The Funeral March of the grand Sonata, Op. 26, in a flat minor, dedicated to Prince Lichnowsky, owes its existence to the high encomiums which were bestowed by Beethoven's friends on Paer's Funeral March in his Opera of "Achilles."[199]
On Steibelt coming from Paris to Vienna, several of Beethoven's friends were afraid lest the great reputation of the former should be injurious to Beethoven. Steibelt did not call upon him, and they first met at Count Fries's where Beethoven performed his new Trio in B major for piano, clarionet, and violin (Op. 11) for the first time; the player not having here an opportunity for display. Steibelt listened with a kind of condescension, and paid Beethoven some every-day compliment, thinking himself secure in his triumph. He played a Quintett of his own, and an extempore Fantasia, and produced much effect by the novelty of his tremulandos. Beethoven was not to be persuaded into a second performance. At a concert, which took place a week later at Count Fries's, Steibelt again played a Quintett with much success, and had, moreover, got up for the occasion (as was palpably felt) a brilliant Fantasia, upon the very subject of the variations in Beethoven's Trio: this so incensed his admirers and himself that he was made to extemporize; he went up to the instrument in his usual, I may say uncouth manner, being half pushed towards it, took en passant the violoncello part of Steibelt's Quintett, laid it (intentionally?) upside down on the desk, and drummed a subject, beginning at the first bars with one finger; but having been excited and offended at the same time, he gave us such a performance as to make Steibelt quit the room ere he had done, declaring he would never meet Beethoven again, and indeed making Beethoven's non-appearance a condition to those who desired to have him.
Beethoven usually put off to the very last moment such compositions as were to be ready at a stated period; thus he had promised the celebrated horn-player, Ponto, to write a Sonata for piano-forte and French horn (Op. 17), and play it with him at Ponto's concert; this had been publicly announced, never having been commenced till the day before the concert, and was terminated for the performance.
The celebrated Sonata in A minor, Op. 47, with violin-concertante, dedicated to Kreuzer, had originally been written for Bridgetower, an English performer, and much in the same manner, although the first Allegro was finished in good time. Bridgetower urged him on to set about it, his concert being announced, and he anxious to study his part. I was suddenly called to Beethoven one morning at half-past four, and he said—"Write out this violin part of the first Allegro with all haste" (his usual copyist was already employed): he had but slightly sketched the piano-forte part, and Bridgetower played that lovely subject with variations in F major, from Beethoven's own manuscript, at eight in the morning at his concert in the 'Augarten'—there being no time to copy it. The last Allegro 6/8 A major, had, on the contrary, been beautifully copied both in the violin and piano-forte part, having originally belonged to the first Sonata, Op. 30, in A major, dedicated to the Emperor Alexander; he deemed it too brilliant for this work, and substituted those variations which we still find in it.
Beethoven esteemed Mozart and Handel most of all composers, and next to them S. Bach. If ever I found him with music in his hand, or on his desk, it was sure to be that of one of these mighty men. Haydn rarely escaped without a side cut, partly perhaps from a former grudge he bore him, and of which the following may be a cause:—Beethoven's three Trios, Op. 1, were to be first ushered into the world of cognoscenti at one of Prince Lichnowsky's soirées. All those distinguished in the art had been invited, and Haydn amongst the number; his judgment being anxiously looked up to. The Trios were played and at once created a great sensation. Haydn, too, expressed himself with much satisfaction to Beethoven, advising him, however, not to publish the third in C minor, whilst he, considering this the best,[200] was much struck by Haydn's advice, leaving him under the impression of being envied and looked upon rather in jealousy than as a friend.
If, in playing to him, I made a mistake in passages, or if I happened to strike a wrong note where he required a particularly accentuated one, he seldom said anything; but if I showed any want of expression, if I omitted a crescendo, &c., or if I did not succeed in rendering the character of the piece, he became incensed: the former, he said, was chance; but the latter, want of knowledge, of feeling, or of attention. Indeed, he himself might often be reproached with the former defect, even when playing in public.
In the second Symphony in D major, the manuscript score of which Beethoven gave me, something very striking occurs, in the Larghetto quasi Andante. This Larghetto is so beautiful, so clear and bright, and the harmony so pure, that the hearer could not imagine it had ever been altered. The plan had indeed been the same from the beginning, but, in the second violin, as well as in many parts of the tenor, there are considerable alterations in the accompaniments, the original thoughts having been so carefully effaced as to render it impossible for me to trace them in spite of all the pains I took to that effect. On questioning Beethoven about it, he drily retorted, "It is better thus."
During a walk which I took with Beethoven, I was talking to him of two consecutive fifths which occur in one of his earliest violin-Quartetts in C minor, and which, to my surprise, sound most harmoniously. Beethoven did not know what I meant, and would not believe they could be fifths. He soon produced the piece of music-paper which he was in the habit of carrying about with him, and I wrote down the passage with its four parts. When I had thus proved myself to be right, he said, "Well, and who forbids them?" Not knowing what to make of this question, I was silent, and he repeated it several times, until I at length replied, in great amazement, "Why, it is one of the very first rules." He, however, still repeated his question, and I answered, "Marpurg, Kirnberger, Fuchs, &c. &c.—in fact, all theorists." "Well, then, I permit them," was his final answer.
While Beethoven was playing with me at Count Brown's his three Marches for two performers, Op. 45, P—— was carrying on a loud and merry conversation with a beautiful young lady seated in the doorway near the ante-room. Beethoven made several attempts to silence them, and when these proved fruitless, suddenly and in the midst of playing lifted my hands off the keys, jumped up and said, loud enough to be heard by everybody, "I do not play for such swine." All attempts to make him return to the piano proved fruitless, nor did he permit me to play any more. The music ceased accordingly, to the vexation of every person present.
The following was the cause of his breaking with Himmel. They had met one day, and Beethoven sat down to extemporise at Himmel's request, afterwards desiring him to do the same; Himmel was weak enough to consent, and, after having played for a considerable time, Beethoven exclaimed, "Well, when are you going to begin in good earnest?" Himmel, who had thought wonders of his own performance, started up at these words, and both became rude to each other. Beethoven said to me, "I thought Himmel had just been preluding." They made it up afterwards, and Himmel could forgive but not forget; they even carried on a correspondence for some little time, but at last Himmel played Beethoven a sad trick. The latter always wanted to have the last news from Berlin, which somewhat annoyed Himmel, who at length wrote to him—"The latest piece of news is the invention of a lantern for the blind." Beethoven carried this piece of intelligence abroad, and all the world wished to know how this might possibly be. He immediately wrote to Himmel, and reproached him with not having sent a full explanation. The answer received, but which I cannot here impart, was such as finally closed their correspondence; all that was ludicrous in the letter fell to Beethoven's share, and yet he was so imprudent as to show it to several persons.