With this trait of character was associated already in early youth another, not less important for his professional career than the former, namely, that rank and wealth were to him matters of absolute indifference—accidents for which he had no particular respect; hence, in a man he would recognise and honour nothing but the man. To bow to Mammon and its possessors was nothing less, in his opinion, than downright blasphemy—the deepest degradation of the man endowed with genius; and, before he could pay the wealthy the ordinary respect, it was requisite that they should at least be known to him as humane and benevolent. On this point more particularly Beethoven was orthodox, and no temptation whatever could have produced a change of sentiment on that head any more than in his political creed. It was, therefore, perfectly natural that the prince should occupy no higher place in his estimation than the private citizen; and he held that mind alone, that divine emanation in man, rises, according to its powers, above all that is material and accidental; that it is an immediate gift of the Creator, destined to serve as a light to others. Hence it follows that Beethoven recognised the position allotted to him from above, and its importance in the universe, and that too in all humility, as may be clearly seen in the letters addressed to a lady of whom he was passionately enamoured, which will be given hereafter.
In the first number of the Leipzig Musikalische Zeitung of 1835, I took occasion, from an expression attributed to Beethoven in a Vienna journal[12] respecting the age at which a person ought to learn the theory of harmony and counterpoint, to say, that Beethoven, on his arrival at Vienna, knew nothing of counterpoint and very little of the theory of harmony. His imagination warm and active, his ear sensitive, and Pegasus ever ready, he composed away, without concerning himself about the indispensable scholastic rules. Such was the state of things, when he began to receive instructions from Haydn, and Haydn is said to have been always satisfied with his new scholar, because he permitted him to do as he liked; till the tables were turned, and the scholar became dissatisfied with the master, owing to the following circumstance:—
Among the professional men whom Beethoven knew and respected, was M. Schenk, composer of the music to the Dorfbarbier, a man of mild, amiable disposition, and profoundly versed in musical science. M. Schenk one day met Beethoven, when he was coming with his roll of music under his arm from Haydn. Schenk threw his eye over it, and perceived here and there various inaccuracies. He pointed them out to Beethoven, who assured him that Haydn had just corrected that piece. Schenk turned over the leaves, and found the grossest blunders left untouched in the preceding pieces. Beethoven now conceived a suspicion of Haydn, and would have given up taking instructions from him, but was dissuaded from that resolution, till Haydn's second visit to England afforded a fitting occasion for carrying it into effect. From this moment a coolness took place between Haydn and Beethoven. Ries heard Beethoven say that he had indeed taken lessons of Haydn, but never learned anything of him. (See his Notizen, p. 86.)[13] The conduct of Haydn in this case was variously construed, as he was known to be in other respects a conscientious man: but no certain motive can be alleged for it. M. Schenk continued to be from that time the confidential corrector of Beethoven's compositions, even after Albrechtsberger had undertaken to give him instructions in counterpoint. Here I must record a remarkable fact which serves to characterise both these old friends.
Owing to Beethoven's unsettled life, it was too frequently the case that for years he knew nothing about intimate friends and acquaintance, though they, like himself, resided within the walls of the great capital; and if they did not occasionally give him a call, to him they were as good as dead. Thus it happened, that one day—it was in the beginning of the spring of 1824—I was walking with him over the Graben, when we met M. Schenk, then far advanced between sixty and seventy. Beethoven, transported with joy to see his old friend still among the living, seized his hand, hastened with him into a neighbouring tavern called the Bugle Horn, and conducted us into a back room, where, as in a catacomb, it was necessary to burn a light even at noon-day. There we shut ourselves in, and Beethoven began to open all the recesses of his heart to his respected corrector. More talkative than he often was, a multitude of stories and anecdotes of long by-gone times presented themselves to his recollection, and among the rest the affair with Haydn; and Beethoven, who had now raised himself to the sovereignty in the realm of music, loaded the modest composer of the Dorfbarbier, who was living in narrow circumstances, with professions of his warmest thanks for the kindness which he had formerly shown him. Their parting, after that memorable hour, as if for life, was deeply affecting; and, in fact, from that day, they never beheld one another again.
As, in that classic period of musical activity, Beethoven was the sun which all strove to approach, and rejoiced if they could but catch a glance of his brilliant eye; it was natural that he should converse much with ladies, several of whom were always contending for his affections at once, as it is well known, and he more than once found himself, like Hercules, in a dilemma. Dr. Wegeler says in his publication (page 42) that "Beethoven was never without an attachment, and that mostly he was very deeply smitten." This is quite true. How could any rational person who is acquainted with Beethoven solely from his works, maintain the contrary?[14] Whoever is capable of feeling how powerfully the pure flame of love operates upon the imagination, more especially of the sensitive and highly-endowed artist, and how in all his productions it goes before him like a light sent down from Heaven to guide him, will take it for granted, without any evidence, that Beethoven was susceptible of the purest love, and that he was conducted by it. What genius could have composed the Fantasia in C without such a passion![15] And here be it observed, merely by the way, it was love for the Giulietta to whom that imaginative composition is dedicated, which inspired him while engaged upon it. Beethoven seems to have retained his affection for that lady as long as he lived. Of this I think I can produce striking evidence, but it belongs to the second period.
Wegeler's remark (p. 44) is perfectly true, that the objects of Beethoven's attachment were always of the higher rank. No prejudice on the part of Beethoven had anything to do with this, which arose solely from the circumstance of his having at that time most intercourse with persons in high life,—an intercourse promoted moreover by his connexion with the princely house of Lichnowsky. Beethoven frequently declared that at this time he was best appreciated and best comprehended as an artist by noble and other high personages. High, however, as the converse with such personages was calculated to raise him intellectually, still, in regard to love, and a permanent happiness arising out of it, that circumstance was not advantageous to him. I shall take occasion to treat by and by more explicitly of this interesting topic, and shall merely observe here that, though exposed to such manifold seductions, Beethoven had, like the demi-god of old, the firmness to preserve his virtue unscathed; that his refined sense of right and wrong could not endure anything impure, and in a moral respect equivocal, about it; and that, considered on this score, he passed through life, conscious of no fault, with truly virgin modesty and unblemished character. The higher Muse, who had selected him for such important service, gave his views an upward direction, and preserved him, even in professional matters, from the slightest collision with the vulgar, which, in life as in art, was his abomination. Would that she had done as much for him in regard to the civil relations of life, as they are called, to which every inhabitant of earth is subject! How infinitely higher would Beethoven's genius have soared, if, in the ordinary intercourse of life, he had not been brought into conflict with so many base and contemptible minds!
Among the compositions of such various kinds that belong to this period were, besides the three Sonatas dedicated to Haydn, the first three Trios, several Quartetts for stringed instruments, two Concertos for the piano-forte, the Septett, the First and Second Symphony, more than twenty Sonatas, and the music to Vigano's ballet "Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus" (The Creations of Prometheus), which was performed in 1799, at the Imperial Operahouse; but the most important of these were not printed till a later period. It may not be amiss here to remark that the numbers affixed to Beethoven's works do not indicate the order in which they were composed by the master, but that in which they were published. Many works he kept back, frequently for several years, for the purpose of severe correction, while later compositions were sent into the world without delay.[16] This mode of proceeding, it is true, produced a confusion in the continuous numbering of his works, which he himself knew not how to remedy. At first, he purposed to number the works in the order in which they were composed, though some that were earlier written might not be published till after later ones were already printed. From the chasms which it was on this account found necessary to leave open, arose disorder; and hence we meet with many a number twice and even thrice over in the catalogues, and others not at all. Thus, for example, in the catalogue annexed to the "Beethoven Studien," Op. 29 is prefixed first to three Sonatas, then to the Preludes, and once more to the Quintett in C. In M. Artaria's catalogue, No. 29 is even attached to four, No. 3 to six, and No. 75 to three works. The latter catalogue specifies in the whole one hundred and fifty-two different works of Beethoven's, with numbers and opus-figures, while catalogues containing merely opus-numbers exhibit only one hundred and thirty-eight.
That Beethoven had already at this time many more commissions for works than he could execute, we learn from his letter of the 29th of June, 1800, to Dr. Wegeler,[17] where he likewise mentions that he is paid what he charges for them; and it is interesting to remark how small are the sums then paid for the copyright of his works by publishers in comparison with those which he received twenty years later, as we shall see in the third period. In his letter of the 15th of January, 1801, to the music publisher, Hofmeister, in Leipzig,[18] there is a statement of the prices charged for some works, which may serve as a kind of standard for others. He asks, for instance, for the Septett twenty ducats (ten louis-d'ors), for the First Symphony twenty ducats, for the First Concerto ten ducats, and for the grand B major Sonata (Op. 22) twenty ducats.
During a period of at least ten or twelve years it was at Prince Lichnowsky's musical parties that almost all Beethoven's works were first tried, and the refined taste of the prince, as well as his solid musical acquirements, commanded such respect from Beethoven, that he readily followed his advice in regard to the alteration or improvement of this or that in his compositions—a point on which he was extremely self-willed. Thus, too, at a later period, he would rather hear censures than praise from those to whom he gave credit for comprehending him; and but very few performers could boast of being so fortunate as to be allowed to teach him the peculiarities and the treatment of their respective instruments. M. Kraft, the elder, and subsequently M. Linke, taught him the mechanism of the violoncello, M. Punto that of the horn, and M. Friedlowsky the elder that of the clarinet: and it was these artists whom Beethoven chiefly consulted respecting his compositions, and to whose arguments he listened, even when it went ever so much against the grain to alter this or that passage.[19]
The Quartett which so early as that time had attained high distinction, consisting of Schuppanzigh, first violin, Sina second violin, Weiss, Bratsche (viola) Kraft, the elder, alternating with Linke, violoncello; which at a later period acquired universal and well-deserved celebrity by the appellation of "the Rasumowsky Quartett"—this Quartett enraptured the musical circle of Prince Lichnowsky, and into the souls of these four superior artists did Beethoven in time breathe his own sublime spirit. Him only who can boast of such good fortune I call the scholar, the disciple, of a great master, who can and must further diffuse his precepts in all their purity. How to place the fingers on the instrument, how to perform difficult passages upon it, can be taught by thousands without possessing a single spark of genius. Not the skilful management of technicalities, the spirit alone is the truth of every art. And this spirit, which in Beethoven himself attained its full vigour only with the lapse of time, gradually grew up in this association composing that Quartett till it arrived at its full development, and thus it continued till Beethoven's death, though Messrs. Sina and Weiss had left Vienna, and their places had been supplied by two worthy successors, Messrs. Holz and Kaufmann.[20] The reunion of these four artists, over the musical purity of whose manners Beethoven never ceased to watch with anxiety, was justly regarded as the only genuine school for acquiring a knowledge of Beethoven's quartett-music, that new world full of sublime conceptions and revelations. A letter addressed by the great master to this Quartett—when, in 1825, one of his last difficult Quartetts was to be performed for the first time before a select audience, I must not here omit, on account of its humorous tenor, particularly as it proves at the same time Beethoven's anxiety in their behalf which has been alluded to above. It is verbatim as follows:—