CHAPTER XVII

LAST QUARTETS

Every extraordinary man has a certain mission, which he is called upon to accomplish. If he has fulfilled it he is no longer needed on earth, in the same form, and Providence uses him for something else. But as everything here below happens in a natural way, the dæmons keep tripping him up until he falls at last. Thus it was with Napoleon, and many others. Mozart died in his thirty-sixth year. Raphael at the same age. Byron a little older. But all these had perfectly fulfilled their missions, and it was time for them to depart that others might still have something to do in a world made to last a long while. --GOETHE, _Conversations with Eckermann_.

In the midst of these ironies of fate, this satyr-play of the nether forces with the master, in which he occupies at times so undignified a position, it is gratifying to note that the artist-life goes on apace. In the last quartets which now come up for consideration, the labors of the tone-poet are brought to a close.

The quartet was a favorite musical form with the master. Here the more intimate side of his nature is revealed. A more personal relation is established between composer and audience than is the case in the other forms in which he worked. As we have seen, the quartet, in the time of which we write, was universally in use at informal gatherings for the delectation of friends in the privacy of the home, and was not intended for concert use. The stateliness which characterizes the large symphonic forms is absent in chamber-music, but it has qualities of its own which we value as much.

The last quartets owe their existence to Prince Galitzin, a Russian nobleman, who had spent some time in Vienna in 1805, and became acquainted with Beethoven at the house of the Russian Ambassador, Count Rasoumowsky, for whom it will be remembered Beethoven composed three quartets, opus 59. In November of 1822 the Prince wrote Beethoven in the most flattering terms, asking him to compose three quartets at his own price, which were to be dedicated to him. The master accepted the commission gladly, fixing the modest sum of one hundred and fifty ducats (about $330) for the three, reserving, however, the right to sell the quartets to a publisher. Prince Galitzin was then living in state in St. Petersburg. His wife was a fine pianist, he himself a first-rate performer on the cello. They occupied a prominent position in the musical life of the city. The Prince was one of the original subscribers to the Mass in D, and has the credit of having brought about the first complete performance of this colossal work ever given.

When we consider the enormous expense of this undertaking, the copying of the many parts, as well as the sums paid for soloists, chorus and orchestra, most of which was probably borne by the Prince, and reflect that this is only an instance among many of his extravagant mode of living, it is not surprising to find that he became financially embarrassed, and was unable to carry out in full his obligation to Beethoven as regards paying for these works.

The Oratorio, "The Victory of the Cross," which had already been begun, was laid aside in favor of the quartets; it was never resumed. Notwithstanding his enthusiasm, work on the new commission made but slow progress. Ill health and preoccupation in his nephew's concerns took up much of his attention. Occasional sketches were made, but it was more than a year and a half before the first one was actually begun. It was outlined at Baden in the autumn of 1824, and finished on his return to Vienna. Mention is made of this quartet by the master in an interesting letter to Messrs. Schott of Mayence, who had bought the mass and symphony, and had also purchased the quartet, paying fifty ducats for it. Cordial relations had been established with these gentlemen, dating from the time of selling them the two great works just mentioned. Some of Beethoven's best letters are those written to his publishers. An extract from the letter above referred to follows:

"The quartet you shall also receive by the middle of October. Overburdened by work, and suffering from bad health, I really have some claim on the indulgence of others. I am here on account of my health, or rather to the want of it, although I already feel better.

"Apollo and the Muses do not yet intend me to become the prey of the bony scytheman, as I have yet much to do for you, and much to bequeath, which my spirit dictates and calls on me to complete before I depart hence for the Elysian Fields; I feel as if I had written scarcely more than a few notes."

The initial performance of the first of the Galitzin Quartets took place in the spring of 1825. Beethoven regarded the event as a momentous occurrence and required the four performers, Schuppanzich, Weiss, Linke and Holz, to sign a compact, each to "pledge his honor to do his best to distinguish himself and vie with the other in zeal."

The quartets once begun were carried on with ardor in the midst of most distressing occurrences, chief of which were ill health and its twin demon, poverty, as well as the waywardness of his nephew, all of which tended to draw him to the spiritual life. The character of Beethoven's work changed from the period of the Mass in D. An altered condition, an altogether new, different strain is apparent thenceforth. The deeply religious, mystical character of the first movement of the Ninth Symphony can be attributed to his previous absorption on the Mass. He worked out of this vein somewhat in the other movements as not being adapted to the uses for which the symphony is designed, but it reappears again in the quartets to the extent of dominating them.

The one in B Flat, opus 130, completes the three for Prince Galitzin. Of the Cavatina of this quartet, Holz is authority for saying that Beethoven composed it with tears, and confessed that never before had his own music made such an impression on him; that even the repetition of it always cost him tears. In this movement Beethoven used the word _Beklemmt_ (_Beklommen_) (oppressed, anxious) at a point where it modulates into another key. His loneliness, superinduced by his life of celibacy, by his deafness, his disappointment in his nephew, all had the effect of separating him from the world. The spiritual side of his nature, always active, had been brought into new life during his work on the Mass, as we have seen. It was never thenceforth allowed to fall into abeyance, but was developed in direct ratio with his withdrawal from the world. An atavism from some remote Aryan ancestry inclined him, as in the case of so many Germans, to mysticism and the occult. It was a condition which had its compensations. That there were periods when he saw visions may be conjectured by the character of the last quartets. When they were written, Beethoven was in the shadow of death, on the border-land of the other world, and from that proximity he relates his experience. These works receive the reverence of all musicians for their spirituality, their mysticism, their psychological qualities. They are the revelations of the seer, awe-inspiring mementos of states and conditions of mind which transcend the experiences of ordinary life. In these last impassioned utterances of the master, we find a strain holier, more profound, different from anything which the art of music has yet produced.

The Cavatina on its first performance, on March 21, 1826, was received with indifference, and the finale, which was an exceedingly long and difficult fugue, fared even worse. Self-sufficient as Beethoven was on all matters connected with the working out of his musical thoughts, he coincided for once with his friends and the publisher on the matter of the fugue. He wrote a new finale for the quartet, and published the fugue separately as opus 133. Joseph Boehm, the noted violinist, then in his twenty-eighth year, rehearsed this fugue under Beethoven's direction, and often played the violin part subsequently.

The great C sharp minor Quartet opus 131, is the next one to claim our attention. Beethoven characterized it as a piece of work worthy of him. This colossal work was one which Wagner continually held up for the commendation of mankind. It occupies among quartets a position analogous to that of the Ninth Symphony in its own class. The summer of 1826 in which it was composed, was a period fraught with momentous occurrences to the master, chief of which was the attempted suicide of his nephew. The circumstances which led up to this catastrophe can be briefly narrated. Beethoven had been disappointed in any and every plan formed for the future of the young man. He at first looked for great things from him; by gradual stages his expectations were so modified that at last he began to fear that he would never be able to provide for his own maintenance.

The musical education of the young man had first engaged the master's attention, in the hope that some of the family talent might have been transmitted to him. When it became plain that nothing could be achieved by him in a musical career, he was entered at the university of Vienna with a view of making a scholar of him. Here he was unable to keep up with his studies, owing to inattention. He failed to pass his examination and left the school in consequence. Literature being closed to him, he entered the Polytechnic school, intending to fit himself for business life, but failed here also. That Karl's conduct caused the master much anxiety appears in his letters to him. In some of them he entreats him to do better, in others he upbraids him. Both lines of reasoning seem to have been equally obnoxious to this careless, indifferent young man, who objected to being taken to task for his misdeeds, and hated "rows" and "scenes" with his uncle. When he failed the second time he was at his wits' end in dread of his uncle's reproaches. Many a stormy scene had occurred between them during the two preceding years. So violent had these become, that the master was on one occasion requested to find another apartment on account of the complaints that came from other occupants of the house. It may very well be that Beethoven expected too much from this carelessly reared youth, whose mother lost no opportunity of embittering him against the master. The young man probably never seriously contemplated suicide, but wanted to give his uncle a scare. By working on his fears he reasoned that he would be able to have his own way for a long while to come. He threatened suicide, and the day following this threat actually went so far as to shoot himself. He was not severely injured, but the attempt on his life rendered him amenable to the laws of his country, and a short confinement in the government hospital followed.

Beethoven was greatly agitated on learning of the rash act. He had some difficulty in finding him, as the young man had left his quarters and went to another part of the city before carrying out his threat. With the aid of friends he was finally located and an affecting scene followed in which the master loaded him with kindness, treating him very much as that other prodigal son was treated by his father.

Beethoven's personal intervention with the magistrate eased the situation for the nephew. Two very interesting letters from the master in this connection were published some years ago in the Neuen Freien Presse of Vienna, and are included in Herr Kalischer's Beethovenbriefe published in Berlin in 1902. The following one shows Beethoven's ethical character in strong light:

To the Magistrate Czapka:

DEAR SIR:

Hofrath von Breuning and I have carefully considered what is best to be done. We think for the time being no other course is practicable than that Karl should remain with me a few days (during the interval until he can enter the military service). His language is still excitable under the impression that I would reprimand him since he was capable of making an attempt on his life. He has, however, shown himself quite affectionate toward me. Be assured that to me fallen humanity is still holy. A warning from you would probably have good results. It would do no harm to let him know that unobserved he will be watched while with me. Accept my highest esteem for yourself, and consider me as one who loves his kind, who desires only good wherever possible. Yours respectfully, BEETHOVEN.

In accordance with the English custom of putting the fool of the family into the army, Stephen von Breuning had hit upon the plan of a military career for Karl since all others seemed closed to him. Von Breuning, who always had a faculty of being of service to Beethoven, was a counsellor in the war-office. He urged on Beethoven the feasibility of procuring an appointment for Karl in the army, and interested his superior, Field-marshal Lieutenant von Stutterheim, in the matter. Beethoven was not greatly in favor of a military career for the young man. "Übrigens bin ich gar nicht für den Militärstandt," he says in a letter to Holz of September 9, when the subject was first broached. He opposed it for a while, but finally bowed to the inevitable.

Toward the end of October, and before the negotiations in regard to the army appointment were concluded, the young man was released from the hospital, and placed under the control of the master, with the injunction that he be removed from Vienna at once. At this juncture brother Johann placed his country house at Gneixendorf at the disposal of the master and nephew, and thither the two repaired, the elder, stricken, bowed with grief; the youth, sullen and indifferent. The master had never entered Johann's house since the summer of 1812, when he had tried so ineffectually, as noted in a previous chapter, to break up the relations existing between the pair while the lady was as yet only the housekeeper. It must have been with great reluctance that he considered visiting him at all. The sacrifice, if such there was, was made in the interest of Karl; where this young scapegrace was concerned, the master was generally willing to sink his own preferences. The situation must have been embarrassing for all concerned, less so in reality for the master than for the others. Absorbed in the composition of the new finale, and also in the finishing up of the great C sharp minor Quartet, he was for the most part oblivious to anything unusual in his surroundings. Johann's wife, with the policy of her class, bore no resentment, or at least showed none outwardly. A pleasant room on the ground floor was fitted up for him, but the welcome must have been a cold one at best.

No doubt the Gutsbesitzer took much pleasure in showing off his possessions to the brother whom he knew had little esteem for him at heart. He paraded his own importance in the neighborhood, taking the composer on business visits to prominent people. On these occasions he would not usually introduce his brother, treating him as a kind of appendage. The master, deep in the thought of creative work, was, no doubt, to a great extent unconscious of this sordidness. At all events he gave no sign. But he contributed very little to the social well-being of the family. Two aims only seem to have occupied his mind at this time: the welfare of his nephew, and the carrying to completion of a few great works already sketched or begun. These included a Tenth Symphony, (for the Philharmonic Society of London), the Oratorio, The Victory of the Cross, for the Vienna Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, music to Goethe's Faust, which latter he must have been in good mood for,--as well as an overture on Bach. "I hope yet," he writes from Johann's home, "to bring some great works into the world, and then like an old child, to close my earthly career somewhere among good people." He worked with feverish haste in the latter years of his life, whenever his health permitted, even abandoning his books in favor of his work. Failing health prevented him from forcing it ahead as in former years, but he worked up to the limit of his powers.

His habits while composing have been referred to in a previous chapter, namely, that he was in the habit of singing, stamping, gesticulating, while under the spell of his inspiration. This kind of thing was new to the maid who looked after his room, and she managed to extract amusement from it. Beethoven finally discovered her laughing at him, and forthwith bundled her out of the room, giving orders that no female would be admitted again. One of the men about the place, Michael Kren, was then engaged, who performed his duties faithfully, and helped materially to establish a more comfortable existence for the sick, helpless man. He has narrated circumstantially the master's mode of life while at Gneixendorf. He was up and at work at half-past five, beating time with hands and feet, singing, humming. This went on until breakfast time, half-past seven. This meal over he would hurry out of doors, (the weather was fine that particular autumn) spending the morning going about the fields, note-book in hand, his mind intent on his musical thoughts, occasionally singing or calling out, going now slowly, then very fast, at times stopping still to write out his ideas. This would go on until noon, when he would return to the house for dinner. This was served at half-past twelve, after which he would go to his room for about two hours, then again to the fields until sunset. He was never out in the evening as night air was considered bad for him. Supper was served at half-past seven. His evenings were spent in his room, and at ten o'clock he went to bed.

This simple, regular life, with the healthful country air, should have restored Beethoven's health in some measure could it have been continued longer. His letters from here indicate that he expected some improvement in this respect. Had not some untoward circumstances intervened, the master's life might have been spared long enough to enable him to carry to completion the list of works outlined above.

That Johann had an ulterior object in asking his brother to visit him is quite probable. The growing fame of the composer and the ever-increasing value of his copyrights was well known to him. He had made money in his dealings between composer and publisher in the past, and could have made still more had he possessed his brother's confidence in a greater degree. His cupidity however, prevented him from keeping up for long even the semblance of kindness or hospitality. Fuel was so scantily provided the sick guest that he suffered from cold, and he was told that a charge would be made for the room. Other circumstances may have contributed to bring about a climax. At all events the situation became so unpleasant that he suddenly decided to return to Vienna.