Steiner printed the archducal work in the seventh number of his “Musical Museum” under a slightly changed title, viz.: “Theme (Aufgabe) composed by Ludwig van Beethoven, varied forty times and dedicated to the author by his pupil R[udolph], A[rch-]D[uke].”[18] Other evidences of Beethoven’s interest in Archduke Rudolph’s studies in composition are to be noted about this time. On July 29 he wrote to his pupil from Mödling, sending him three poems and asking him to select one for composition, encouraging him in these words: “The Austrians now know already that the spirit of Apollo has newly awakened in the Imperial family. From all quarters I receive requests for something. The proprietor of the Modezeitung will appeal to Y. I. H. in writing. I hope I shall not be accused of bribery—at Court and not a courtier, what possibilities??!!!” In this letter, however, there are words of vaster import, as showing Beethoven’s attitude towards musical evolution. We quote:
... but freedom, progress, is the aim in the world of art as in the whole great universe, and even if we moderns are not so far advanced in sound technique (Festigkeit) as our forefathers, refinement in manners has opened many things to us. My exalted pupil in music, already a fellow-contestant for the laurel of fame, must not subject himself to the accusation of onesidedness,—et iterum venturus judicare vivos et mortuos.[19]
A Painter’s Presence Forgotten
A number of incidents in Beethoven’s life may now be passed in hurried chronological review: On October 1, he was made an honorary member of the Mercantile Association (Kaufmännischer Verein) in Vienna. In the fall Ferdinand Schimon (1797-1852), who was musician and opera-singer as well as painter, painted the portrait which afterward came into the possession of Schindler, and was engraved by Eduard Eichers for Schindler’s biography.[20] Schimon had obtained permission through Schindler to set up his easel in the chamber adjoining Beethoven’s workroom, the composer having resolutely refused a sitting because he was busy on the Credo of the mass. From this point of vantage he made his studies and had finished them all but the eyes—the most striking feature in the portrait. Out of this dilemma Beethoven unconsciously helped him. He had evidently been impressed with the discretion, or independence, of the young artist who came without a “good morning” and went without a “good evening,” and invited him to coffee. Thus Schimon had ample opportunity to supply the one deficiency in his sketches.
At the end of October, Beethoven returned to Vienna from Mödling, taking lodging this time at No. 16 Josephstädter Glacis, opposite the Auersberg Palace and near the Blöchlinger Institute where Karl was studying. The guardianship matter soon occupied his attention; spells of indisposition tormented him; and financial distress so threatened him that he attempted to negotiate a loan from the banker Hennickstein, and borrowed 750 florins from Steiner.[21] Countess Erdödy was in Vienna at the end of the year and he sent her a note on December 19, promising to visit her soon and scratching down a musical phrase which he afterwards erased to make of it the New Year canon: “Glück, Glück zum neuen Jahr.”
It is remarkable that Beethoven, under the circumstances which have been set forth in this chapter, could continue his labors on the Mass which were his principal occupation during the year; it was but another proof of the absorbing possession which the composition of a great work took of him when once fairly begun. So diligently did he apply himself that he had hopes not only of finishing it in time for the installation of the Archduke as Archbishop of Olmütz, but wrote to Ries on November 10 that he had already nearly completed it and would like to know what could be done with it in London. To Schindler, however, in expressing a doubt that he would have it done in time for the ceremonial, he said that every movement had taken on larger dimensions than had originally been contemplated. Schindler says also that when the day came, not one of the movements was finished in the eyes of the composer; yet he alleges that Beethoven brought the completed Credo with him when he came back to Vienna from Mödling. There is this to be added to these statements: A pocket sketchbook used in 1820 (it is now in the Beethoven House at Bonn) shows some sketches for the Credo; and there are memoranda for the same movement in a Conversation Book used near the close of the year. That the Gloria had received its final shape is a fair deduction from a Conversation Book of the same period. Bernard (presumably) writes:
It was decided yesterday that you give a concert either on Christmas or some other day. Count Stadion will give the use of the room, and Schick, Czerny and Janitschek will care for the rest. The programme is to include a symphony, the Gloria from your mass, the new Sonata played by you and a grand final chorus. All your works. 4,000 florins are guaranteed. Only one movement of the mass is to be performed.
The project is mentioned again by another friend, and Beethoven remarks: “It is too late for Christmas, but it might be possible in Lent.” That he worked occasionally on the Ninth Symphony, especially in the early part of the year, has already been said. Thomson’s commissions occupied some of his time, as well as a project to extend his labors on folksongs into a wider field. The second set of Variations on folksong themes which was published as Op. 107 in 1820, must be assigned, at least in part, to this year. He also, as Schindler tells us, composed a set of waltzes for a band of seven men who played at an inn in the valley of the Brühl near Mödling, and wrote out the parts for the different instruments. These waltzes have disappeared; Schindler tried in vain to find them a few years later. The canon “Glück zum neuen Jahr” was composed for Countess Erdödy on the last day of December, if A. Fuchs, who says that he copied it from the original manuscript, is correct. He also wrote a canon for Steiner in the summer, as appears from a conversation recorded in a book of March 20, 1820. An unidentified hand writes:
Last summer you sent a canon infinitus a due to Steiner from Mödling