The circumstances which caused Beethoven to relinquish his design of publishing the new edition of his Sonatas were—1st, the uneasy state of mind into which he was thrown by the lawsuit commenced between him and his sister-in-law; and, 2ndly, the impossibility of coming to a satisfactory arrangement with Hofmeister, the music-dealer in Leipzig, who was to publish the work. From Beethoven's correspondence with A. Diabelli, who was his confidential adviser on this subject, I perceive that the composer wished the publication to be brought out in parts, each part to contain two of the old Sonatas, and one recently composed. For each of these new productions, taken one with another, Beethoven required the remuneration of forty ducats. Hofmeister, on the other hand, proposed to pay the composer at the rate of one ducat per sheet.
I once asked Beethoven why he had not affixed to the different movements of his Sonatas an explanation of the poetic ideas they expressed, so that these ideas might at once present themselves to the mind of the intelligent hearer? His answer was, that the age in which he composed his Sonatas was more poetic than the present[111] (1823), and that at the former period such explanations would have been superfluous. "At that time" (continued he) "every one perceived that the Largo, in the third Sonata in D, Op. 10,
painted the feelings of a grief-stricken mind, with the varying tints in the light and shade, in the picture of melancholy in all its phases; there was then no need of a key to explain the meaning of the music. So in the two Sonatas, Op. 14, every one, at the time when they were composed, immediately recognised the conflict of two principles, or a dialogue between two persons, exactly as is intended in the treatment of the subject, &c." On another occasion, I requested him to furnish me with the keys to two Sonatas, that in F minor, Op. 57, and that in D minor, Op. 29. His answer was, "Read Shakspeare's Tempest."
In 1823, Beethoven was more earnestly disposed than he had previously been to superintend an edition of his entire works, including the Symphonies. He received proposals from publishers in all parts of the continent, accompanied by advantageous conditions. That he did not then come to an arrangement, which would have enabled him to enter upon this undertaking, was the fault of his brother Johann, to whom none of the proposed terms appeared sufficiently liberal. He suggested to Beethoven the idea of bringing out the publication on his own account, showing, by calculations on paper, the vast profits which would accrue from the speculation. M. Andreas Streicher cordially seconded the recommendation of this mode of publishing; but he differed somewhat from Beethoven's brother in his estimate of the profits. The documents of a lawsuit some centuries ago would not have composed a more bulky volume than did the manuscripts, occupied with the calculations made, the consultations held, and the determinations formed, during the agitation of this publishing scheme. But the parties engaged in these discussions and decisions forgot that they had to deal with the irresolute Beethoven—who, whenever business was the question, would be for one thing to-day and another to-morrow; and against whose expressed wish it was often necessary to do many things for his advantage. The mere prospect of great sums of money (though seen only on paper) captivated Beethoven, and he began to indulge in dreams of bettered circumstances, of living in elegant style, and keeping his carriage and horses. He was so elated by these pleasing illusions that he began to fancy himself already rich; an idea not calculated to dispose his mind to the gigantic labour then in contemplation.[112] Never were the visits of him whom he called his "pseudo-brother" so welcome as at this time. Beethoven often accompanied his brother in a carriage airing; and, on one occasion, an effort of patience enabled him to go with his brother's family on a drive to the Prater. Assuredly no event could seem too improbable for belief, after two such heterogeneous elements as the "Gutsbesitzer" (landowner) and the "Hirnbesitzer" (brainowner) had been seen riding together in the same carriage.[113]
In these visionary hopes of fortune so readily indulged by the great Beethoven, it is easy to recognise the youth whose character is summarily sketched in the Second Period. To be rich, or at least in easy circumstances—to ride in his carriage—to be no longer obliged to stroll through fields and meadows to collect ideas and compose for the sake of earning a livelihood,—such was the flattering picture he loved to draw, and the contemplation of which often made him descend from his lofty heaven of art to cling eagerly to more earthly objects; and then sublime poetry was suddenly metamorphosed into common prose. But, thanks to the blundering management of his advisers, Beethoven remained poor! Made rich, by any means whatsoever, he would probably have been little disposed to make great sacrifices for art in the vigour of life; at all events, he would not have applied himself very laboriously to study, had he been in the enjoyment of any considerable share of the good things of this world.
As, however, it is not always our own wisdom that prompts to great objects, and brings, as it were, light out of darkness, so the stupid perversity which dictated the arrangements for the projected new edition of Beethoven's works probably conferred a benefit on musical art. To speak more plainly, in the discussions on this publishing plan, the great master did not limit his attention to the mere business part of the question, the details of which, though on every occasion fresh painted in glowing colours, often disgusted him. Then would he look upon the getting-up of the work—the dull material—as mere dust in the balance; whilst to exercise his musical art—to him the spiritual part of the enterprise—wholly occupied his imagination. When this feeling happened to prevail, he would describe to all who chanced to be near him the improvements he proposed to make in reference to the subject, conception, and execution in many of his early works. Some of these improvements owe their birth to a jocose observation made by Dr. Bach at one of the conferences held on the subject of the publication. Beethoven declared that many of his works did not admit of the slightest alteration, and that, consequently, in reference to them he could not establish any right of property in a second edition. Dr. Bach replied, "That the right would be sufficiently established by making the composition commence with the accented instead of the unaccented part of a bar, and vice versâ; and further, by changing white notes into black and black into white." This remark, intended purely in jest, inspired Beethoven with a thousand new ideas, and gave an impulse to his fancy, the results of which soon after supplied the master-keys of many of his greatest works.[114]
Beethoven, who knew my antipathy to accounts, did not trouble me with any of those pecuniary calculations, which indeed were to himself not much more intelligible than hieroglyphics. He consulted me only on the artistical part of the all-important question—was he to grow rich, or remain poor? I often thought that he might have read in my soul the answer which told him what was best for his own interest, and that of the world of art. For my part, I never had a doubt as to the course which was most advisable for him to adopt; but I did not wish to awaken him too early from a dream which I well knew would speedily be succeeded by others. I however turned to useful account the conversations I had with Beethoven on this topic, for I carefully noted down all the remarks he made on his works, in reference to subject, conception, and performance. These remarks came to me the more opportunely as I was then employed in the orchestra of the Josephstadt Theatre to lead several of his Symphonies, each of which he previously went over with me at home, strongly impressing on my attention whatever had reference to those three essential points; thus initiating me into the soul and spirit of his orchestral compositions, as he had already introduced me to a just comprehension of nearly the whole of his pianoforte Sonatas. These are instances of good fortune which few have had the happiness to enjoy.
The new perceptions thus acquired were to me an intellectual property, which I have ever since regarded as the dearest and most inestimable legacy of my immortal friend and instructor. They have imparted, not only to myself, but to others, whom, for their kindred feeling for Beethoven's music, I thought worthy of a participation in my good fortune—a thousand pleasurable sensations and exalted enjoyments which nothing else in the whole domain of music could have power to create; for it has already been remarked that Beethoven's collected chamber-music, and especially the greater part of his pianoforte Sonatas, comprise a fund of musical poetry more deep and inexhaustible than can be found even in his other works. That Nature is chary in her gifts of that organization which possesses the susceptibility necessary for appreciating such elevated compositions, is not the fault of Beethoven. That fact serves only to confirm the truth of the maxim, that in art the great is not for all, and all are not for the great.[115]
In the year 1831, when I wrote the musical notices then inserted in the supplement to the Wiener Theater Zeitung, I alluded in No. 2 of those notices to Beethoven's Symphony in A major. In that article I casually mentioned that Beethoven intended to give the keys to many of his instrumental compositions, in the manner of the Pastoral Symphony. The impression produced by this article was precisely such as was to be expected: it excited a mere transitory sensation, and was soon forgotten, like everything which departs from the boundaries of common routine, and approaches the region of ideality. Several years have elapsed since that time: I am so much the older, and so much the less vain, and I am now the better enabled to see how frequently well-meant observations, nay positive truths, are disregarded, even when they come from high authority. Of course the actual authority in this instance was Beethoven alone. It has already been shown in the narrative of his life, how he was prevented from executing this as well as many other important undertakings which he had planned. If I now venture to publish some of the remarks which I noted down from his own mouth, in reference to the subject, conception, and performance of his works; or try to describe some of the vivid impressions which his instructions have left on my mind; I do so in the just expectation that the value of these communications will be first tried and afterwards judged. I do not apprehend that I can in any degree be accused of arrogant pretension in taking upon myself the performance of this task, because it is known to many persons, that, in my intimate relations with Beethoven, during the most important interval of his life, I must necessarily have become possessed of many important facts: it will also be recollected that, though thirteen years have elapsed since his death, I have not been prompted by any feeling of ostentation to communicate those facts to the public. To speak candidly, I should not even now think of parting with any portion of my friend's intellectual legacy, were it not from the firm conviction that the present is the right moment for so doing; for the sensual music of the day, and the overstretched mechanical dexterity of modern pianoforte playing, bid fair to thrust the intellectual compositions of Beethoven into the shade, if not to consign them entirely to oblivion.[116] Moreover, it must be borne in mind that Beethoven's instrumental music has undergone a metamorphosis, occasioned in some measure by the composer himself; but chiefly by the spirit of the age, which is daringly opposed to every thing great and elevated, and even hesitates not to profane that which is most sacred.