It cannot admit of a doubt that, if Beethoven had had the good fortune to meet with a female of like condition with himself, whom he could have called his own, who had thoroughly known and loved him—this, with his eminent qualities for domestic life, would have proved the foundation of his happiness; and that, under these circumstances, the world would have many more productions of his genius to boast of than it now possesses. Beethoven needed such a Constanze as Mozart once called his (as artists and literary men in particular ought to have), who could, in like manner, have ventured to say to him, in a tone of kindness, "Stay at home, Ludwig, and work: such and such a one is waiting for what you promised," as Wolfgang's wife is reported to have frequently said to him. Such a woman would have deserved a monument, which he himself had no need of. To say that his deafness caused things to turn out otherwise, and that it was almost the only reason that Beethoven never enjoyed true happiness, is lamentable, but, alas! too true. It is remarkable that, notwithstanding the great confidence which he placed in me, on the subject of his attachments, I never heard anything drop from him but names which seemed to point that way; and it would not have become my youth to have questioned him concerning them. Thus even of the Giulietta, to whom I have adverted above, I have heard only casual mention by himself, and to this tender topic he would not suffer even his oldest friends to make allusion. What I have stated respecting her is nevertheless derived from the most authentic sources. The letters which I have inserted offer moreover incontestable evidence of the truth of what I have mentioned.
It is further said that Beethoven cherished a tender attachment to a Countess Marie Erdödy, to whom he dedicated the two splendid Trios, Op. 70. But to me it appears to have been no more than a friendly intimacy between the two.[33] On this subject I know nothing particular, excepting that this lady, who was fond of the arts, erected in honour of her instructor and friend, in the park of one of her seats in Hungary, a handsome temple, the entrance to which is decorated with a characteristic inscription, pertinently expressing her homage to the great composer.
As Beethoven once observed of himself that he was composing several things at the same time, so this continued to be his practice. Thus, in the years 1806, 1807, and 1808, in which the fourth, fifth, and sixth Symphonies—those giants of musical poesy—sprang from his brain, he wrote many other works, as the catalogue attests. His C minor Symphony, and the Pastorale, were not brought out at the same time, as M. Ries states (p. 83), but at different, distant, intervals, as they were composed. It may be rationally assumed, à priori, that, to bring out for the first time, and close on the heels of each other, three works of such extent—M. Ries even adds to them the Fantasia for the Piano-forte, with orchestra and vocal music—at a period when the orchestra had not attained that degree of perfection which it has in our days, borders on the impossible.
In this, as in the former period, Beethoven conducted almost all his greater works himself on their first performance. As director of the orchestra, he was neither good nor bad. His impetuosity did not permit him to arrive at the tranquillity and self-command requisite. Feeling himself what each individual instrument had to do, he strove to make each of the performers equally sensible of it, and lost himself in gesticulations, which caused a wavering in the orchestra. His hardness of hearing, whence his listening for the prescribed falling-in of particular instruments, moreover occasioned frequent delays in passages where the director ought to have urged the whole onward. At the time when his hearing was yet perfect, he had not often occasion to come in contact with the orchestra, and especially to acquire practice in the conducting department at the theatre, which is the best school for that purpose. In the concert-room the talent most fitted for this difficult function is never fully developed, and remains one-sided and awkward. Thus we see composers of eminence incapable of conducting the orchestra in the performance of their own works, if they have not previously acquired the necessary routine, in listening to, and in superintending, numerous bands. If, therefore, Beethoven was frequently involved in unpleasant altercations with his orchestra, this was no more than might have been expected, but never did he descend to coarseness and abuse; still less does a creature in Vienna know anything about such occurrences with the orchestra as are related by his friend and pupil, M. Ries (pp. 83 and 84), occurrences which "are said" to have happened in Vienna long after M. Ries had gone to Petersburg. And what conductor is there but sometimes gets into unpleasant squabbles with his orchestra, without any one ever attaching importance to them, or employing them as sources for a characteristic account of the man?[34]
This seems to be the proper place for mentioning that it was in this period that the friendships formed by Beethoven were increased by two, which had in general great influence over him, in the persons of Count Franz von Brunswick and Baron J. von Gleichenstein. Though not constantly resident in Vienna, they were frequently there, and Beethoven had opportunities of consulting them on matters of importance. Both possessing superior abilities and rare equanimity, and having penetrated deeply into his whole nature and his works, acquired such a control over Beethoven, without any assumption on their part, as enabled them to accomplish much that the officiousness of other friends could never have brought about. The former in particular possessed a profound comprehension of Beethoven's genius which I have never met with in so high a degree in any other of his admirers. Beethoven seems to have even then perceived this mental preponderance of that friend over others, when he dedicated to him the gigantic Sonata, Op. 57, and the Fantasia, Op. 77. "It must be of no ordinary quality," he probably thought, "if I am to honour a worthy friend according to his deserts."[35] To his friend, Baron von Gleichenstein, Beethoven dedicated the grand Sonata with Violoncello, Op. 69. Here I must further mention the Imperial Secretary M. von Zmeskall, who was one of Beethoven's warmest friends at that time, and who, like the two just mentioned, exercised considerable influence over him. To all these three excellent men the great master continued to be attached and grateful as long as he lived.
It was not the admiration of his genius, but a decided comprehension and appreciation of it, that attached Beethoven to a friend. For idolatrous admirers his heart was but a broad thoroughfare, along which thousands could go in and out without jostling against one another. And this is a sure sign of the truly superior genius, whose chief desire it is to be understood, and completely understood. Astonishment and admiration will then follow in due time and measure.
It will now be interesting to observe how much Beethoven's works had risen in value since the conclusion of the first and the beginning of the second period. Among his papers there is an agreement between him and Muzio Clementi, dated Vienna, the 20th of April, 1807, signed by both, and witnessed by Baron Gleichenstein. According to this agreement, Beethoven received from M. Clementi for duplicates of the following works:—1st. Three Quartetts; 2nd. The Fourth Symphony; 3rd. The Overture to Coriolanus; 4th. The Fourth Concerto for the Piano-forte; 5th. The Violin Concerto—for sale in England, the sum of two hundred pounds sterling. (All these works had already been disposed of to German publishers.) Clementi further engaged by this agreement to pay Beethoven the sum of sixty pounds sterling for three Sonatas that were not yet composed.
The valuable presents that Beethoven received about this time were numerous, but all of them vanished without leaving any traces behind; and I have heard friends of his assert that the "evil principle" strove to keep not only kindly disposed persons but valuables of every sort away from him. It is said that, when he was asked,—"What is become of such a ring, or such a watch?" he would always reply, after some consideration, "I do not know." At the same time he well knew how it had been purloined from him, but he never would accuse his brothers of such dishonesty; on the contrary, he defended them in all their proceedings, and, in their bickerings with others, even with his most tried friends, he generally admitted, if not loudly, yet tacitly, that his brothers were in the right, and thus confirmed them in their practices against his personal interests. In particular, all that his elder brother Carl did he most obstinately defended, as he was extremely fond of him, and placed great reliance on his abilities.[36]
At the time of the second French invasion, in 1809, Beethoven did not quit Vienna any more than he had done during the first. Had he on this occasion been concerned for his personal safety, and capable of such cowardice as M. Ries leaves the reader to suppose that he betrayed,[37] he could have taken a thousand opportunities to quit the capital before its occupation; and if, during its bombardment, he retreated to the cellar, he did no more than was done, at that critical moment, by the whole population; and Dr. Wegeler conjectures that he may have been moreover induced to take this precaution by the painful effect of the thunder of the cannon upon his ailing ear. No person that had any opportunity to observe Beethoven closely ever saw him timorous or cowardly; he was precisely the reverse, and knew neither fear nor apprehension: and this was quite in accordance with his natural character. Or is it to be presumed that he was timid and alarmed in the year 1809 alone? Did he not stay in Vienna and bring out his Fidelio during the first occupation of the French in 1805, though it was just as likely to have been preceded by a bombardment of the city?