In the spring of 1823, Beethoven again took up his quarters in the pleasant village of Hetzendorf, where the Baron von Pronay assigned to him a suite of apartments in his beautiful villa. Supremely happy as he felt, when, in the first days of his residence there, he explored the noble park, or overlooked the charming landscape from his windows; yet he soon took a dislike to the place, and for no other reason than because "the Baron, whenever he met him, was continually making too profound obeisances to him." On the 24th of August, he wrote to me that he could not stay there any longer, and requested me to be with him by five o'clock the following morning, to accompany him to Baden, and assist him to seek lodgings there. I did as he desired; and off he started, with bag and baggage, for Baden, though he had already paid for his lodgings at Hetzendorf for the whole of the summer. His English piano-forte, made by Broadwood, presented to him several years before by Ferdinand Ries, John Cramer, and Sir George Smart, accompanied him in all these peregrinations. At the sale of Beethoven's effects, this instrument was purchased by the court-agent, von Spina, of Vienna, in whose possession it still remains.[63]
At that villa, in Hetzendorf, Beethoven wrote the Thirty-three Variations on a Waltz by Diabelli, Op. 120,—a work which amused him exceedingly. At first there were to be but six or seven Variations, for which moderate number Diabelli offered him eighty ducats: but when he fell to work they soon increased to ten; presently to twenty; then to twenty-five; and still he could not stop. Diabelli, who was apprehensive of having too large a volume, when he heard of twenty-five Variations, was at last obliged to accept thirty-three Variations instead of seven, for his eighty ducats. It was about the same sum, that is to say eighty ducats, that Beethoven received for nearly every one of his last Sonatas.
On his return to Vienna, in the autumn of the same year, Beethoven received an invitation from the manager of the court opera-house to conduct his Fidelio, which, after a long interval, was again to be represented. The proofs of his unfitness for such a duty, on account of his almost total deafness, furnished by the opening of the Josephstadt theatre in the preceding year, were still before his eyes. Nevertheless, nothing on earth could dissuade him from accepting this invitation: at his desire I accompanied him to the rehearsal. At the very first movement, the absolute impossibility of proceeding was apparent, for not only did he take the time, either much quicker or much slower than the singers and the orchestra had been accustomed to, but retarded them incessantly. Kapell-meister Umlauf set things to rights as long as it was practicable; but it was high time to tell poor Beethoven plainly—This will not do. But neither M. Duport, the manager, nor M. Umlauf, had the courage to say so; and when Beethoven perceived a certain embarrassment in every countenance, he motioned me to write down for him what it meant. In a few words I stated the cause, at the same time entreating him to desist, on which he immediately left the orchestra. The melancholy which seized him after this painful incident was not dispelled the whole day, and even at table he uttered not a single word.
Beethoven, after this event, applied repeatedly to the army-surgeon, Smetana, to relieve his complaint, and he actually put him for some time on a course of medicine; but the most impatient patient served the physic as he had always done before. He not unfrequently took in two doses the medicines destined for the whole day; or, he forgot them entirely, when his ideas lifted him above the material world and carried him into loftier regions. How difficult he was to manage in this particular was well known to every medical man who had attended him, and in former years even to von Vehring, physician to the staff, though he durst venture to assume a certain authority over him.
It was in this year that the Society of the Friends of Music of the Austrian Empire in Vienna sent to our Beethoven the diploma of an honorary member of that society. It is right to observe that this society had already existed ten years, and during that time nominated many native and foreign professional men honorary members, for which reason Beethoven felt hurt that he had not been thought of before. He would, therefore, have sent back the diploma immediately, but suffered himself to be persuaded not to do so, and rather to take it in silence, without returning any answer to the society.
The diploma of honorary member of the Academy of Arts and Sciences of Stockholm had been previously transmitted to him in the autumn of 1822.
Upon the whole, the year 1823 was thronged with incidents in Beethoven's life, the number of which was increased by the following circumstance:—Beethoven was quartered, by means of his brother Johann, in a dark lodging, fit at best for a shoemaker, and which, because it was cheap, was considered suitable for the "brainowner." But it was not this circumstance alone that made our master's life uncomfortable: in this lodging he had for his landlord a low-bred man, coarse in manners and disposition, who treated him with no more respect than if he had been a day-labourer. This was a miserable abode for Beethoven, who had been accustomed to something so very different; and the winter of 1822-23 might, owing to this fatal situation of the great composer, furnish plenty of matter for tales and humorous pieces. I know of but one cheering event which occurred while he was in that horrid den. In April, 1823, the Countess Schafgotsch, of Warmbrunn in Silesia, brought him his first Mass, with a new German text, written by M. Scholz, music-director at that place. We were just at dinner. Beethoven quickly opened the manuscript and ran over a few pages. When he came to qui tollis, the tears trickled from his eyes, and he was obliged to desist, saying with the deepest emotion, in reference to the inexpressibly beautiful text:—"Yes, that was precisely my feeling when I wrote this." This was the first and the last time that I saw him in tears. He was just about to send his second Mass to the same admirable writer, that he might adapt a German text to that also, when he received intelligence of his death; and I rejoiced exceedingly that I had been in time to inform that excellent man what an effect his work, which I still possess, had produced upon Beethoven.
In the first months of 1823 Beethoven was urged from various quarters to write an Opera, and the manager of the court opera-house was particularly desirous to have one of his composition. From Count Brühl, intendant of the court theatre at Berlin also, Beethoven received a commission to write an Opera for that house à tout prix. Dozens of opera texts were now collected, but he disliked them all; for he proposed to take a subject from the Greek or Roman history, to which objections were made on the absurd ground that those subjects had been already exhausted, and were no longer modern. At last came M. Franz Grillparzer with his Melusina. The subject pleased Beethoven, only he wished to have certain passages altered, which Grillparzer readily consented to do.[64] The poet and the composer were agreed upon the principal points of the alterations, and we were rejoicing in the prospect of seeing upon our boards Mademoiselle Henriette Sontag, whom Beethoven proposed to keep particularly in his eye, in the character of Melusina. But how did Beethoven disappoint us all! Annoyed by the recollection of what had happened with his Fidelio, he told no one that he had sent Grillparzer's manuscript to Count Brühl for his inspection. Of course we knew nothing about it till the Count's answer lay before us. The Count expressed himself much pleased with the poem, and merely remarked that there was a ballet performing at the court theatre of Berlin "which had a distant resemblance to Melusina." This observation, and the prospect of again coming into contact with German opera-singers, discouraged Beethoven to such a degree that he relinquished the idea of writing an Opera, and would not thenceforward listen to anything that might be said on the subject. I must, however, remark here that he was extremely delighted with the performances of the company then at the Italian Opera in Vienna,[65] to which belonged Lablache, Donzelli, Rubini, Paccini, Ambrogi, Ciccimarra; and among the ladies, Fodor-Mainville, Dardanelli, Ekerlin, Sontag, and Ungher; and was so particularly struck with the inspired Caroline Ungher, that he determined to write an Italian opera for that select band of priests and priestesses of Thalia. This design would certainly have been carried into execution in the following year (to which this new work was deferred on account of the already projected ninth Symphony), had not a fatal north wind blown away this and many other fine schemes, which we shall have occasion to notice hereafter.
In November, 1823, Beethoven began to compose the ninth Symphony, for which he brought many sketches from the country to town with him; and in February, 1824, this colossus was completed. It may not be uninteresting here to notice the way in which Beethoven contrived cleverly to introduce Schiller's song, "Freude, schöner Götterfunken," into the fourth movement of the symphony. At that time I was seldom from his side, and could therefore closely observe his struggles with this difficulty. The highly interesting sketches and materials for it, all of which I possess, likewise bear witness to them. One day, when I entered his room, he called out to me,—"I have it! I have it!" holding out to me his sketch-book, where I read these words, "Let us sing the immortal Schiller's song, 'Freude,'" &c., which introduction he afterwards altered to "Friends, not these tones!" This first idea will be found in the engraved fac-simile at the end of the Second Volume.
The recitative of the double-bass also was not comprehended in his original plan, and was added when he changed the above-mentioned introductory movement; in consequence of which it was necessary to give a different form to almost all that preceded, as the fundamental sentiment of that device required. He had nearly the same process to go through with the melody in the first verse which the bass-solo has to sing. The sketch-book shows a fourfold alteration, and above each he wrote, according to his practice, "Meilleur," as may be seen in the engraved fac-simile, No. II.[66]