Beethoven: A Memoir (2nd Ed.)

by Elliott Graeme

The tide of Beethoven's earthly renown and glory, which had been slowly rising for years, reached its height in 1813-14.

In the former year took place the two celebrated concerts on behalf of the Austrian and Bavarian soldiers wounded in the battle of Hanau, when the Seventh Symphony, and "Wellington's Victory, or the Battle of Vittoria," were performed for the first time. We can easily imagine, from the sensation excited even now by the latter work, how intense must have been the enthusiasm which greeted its performance at a time when popular feeling was strung up to the highest pitch. Beethoven himself directed, regulating the movements of his bâton by those of Schuppanzigh's bow. In a notice of the concert written by himself he says: "It was an unprecedented assembly of distinguished artists, every one of whom was inspired by the desire of accomplishing something by his art for the benefit of the Fatherland; and all worked together unanimously, accepting of subordinate places without regard to precedence, that a splendid ensemble might be attained.... My part was the direction of the whole, but only because the music happened to be of my composition. Had it been otherwise, I would have stationed myself as readily at the great drum, like Herr Hummel; for our only motives were Love to the Fatherland, and the joyful devotion of our powers to serve those who had sacrificed so much for us."

In 1814 occurred the great Congress, when Vienna was for a season the abode of kings, princes, and delegates from every Court in Europe, and the glittering capital was well-nigh intoxicated by its own magnificence. The magistrates of the city invited Beethoven to compose a Cantata for the occasion, which produced the "Glorreiche Augenblick," perhaps the composer's most neglected work, and deservedly so, as it is not worthy of him. It won for him, however, the presentation of the freedom of the city, the only distinction which Beethoven valued. Nor was this his only triumph. His genius began to be universally recognised; he was created an honorary member of Academies and Societies in London, Paris, Stockholm, and Amsterdam; and the Philharmonic Society in London presented him with a superb grand pianoforte of Broadwood's manufacture. In short, from every nation in Europe, and even from America, he received striking proofs of the love and admiration in which he was held. Stimulated by these manifestations, excited by the splendour around him, and the stirring, momentous events which were taking place, Beethoven was induced to depart for the time from his usual solitary habits, and to mingle for a few weeks in society. In the apartments of Prince Rasoumowski, the well-known Russian dilettante, he was introduced to many of the illustrious visitors, and long retained a lively recollection, half comical, half gratified, of the manner in which he had been idolized;—how the grand seigneurs had paid court to him, and how admirably he had played his part in receiving their homage! He was most deeply affected by his interview with the gentle Empress Elizabeth of Russia, with whom he conversed in his customary frank, open way, completely setting aside all etiquette; while she, on her part, expressed the highest veneration for the composer, and at her departure left him a gift of two hundred ducats, which he acknowledged after his own fashion by dedicating to her his brilliant Polonaise, Op. 89. This was the only substantial result to our poverty-stricken Beethoven of the attachment professed by the whole of the gay throng!

The bright episode of the Congress, with its fêtes and triumphs, soon flitted past, bringing out in sterner and darker contrast the days which followed.

Beethoven had dedicated his "Battle of Vittoria" to the Prince Regent of England (George IV.), but to his great chagrin, no notice was taken of it. He alludes to this in a letter to Ries, and referring to the Prince's well-known character of gourmand, says, "He might at least have sent me a butcher's knife or a turtle!"

Another vexation in connection with the symphony, causing him infinite annoyance, arose out of the despicable conduct of Maelzel, afterwards the inventor of the metronome. In the year 1812 he had made the acquaintance of the latter, who had promised to construct for him a sound-conductor, in return for which Beethoven composed a kind of warlike piece for the mechanician's new instrument, the panharmonica, which he was on the point of taking to England for exhibition. The effect of Beethoven's work was so marvellous, that Maelzel urged him to arrange it for the orchestra, and the result was—the "Battle of Vittoria." Maelzel meanwhile went on constructing four machines, only one of which was found available, and Beethoven, without the slightest suspicion of any underhand dealing, allowed him to take the entire management of the concerts for the relief of the wounded. In his hermit life he did not hear much of what was going on around him, and his consternation may therefore be imagined when informed that his false friend was announcing the symphony everywhere as his own property, stating that it had been given to him by Beethoven in return for his machine, and the sum of four hundred guldens which he professed to have lent him! He had actually contrived to have many of the orchestral parts copied out, and those that were wanting supplied by some low musician, and with this mutilated work he was on his way to England. The matter was at once placed in the hands of the law; but it was long before Beethoven recovered from the effects of this fraud; it made him, in fact, suspicious ever after towards copyists. The loan of four hundred guldens proved to have been fifty, which Beethoven accepted from him at a time when, as he states in his instructions to his lawyers, he was "in dire necessity; deserted by every one in Vienna."

This Maelzel had the impudence subsequently to write to Beethoven, requesting his patronage for the metronome, and pretending that he was busily engaged in preparing a sound-conductor which would enable the master to direct in the orchestra. The latter never made its appearance, but Beethoven, who at first approved of the metronome, did all in his power to have it introduced. Afterwards, when he saw the confusion of tempo which it had occasioned, he used to say, "Don't let us have any metronome! He that has true feeling will not require it, and for him who has none, it will not be of any use."

This affair with Maelzel gives us a glimpse into the pecuniary difficulties which harassed Beethoven throughout his life, assuming greater prominence towards the end. He was always in want of money, and yet (according to the notions of the times) he was handsomely paid for his compositions. What, then, was the cause of it? Were his means swallowed up by his frequent removals? Did the perplexity arise simply from his unbusiness-like habits? To these questions we must add a third, which may, perhaps, afford a clue to the mystery,—What became of the valuable presents, the watches, rings, breast-pins, snuff-boxes, &c., &c., of which Beethoven had received so many? When asked where such a gift was, he would look bewildered, and say after a moment's reflection, "I really don't know!" The matter would then pass entirely from his thoughts; but there were those about him who were not equally indifferent!

In 1815 the cloud which for two years had been threatening, burst upon him in those troubles and sorrows which encompassed him until the end. He lost his old friend and staunch supporter, Prince Lichnowski, and, a few months after, his brother Carl, who in dying bequeathed to him as a legacy the care of his only child. It seemed as if the annoyance which this man had caused our Beethoven in his life were to be perpetuated and continually renewed in the person of his son. Not so, however, did the master regard the fresh call upon him. After having done all that kindness could suggest, or money procure, to relieve his brother's sufferings and cheer his last days, he took home the orphan child to his heart with a love and tenderness that could not have been greater had the boy been his own.

His first step was to remove him from the care of his mother, a woman of lax morals and low habits. In this Beethoven was actuated by the purest and best motives; but, unfortunately, his zeal went too far. He forgot that the fact of his sister-in-law's having been a bad wife did not necessarily imply that she had lost a mother's heart; and in insisting upon the total separation between the two, he roused all the bitterest feelings of a woman's nature, and prepared much sorrow for himself. The "Queen of Night," as he nicknamed her, sought redress through the law, and for four years a suit for the possession of the lad was pending. In his appeal Beethoven thus nobly expresses the sentiments which dictated his conduct:—"My wishes and efforts have no other aim than that of giving the best possible education to the boy, his talents justifying the greatest expectations; and of fulfilling the trust reposed in my brotherly love by his father. The stem is now pliable; but if it be for a time neglected, it will become crooked, and outgrow the gardener's training hand; and upright bearing, knowledge, and character will be irretrievably lost. I know of no duty more sacred than that of the training and education of a child. The duty of a guardian can only consist in the appreciation of what is good, and the adoption of a right course; and only then does he consult the welfare of his ward; whereas in obstructing the good he neglects his duty."