Some details of the representation may be learned from the account in the “Theaterzeitung” of November 9. The day was the name-day of the Empress; the square about the Opera-house was illuminated; the national hymn, “Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser,” was sung; the overture received such applause that it had to be repeated; the great duet and the canon quartet also, and the soprano and tenor were recalled at the end of the opera. Was Beethoven present? The question cannot be answered. Alfred von Wolzogen in his biography of Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient quotes from Claire von Glümer, who had access to the singer’s notes, in his account of the affair. The incident of the rehearsal is told with a variation which strengthens Schindler’s narrative. At the performance, Claire von Glümer says, Beethoven sat behind the chapelmaster in the orchestra so deeply wrapped in his cloak that only his gleaming eyes were visible. The youthful prima donna was unspeakably alarmed, but scarcely had she uttered her first words than she felt her whole body infused with marvellous power. Beethoven—the public—everything vanished from view. She forgot that she had studied the rôle—she was transformed into Leonore—she lived, she suffered the part, scene after scene. Beethoven, the story proceeds, though he had heard not a word but had observed the soul of her singing in her transfigured face, had recognized his Leonore in her.
After the performance he went to her; his usually threatening eyes smiled upon her, he patted her cheeks, thanked her for her Fidelio and promised to compose a new opera for her—a promise which, unfortunately was never fulfilled. Wilhelmine never met the master again, but of all the evidences of homage paid to the famous woman in later years her most precious recollection were the words of appreciation which Beethoven spoke to her.
The tale is amiable, and plausible enough; standing alone there would seem to be no ground for doubting its correctness. But there are circumstances which give our credence pause. Schindler, who was Beethoven’s constant companion in those days, who presents the story of the rehearsal so convincingly, and who waited until it was time to go to the theatre, says not a word about Beethoven’s presence at the representation. Would he, after suffering such a heartbreaking humiliation at the rehearsal, have gone to the theatre and taken a conspicuous place in the orchestra? It does not seem likely. Moreover, in a letter published in the “Neue Berliner Musikzeitung” of July 30, 1851, Schindler, discussing an impersonation of Fidelio by Frau Köster-Schlegel in Frankfort, says: “It may be remarked in passing that Beethoven never saw Schröder-Devrient as Fidelio, but was dissatisfied with her conception of the character as he had learned to know it from the public prints and oral communications. His ideal was not an operatic heroine, etc.” This would seem to be conclusive, were there not evidence that Schindler’s memory had played him false again. “Fidelio” was repeated on November 4, and also on November 26 and December 17, 1822, and March 3 and 18, 1823, and Bäuerle’s “Theaterzeitung” distinctly states that “Beethoven attended the second performance, sitting in a box in the first tier.” Moreover, Louis Schlösser, who was at this performance, adds confirmation by telling how he saw Beethoven leaving the theatre in the company of Schindler and von Breuning. Beethoven may not have been able to form an opinion of a performance which he could not hear, but the testimony of Schindler that he never saw Schröder-Devrient in the role of Fidelio is greatly weakened by this proved fact. But would he have made such a statement if Beethoven had been present at the first performance and paid so spectacular a tribute to the singer? It is easier to imagine that Schindler’s memory was treacherous concerning a later performance. At best, the evidence is inconclusive, because contradictory. In March, 1823, Chapelmaster Reuling remarks in a Conversation Book: “I saw you in the theatre at the first performance of ‘Fidelio’.” Did he mean the first performance in November, 1822, or the first of the two performances in the month in which he was writing—March, 1823? Schröder-Devrient in her prime is reputed to have been the greatest of all Fidelios; but she did not reach her full artistic stature until after Beethoven’s death.
Treatment for Deafness Resumed
Following Schindler’s narrative we learn that Beethoven’s woeful experience at the rehearsal led to a resolution on his part to make another effort to be healed of his deafness. He went to Dr. Smetana, who prescribed medicaments to be taken inwardly, thereby indicating, as Schindler asserts, that he had no expectation of effecting a cure, but wanted only to occupy Beethoven’s mind, knowing what to expect from so impatient, wilful and absent-minded a patient; for Beethoven was as unready to follow a physician’s advice as a musician’s, and was more likely to injure himself with overdoses of drugs than to invite the benefit which the practitioner hoped for by obedience to the prescription. The usual thing happened; not only with Dr. Smetana’s treatment, but also with that of the priest, Pater Weiss, whom he had consulted some 18 years before and to whom he now returned. For a while he thought that the oil which the priest dropped into his ears was beneficial, and Pater Weiss himself expressed the belief that the left ear, at least, might permanently be helped; but Beethoven grew skeptical, as he always did unless he experienced immediate relief, his work monopolized his attention, and despite the priest’s solicitations he abandoned the treatment and yielded himself to his fate. Thenceforward no one heard him lament because of his deafness.
The compositions which were in Beethoven’s hands at the close of the year were those which had occupied him in the earlier months. The Mass, several times completed but never complete so long as it was within reach, received what must now be looked upon as its finishing touches; progress was made on the Ninth Symphony and thought given to a quartet, perhaps several quartets. The Bagatelles for Pianoforte grouped under Op. 119, some of which had been published a year before (Nos. 7-11), were finished; Nos. 1 to 6 were ready for the publisher by the end of 1822—the autograph manuscript bearing the inscription “Kleinigkeiten, 1822 Novemb.” Nottebohm thinks that Nos. 2 to 5 were conceived between 1800 and 1804; a sketch for No. 5 (C minor, Risoluto) is found among sketches made in 1802 for the Sonata in C minor Op. 30; Lenz says sketches for No. 3 (in D, a l’Allemande) are among sketches for the last movement of the “Eroica” Symphony; No. 6 (G major) is sketched on a sheet containing experimental studies for a passage in the Credo of the Mass; sketches for Nos. 2 and 4 are among suggestions of a melody for Goethe’s “Erlkönig,” indicating an early period which cannot be determined. Of Nos. 7-11, enough has been said in a previous chapter. The piece published as No. 12 and added to the set by Diabelli after Beethoven’s death was originally a song with pianoforte accompaniment and had its origin in 1800 at the latest. Whether or not Beethoven made the pianoforte piece out of the projected song, on which point nothing of significance can be said, it is certain that it does not belong to the set, which consists of 11 numbers only in the old editions and in the manuscripts of the Rudolphinian Collection.
Beethoven offered a number of Bagatelles to Peters—at first four, then a larger number; he sent six to the publisher on February 15, 1823. Peters returned them—Beethoven receiving them on March 19—with the remark that they were not worth the price asked for them and that Beethoven ought to consider it beneath his dignity to waste his time on such trifles; anybody could write them. Schindler says that Peters’s action aggrieved Beethoven, which is easily believed; but Schindler confounded the Bagatelles Op. 119 with the set, Op. 126, works of distinctly a higher order which were not composed at the time. On February 25, 1823, Beethoven sent 11 Bagatelles to Ries in London with instructions to sell them as best he could. Naturally, Op. 119 is meant. On May 7, 1823, six were offered to Lissner in St. Petersburg. Schlesinger published the set in Paris at the end of 1823, as Op. 112, and Sauer and Leidesdorf issued them almost simultaneously in Vienna with the same opus number. The number 119 appears to have been assigned to the set after an agreement had been reached with Steiner concerning the works now numbered 112 to 118. The last known song by Beethoven, “Der Kuss,” was finished at this time, though written down practically as we know it in 1798. Sketches involving the few changes made are found among some for the overture “The Consecration of the House” and the Ninth Symphony. The autograph is dated “December, 1822.” It was sent to Peters, who did not print it; in 1825 it was sent to the Schotts, numbered 128, and they published it.
Galitzin and an Oratorio for Boston
In the last weeks of the year a connection was established which was destined to be of great influence in Beethoven’s final creative activities. Prince Nicolas Boris Galitzin, born in 1795, who as a young man had taken part in the Napoleonic wars, was an influential factor in the musical life of St. Petersburg. He played the violoncello, and his wife (née Princess Saltykow) was an admirable pianist. Prince Galitzin was an ardent admirer of Beethoven’s music and had arranged some of the works written for the pianoforte for strings. Whether or not he had made the personal acquaintance of Beethoven has not been established, but wanting to have as his private property some composition by the master whom he revered, he addressed a letter to Beethoven on November 9, 1822, saying that as a passionate amateur of music and an admirer of the master’s talent he asked him to compose for him one, two or three string quartets, for which he would be pleased to pay any sum demanded and that he would accept the dedication of the works with gratitude. Beethoven’s answer, dated January 25, 1823, has not been found but it is known that he accepted the commission and fixed the honorarium at 50 ducats each. This is the prologue to the story of the last Quartets.
In Charles C. Perkins’s “History of the Handel and Haydn Society, of Boston,” Vol. I, p. 87, the author writes: “The most interesting matter connected with the history of the society in the year 1823 ... is the fact that Beethoven was commissioned to write an oratorio for it.” The date is obviously wrong; it should be 1822, for in a letter dated December 20, 1822, as will appear in the next chapter of this work, Beethoven tells Ries that he has received requests from all parts of Europe “and even from North America.” The historian of the Boston Society adds: