As with me, so it fared with Beethoven in a similar Festive composition; neither, also, was his performed at that period. It was called “Der glorreiche Augenblick”[14] and was published later with altered text by Haslinger in Vienna.
While mentioning Beethoven, it occurs to me, that I have not yet adverted to my friendly relations with that great artist, and I therefore hasten to supply the deficiency.
Upon my arrival in Vienna I immediately paid a visit to Beethoven; I did not find him at home, and therefore left my card. I now hoped to meet him at some of the musical parties, to which he was frequently invited, but was soon informed that, Beethoven since his deafness had so much increased that he could no longer hear music connectedly, had withdrawn himself from all musical parties, and had become very shy of all society. I made trial therefore of another visit; but again without success. At length I met him quite unexpectedly at the eating-house where I was in the habit of going with my wife every day at the dinner hour. I had already now given concerts, and twice performed my oratorio. The Vienna papers had noticed them favourably. Beethoven had therefore heard of me when I introduced myself to him, and he received me with an unusual friendliness of manner. We sat down at the same table, and Beethoven became very chatty, which much surprised the company, as he was generally taciturn, and sat gazing listlessly before him. But it was an unpleasant task to make him hear me, and I was obliged to speak so loud as to be heard in the third room off. Beethoven now came frequently to these dining rooms, and visited me also at my house. We thus soon became well acquainted: Beethoven was a little blunt, not to say uncouth; but a truthful eye beamed from under his bushy eyebrows. After my return from Gotha I met him now and then at the theatre “an der Wien”, close behind the orchestra, where Count Palffy had given him a free seat. After the opera he generally accompanied me to my house, and passed the rest of the evening with me. He could then be very friendly with Dorette and the children. He spoke of music but very seldom. When he did, his opinions were very sternly expressed, and so decided as would admit of no contradiction whatever. In the works of others, he took not the least interest; I therefore had not the courage to shew him mine. His favorite topic of conversation at that time was a sharp criticism of the management of both theatres by Prince Lobkowitz and Count Palffy. He frequently abused the latter in so loud a tone of voice, while we were yet even within the walls of his theatre, that not only the public leaving it, but the Count himself could hear it in his office. This used to embarrass me greatly, and I then always endeavoured to turn the conversation upon some other subject.
Beethoven’s rough and even repulsive manners at that time, arose partly from his deafness, which he had not learned to bear with resignation, and partly from the dilapidated condition of his pecuniary circumstances. He was a bad housekeeper, and had besides the misfortune to be plundered by those about him. He was thus frequently in want of common necessaries. In the early part of our acquaintance, I once asked him, after he had absented himself for several days from the dining rooms: “You were not ill, I hope?”—“My boot was, and as I have only one pair, I had house-arrest”, was his reply.
But some time afterwards he was extricated from this depressing position by the exertions of his friends. The proceeding was as follows:
Beethoven’s “Fidelio”, which in 1804 (or 1805) under very unfavourable circumstances, (during the occupation of Vienna by the French), had met with very little success, was now brought forward again by the director of the Kärnthnerthor-Theatre and performed for his benefit. Beethoven had allowed himself to be persuaded to write a new overture for it (in E), a song for the jailor, and the grand air for Fidelio (with horns-obligati) as also to make some alterations. In this new form the Opera had now great success, and kept its place during a long succession of crowded performances. On the first night, the composer was called forward several times, and now became again the object of general attention. His friends availed themselves of this favorable opportunity to make arrangements for a concert in his behalf in the great “Redouten Saal” at which the most recent compositions of Beethoven were to be performed. All who could fiddle, blow, or sing were invited to assist, and not one of the most celebrated artists of Vienna failed to appear. I and my orchestra had of course also joined, and for the first time I saw Beethoven, direct. Although I had heard much of his leading, yet it surprised me in a high degree. Beethoven had accustomed himself to give the signs of expression to his orchestra by all manner of extraordinary motions of his body. So often as a Sforzando occured, he tore his arms which he had previously crossed upon his breast, with great vehemence asunder. At a piano, he bent himself down, and the lower, the softer he wished to have it. Then when a crescendo came, he raised himself again by degrees, and upon the commencement of the forte, sprang bolt upright. To increase the forte yet more, he would sometimes, also, join in with a shout to the orchestra, without being aware of it.
Upon my expressing my astonishment to Seyfried, at this extraordinary method of directing, he related to me a tragi-comical circumstance that had occurred at Beethoven’s last concert at the Theatre “an der Wien.”
Beethoven was playing a new Pianoforte-Concerto of his, but forgot at the first tutti, that he was a Soloplayer, and springing up, began to direct in his usual way. At the first sforzando he threw out his arms so wide asunder, that he knocked both the lights off the piano upon the ground. The audience laughed, and Beethoven was so incensed at this disturbance, that he made the orchestra cease playing, and begin anew. Seyfried, fearing, that a repetition of the accident would occur at the same passage, bade two boys of the chorus place themselves on either side of Beethoven, and hold the lights in their hands. One of the boys innocently approached nearer, and was reading also in the notes of the piano-part. When therefore the fatal sforzando came, he received from Beethoven’s out thrown right hand so smart a blow on the mouth, that the poor boy let fall the light from terror. The other boy, more cautious, had followed with anxious eyes every motion of Beethoven, and by stooping suddenly at the eventful moment he avoided the slap on the mouth. If the public were unable to restrain their laughter before, they could now much less, and broke out into a regular bacchanalian roar. Beethoven got into such a rage, that at the first chords of the solo, half a dozen strings broke. Every endeavour of the real lovers of music to restore calm and attention were for the moment fruitless. The first allegro of the Concerto was therefore lost to the public. From that fatal evening Beethoven would not give another concert.
But the one got up by his friends, was attended with the most brilliant success. The new compositions of Beethoven pleased extremely, particularly the symphony in A-Major (the seventh); the wonderful second theme was encored; and made upon me also, a deep and lasting impression. The execution was a complete masterpiece, inspite of the uncertain and frequently laughable direction of Beethoven.
It was easy to see that, the poor deaf Maestro of the Piano, could no longer hear his own music. This was particularly remarkable in a passage in the second part of the first allegro of the symphony. At that part there are two pauses in quick succession, the second of which, is pianissimo. This, Beethoven had probably overlooked, for he again began to give the time before the orchestra had executed this second pause. Without knowing it therefore, he was already from ten to twelve bars in advance of the orchestra when it began the pianissimo. Beethoven, to signify this in his own way, had crept completely under the desk. Upon the now ensuing crescendo, he again made his appearance, raised himself continually more and more, and then sprang up high from the ground, when according to his calculation the moment for the forte should begin. As this did not take place, he looked around him in affright, stared with astonishment at the orchestra, that it should still be playing pianissimo, and only recovered himself, when at length the long expected forte began, and was audible to himself.