and gratitude are necessities, since he desires to add intelligence and reverence to his admiration, and would willingly offer up love also to the subject of it, he begins to investigate. He asks, what the divine germ, existing even in the lisping child, demanded for its development; what brought it out into blossom—what influences worked upon it beneficially—to what extent he who was so nobly gifted was supported and furthered by moral strength—how he used the talent committed to him—finally, how he fought through the life-struggle from which no mortal is exempt.

And then he inquires again and further; which of his qualities, which of the properties peculiar to himself, affect us most strongly?—in what relation does he stand to the development of his art—in what to that of his nation?—how does he appear with regard to his own century?

A mere attempt at answering these questions, and the many connected with them, would require an enormous apparatus of a biographic and æsthetic nature, including a knowledge of the history of art and culture, and an acquaintance with musical technicalities. It does not fall either within our power or the scope of these pages to make any approach to such a task. A few slight hints may suffice to prevent our forgetting (amid the extraordinary and all-engrossing occurrences of the present time) the day which sent to us a hundred years ago the no less extraordinary man, who, a prophet in the noblest sense of the word, foresaw and declared (though only in tones) the nobleness and greatness which will be revealed by the German people, if friendly stars shine upon their future.

A species of caste seems to have been implanted in man by nature—there are families of statesmen, warriors, theologians, artists. It will nevertheless be admitted that while it is often the case that circumstances, family traditions, cause the sons to follow in their fathers' footsteps, it frequently happens that the calling lays hold of the man, becomes, in the truest sense of the word, a calling.

Several of our first composers have sprung out of families in which the profession of music was chiefly followed—but certainly not many. One thing, however, was common to nearly all—they were marvellous children, prodigies. Prodigy! now-a-days an ominous word, recalling immediately to mind industrious fathers, who force on concerts, and musical attainments which do not refresh by their maturity, but only excite astonishment at the precocity of those from whom they are exacted. The abuse of the phenomenon has brought the latter itself into a bad light. A musical hothouse plant forced into premature bloom through vanity or the thirst for money may soon become stunted; none the less, however, does the fact remain, that no intellectual gift shows or develops itself earlier than that of music. Bach, Handel, Mozart, Hummel, Rossini, Mendelssohn, Clara Schumann, Liszt, Joachim, were prodigies. Nature knows what she is about. He alone to whom this wondrous tone-language has become a second mother tongue, will be able to express himself with freedom in it; but how soon do we begin to attempt our mother tongue! And how few succeed in really learning to speak it!

It would be inexplicable had not our Beethoven been also a prodigy. He was one, but after such a sound, healthy sort, that those about him were more struck by the thought of his great future, than enthusiastic about his achievements at the time. The compositions which have been preserved to us from his boyish days bear traces, even then, of the frank, honest mode of expression which remained his to the end of his career. Naturally, their contents are trifling; what has a boy of twelve years to communicate to the world, if his inner life develop itself according to nature? Borne onwards by his artistic readiness, he attained, however, at a very early age an honourable, independent position with regard to the outer world. He had barely quitted childhood when he was organist at the Elector's Court in Bonn. At a later period he occupied for several years the post of violist in the orchestra. The viola was then one of the most neglected orchestral instruments, and we must form but a slight estimate of Beethoven's achievements upon it. It was, however, invaluable for him, the future Commander of the instrumental tone-world, to have served in the line. In fact, every striving young composer ought, as a matter of duty, to act for at least one year as member of an orchestra, were it only at the great drum. It is the surest method of making the individuality of the different sound organs ineffaceably one's own. When the latter are entrusted to capable executants (as was the case in the Electoral orchestra), the idea of a definite personality is added to the peculiarity of the instrument, which is not at all a bad thing. How often in later years may the image of one or other of his former colleagues have presented itself vividly and helpfully to the mind of the master, as he sat meditating over a score! How often may he have heard in spirit an expressive solo performed by one of them!

The stimulus which Beethoven received from singers in those early days at Bonn did not work very deeply. His own father, indeed, was one of the Elector's vocalists, and sang both in church and on the stage. But he was a sorry fellow, who saw in his gifted son only a means of extricating himself from his gloomy pecuniary difficulties, and certainly not the man to inspire him for the wedding of Word to Tone—the noblest union ever contracted.

Even in the most magnificent of Beethoven's vocal works there exists a certain roughness; the words domineer over the melody, or the latter over the poem. That perfect union—that melting in one another of both factors—which is peculiar to Mozart and Handel is found only separately (vereinzelt) in him. Would a youth spent in the midst of a great song-world have led our master along other paths?

Certainly not without significance for his development was the fact, that he was born on the lovely banks of our joyous old Rhine. Do we not sometimes hear it surging like a wave of the mighty stream through the Beethoven harmonies? Do we not feel ourselves blown upon by the fresh mountain air? And do not the cordial, true-hearted melodies, which so often escape from the master, breathe the very magic of one of those enchanting evenings which we talk or dream away on the shore of the most truly German stream? The taste for an open-air life (a life im Freien, in freeness, as the German language so nobly expresses it) remained faithful to him until the end; and we can scarcely picture him to ourselves better than as wandering in forests and valleys, listening for the springs which sparkled within himself.

Scientific knowledge, even in its most elementary form, was hardly presented to the notice of the young musician, and if at a later period any interest in such pursuits had arisen within him, he would have been obliged to dismiss it. On the other hand, he buried himself with his whole soul in the loftiest works of poetry, that second higher world, and always came back with renewed delight upon the works of Homer, Shakspere, Goethe, and Schiller. Many and varied were the influences which they exerted upon him. They were to him "intellectual wine," as Bettina once named his music. But those are completely mistaken who expect to find, either in them or anywhere else, positive expositions or elucidations of Beethoven's compositions, as some have occasionally attempted to do, building their theory partly on utterances of the master. When the latter refers the constantly inquiring secretary, Schindler (I know not on what occasion), to Shakspere's "Tempest," it was, after all, only an answer—nothing more. The awakening of pure musical imagination is just as inexplicable as are its results. One thing alone stands firm,—that which speaks to the heart, came from the heart,—but the life-blood which pulsates at the heart of the true artist is a thousand times more richly composed than that which flows in our veins. No æsthetic physiologist will ever be able to analyze it completely. And, in life, is it only the deep thoughts, the extraordinary occurrences, which call forth all our sensations, out of which alone our happiness and our misery are formed? Is not a calm, serene autumn day enough to entrance our inmost nature? a single verse to console us? the friendly glance of a maiden to throw us into the sweetest reverie? What trifling influences affect the eternally rising and falling quicksilver of our hopes! And thus the smallest occasions may have been sufficient to cause vibration in a soul so highly strung as Beethoven's. Most powerfully, however, in such a genius, worked the pure creative impulse, that eternally glowing fire in the deepest recesses of his nature, with its volcanic—but, in this instance, blissful eruptions.

We know that Beethoven proceeded as a young man to Vienna, which he never afterwards left. He found there (at least in the first half of his residence) enthusiastic admirers, intelligent friends, admission to distinguished circles, and lastly, that most necessary evil—money. Nobody will grudge to the lively, good-humoured, imperial city the fame of being able to designate as her own a brilliant line of our greatest tone-poets. But then she ought not to take it amiss that we should wonder how, within her walls, at that time, so magnificent an artistic development as Beethoven's should ever have been accomplished. Shall we say, not because, but—in spite of her? or shall we utter the supposition that no agglomeration of men can be sufficient for genius, since it treads a way of its own, which bears no names of streets? When, however, the question comes under discussion, of the relation of a great composer to that public among whom his lot is cast, we cannot deny that it is easier to understand how a Handel created his oratorios in the so-called unmusical London, than how Beethoven composed his symphonies in the musical Vienna of the period. The former found himself in London in the midst of a grand public life,—grand were the powers over which he held sway, like the continually increasing throngs of listeners who streamed to his performances. When, on the other hand, we hear of the difficulty with which Beethoven, during the course of a quarter of a century, succeeded in giving about a dozen concerts in which his Titanic orchestral poems were performed for the first time, we become faint at heart. And I cannot do otherwise than express my conviction that, under other conditions, no inconsiderable portion of his works, which are (to use Schumann's expression) veiled symphonies, would have revealed their true nature. The world of the musician would hardly have been more enriched thereby, but the musical public would have benefited. For millions would have been edified, where now hundreds torment themselves (with quartets and sonatas) for the most part in vain.

Yes! these symphonies and overtures, with their unpretending designations, are the first poems of our time, and they are national poems in a far truer sense than the songs of the Edda, and all connected with them, ever can or will be for us, despite the efforts of littérateurs and artists. Yes! in the soul of this Rhinelander, who every day inveighed against the town and the state in which he lived, who was zealous for the French Republic, and ready to become Kapellmeister to King Jerome—in this soul was condensed the most ideal Germania ever conceived by the noblest mind. With the poet we may exclaim, "For he was ours!"—ours through what he uttered—ours through the form in which he spoke—ours, for we were true to the proverb in the way we ill-treated and misunderstood him.

"Industry and love" Goethe claims for his countrymen. No artist ever exercised these qualities with regard to his art in a higher degree than did Beethoven. She was to him the highest good—no care, no joy of life could separate him from her. Neither riches nor honours estranged him from the ideal which he perceived and strove after so long as he breathed. He never could do enough to satisfy himself either in single works or in his whole career. He spared himself no trouble in order to work out his thoughts to the fullest maturity, to the most transparent clearness. To the smallest tone-picture he brought the fullest power. His first sketches, like the autographs of his scores, show in the plainest manner that inflexible persistency, that unwearied patience, which we presuppose in the scientific investigator, but which, in the inspired singer, fill us with astonishment and admiration. In all conflicts (and every artistic creation is a conflict) the toughest difficulty is to persevere.

Truth was a fundamental part of Beethoven's character. What he sang came from his deepest soul. Never did he allow himself to make concessions either to the multitude and its frivolity, or to please the vanity of executants. The courage which is bound up with this resembles the modest bravery of the citizen, but it celebrates even fewer triumphs than the latter.

Beethoven was proud, not vain. He had the consciousness of his intellectual power—he rejoiced to see it recognised—but he despised the small change of every-day applause. Suspicious and hasty, he gave his friends occasion for many complaints, but nowhere do we find a trace of any pretension to hero-worship. He stood too high to feel himself honoured by such proceedings; but, at the same time, he had too much regard for the independent manliness of others to be pleased with a homage which clashed against that.

What a fulness of the noblest, the sublimest conceptions must have lived and moved in him to admit of their crystallizing themselves into the melodies which transport us!—softness without weakness, enthusiasm without hollowness, longing without sentimentality, passion without madness. He is deep but never turgid, pleasant but never insipid, lofty but never bombastic. In the expression of love, fervent, tender, overflowing with happiness or with melancholy, but never with ignoble sensuality. He can be cordial, cheerful, joyful to extravagance, to excess—never to vulgarity. In the deepest suffering he does not lose himself—he triumphs over it. He has been called humorous—it is a question whether music, viewed in its immediateness and truth, be capable of expressing humour—yet it may be that he sometimes "smiles amid tears." With true majesty does he move in his power, in his loftiness, in the boldness of his action, which may rise to defiance—never to senseless licence. A little self-will shows itself here and there, but it suits him well, for it is not the self-will of obstinacy, but of striving. He can be pious, never hypocritical; his lofty soul rises to the Unspeakable; he falls on his knees with humility, but not with slavish fear, for he feels the divinity within. A trace of heroic freedom pervades all his creations, consequently they work in the cause of freedom. The expression, "Im Freien"—liberty! might serve as the inscription on a temple dedicated to his genius!

Like Nature herself, he is varied in his forms, without ever relinquishing a deep-laid, well-concerted basis; he is rich in the melodies which he produces, but never lavish; he acts in regard to them with a wise economy. In the working out of his thoughts he unites the soundest musical logic to the richest inventive boldness. Seldom only does he forget the words of Schiller,—"In what he leaves unsaid, I discover the master of style."

This wise economy does not forsake him either in the selection or the number of the organs which he employs. He avoids every superfluity, but the spirits of sound which he invokes must obey him. Nevertheless, not to slavish servitude does he reduce them; on the contrary, he raises them in their own estimation by that which he exacts from them. What might be urged against him, perhaps, is that he sometimes makes demands upon them to which they are not adequate, that his ideal conception goes beyond their power of execution.

He has spoken almost exclusively in the highest forms of instrumental music, and where, in one way or other, words are added to these, he has always been actuated by high motive. He sings of Love and Freedom with Goethe, of Joy with Schiller, of the heroism of Conjugal Love in "Fidelio;" in his solemn Mass he gives expression to all those feelings which force their way from man to his Maker.

Enough, enough! we would never have done, were we to say all that could be said about such a mind. Dare we now really claim his creations, which breathe the highest humanity, as specially German? I think this will be granted us when we add to it the consideration that our greatest poets and thinkers have, in like manner; struck root firmly in their nationality, whence they have grown up—away, beyond—into those regions from which their glance embraced but one nobly striving human family.

It has been often declared that we, for long, felt and recognised our national unity only through the works of our poets, artists, and philosophers; but it has never been fully recognised that it was our first tone-poets in particular, who caused the essential German character to be appreciated by other nations. There are, perhaps, no two German names which can rejoice in a popularity—widely diffused in the most dissimilar nations—equal to that of Mozart and Beethoven. And Haydn, and Weber, and Schubert, and Mendelssohn! what a propaganda have they made for the Fatherland! That they speak a universal language does not prevent their uttering in it the best which we possess as Germans.

Nevertheless, as men are constituted, it is not to be denied that what enchants does not on that account overawe them; they esteem the beautiful, they respect only force and strength, even should these work destroyingly.

Well, then! Germany has now shown what she can do in this way; she will bloom afresh, and follow out her high aims in every direction. The consideration which we could long since have claimed as a people, will then be freely accorded to the German state.

As a musician, I can wish for the nation nothing better than that it should resemble a Beethoven symphony,—full of poetry and power; indivisible, yet many-sided; rich in thought and symmetrical in form; exalted and mighty!

And for the Beethoven symphonies I could wish directors and executants like those of whom the world's history will speak when considering the nineteenth century. But History, if at all true to her task, must also preserve the name of the man who, nearly seventy years ago, created the Eroica,—an achievement in the intellectual life which may place itself boldly by the side of every battle which has left invigorating and formative traces on the destiny of mankind.

Ferdinand Hiller.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This Essay also appeared in Germany in the Salon.

BEETHOVEN:

A Memoir.

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY

Origin of the family Van Beethoven—The Electorate of Cologne—Court of Clemens August the Magnificent—Ludwig van Beethoven the Elder—Johann van Beethoven—Bonn in 1770.

owards the middle of the seventeenth century there lived in a Belgian village near Louvain a family of the name Van Beethoven. To their position in life we have no clue, unless it be that contained in the name itself (beet, root; hof, garden), which after all only indicates that the occupation of some remote progenitor was akin to that of the "grand old gardener" from whom we all claim descent. The question, however, is immaterial.

A member of this family left his native place, and in the year 1650 settled in Antwerp, where he married, and became the founder of a race, one of whom was destined to render the hitherto obscure name immortal.

The grandson of this Beethoven had twelve children, the third of whom, Ludwig, followed the example of his great-grandsire, and quitted the paternal roof at an early age. It has been imagined that this step was the result of family disagreements; however that may be, it is certain that after the lapse of some years Ludwig was again in friendly correspondence with his relations.

The youth bent his steps towards the home of his ancestors, where he probably had connections, and succeeded in getting an appointment for the period of three months in one of the churches of Louvain. As this was merely to fill the place of the Phonascus who was ill, young Beethoven found himself when the three months were over again adrift.

He was but eighteen; tolerably well educated, however; a cultivated musician, and the possessor of a good voice. With these qualities he was pretty sure of making his way, and in the following year we hear of him at Bonn, the seat of government of the splendour-loving Clemens August, Elector of Cologne.

It has been thought that he received a special summons thither, but this is, to say the least, doubtful. It is more probable that the young man, with the love of change and the confidence in his own abilities natural to his age, was drawn to Bonn by the dazzling reports that were spread far and wide of the Mæcenas then on the episcopal throne.

A few words may not be out of place here as to the nature of the independent Ecclesiastical States (and specially of Cologne), which occupy so large a space in the history of Germany prior to the French Revolution; since the fact of the great master having been born in one of these communities had an influence on his career which would have been wanting had fate placed him in a state of more importance, politically speaking.

We in England are inclined to hold somewhat in contempt the petty German court—the "Pumpernickel" of Thackeray,—with its formality, its gossip, its countless rules of etiquette, and its aping the doings of its greater neighbours. And yet in this ridicule there is a touch of ingratitude, for how greatly are we indebted to these "Serene Transparencies," and their love of pomp and display! How many masterpieces of art owe to their fostering care their very existence! How many men eminent in science and literature have to thank them for that support and encouragement without which their works, if produced at all, must have fallen to the ground dead-born! People talk of the divine power, the inherent energy of genius, but what a loss is it for the world when that energy is consumed in the effort of keeping soul and body together! The divine power will and does manifest itself at length, but enfeebled and distorted by the struggle which might have been averted by a little timely aid.

These prince-bishops of Cologne generally belonged to some royal house, the office being in fact regarded as a convenient sinecure for younger sons. They were chosen by the Chapter, subject only to the approval of the Pope and the Emperor, as the supreme spiritual and temporal heads, the people themselves having no voice in the matter.

They ruled over a small territory of about thirty German miles in length, and in some places only two or three in breadth. Within this limited area there were several wealthy and flourishing towns; among which, strangely enough, that which gave its name to the diocese was not included, a feud of the thirteenth century between the reigning archbishop and the burghers of Cologne having resulted in the recognition of the latter as a free imperial city, and the removal of the court to Bonn, which continued to be the seat of government until the abolition of the Electorate in 1794.

Were it not that the loss of so wealthy a town as Cologne was of no small moment to the episcopal coffers, the change must have been agreeable rather than otherwise, for Bonn, even in those days, fairly bore the palm from Cologne as a place of residence. Here, then, for about five hundred years, the little state flourished, better perhaps than we, with our modern ideas as to the union of the temporal and spiritual power are willing to admit, and especially in the last fifty years of its existence, was this the case.

Debarred by the limited income at their disposal from taking any prominent part in political life, cut off from ordinary domestic ties and interests, the archbishops were driven to seek compensation for these deprivations in some favourite pursuit; and to their credit be it said, not the delights of the chase or the table alone engaged their attention. The old genius of appreciation of art transferred its presence from the Arno to the Rhine, and began to exert in the Electors of Cologne an influence of great importance in the æsthetic development of Germany.

The four last Electors especially distinguished themselves, and shed a lustre on their court, by the number of talented men they drew around them, and the liberal patronage they bestowed on music and the drama. Joseph Clemens, the first of these, was himself a composer, after the usual fashion of royal dilettanti, no doubt, but a keen discerner of talent in others.

His successor, Clemens August, had passed his youth in Rome, where, although modern taste was on the decline, the imperishable monuments of art by which he was surrounded seem to have breathed something of their own spirit into him. He did a great deal towards beautifying the town of Bonn; built, besides churches and cloisters, an immense palace, the present university, and greatly enlarged the villa of Poppelsdorf, now the Natural History Museum. His household was conducted on the most magnificent scale, grand fêtes were of common occurrence, and his court was thronged by celebrities of every rank.

Especially did the reputation of the court music stand high. The archbishop, like his predecessor, was a connoisseur, and selections from the operas of Handel and the cantatas of Sebastian Bach were performed at Bonn in a style worthy of the imperial court at Vienna.

It was to this brilliant little capital, then, that young Ludwig van Beethoven made his way in the year 1732, with a light heart and still lighter purse, and begged for an engagement as one of the court musicians, which distinction, after the customary year's probation, was formally granted him, with an annual stipend of four hundred guldens, at that time considered a very good income for so young a man.

His career seems to have been uniformly successful and honourable. Existing documents speak of him as successively simple Musicus, then Dominus van Beethoven, next as Musicus Anticus, and finally in the year 1761 as Herr Kapellmeister, when his name also figures third in a list of twenty-eight Hommes de chambre Honoraires in the "Court Calendar." This success is the more remarkable when we reflect that Ludwig van Beethoven the elder was no composer, and in those days the musical director in the service of a prince was expected to produce offhand, at an hour's notice, appropriate music for every family occurrence, festival or funeral; so that his appointment as kapellmeister must have created no little jealousy, especially as there were several eminent composers at court. But in truth it would have been impossible for him to find much time for composition amid the multifarious duties that devolved upon him. In addition to the general responsibility over all pertaining to musical matters, including the oversight of the numerous singers, choristers, and instrumentalists in the Elector's service, he was expected to conduct in church, in the theatre, on private occasions at court, to examine the candidates for vacancies in the choir and orchestra, and also to take the bass part in several operas and cantatas. Truly the Herr Kapellmeister held no sinecure, if his royal master did!

Notwithstanding, he seems to have led a quiet, even-going life, able, unlike the most of his colleagues, to lay by a little sum of money, happy in the exercise of his art (alas, poor man! domestic bliss was denied him), respected and beloved by all.

Such was the grandfather of the great Beethoven. He died when the boy was but three years of age; nevertheless the old man in the scarlet robe usually worn at that time by elderly people, with his dark complexion and flashing eye, seems to have made no ordinary impression on Beethoven's childish mind. He always spoke with reverence of his grandfather, whom he doubtless regarded as the founder of the family, and the only relic that he cared to have when settled in Vienna was a portrait of the old man, which he begs his friend Wegeler in a letter to send him from Bonn.

We have hinted that Ludwig van Beethoven was not happy in his home. If every one is haunted by some skeleton, his was grim enough. Not many years after their marriage his wife Josepha had become addicted to drinking, and in fact her habits were such that it was found necessary to place her in the restraint of a convent at Cologne. Thayer attributes this failing to grief for the loss of her children, only one of whom lived to manhood; but this trait in her character was unfortunately reproduced in her son Johann.[2]

The latter appears to have been a man of vacillating, inert temperament, gifted with a good voice and artistic sensibility, but not capable of any sustained effort. At the age of twenty-four we find him filling the post of Tenor in the Electoral Chapel with the miserable stipend of one hundred thalers, and not distinguished in any way, unless we except his ingenuity in spelling or misspelling his own name in the petitions which he from time to time addressed to the Elector for an increase of salary. In these he calls himself Bethoven, Betthoven, Bethof, Biethoffen; but this instance does not warrant us in concluding that he was a man of no education whatever, for the orthography even of those who considered themselves scholars was at that time very erratic.

At the age of twenty-seven, on an income not much larger than that just mentioned, Johann van Beethoven took unto himself a wife. The entry in the register of the parish of St. Remigius runs thus:—

"Copulavi— "Nov. 12, 1767.

"Johannem van Beethoven, filium legitimum Ludovici van Beethoven et Mariæ Josephæ Poll,

Et

Mariam Magdalenam Keferich, viduam Leym, ex Ehrenbreitstein, filiam Henrici Keferich et Annæ Mariæ Westroffs."

The object of his choice was a young widow, Maria Magdalena, daughter of the head cook at the castle of Ehrenbreitstein. Her first husband, Johann Leym, one of the valets de chambre to the Elector of Treves, had left her a widow at the age of nineteen. The fruit of this plebeian union between the tenor singer of the Electoral Chapel and the daughter of the head cook to his Grace the Archbishop of Treves was the great maestro.

What a downfall must the discovery of this fact have been to the numerous Viennese admirers of Beethoven, who for long persisted in attributing to him a noble origin, confounding the Flemish particle van with the aristocratic von! It was impossible, they thought, that Beethoven's undoubted aristocratic leanings could be compatible with so humble a parentage. Hence the absurd fable, promulgated by Fayolle and Choron, which represented him as a natural son of Frederic II., King of Prussia, which was indignantly repudiated by Beethoven himself.

In general careless of his own reputation, he could not bear that the slightest breath of slander should touch his mother; and in a letter addressed to Wegeler begged him to "make known to the world the honour of his parents, particularly of his mother." Her memory was always regarded by him with the deepest tenderness, and he was wont to speak lovingly of the "great patience she had with his waywardness."

We cannot conclude this short sketch better than by presenting the reader with Thayer's picturesque description of Bonn, as it must have appeared in the eyes of the young Beethoven.

The old town itself wore an aspect very similar to that of the present day. There were the same churches and cloisters, the same quaint flying bridge, the same ruins of Drachenfels and Godesberg towering above the same orchard-embedded villages. The Seven Hills looked quietly down on the same classic Rhine, not as yet desecrated by puffing tourist-laden steamboat or shrieking locomotive.

Gently and evenly flowed the life-current in the Elector's capital, no foreboding of nineteenth century bustle and excitement causing even a ripple on the calm surface.

"Let our imagination paint for us a fine Easter or Whitsun morning in those times, and show us the little town in its holiday adornment and bustle.

"The bells are ringing from castle tower and church steeple; the country people, in coarse but comfortable garments (the women overladen with gay colours), come in from the neighbouring villages, fill the market-places, and throng into the churches to early mass.

"The nobles and principal citizens, in ample low-hanging coats, wide vests, and knee-breeches (the whole suit composed of some bright-coloured stuffsilk, satin, or velvet), with great white fluttering cravats, ruffles over the hands; buckles of silver, or even of gold, below the knee and on the shoes; high frizzed and powdered perruques on the head, covered with a cocked hat, if the latter be not tucked underneath the arm; a sword by the side, and generally a gold-headed cane; and, if the morning be cold, a scarlet mantle thrown over the shoulders.

"Thus attired they decorously direct their steps to the castle to kiss the hand of his Serene Highness, or drive in at the gates in ponderous equipages, surmounted by white-powdered, cocked-hatted coachman and footman.

"Their wives wear long narrow bodices with immense flowing skirts. Their shoes with very high heels, and the towering rolls over which their hair is dressed, give them an appearance of greater height than they in reality possess. They wear short sleeves, but long silk gloves cover their arms.

"The clergy of different orders and dress are attired as at the present day, with the exception of the streaming wigs. The Electoral Guard has turned out, and from time to time the thunder of the firing from the walls reaches the ear.

"On all sides strong and bright contrasts meet the eye; velvet and silk, 'purple and fine linen,' gold and silver. Such was the taste of the period; expensive and incommodious in form, but imposing, magnificent, and indicative of the distinction between the different grades of society."

Such was the Bonn of 1770.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] We are told on good authority that the elder Beethoven had invested his money in "two cellars of wine," which he bought from the growers of the district, and sold into the Netherlands. An unlucky speculation! Johann, we learn, was early an adept at "wine-tasting."—Thayer, Vol. i. App., p. 328.

CHAPTER II

BOYHOOD.

Birth—Early Influences and Training—Neefe—First Attempts at Composition—The Boy Organist—Max Friedrich's National Theatre—Mozart and Beethoven—Disappointment.

n the 17th of December, 1770, in the old house in the Bonngasse, Ludwig van Beethoven first saw the light. He was not the eldest child, Johann having about eighteen months previously lost a son who had also been christened Ludwig.

Beethoven's infant years flew by happily, the grandfather being still alive, and able to make good any deficiency in his son's miserable income; but in the year 1773 the old man was gathered to his fathers, and the little household left to face that struggle with poverty which embittered Beethoven's youth.

The father, however, was not yet the hardened, reckless man he afterwards became, and could still take pleasure in the manifest joy exhibited by his little son whenever he sat at the pianoforte and played or sang. The sound of his father's voice was sufficient to draw the child from any game, and great was his delight when Johann placed his little fingers among the keys and taught him to follow the melody of the song.

On the title-page of the three Sonatas dedicated to the Elector Maximilian Friedrich, Beethoven says, "From my fourth year music has been my favourite pursuit;" and such would seem to have been really the case.

The readiness with which the child learned was, however, unfortunate for him. No long interval had elapsed since the extraordinary performances of the young Mozarts had astonished the whole musical world, and the evil genius of Johann van Beethoven now prompted him to turn his son's talents to the same account. He resolved to make of Ludwig a prodigy, and foresaw in his precocious efforts a mine of wealth which would do away with any necessity for exertion on his part, and allow him to give full scope to what was fast becoming his dominant passion.

With this end in view he undertook the musical education of his boy, and the little amusing lessons, at first given in play, now became sad and serious earnest. Ludwig was kept at the pianoforte morning, noon, and night, till the child began positively to hate what he had formerly adored.

Still the father was relentless: Handel, Bach, Mozart, all had been great as child-musicians; and if the boy (only a baby of five years) showed signs of obstinacy or sulkiness, he must be forced into submission by cruel threats and still more cruel punishments. Many a time was the little Ludwig seen in tears, standing on a raised bench before his pianoforte, thus early serving his apprenticeship to grief.

In short, Johann was fast doing all he could to ruin the genius of his son, when, fortunately for the world, it soon became evident that if Ludwig were to do wonders as a prodigy, he would require a better teacher than his father, and the boy was accordingly handed over to one Pfeiffer, an oboist in the theatre, and probably a lodger in Johann's house.

This man seems to have been of a genial, kindly nature, though only too willing to second his landlord's views with regard to the boy; for we learn that when the two came home from the tavern far on in the night (as was too often the case) the little Ludwig would be dragged from his bed and kept at the pianoforte till daybreak! Beethoven seems, however, to have had a great regard for Pfeiffer, who was an excellent pianist, and from whom he declared he had learned more than from any one else.

On hearing many years after that he was broken down and in poverty, he sent him, through Simrock the music publisher, a sum of money.

This ruthless conduct on the part of Johann, though unjustifiable and inhuman, probably layed the foundation of the technical skill and power over the pianoforte which so greatly distinguished Beethoven. It is not positively certain that the father gained his end, and made money by exhibiting the child, though we have the testimony of the widow Karth (who as a child inhabited the same house as the Beethovens) that on one occasion the mother made a journey to Holland and Belgium—probably to some relations in Louvain,—where she received several considerable presents from noble personages before whom the wonder-child had performed. This, however, is a mere childish reminiscence, not to be depended on, though it certainly coincides with all we know of Johann's character.

The boy was also forced to learn the violin, and this he disliked infinitely more than the piano, a fact which puts to flight the pretty anecdote narrated in the "Arachnologie" of Quatremère Disjonval, who gravely states that whenever the boy began to practise—in an old ruined garret filled with broken furniture and dilapidated music-books—a spider was in the habit of leaving its hiding-place, and perching itself upon his violin till he had finished. When his mother discovered her son's little companion she killed it, whereupon this second Orpheus, filled with indignation, smashed his instrument! Beethoven himself remembered nothing about this, and used to laugh heartily at the story, saying it was far more probable that his discordant growls frightened away every living thing—down to flies and spiders.

When he was nine years old, Pfeiffer left Bonn to act as bandmaster in a Bavarian regiment, and the boy was placed under the care of Van den Eeden, the court organist. At his death, which took place not long after, Ludwig was transferred to his successor, Christian Gottlob Neefe, whose pupil he remained for several years.

This Neefe, long since forgotten, was one of the best musicians of the time, and thought worthy to be named in the same breath with Bach and Graun. He was a ready composer, and the favourite pupil of Johann Adam Hiller, Bach's successor as Cantor in the Thomasschule at Leipzig. He appears, moreover, to have been an amiable, conscientious man, and so high did his artistic reputation stand that he, although a Protestant, was tolerated as organist in the archbishop's private chapel.

How comes it, then, that with all these qualifications Beethoven would not afterwards allow that he had profited by his instructions? The question is not easily solved. Beethoven himself wrote from Vienna to his old teacher in 1793, "I thank you for the advice which you often gave me whilst striving in my divine art. If I ever become a great man you have a share in it."

Notwithstanding this tribute there was a coldness between them. It may be that master and pupil had not that entire sympathy with each other which is essential to any worthy result from the relationship.

Beethoven, as we know, was self-willed, and overflowing with an originality which, even at that early age, would not easily brook dictation. Neefe, on the other hand, was a young man, and endowed, as he himself tells us in his Autobiography, with a certain satirical tendency, which he may have allowed somewhat too free play in criticising his young pupil's efforts in composition. If the latter conjecture be correct, it gives the clue to the earnest advice Beethoven was wont to give the critics in after years—never to judge the performances of a beginner harshly, as "many would thus be deterred from following out what they might, perhaps, have ultimately succeeded in." Contempt to a sensitive, shrinking nature is like the blast of the east wind on a tender flower; downright condemnation is easier to bear than the sneer which throws the young aspirant, smarting and humiliated, back into himself—his best energies withered for the moment.

Whatever Beethoven's feeling to Neefe may have been, it did not, at any rate, prevent his making very decided progress under his tuition, at which the organist himself rejoiced, as we learn from the following letter written by him, and published in Cramer's Magazine—the first printed notice of Beethoven:—"Louis van Beethoven, son of the Tenor mentioned above, a boy of eleven years, with talent of great promise. He plays the pianoforte with great execution and power, reads very well at sight, and, to say all in brief, plays almost the whole of Sebastian Bach's 'Wohl-temperirte Clavier,' which Herr Neefe has put into his hands. He who knows this collection of preludes and fugues through all the keys (which one might almost call the non plus ultra) will understand what this implies. Herr Neefe has also given him, so far as his other occupations permit, some introduction to the study of thorough-bass. Now he exercises him in composition, and for his encouragement has had printed in Mannheim nine variations for the pianoforte written by him on a March. This young genius deserves help in order that he may travel. He will certainly be a second Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart if he continue as he has begun."

What could be kinder than the tone of this letter?

The allusion to Mozart in the last sentence does credit to Neefe's discernment, as the great composer was at that time comparatively little known. It is to be presumed that at this period Beethoven also studied the works of C.P.E. Bach, since there is evidence that he was familiar with them. His progress, in short, was such that we find him in 1782, when he had not completed his twelfth year, installed as Neefe's representative at the organ, while the latter was absent on a journey of some duration.

Thus we may picture the boy Beethoven to ourselves, at an age when other children are frolicsome and heedless, as already a little man, earnest, grave, reserved, buried in his own thoughts, his Bach, and his organ. He had no time to join his young companions in their games, even had his inclination prompted him to do so; for besides the hours devoted to music, he attended the public school, where he went through the usual elementary course, and learned besides a little Latin. His knowledge of the latter must, however, have been very slight, as when composing his first Mass he was obliged to make use of a translation, which, considering that he was brought up in a Catholic family, is singular enough. Johann v. Beethoven was not the man to waste money, as he thought, on giving his son a liberal education, so that the degree of culture attained by Beethoven was due only to his own efforts and the influences afterwards thrown around him.

In the year 1783 the three sonatas already alluded to were published, Beethoven at the time being nearly thirteen—not eleven years of age as was stated,—the falsifying of his age being part of his father's plan with regard to him. We give the dedication entire, because (though probably not written wholly by Beethoven himself) it offers a curious contrast to his subsequent ideas regarding the princes and great ones of the earth:—

"Most illustrious Prince! From my fourth year music has been my favourite pursuit. So early acquainted with the sweet Muse, who attuned my soul to pure harmonies, I won her, and methought was loved by her in return. I have now attained my eleventh year, and my Muse has often whispered to me in hours of inspiration, Try to write down the harmonies of thy soul! Eleven years old, thought I, how would the character of author become me? and what would riper artists say to it? I felt some trepidation. But my Muse willed it—I obeyed, and wrote.

"And dare I now, most Serene Highness, venture to lay the first fruits of my youthful labour before your throne? and may I hope that you will cast on them the encouraging glance of your approval? Oh yes! for knowledge and art have at all times found in you a wise protector, a generous patron; and rising talent has thriven under your fatherly care. Filled with this cheering conviction I venture to approach you with these youthful efforts.

"Accept them as the pure offering of childlike reverence, and look with favour,

It has been generally imagined that Neefe was paid by the Elector for the instruction given to Beethoven, but this is merely a supposition, without any proof whatever. It is more than likely that Neefe considered the assistance rendered to him by the boy an equivalent for his lessons. We have seen how, as early as 1782, he was qualified to relieve him in the organ duty, rather a heavy task, owing to the number of services at which the organist was expected to be present.

In addition to this, Neefe soon found another way of employing him—but this will require a little explanation.

Whilst awaiting his appointment as court organist, Neefe had acted as musical director to a troupe of singers known as the Grossmann Company, from the name of the leader and organizer. This was one of the best operatic companies in Germany, all its members being actors of experience and reputation.

Now it had entered the Elector's head to take this company into his own service, and found a national theatre (in imitation of that at Vienna) which should serve as a school of refinement for the worthy citizens of Bonn. Neefe found himself, therefore, burdened with double duties as conductor and organist, and in the season of 1783, owing to the absence of one of his colleagues (the well-known Lucchesi), was almost overwhelmed with work. He found it impossible to attend the morning rehearsals in the theatre, and accordingly young Ludwig was appointed cembalist in the orchestra, i.e., to preside at the pianoforte. In those days this was considered a distinction (as such Haydn regarded it in London), and in fact only an accomplished musician could fill the post, as all the accompaniments were played from the score.

To this early initiation may be attributed the extreme facility with which Beethoven read, a prima vista, the most involved and complicated scores, even when in manuscript, and that manuscript written by a Bach in a manner calculated to drive any ordinary reader to despair.

For two seasons young Ludwig was the accompanist at all rehearsals, and in addition to the advantage of thus working out in the most practical way all that he learned of theory, he also gained a thorough acquaintance with the works of Grétry and Gluck.

The operas were varied by dramatic representations, and these must have had an immense influence on the observant, reflective boy; for the répertoire of the company was large, and embraced not only the standard pieces of the day, but the new plays of Lessing, and "The Robbers" of Schiller, which had begun to create a ferment of excitement throughout Germany; besides translations from Molière, Goldoni, and our own Garrick and Cumberland.

To return to our young cembalist, the two years 1783-84 must have been a busy time to him between the chapel and the orchestra, but not a penny did he receive for his services, although he may have earned a trifle by playing the organ every morning at the six o'clock mass in the church of St. Remigius.

When he was thirteen, however, through Neefe's influence he was nominated officially to the post he had so long filled in reality, that of assistant organist, and would have drawn a salary but for an event which threw him back again.

The Elector Max Friedrich died, the operatic company was dismissed, and Neefe, having nothing to do but play his organ, had no further need of an assistant.

This must have been a great blow to the boy; not that he cared for the money in itself, but he knew how it would have lightened his poor mother's cares, and shed a gleam of sunshine over the poverty-stricken household.

His father was now beginning to throw off all restraint; his failing was generally known, and more than once he was rescued from the hands of the police and brought home by his son in a state of unconsciousness. Long ere this, two sons, Caspar Anton Carl and Nikolaus Johann, respectively four and six years younger than Ludwig, had been added to the family, and doubtless many were the secret councils between the boy and his mother as to how the few thalers of Johann (minus what was spent in the alehouse) could be made to meet the needs of the household. It was probably about this time that Beethoven began to give lessons, that most wearisome of all employments to him, and so for more than a year, to the great hindrance of his own studies, contributed his mite to the general fund.

The year 1785, however, brought with it a little heartening; Ludwig's former appointment as assistant organist was confirmed by the new Elector, and with the yearly stipend of a hundred thalers an era of hope dawned for the lad.

Max Franz, Archbishop of Cologne, was the youngest son of Maria Theresa, and the favourite of his brother, the Emperor Joseph II., whom he strongly resembled in character and disposition.

To any one familiar with the musical history of the period and the Emperor's relation to Mozart, this will be sufficient to indicate the pleasure with which the Bonn musicians must have hailed his advent. Nor were their expectations disappointed; Max Franz surpassed his predecessors not only in the munificence of his support, but (what is perhaps of more importance) in the real interest shown by him in the progress of art at his court. Neither did he confine his patronage to music alone (though, as was natural in a son of Maria Theresa, this was his first care); painting, science, and literature alike felt the influence of his generous mind. The university was founded and endowed by him, and the utmost efforts made to meet that universal demand for a higher culture, and that striving after truth in art, which the works of Schlegel, Lessing, Schiller, Goethe, and others were rapidly disseminating throughout the length and breadth of Germany. As Wegeler (the friend and biographer of Beethoven, at that time a medical student of nineteen) writes, "It was a splendid, stirring time in many ways at Bonn, so long as the genial Elector, Max Franz, reigned there." It can readily be imagined, therefore, that a youth so full of promise as Beethoven could not escape the notice of such a prince, and that to his own talents, backed by the recommendation of Neefe—not to the influence of any patron—he owed the only official appointment ever held by him.

For the next year he seems to have had a comparatively easy life, his salary no doubt going to his mother, and the little he could make by teaching carefully put aside for a great purpose he had formed. A characteristic anecdote of this period is worth repeating, inasmuch as Beethoven himself used often to speak of it with glee in after life as a specimen of his boyish achievements.

In the old style of church music, on the Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday of Passion Week it was usual to sing select portions from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, consisting of short phrases of from four to six lines. In the middle of each phrase a pause was made, which the accompanist was expected to fill up as his fancy might dictate by a free interlude on the pianoforte—the organ being prohibited during these three days. Now it so happened that the singer to whom this was allotted in the Electoral Chapel was one Heller, a thoroughly well-practised but somewhat boastful musician. To him Beethoven declared that he was able to throw him out in his part without employing any means but such as were perfectly justifiable. Heller resented the insinuation, and rashly accepted a wager on the subject. When the appropriate point was reached, Beethoven ingeniously modulated to a key so remote from the original one, that although he continued to hold fast the key-note of the latter, and struck it repeatedly with his little finger, Heller was completely thrown out, and obliged abruptly to stop. Franz Ries the violinist, father of the afterwards celebrated Ferdinand, and Lucchesi, who were present, declared themselves perfectly astounded at the occurrence, and the mystified singer rushed in a tumult of rage and mortification to the Elector and complained of Beethoven. The good-humoured Max Franz, however, rather enjoyed the story, and merely ordered the young organist to content himself with a more simple accompaniment for the future.

In the spring of 1787, Ludwig at length reached the height of his boyish aspirations. His little savings had accumulated to what was in his eyes a large sum, and he looked forward with eagerness to a journey to Vienna. It has been supposed that the funds for this visit were supplied by others, but this is improbable. At that time Beethoven had no wealthy friends; there is no evidence to show that the Archbishop assisted him, and certain is it that no money was forthcoming from his father. We are obliged to fall back upon the supposition that his own scanty earnings, eked out perhaps by his mother, were his only means, especially as we know that they proved insufficient for his purpose, and that he was obliged to borrow money for his journey home.

What were Beethoven's intentions with regard to this visit?

His father's conduct, which must have many a time brought the flush of shame to his young brow, his mother's evidently failing health, the numerous unsupplied wants of the family, now increased by the birth of a daughter,[3]—all these circumstances combined to urge on his sensitive, loving nature the necessity of making some exertion, of taking some decided step for the assistance of his dear ones.

Vienna, so far away, was his goal; there were assembled all the great and noble in art—Gluck, Haydn, Mozart! the very mention of these names must have roused the responsive throb of genius in the lad. To Vienna he would go, and surely if there were any truth in the adage that "like draws to like," these men must recognise the undeveloped powers within him; and help him to attain his object.

That some such hopes as these must have beat high in Beethoven's breast, animating him for the effort, is evident from the reaction that set in, the despair that took possession of him when he found himself forced by the iron course of events to abandon his project.

Arrived in the great capital he obtained an interview with Mozart, and played before him. The maestro, however, rewarded his performance with but feeble praise, looking upon it as mere parade; and probably in technical adroitness the boy before him was far behind the little Hummel, at that time under his tuition; for Beethoven's style, through his constant organ-playing, was somewhat heavy and rough.

Beethoven, sensitively alive to everything, perceived Mozart's opinion, and requested a thema for an improvisation. Somewhat sceptically Mozart complied, and now the boy, roused by the doubt cast upon his abilities, extemporized with a clearness of idea and richness of embellishment that took his auditor by storm. Mozart went excitedly to the bystanders in the anteroom, saying, "Pay heed to this youth—much will one day be said about him in the world!"

The amiable Mozart did not live to see the fulfilment of his prophecy, but he appears to have taken an interest in the boy, and to have given him a few lessons.

Beethoven afterwards lamented that he had never heard Mozart play, which may perhaps be accounted for by the fact that the master was much occupied at the time with his "Don Giovanni," and also had that year to mourn the loss of his father.

The following letter fully explains the cause of Beethoven's sudden departure from Vienna, and the apparent shipwreck of all his hopes:—

"Autumn. Bonn, 1787.

"Most worthy and dear Friend,—I can easily imagine what you must think of me—that you have well-founded reasons for not entertaining a favourable opinion of me, I cannot deny.

"But I will not excuse myself until I have explained the reasons which lead me to hope that my apologies will be accepted.

"I must tell you that with my departure from Augsburg, my cheerfulness, and with it my health, began to decline. The nearer I came to my native city, the more frequent were the letters which I received from my father, urging me to travel as quickly as possible, as my mother's health gave great cause for anxiety. I hurried onwards, therefore, as fast as I could, although myself far from well. The longing to see my dying mother once more did away with all hindrances, and helped me to overcome the greatest difficulties. My mother was indeed still alive, but in the most deplorable state; her complaint was consumption; and about seven weeks ago, after enduring much pain and suffering, she died.

"Ah! who was happier than I, so long as I could still pronounce the sweet name of mother, and heard the answer! and to whom can I now say it? To the silent images resembling her, which my fancy presents to me?

"Since I have been here, I have enjoyed but few happy hours. Throughout the whole time I have been suffering from asthma, which I have reason to fear may eventually result in consumption. To this is added melancholy, for me an evil as great as my illness itself.

"Imagine yourself now in my position, and then I may hope to receive your forgiveness for my long silence.

"With regard to your extreme kindness and friendliness in lending me three carolins in Augsburg, I must beg you still to have a little indulgence with me, as my journey cost me a great deal, and here I have not the slightest prospect of earning anything. Fate is not propitious to me here in Bonn.

"You will forgive my having written at such length about my own affairs; it was all necessary in order to excuse myself.

"I entreat you not to withdraw your valuable friendship from me; there is nothing I so much desire as to render myself worthy of it.

"I am, with all esteem,
"Your most obedient servant and friend,
"L. v. Beethoven,
"Cologne Court Organist.

"To Monsieur de Schaden,
"Counsellor at Augsburg."

When years afterwards Ferdinand Ries came as a boy of fifteen to Beethoven in Vienna, and solicited his help and countenance, the master, who was much occupied at the time, told him so, adding, "Say to your father that I have not forgotten how my mother died. He will be satisfied with that." Franz Ries had, in fact, at the time of the mother's illness, lent substantial assistance to the impoverished family; and this to the heart of the son was a sure claim on his lasting gratitude.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Margaret, who died while still an infant.

CHAPTER III

YOUTH.

Despondency—The Breuning Family—Literary Pursuits—Count Waldstein—National Theatre of Max Franz—King Lux and his Court—The Abbé Sterkel—Appointment as Court Pianist—First Love—Second Visit of Joseph Haydn.

ow "flat, stale, and unprofitable" must everything in Bonn have appeared to our Beethoven after the charms of Vienna—charms real in themselves, and surrounded by the ideal nimbus of his fresh young hopes and strivings! The desolate, motherless home, his neglected orphan brothers, his drunken father, the weary round of teaching,—it was no light task for an impetuous, ardent genius to lift; but it had to be faced, and with a noble self-sacrifice he entered on the dreary path before him.

He had his reward—the very occupation which he disliked more than any other, opened up to him a friendship which secured to him more peace and happiness than he had yet known, and whose influence was potent throughout his whole life—that, namely, with the family Von Breuning.

Madame von Breuning was a widow; her husband, a state councillor and a member of one of the best families in Bonn, had perished in the attempt to rescue the Electoral Archives from a fire that had broken out in the palace, and since this calamity she had lived quietly with her brother, the canon and scholar, Abraham v. Keferich, solely engaged in the education of her children. These were four in number: three boys—Christoph, Stephan, and Lenz; and one girl—Eleanore. It appears that Beethoven (who was about four years older than Stephan) was receiving violin lessons at the same time with the latter from Franz Ries; and Stephan, struck, no doubt, with the genius of his fellow-pupil, managed to get him introduced to his mother's house in the capacity of pianoforte teacher to the little Lenz. Madame von Breuning was not slow to perceive the extraordinary gifts of her son's new acquaintance; and learning incidentally, with her woman's tact, the sad state of matters at home, opened her heart as well as her house to the motherless boy. He soon became one of the family, and used to spend the greater part of the day and often the night with his new friends.

It is impossible to over-estimate the value of this friendship to the young man. What a contrast to his own neglected home did the well-ordered house of Madame v. Breuning present! Now for the first time he was admitted to mix on equal terms with people of culture; here he first enjoyed the refining influence of female society (did any remembrance of Leonore suggest his ideal heroine?); and here also he first became acquainted with the literature of his own and other countries.

The young Breunings were all intellectual, and in the pursuit of their studies they were encouraged and assisted by their uncle, the canon. Christoph wrote very good verses, and Stephan also tried his hand at some, which were not bad. The striving of these young people would naturally lead our sensitive musician to reflect on his own defective education, and to endeavour so to rectify it as to render himself worthy of their friendship. Beethoven's love of the ancient classical writers may be traced to this period, when Christoph and Stephan were studying them in the original with their uncle, though it is not probable that he ever learned Greek. His knowledge of Homer was gained through Voss's translation, and his well-worn copy of the "Odyssey" testifies to the earnest study it had received from him. French and Italian he seems to have been acquainted with so far as he deemed it necessary; but his principal literary studies were confined to Lessing, Bürger, Wieland, and Klopstock. The last especially was his favourite, and his constant companion in the solitary rambles among the mountains which he was fond of indulging in. There, alone with the nature he venerated, the sonorous lines and rolling periods of the German Milton sank deeply into his mind, to be reproduced years after in immortal harmonies. At a later period Klopstock was replaced in Beethoven's esteem by Goethe, of whose poems he was wont to say that they "exercised a great sway over him, not only by their meaning, but by their rhythm also. Their language urged him on to composition."

But of all the blissful influences which tended to make this time the happiest in his life, not one was so powerful as that of Madame von Breuning herself. To her everlasting honour be it said that she was the first of the very few individuals who ever thoroughly understood the morbid and apparently contradictory character of Beethoven; and greatly is it to the credit of the latter that he merited the love of such a woman. Not his abilities alone gave him a place in her heart; it was his true, noble, generous nature that won for him a continuance of the favours first bestowed upon the artist. Madame v. Breuning thoroughly appreciated Beethoven; he felt that she did. Hence the tacit confidence that existed between them—he coming to her as to a mother, and she advising him as she would have done one of her own sons. Beethoven used to say of her that she understood how to "keep the insects from the blossoms."

Even she, however, sometimes failed in one point, that, namely, of inducing him to give his lessons regularly. It has been hinted before that this was an unpalatable task to Beethoven. Wegeler describes him as going to it ut iniquæ mentis asellus, and this dislike grew with every succeeding year. Even his subsequent relation to his illustrious friend and pupil, the Archduke Rudolph, was in the highest degree irksome to him; he looked upon it as a mere court service. But while in Bonn our composer was not in a position to choose his occupation. "Necessity knows no law," and the higher claims of genius were forced to submit to very sublunary considerations. Madame v. Breuning's representations would sometimes succeed so far as to induce him to go to the house of his pupil; but it was generally only to say that he "could not give his lesson at that time—he would give two the next day instead." On such occasions she would smile and say, "Ah! Beethoven is in a raptus again!" an expression which the composer treasured up mentally, and was fond of applying to himself in after life.

About this time also Beethoven gained another friend, Count Waldstein, a young nobleman, who was passing the probationary time previously to being admitted into the Teutonic Order, at Bonn, under the Grand-Master, Max Franz. Beethoven afterwards expressed his obligations to him in the dedication of the colossal sonata Op. 53.

He became a frequent visitor to the young organist's miserable room, which he soon enlivened by the present of a grand pianoforte, and here the friends—to outward appearance so different—doubtless passed many a happy hour, for Waldstein was an excellent musician, and an enthusiastic admirer of Beethoven's improvisations.

These were also one of the great pleasures in the Breuning circle, where Wegeler relates that Beethoven would often yield to the general request, and depict on the pianoforte the character of some well-known personage. On one occasion Franz Ries, who was present, was asked to join, which he did—probably the only instance on record of two artists improvising on different instruments at one and the same time.

We have long lost sight of Johann v. Beethoven, however, and must retrace our steps to see what has become of him. By the year 1789 he had grown so hopelessly incapable that it was proposed to send him out of Bonn on a pension of one hundred thalers, while the remaining hundred of his former salary should be spent on his children. This plan was not fully carried out, but the father's salary was by the Elector's orders paid into Ludwig's hands, and entrusted to his management; so that the young man of nineteen was the real head of the family.

The Elector Max Franz now followed the example of his predecessor, and established a national theatre. Beethoven was not this time cembalist to the company; he played the viol in the orchestra, whither he was often accompanied by his friend Stephan Breuning, who handled the bow creditably enough. For four years Beethoven occupied this post, and the solid advantage it was to him is shown in his subsequent orchestration.

In the autumn of the year 1791 an incident occurred which broke the monotony of the court life, and gives us an interesting side-glimpse of our young musician. The Teutonic Order, referred to before, held a grand conclave at Mergentheim, at which the Elector as Grand-Master was obliged to be present. He had passed some months there two years before, and had probably found time hang somewhat heavy on his hands; at any rate, he resolved that his private musical and theatrical staff should attend him on this occasion.

The announcement of this determination was received with great approbation by all concerned, and Lux, the first comedian of the day, was unanimously chosen king of the expedition. His Majesty then proceeded to appoint the various officers of the household, among whom Beethoven and Bernhard Romberg (afterwards the greatest violoncellist of his time) figure as Scullions. Two ships were chartered for the occasion, and King Lux and his court floated lazily down the Rhine and the Main, between the sunny vine-clad hills where the peasants were hard at work getting in the best harvest of the year. It was a merry time, and, as Beethoven afterwards said, "a fruitful source of the most beautiful images."

We can imagine the boat gliding peacefully along under the calm moonlit sky—Beethoven sitting by himself, enjoying the unusual dolce far niente; his companions a little apart are chanting a favourite boat-song; the harmonious sounds rise and fall, alternating with the gentle ripple on the water—and the young maestro, pondering on his future life, tries to read his destiny in the "golden writing" of the stars. Is not some such scene the background to the Adagio in the "Sonata quasi Fantasia," dedicated to the Countess Giulietta?

At Aschaffenburg, Simrock, a leading member of the company (afterwards the celebrated music-publisher), deemed it necessary that a deputation (which included Beethoven) should pay a visit of respect to the Abbé Sterkel, one of the greatest living pianists.

They were very graciously received, and the Abbé, in compliance with the pressing request of his visitors, sat down to the pianoforte, and played for some time. Beethoven, who had never before heard the instrument touched with the same elegance, listened with the deepest attention, but refused to play when requested to do so in his turn. It has been mentioned that his style was somewhat hard and rough, and he naturally feared the contrast with Sterkel's flowing ease. In vain his companions, who, with true esprit de corps, were proud of their young colleague, urged him to the pianoforte, till the Abbé turning the conversation on a work of Beethoven's, lately published, hinted, with disdain either real or assumed, that he did not believe the composer could master the difficulties of it himself. (The work alluded to was a series of twenty-four variations on Righini's Theme "Vieni Amore.") This touched Beethoven's honour; he yielded without further hesitation, and not only played the published variations, but invented others infinitely more complicated as he went along, assuming the gliding, graceful style of Sterkel in such a manner as utterly to bewilder the bystanders, who overwhelmed him with applause.

It was perhaps after this display that he was promoted to a higher post in King Lux's service by the royal letters patent, and to this weighty document a great seal—stamped in pitch on the lid of a little box—was attached by threads made of unravelled rope, which gave it quite an imposing aspect. Seven years afterwards Wegeler discovered this plaisanterie carefully treasured among Beethoven's possessions, a proof of the enjoyment afforded him by this excursion.

At Mergentheim the sensation created by the Elector's musicians was immense. In an old newspaper exhumed by the indefatigable Thayer, the following notice of Beethoven occurs.

The writer is Carl Ludwig Junker, chaplain to Prince Hohenlohe, and himself a composer and critic of no mean reputation. After giving a general account of the whole orchestra, he goes on:—

"I have heard one of the greatest players on the pianoforte, the dear, worthy Beethoven.... I believe we may safely estimate the artistic greatness of this amiable man by the almost inexhaustible wealth of his ideas, the expression—peculiar to himself—with which he plays, and his great technical skill. I should be at a loss to say what quality of the great artist is still wanting to him. I have heard Vogler[4] play on the pianoforte often, very often, and for hours at a time, and have always admired his great execution; but Beethoven, in addition to his finished style, is more speaking, more significant, more full of expression,—in short, more for the heart; consequently as good an Adagio as an Allegro player. Even the first-rate artists of this orchestra are his admirers, and all ear when he plays. He is excessively modest, without any pretensions whatever.... His playing differs so materially from the ordinary mode of touching the piano, that it appears as though he had intended to lay out a path for himself, in order to arrive at the perfection which he has now attained."

But even the pleasantest things must come to an end, and the expedition to Mergentheim was no exception to the rule. In a few weeks, Archbishop, musicians, and actors were once more at Bonn, busily engaged in preparing for Christmas.

About this time Beethoven was nominated Court pianist, an appointment due partly to his friend, Count Waldstein, partly also to the following circumstance, which gave the Elector a striking proof of his young protégé's abilities. A new Trio by Pleyel had been sent to Max Franz, and so great was his impatience to hear it that nothing would content him but its immediate performance, without previous rehearsal, by Beethoven, Ries, and Romberg.

To hear was to obey, and the Trio was played at sight very fairly, the performers keeping well together. It was then discovered that two bars in the pianoforte part had been omitted, and supplied by Beethoven so ingeniously that not the slightest break was perceptible!

In the same year, 1791, Beethoven wrote the music for a splendid bal masqué, organized by his friend Waldstein, and attended by all the nobility for miles around. It was believed for long that Waldstein was the author of the music.

Beethoven, meanwhile, continued his intimacy with the Breuning family, where from time to time another attraction offered itself in the person of Fräulein Jeannette d'Honrath, a young lady of Cologne, who occasionally paid a visit of a few weeks to her friend Eleanore.

It has been asserted by some writers that Beethoven was insensible to the charms of woman, and that love was to him a sealed book! For the refutation of this statement it is only necessary to turn to his works, which breathe a very different story to such as have ears to hear. For those who have not, let the testimony of his friend Wegeler suffice: "Beethoven was never without a love, and generally in the highest degree enamoured." The reason why his love was fated never to expand and ripen will be explained in its own place. Here it is sufficient to say that Beethoven, while glowing with fire and tenderness, eminently calculated to love and be loved, was throughout his whole life, and in every relation, delicacy itself; his nature shrunk instinctively from anything like impurity.

To return: Mademoiselle Jeannette, a fascinating little blonde, divided her attentions so equally between Beethoven and his friend Stephan, and sang so charmingly about her heart being desolé when the time for parting came, that each believed himself the favoured one, until it transpired that the "Herzchen had long since been bestowed" in its entirety on a gallant Austrian officer, whom the young lady subsequently married, and who afterwards rose to the rank of general.

There does not seem to have been any attachment between Beethoven and Leonore; she was his pupil, his sister,[5] but nothing more; her affections were already given to young Wegeler, whose wife she afterwards became.

So our Beethoven was left to gnaw his fingers for the loss of his pretty Jeannette, and to flutter on the outside of the crowd which hovered round fair Barbara Koch, the beauty of Bonn, daughter of a widow, proprietress of a coffee-house or tavern.

What! exclaims the reader, is this an instance of the so-called "aristocratic leanings" of Beethoven?

We must beg him in reply not to look at things through exclusively British and nineteenth century spectacles. The position of worthy Frau Koch was, if not distinguished, certainly respectable.

Lewes, in his Life of Goethe, was obliged to combat with the same prejudice in his account of the poet's student days at Leipzig, and we cannot do better than quote his words with regard to the society to be found in a German Wirthshaus of the period:—

"The table d'hôte is composed of a circle of habitués, varied by occasional visitors, who in time become, perhaps, members of the circle. Even with strangers conversation is freely interchanged, and in a little while friendships are formed, as natural tastes and likings assimilate, which are carried out into the current of life."

The habitués of Frau Koch's house were the professors and students at the university, and such members of the Electoral household as were engaged in artistic pursuits. It was a rendezvous for them all, where science, literature, art, and politics were discussed by able men; and here, doubtless, Beethoven, with his friends Stephan Breuning and young Reicha (nephew of the director), spent many a pleasant evening. The fair Babette was, as we have hinted, no small attraction. She was a cultivated woman, and the great friend of Eleanore v. Breuning. She afterwards became governess to the children of Count Anton von Belderbusch, whom she finally married.

We now come to an event which completely changed the current of Beethoven's life—the return of Joseph Haydn from his second visit to London. As he passed through Bonn the musicians gave him a public breakfast at Godesberg, on which occasion Beethoven laid before him a cantata of his composition—probably that on the death of Leopold II. It met with the warmest praise from Haydn, but the author apparently did not think highly of it himself, as it was never printed.

Whether the arrangements were made at this time for Haydn's reception of Beethoven as his pupil, or negotiated afterwards through Waldstein, is not known. Certain it is that in the October of 1792 we find his long-delayed hopes on the point of realization, a pension from the Elector having removed all difficulties.

Beethoven had often bemoaned in secret, and specially to his friend Waldstein, the irregular, broken instruction he had received, attributing Mozart's early success to the systematic course of study he had pursued under the guidance of his father. It is a question, however, whether Beethoven—even had he enjoyed the advantages of Mozart—would ever have composed with the facility of the latter. Thayer thinks not; there is evidence enough in the symphonies, &c., of our great master to prove that he "earned his bread by the sweat of his brow."

The following note from Waldstein evinces the deep interest he took in Beethoven, and his faith in the young composer's genius:—

"Dear Beethoven,—"You are now going to Vienna for the realization of your wishes, so long frustrated. The Genius of Mozart still mourns and laments the death of his disciple. He found refuge with the inexhaustible Haydn, but no scope for action, and through him he now wishes once more to be united to some one. Receive, through unbroken industry, the spirit of Mozart from the hands of Haydn.

"Your true friend,
"Waldstein.
"Bonn, 29th October, 1792."

In the beginning of November, then, 1792, Beethoven finally took leave of his boyhood's friends—father and brothers, Wegeler, Franz Ries, Neefe, Reicha, Waldstein, pretty Barbara Koch, and, hardest of all, the Breunings.

Some of these he saw for the last time.

He was destined never again to tread the old familiar streets of Bonn.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] One of the greatest pianists of the time.

[5] The following birthday greeting, surrounded by a wreath of flowers and accompanied by a silhouette of Eleanore, was found among Beethoven's papers:—

"Glück und langes Leben
Wünsch' ich heute Dir,
Aber auch daneben
Wünsch' ich etwas mir!
Mir in Rücksicht Deiner
Wünsch' ich Deine Huld,
Dir in Rücksicht meiner
Nachsicht und Geduld!
"Von Ihrer Freundin und Schülerin,
"Lorchen v. Breuning.
"1790."

CHAPTER IV

LEHRJAHRE.

Arrival in Vienna—Studies with Haydn—Timely Assistance of Schenk—Albrechtsberger—Beethoven as a Student—His Studies in Counterpoint—Letters to Eleanore v. Breuning.

ehold, then, our young musician at the long-desired goal—free from all depressing, pecuniary cares, with his pension secure from the Elector, and a little fund of his own to boot. He reached the capital about the middle of November, alone and friendless; nor is there any proof that the advent of the insignificant, clumsily built provincial youth made the slightest sensation, or roused the interest of one individual among the many thousands who thronged the busy streets.

His first care, as shown from a little pocket-book still preserved, was to seek out a lodging suitable to his slender purse; his next, to procure a pianoforte. The first requirement he at length met with in a small room on "a sunk floor," which commended itself by the low rent asked for it. Here Beethoven contentedly located himself until fortune's smiles had begun to beam so brightly on him that he felt entitled to remove to more airy lodgings.

We may be sure that he lost no time in setting about the purpose which he had most at heart, and enrolling himself among Haydn's pupils, for he could not have been more than eight weeks in Vienna when the master wrote to Bonn, "I must now give up all great works to him [Beethoven], and soon cease composing."

The harmony, however, which at first existed between Haydn and his pupil was soon disturbed. The former seems to have been always pleased with the work executed by Beethoven, who, on the contrary, was very much dissatisfied with the instruction given by the master. He was obliged, in this instance, to make the same experience that he had formerly confided to Junker, at Mergentheim, regarding pianoforte players, viz., that he had seldom found what he believed himself entitled to expect. Distance lends enchantment to the view; and the keen, striving worker soon discovered that Haydn was not the profound, earnest thinker that his longing fancy had painted in Bonn.

But an unexpected help was at hand. One day as he was returning from his lesson at Haydn's house, his portfolio under his arm, he met a friend whose acquaintance he had only recently made, but with whom he was already on intimate terms—Johann Schenk, a thorough and scholarly musician, afterwards well known as the composer of the "Dorfbarbier," and one of the most amiable of men. To him Beethoven confided his troubles, bitterly lamenting the slow progress his knowledge of counterpoint made under Haydn's guidance. Somewhat astounded, Schenk examined the compositions in Beethoven's portfolio, and discovered many faults which had been passed over without correction.

Haydn's conduct in this instance has never been explained. Generally conscientious in the discharge of his duties as an instructor, this carelessness must have arisen either from a pressure of work, or from some undefined feeling with regard to Beethoven, which prompted him to give him as little assistance as possible. The latter supposition is hardly compatible with the terms in which he wrote of his pupil to Bonn, but Beethoven could never shake off the idea that Haydn did not mean well by him—a suspicion which was strengthened by what afterwards occurred.

Excessively irritated by Schenk's discovery, Beethoven would have gone on the impulse of the moment to reproach Haydn and break off all connection with him. Schenk, however, who had early perceived Beethoven's worth, succeeded in calming him, promising him all the assistance in his power, and pointing out the folly of a course which would inevitably have led to the withdrawal of the pension from Max Franz, who would naturally have disbelieved any complaint against the greatest master of the day, and have attributed Beethoven's conduct to wrong motives. The young man had the sense to perceive the justice of these remarks, and continued to bring his work to Haydn (Schenk always giving it a strict revisal) until the latter's journey to England in 1794 afforded a feasible opportunity of providing himself with a better teacher.

Thus, although neither cordially liked the other, a tolerable appearance of friendship was maintained. It was, perhaps, impossible that, between two such totally different natures the connection could have been otherwise. Haydn was genial and affable; from his long contest with poverty, rather obsequious; not apt to take offence or to imagine slights; ready to render unto Cæsar his due; in short, a courtier.

What greater contrast to all this can be imagined than our proud, reserved, brusque Beethoven? He pay court to princes, or wait with "bated breath" upon their whims! He, the stormy republican, who regarded all men as on the same level, and would bow to nothing less than the Divine in man!

Haydn, who had laughingly bestowed on him the title of the "Great Mogul," probably felt that there was no real sympathy, or possibility of such a feeling, between them. Nevertheless, as we have said, they continued to outward seeming friends, though Beethoven's suspicions would not allow him to accept Haydn's offer of taking him to London. He accompanied him, however, in the summer to Eisenstadt, the residence of Prince Esterhazy, Haydn's patron, and on this occasion left the following note for Schenk, which shows the friendly feeling existing between them:—

"Dear Schenk,—I did not know that I should set off to-day for Eisenstadt. I should like much to have spoken once more to you. Meanwhile, depend upon my gratitude for the kindnesses you have shown me. I shall endeavour, so far as is in my power, to requite you.

"I hope to see you soon again, and to enjoy the pleasure of your society. Farewell, and don't quite forget

"Your Beethoven."

One of Beethoven's peculiarities may as well be referred to here in passing. Although living in the same town with many of his friends—nay, within a few minutes walk of them,—years would elapse without their coming in contact, unless they continually presented themselves to his notice, and so would not let themselves be forgotten. Absorbed in his creations, the master lived in a world of his own; consequently, many little circumstances in his career, in reality proceeding from this abstraction, were at the time attributed to very different motives.

His connection with Schenk is an instance of this. Though both inhabited Vienna, they had not met for many years, when in 1824 Beethoven and his friend Schindler encountered Schenk—then almost seventy years of age—in the street. If his old teacher had spent the intervening years in another world, and suddenly alighted from the clouds, Beethoven could not have been more surprised and delighted. To drag him into the quietest corner of the "Jägerhorn" (a tavern close at hand) was the work of a moment, and there for hours the old friends mutually compared notes, and reviewed the ups and downs of fortune that had befallen them since the days when the Great Mogul used to storm Schenk's lodgings and abuse his master. When they parted it was in tears, never to meet again.

The opportune departure of Haydn allowed Beethoven to place himself under the instruction of Albrechtsberger, the cathedral organist. This man, who counted among his pupils not only Beethoven, but Hummel and Seyfried, was a walking treatise on counterpoint; but far from investing the science with any life or brightness, it was his delight to render it, if possible, more austere and stringent than he had found it, and to lay down rules which to a fiery, impulsive nature were positively unbearable. Nevertheless, Pegasus can go in harness if need be. Beethoven, who, like every true genius, was essentially modest in his estimate of himself, and had already felt the want of a thoroughly grounded knowledge, submitted to Albrechtsberger's routine for a period of about fifteen months—beginning almost at the elements of the science, and working out the dry-as-dust themes in his master's Gradus ad Parnassum, until he had gained for himself an insight into the mysteries of fugue and canon.

This is not the commonly received notion of Beethoven's student-days. Ries in his "Notices" has the following:—

"I knew them all well [i.e., Haydn, Albrechtsberger, and Salieri, who gave Beethoven instruction in writing for the voice]; all three appreciated Beethoven highly, but were all of one opinion regarding his studies. Each said Beethoven was always so obstinate and self-willed that he had afterwards much to learn through his own hard experience, which he would not accept in earlier days as the subject of instruction. Albrechtsberger and Salieri especially were of this opinion."

But this testimony ought not to be accepted for more than it is worth. Haydn, absorbed in his own pursuits, and utterly unable to fathom Beethoven's nature—the very reverse of his own; Albrechtsberger, the formal contrapuntist, far more concerned about the outside of the cup, the form of a composition, than about its contents; Salieri, the superficial composer of a few trashy operas long since forgotten,—how were these men competent to pass judgment on a Feuerkopf like Beethoven?

A little further examination of the question in the light of recent researches will enable the reader to judge for himself whether the master was an earnest, willing student, or not.

Until very lately, the main source whence biographers drew their accounts of the Lehrjahre was the work published by the Chevalier von Seyfried, which purported to be a correct transcription of Beethoven's "Studies in Thorough-bass." This volume, as given to the world, was garnished with a number of sarcastic annotations, professedly emanating from Beethoven himself, wherein the theoretical rule under consideration at the moment is held up to ridicule. It is this circumstance, coupled with the assertion of Ries above alluded to, which has chiefly produced the prevalent impression regarding Beethoven as a student. We suppose that nine readers out of ten will have pictured to themselves the master receiving instruction in much the same spirit as that in which he was wont to give it in Bonn, namely, like the rebellious colt described by Wegeler!—Now what are the real facts of the case?—Thanks to the unwearied exertions of Gustav Nottebohm, we are in a position to answer the question. In his admirable book, "Beethoven's Studien," the actual work done by Beethoven under Haydn and Albrechtsberger is at length laid before the public, and the falsity of Seyfried's compilation fully proved.[6] Nottebohm has no hesitation in affirming that Beethoven was a willing rather than a mutinous scholar, and that he was always intent on his subject, and strove hard to obtain a clear conception of it.

As for the "sarcastic" marginal remarks which for nearly half a century have been treasured up and smiled over by every admirer of the master as eminently "characteristic" of him, will the reader believe that they turn out to be characteristic of—nothing but the unblushing impudence of Kapellmeister Ritter von Seyfried? They have no existence except in his imagination. The running commentary which accompanies the exercises is of a very different description from that supplied by him; it contains one instance, and one only, of an ironical tendency, and this is amusing enough in its simplicity to have extorted a smile from Albrechtsberger himself. One of the text-books employed appears to have been that of Türk, who makes use of the term "galant" to designate the free as opposed to the strict style of composition. Now what Beethoven saw lurking beneath the title galant, or what stumblingblock it presented to him, is hard to discover; but we find the expression, as often as it occurs, invariably altered to one that suits his notions better; and once he breaks out with, "Laugh, friends, at this galanterie!" Perhaps we may arrive at an appreciation of his distaste to the phrase, if we translate it by the word genteel,—imagine Beethoven writing in a genteel style!!

But in addition to thus clearing away the haze of misapprehension that had settled round our master's character as a learner, the efforts of Thayer and Nottebohm have also thrown much light on two questions which have proved more or less perplexing to all students, and to the brief consideration of which we would now ask the reader's attention.

First, then, how is it that Beethoven's genius as a composer was so late, comparatively speaking, in developing? At the time of his arrival in Vienna he was in his twenty-second year, and before that age Mozart, as we know, had produced no less than 293 works. Yet our master passed his boyhood in an atmosphere where every influence tended to quicken the musical life, and to hasten, rather than retard, its growth. Are we to take the handful of works—the little sonatas, the crude preludes, and other trifles generally recognised as composed in Bonn, to be the sole outcome of that period? Impossible! Alexander Thayer may fairly be said to have solved the problem by a single reference to chronology. He finds that between the years 1795-1802 (that is, a period commencing immediately after the conclusion of his studies) Beethoven published no fewer than ninety-two works, many of them of the first magnitude, including two symphonies, an oratorio, three concertos, nine trios, thirty-two sonatas, with and without accompaniment—and this during a time when his leisure for composition must have been scant indeed. We find him in these years incessantly occupied in more mechanical work, teaching, perfecting his style as a pianoforte virtuoso, travelling, continuing his studies with Salieri, and, in addition, enjoying life as he went along, not burying himself hermit-wise in his works, as was the case at a later date. Moreover, in Thayer's words: "Precisely at the time when he began to devote himself exclusively to composition, this wondrous fertility suddenly ceased. The solution lies on the surface" viz., that many, if not most, of these works were actually composed in Bonn, and deliberately kept back by the author for a certain time. "Why?" we ask; "on what account?" "Until he had attained, by study and observation, to the certainty that he stood on the firm basis of a thoroughly-grounded knowledge," replies Thayer, Beethoven would give nothing to the world. That goal reached, the creations of his youthful fancy are taken in hand again one by one; the critical file, guided by the "dictates of an enlightened judgment," is faithfully applied, and the composition, bearing the final imprimatur of its author's satisfaction, launched to meet its fate. Well might Beethoven laugh securely at his critics!—he had been beforehand with them—he had sat in judgment on himself.

This view receives ample confirmation in the newly published version of the "Studies." The reader may reasonably take objection to the foregoing, and may inquire: "Was not Beethoven, then, master of the mere technicalities of composition by the time he reached Vienna? He had been engaged in studying the theory as well as the practice of music for over ten years, under a master, himself well known as a composer."—Let us hear Nottebohm on the point. The instruction imparted by Neefe, although calculated to be eminently helpful as regards "the formation of taste and the development of musical feeling," was yet "from a technical standpoint unsatisfactory," being based, not on the strict contrapuntal system of the early ecclesiastical writers (the system which alone offers the necessary discipline for the composer), but rather on the lighter and more superficial method of the new Leipzig school, of which Johann Adam Hiller, Neefe's master and model, was one of the leading exponents.

Beethoven seems to have divined intuitively where his weakness lay. For the radical defect which he recognised in his training there was but one remedy, viz., to lay aside preconceived opinion; to go back in all humility to the very Urquelle, the Fountain-head, of Harmony, and trace out thence for himself, slowly and painfully, the eternal channel of LAW, within which the mighty sound-flood may roll and toss at will, but beyond whose bounds, immutable and fixed, no mortal power may send it with impunity.

Turning to the "Studies," we find no trace of a disposition to claim exemption from toil on the score of genius. On the contrary!—commencing at the very foundation (the names of the different intervals), every branch of composition is taken up in its turn—simple, double, and triple counterpoint in all detail—and worked at with a will (several of the exercises, being written and rewritten two or three times), until we arrive at Fugue, where, for a reason shortly to be noted, there is a halt.

What shall we say to the picture thus presented to us?—A young man self-willed and impatient by nature, at an age when submission to direct instruction is, to say the least, unpalatable, voluntarily placing himself under the yoke—a poet, within whose soul divine melodies plead for freedom, and thoughts of fire press hard for utterance, resolutely keeping inspiration under, until he shall have penetrated into the structure of language—a painter, in whose desk lie sketches, marvellous in freshness, vigour, and originality, occupying himself for weary months in the study of anatomy! Truly our Beethoven at this period, as at a later, comes well within the practical definition of Genius; his "capacity for painstaking" was "infinite." Not so, however, his patience, as we shall presently see.

Now for the second difficulty to which Nottebohm has found a clue: how is it that in Beethoven's earlier works we have so few instances of fugue-writing—at the time one of the most favoured styles of composition; and that these, when they do occur, should from the irregularity of their construction invariably be disappointing? Here again the scholarship of our critic has done good service. His minute examination of the exercises done under Albrechtsberger has led him to the conclusion, that to the faulty teaching of the master is due the faulty workmanship of the pupil—a somewhat astounding discovery when we remember the high estimation in which the contrapuntist was held by his contemporaries. The fact remains, however, that the instruction given by Albrechtsberger, "in several important details of fugue building, was deficient and not grounded;" hence, in all probability, the rarity of fugue during the first ten years of Beethoven's creative activity. He had not entire mastery over its resources, and therefore hesitated to introduce it, save in a subordinate and fitful way. We may be surprised that the indoctrination in the works of J.S. Bach, which we noted in the Bonn days, should not of itself have been powerful enough imperceptibly to mould his style. There is, however, no trace of this at the period we are considering. That the influence of the Urvater[7] of harmony (a title applied by Beethoven himself to John Sebastian) worked deeply into his inner life, there can be no doubt; but its effects were not apparent till a very much later date—a phenomenon, to our thinking, only to be explained on psychological grounds.

To return. Beethoven's patience, which had held out over two years, comes to a sudden halt on this very question. Clear-sighted and tolerant of no incompetence, our young "Thorough!" seems to have detected Albrechtsberger's weak point, and there and then to have cast off allegiance to him. The exercises up to fugue are, generally speaking, most carefully executed. No sooner, however, does the scholar perceive that the master is almost as much "at sea" as himself, and steering vaguely without a chart, than docility is at an end; he conceives an intense disgust for the theoretical tread-mill; growls to a friend that he has "had enough of making musical skeletons!" and absolves himself, without permission, from the remainder of Albrechtsberger's course.

We hear the old Theoretiker long after this grimly warning one of his pupils against his ci-devant scholar: "Have nothing to do with him. He never learned anything!" "Nay," Beethoven might have replied, had he thought it worth his while, "I learned all that you had to teach. Would you have had me walk with my eyes shut?" As Nottebohm remarks "the one could not" teach, "the other would not" learn, and so the instruction came to a close, and Beethoven fell back upon his own resources.

He had, however, by this time achieved his purpose in the main. He had probed and examined the received theoretical axioms, and was in a position to decide for himself as to their actual importance. Henceforth none were accepted by him as imperative, simply out of deference to current ideas, and thus we find instances again and again of an inflexible determination to shake off all restraints, the utility of which was not recognised by his inner consciousness. He was wont in after years, when told of any perplexity of the critics, to rub his hands together in glee, saying; "Yes, yes! they are all astonished, and put their heads together, because—they don't find it in any thorough-bass book!"

That independence may easily be merged in self-will, however, he sometimes proved to demonstration, to the delight of those who were on the watch for flaws. Ries tells us, for instance, that on one occasion he discovered and pointed out (in the C minor quartet, Op. 18) two perfect fifths in succession. "Well?" asks the master, testily, "and who has forbidden them?" Somewhat taken aback, the scholar keeps silence. Again the question is repeated. "But it is a first principle!" hesitates Ries in astonishment. "Who has forbidden them?" thunders out the master again. "Marpurg, Kirnberger. Fux,—all the theorists." "And I allow them!" is the conclusion. But the obstinacy displayed in this and similar anecdotes is more an expression of petulance, than of preconsidered judgment. Beethoven, as we know, enjoyed nothing better than an opportunity of mystifying certain individuals as to his real thoughts and intentions. Occasionally we hear his true voice in the matter. A friend had remarked, regarding the second and third "Leonora" overtures, "The artist must create in freedom, only giving in to the spirit of his age, and be monarch over his own materials; under such conditions alone will true art-works come to light." "Granted," replied Beethoven; "but he must not give in to the spirit of his age, otherwise it is all over with originality.... Had I written them [the two overtures] in the spirit that prevailed at the time, they would certainly have been understood at once, as, for example, the 'Storm of Kotzeluch.' But I cannot cut and carve out my works according to the fashion, as they would fain have me do. Freshness and originality create themselves, without thinking about it."

After all, let us remember that it is vain to measure the strides of a giant with the footsteps of ordinary men. Epoch-Makers are necessarily Law-Breakers to the eyes of their contemporaries. Years must pass before the import of their work is fully discerned. Reverting to our former simile, we can see that while Beethoven's critics believed him to be rebelliously diverting the current of Harmony from the pure course directed by a Palestrina, a Bach, a Handel, a Haydn, a Mozart, he was in reality simply engaged in deepening and widening its channel, that the Stream might flow on in grander and nobler proportions to meet the ever-growing necessities of Humanity.

Beethoven continued a diligent student through life; from those who had devoted special attention to any particular subject he was always eager to learn, although, as we have seen, without pledging himself to follow their views. Thus we find him in 1799 studying the art of quartet-writing more closely with Förster, who excelled in that branch of composition; and as late as 1809 he styles himself the "pupil" of Salieri, from whom, as the friend of Metastasio, and versed in the requirements of the Italian school, he often sought advice in his vocal compositions.

But in addition to more purely theoretic studies, Beethoven was indefatigable in his practical investigations into the nature and capabilities of the instruments for which he wrote, and which his creative genius roused to unheard-of achievements. From Herren Kraft and Linke he learned the mechanism of the violoncello; Punto taught him that of the horn, and Friedlowsky that of the clarionet. He often consulted these artists in after life regarding the suitability of certain passages for their respective instruments, and allowed himself to be guided by their suggestions.

Far otherwise was it, however, with singers; for them Beethoven composed as he liked, without humouring any little predilection of the most fascinating prima donna, or introducing a single piece for display (one reason why Rossini was able for so long to play the part of the successful rival). On the other hand, the singers had their revenge, and sang his music precisely as they listed, interpolating embellishments and cadenze a piacere without the slightest regard to his wishes.

The following letters to Eleanore van Breuning belong to this epoch:—

"Vienna, Nov. 2nd, '93.

"Most esteemed Eleanore! my dearest Friend!—A whole year of my residence in the capital has nearly elapsed without your having received a letter from me, notwithstanding you have been continually with me in the liveliest remembrance. I have often entertained myself with the thought of you and your dear family, but oftener still I have not enjoyed the peace in doing so which I could have wished.[8]

"At such times that fatal dispute hovered before me, and my conduct in the matter appeared to me detestable. But it was past and gone. How much would I give to be able to obliterate entirely from my life the way in which I then acted! so dishonouring to me, so opposed to my general character. At the same time there were many circumstances which tended to keep us apart, and I suspect that what specially hindered a reconciliation was the manner in which the remarks of each were repeated to the other. We both believed that what we said was the result of honest conviction, when in reality it proceeded from anger inflamed by others, and so we were both deceived. Your good and noble character, my dear friend, warrants me in believing that you have long since forgiven me; but they say that the truest repentance is that in which we confess our own faults, and this is what I desire to do. And let us now draw the curtain over the whole affair, only extracting the lesson from it that when a dispute happens between friends, it is always better that no mediator should be employed, but that friend should address himself direct to friend.

"You will receive along with this a dedication,[9] and I can only wish that it were greater and more worthy of you. They teased me here into publishing this little work, and I avail myself of the opportunity to give you, my esteemed Eleanore, a proof of my regard and friendship for yourself, and a token of my lasting remembrance of your house. Accept this trifle, and think of it as coming from a devoted friend. Oh! if it only gives you pleasure, my wishes will be quite satisfied. May it be a little reawakening of the time when I passed so many happy hours in your house! perhaps it may keep you in remembrance of me until I return again, which certainly will not happen soon. Oh! my dear friend, how we shall rejoice then! You will find your friend a more cheerful man, with all the former furrows of adversity chased away through time and a happier lot.