We shall see how the last quartets, which follow now, represent this, his sublime transfigured condition of soul, in the most varied pictures, and disclose it to the very bottom.
Of works composed during this period, we may mention: March to “Tarpeja” and the Bardengeist composed in 1813; Gute Nachricht, Elegischer Gesang, Kriegers Abschied, composed in 1814; Duos for the clarionette and bassoon, which appeared in 1815; Es ist vollbracht, Sehnsucht, Scotch songs, composed in 1815; Der Mann von Wort, op. 99. Militaermarsch, composed in 1816; quintet op. 104 (after op. 1, III), composed in 1817; Clavierstueck in B, composed in 1818; Gratulations-menuet, composed in 1822. It will be noticed that the number of his works grows steadily smaller according as their volume or their depth of meaning grows greater. This last will be evident especially from his subsequent quartets which, so to speak, stand entirely alone.
CHAPTER V.
1824-27.
THE LAST QUARTETS.
Berlioz on the Lot of Artists—Beethoven Misunderstood—The Great Concert of May, 1824—Preparation for It—Small Returns—Beethoven Appreciated—First Performance of the Missa Solemnis and of the Ninth Symphony—The Quartets—An “Oratorio for Boston”—Overture on B-A-C-H—Influence of His Personal Experience on His Works—His Brother Johann—Postponement of His Journey to London—Presentiment of Death—The Restoration of Metternich and Gentz—His “Son”—Troubles with the Young Man—Debility—Calls for Dr. Malfatti—Poverty—The “Magnanimous” English—Calls a Clergyman—His Death.
“Noble souls fall usually only because they do not know the mournful but incontestable truth that, considering our present customs and political institutions, the artist has more to suffer in proportion as he is a genuine artist. The more original and gigantic his works are, the more severely is he punished for the effects they produce. The swifter and sublimer his thoughts, the more does he vanish from the dim vision of the multitude.” Thus did Beethoven’s direct successor in art, Hector Berlioz, complain at the end of his days; and to whom can what he says here be applied with more propriety than to our artist, especially at this period of his life, when his thoughts took their sublimest flight? His action now seemed indeed to assure him unconditional victory, even in his immediate environment—we are approaching the celebrated concert of May, 1824—but how soon shall we see him again misunderstood by the crowd and, as a consequence, lonelier than ever before.
He had again enjoyed to the full the “higher life which art and science imply, and which they give it to us to hope for;” and he, in consequence, became exceedingly neglectful of himself; so that his brother found it necessary to say to him: “You must buy yourself a new hat to-morrow. The people make merry at your expense because you have so bad a hat.” But now that the “colossal creation” was finished, even to the last iota, he began to be in better humor, to stroll about the streets gazing at the show-windows, and to salute many an old friend, as, for instance, his former teacher, Schenk, more warmly. His name was now more frequently on the lips of friends, and when it was known that a great symphony, as well as the Mass, was finished, people recalled the boundless rapture of the years 1813-14; and a letter signed by men of the higher classes of society—men whom Beethoven himself loved and honored—invited him, in February, 1824, to abstain no longer from the performance of something great. And, indeed, the Italian roulade and all kinds of purely external bravoura had obtained supremacy in Vienna. The “second childhood of taste” threatened to follow the “golden age of art.” It was hoped that home art would receive new life from Beethoven, who, in his own sphere, had no equal, and that, thanks to his influence, the true and the beautiful would rule supreme again.
Schindler found him with the manuscript in his hand. “It is very pretty! I am glad!” Beethoven said, in a very peculiar tone. And another hope was bound up with this. He hoped to obtain compensation for his long labor, and, in this way, leisure to produce something new worthy of his genius. The preparation for the concert was attended by very much that was disagreeable. His own want of resolution and suspicious manner contributed their share to this. With the most splenetic humor, he writes: “After six weeks’ vexation, I am boiled, stewed, roasted.” And when several of his more intimate friends, like Count Lichnowsky, Schuppanzigh and Schindler, resorted to a little subterfuge to make him come to some resolve, he said: “I despise deceit. Visit me no more. And let him visit me no more. I’m not giving a party.” But, on the other hand, the first violinists of the city—Schuppanzigh, Mayseder and Boehm, who is still living—together with capellmeister Umlauf, were at the head of the orchestra, while a large number of amateurs were ready to lend their assistance at a moment’s notice. Their motto was: “Anything and everything for Beethoven!” And thus the preparations for the performance of Beethoven’s great creations were begun.
“Just as if there were words beneath them?” asked Schindler, speaking of the powerful recitatives of the basses in the Ninth Symphony. Henriette Sontag and Caroline Unger, both subsequently so celebrated, found it exceedingly difficult to execute the solos in the Mass and the finale; but to all prayers that they might be changed, Beethoven had only one answer: “No!” To which Henriette finally replied: “Well, in God’s name, let us torment ourselves a little longer, take a little more trouble, and attempt it.” The performance was to occur on the 7th of May. That “rare, noble man,” Brunswick had, as he said, brought “four ears” with him, that he might not lose a single note. Frau von Ertmann was again in Vienna. The boxes were all soon taken, and many seats were sold at a premium. Beethoven personally invited the court. His trusted servant, who was specially helpful to him on this occasion, said to him: “We shall take your green coat with us, too; the theater is dark; no one can see us. O my great master, not a black dress coat have you in your possession.” The house was crowded to over-fullness. Only the court box was almost empty, on account of the Emperor’s absence. Beethoven’s attendant again tells us: “His reception was more than imperial; at the fourth round of applause, the people became vociferous.” And Boehm tells us how the tears rushed into his own and Mayseder’s eyes at the very beginning. And what a success the performance was!