The deaf composer's recourse to written conversations provides us with the closest thing to candid tape recordings from the early 1800s.
by Karl-Heinz Köhler
[Dr. Köhler is director of the Music Department of the German State Library (Deutsche Staatsbibliothek) in East Berlin, where he heads a staff that is preparing to publish Beethoven's conversation books for the first time in their entirety.]
WHEN LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN was twenty-six years old he began to be aware of a weakness in his auditory senses. As it became progressively worse, this malady was to lead to the loss of that most important faculty to a musician: hearing. The physicians of his day not only found themselves unable to cure his suffering, they were unable even to reduce it.
The tragedy of Beethoven's illness formed his life; it shaped his very character. He shunned social gatherings with his family and acquaintances, yet ever yearned for companionship; he maintained a heart-felt devotion to friends, yet he was constantly suspicious of their intentions; he tended to let his temper erupt, yet he willingly made up quickly; his inner turmoil drove him to change residences often, to constantly lead a generally abnormal life, and in at least one stage of his career even to contemplate suicide (see opposite page). These aspects of his personality become understandable only if viewed against the background of his illness.
Gradually, but finally sometime between his fortieth and forty-fifth year Beethoven became completely deaf. From then on his friends and visitors could communicate with him only by writing.
Wax tablets were sometimes employed; they could be reused by wiping them clean. More often Beethoven availed himself of notebooks of various sizes; in them visitors wrote their remarks, usually in pencil.
Such is the origin of what are no doubt the most curious documents in the history of music, Ludwig van Beethoven's conversation books. We do not know whether they were preserved purposely or by chance.
Yet they were preserved and tradition has it that after his death four hundred such books were found.
They came into the possession of Beethoven's friend of many years, Anton Schindler, the composer's first biographer. Unfortunately, Schindler destroyed about five-eighths of the documents he had inherited, for reasons of his own. [Translator's comment: Schindler is suspected of having done away with these books because they contained information derogatory to himself or contrary to the picture of Beethoven as the matchless hero Schindler was trying to paint.] Thus, according to today's reckoning, there are extant one hundred and thirty-nine conversation books 1 plus a few loose-leaf sheets) of which one hundred and thirty-seven are housed in the Deutsche Staatsbibliothek (German State Library) in [East] Berlin; the other two units belong to the Beethoven House in Bonn, which obtained them from a private Swiss collection.
Anton Schindler worked up these books with numerous comments about the writers of the entries and the dates of the conversations. Here his memory often played him false. In 1843 he sold the collection along with other Beethoven manuscripts in his possession to the musical archive of what was then the Royal Library in Berlin. He received in recompense a considerable annuity.
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Notes by Beethoven, written during the proceedings in the appeals court on March 11, 1820: "The world is a king and wishes to be flattered.
It should show itself favorably -- though true art is obstinate, cannot be forced into flattering shapes...."
Since that time, all biographers of Beethoven worthy of that designation have examined these books-above all, the American scholar Alexander Wheelock Thayer who, working in the nineteenth century, appended to many pages scraps of paper containing important suggestions as to the meaning of the entries. Yet these testimonies of Beethoven's life have never been fully transcribed or published, much though the scholarly world has desired such publication. Two attempts were stymied almost from the beginning, and at best they were beset with numerous errors. Walter Nohl, a nephew of the Beethoven biographer Ludwig Nohl, failed after World War I because of the then prevailing depressed economic conditions. The second attempt was made by Georg Schünemann, who was director of the Music Division of the German State Library (then the Prussian State Library). He had to stop prematurely because of the outbreak of World War H. All the same, Schünemann was able to publish thirty-seven of the books, in three volumes, and furnish them with his commentary. At the end of the war the documents were in Berlin.
Five years later the conversation books became the victims of a sensational robbery. A thief by the name of Krüger--who, curiously enough, was for a short time able to trick his way into the position of director of the Music Division of the State Library--took possession of the books under the pretense that the Russians were interested in these documents.
He spirited them away to West Germany. Only after Krüger was caught during another large theft in Göttingen were the books, after lengthy negotiations, returned to their rightful owners. It took more than a decade to do so.
In the autumn of 1963twenty years after Georg Schünemann had had to interrupt his labors-the work of interpretation was begun anew, this time with the help of the Ministry for Culture of the DDR, which apportioned the necessary financial aid. Five years after this, that is, at the end of 1968, the first volume of the new project appeared; it was eagerly awaited by admirers of Beethoven, and it began where Schünemann left off.
The editors have before them a very difficult task, particularly since modern techniques of editing demand a considerably higher degree of exactitude than, for example, Schünemann could hope to reach a quarter of a century ago. No single scholar can any longer master this task. It has become a question of teamwork. Such a team is working at the Library. In addition, we call on a special correspondent in Vienna to undertake for us the necessary researches in archives and libraries. For the deciphering of particular problems, we have at our disposal appropriate specialists and scientific institutes. For example, parts in which the writing has faded are being strengthened back to legibility through new photographic methods developed by the Institute of Criminology of Humboldt University in Berlin.
----------59 In the last entry here, in darker pencil, Beethoven's "human side" interrupts Schindler's musical discourse apparently when a pretty girl entered the cafe where they were "chatting"-with: "Ein prächtiger Popo seitwärts (a magnificent behind, from the side)."
----------60 An entry by Carl Czerny, in the latter part of August 1825, the year of the Ninth Symphony, about which he writes: "But the world is enriched all the more through a masterpiece." The rest of the page reads:
"Even a cosmopolite must rejoice in having produced something so marvelous."
"He degrades the Church into a beer house."
"I haven't seen him for a year now. He had a bad case of gout and has to take the Pischtschaner baths every summer."
Curious scribblings, which were shown to an expert in stenography, turned out to be, in point of fact, a form of German shorthand which came into use around 1823.
The one-sided nature of the entries creates special problems. One has to keep in mind that though Beethoven could hear nothing, he could speak fluently. Thus you find in these pages entries written by his friends far more frequently than entries written by Beethoven: the conversation is usually presented to us without Beethoven's part in it or Beethoven's response. We, the readers, find ourselves in a situation similar to that of an eavesdropper listening to only one side of a telephone conversation.
The various books only rarely contain sequential conversation; often there are great gaps in between them. The contents of the talk held in the last decades of the composer's life appear before us in broken scenes, a little as if they were film clips.
Generally the handwritings are quite legible. The writers can be identified without too much trouble either through the substance of what has been written or through comparisons of their penmanship with other samples. Beethoven's handwriting poses a special puzzle, though, as 1 have stated, his contributions are comparatively infrequent. His hand, while unmistakable and characteristic, is extraordinarily difficult to decipher. Beethoven responded in writing to questions put to him by his interlocutors mainly when they found themselves in a public place and the composer feared that he would be overheard by an unwelcome eavesdropper. (See the above illustration.) In addition he sometimes used the conversation books as notebooks. He jots down newspaper announcements, notes numerous titles of books, or records what he needs in the way of household articles or daily victuals. From these jottings we make the surprising discovery that to the end of his days Beethoven did not know how to multiply! If he needs to multiply, say, 12 by 18, he writes 18 down twelve times and adds.
The final result of these documents will be of far-reaching importance because they will substantially alter the picture of Beethoven's life and personality. His human side emerges tangibly. His relationship with the world around him appears in a new light. His habits become more comprehensible. Yet the publication will not only benefit the musical historian--especially, of course, the Beethoven scholar--but will mirror general history, elucidate cultural trends, and illuminate the life of the times. The conversations help us understand obtuse aspects of the fluctuation of monetary values, prevailing medical methods, and literary tendencies. Current theories of education are discussed, the standard of living of Beethoven's contemporaries defined. In short, the conversation books will increasingly nourish our broad historic knowledge.
The books cover the last decade of Beethoven's life, the first beginning in February 1818, the last closing three weeks before his death on March 5, 1827. There are considerable numerical differences between the various years: from 1818 only one book remains; from 1819, four; 1820, eleven; none at all in 1821; 1822, only two. The greatest number belongs to the year 1823, with a total of thirty-four books; 1824 and 1825 are documented by twenty-four books each; 1826 by twenty-nine; and the few weeks of 1827 by ten. Evidently Schindler preserved those very books which deal with the dramatic highlights of Beethoven's last years. They could be divided roughly into six chapters: (1) 1819-20, the lawsuit over his nephew; (2) 1823, the year of the Ninth Symphony; (3) 1824, the first performance of the Ninth; (4) 1825, the last quartets; (5) 1826, the tragedy of the nephew; (6) 1826-27, his last illness.
The story of Beethoven's guardianship of his brother's son, which he assumed in 1815 when Karl was nine years old, and whom he loved as if he had been his own son ... his struggle with Karl's mother, Johanna, whom he tried to prevent from participation in Karl's education ... the litigation resulting from this family quarrel, and the terrible issue caused by the intransigence of all concerned-all this forms the background to the first set of notebooks. Johanna had no scruples as to the means she used to fight Beethoven. Under her influence, Karl neglected his scholastic duties and even ran away from boarding school in the fall of 1818. In an entry dated March 1820 Beethoven characterizes Johanna: "Born for intrigue, well-schooled in cheating, expert in all the arts of dissimulation." Johanna unsuccessfully sued Beethoven in connection with the guardianship, but in the framework of the Lower Austrian Land Code she was at least able to obtain an important decision: the Dutch "van" was not recognized as emblematic of nobility, and consequently another court, the Vienna Magistrate Court, took jurisdiction in the matter. Beethoven was deeply hurt, and not primarily because he wanted to be a member of a privileged class: in his mind nobility meant a certain attitude of mind and heart. This attitude was reinforced when information was disseminated in an encyclopedia that Beethoven was the illegitimate son of Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia. Referring to this, privy councilor Peters, whom Beethoven was consulting in matters of education, wrote in December 1819: "You do not need to have the glamour of the king fall on you-the opposite is the case."
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61 Moritz Schlesinger's request to Beethoven in September 1825 to publish the latter's pun-and-puzzle canon "Kühl. nicht lati" (cool, not lukewarm) together with the solution. (The writer's identification, in the upper left margin, is by Schindler).
The entire page reads as follows:
" Kuhlau told me yesterday morning that you have written on a very nice canon on Kulau [sic -Ed.] nicht-lau on [the notes] BA-C-H. Tomorrow you will get his solution to B-A-C-H."
"He told me that it is very interesting and with your permission he thought he would give me this marvelous canon as well as the occasion [that prompted it] and the solution for the Berlin Music Journal."
"From Berlin it would give me pleasure if you would allow me to leave you this little souvenir behind."
"For me this is something quite out of the ordinary. This was a girl who at that time was my fiancée."
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For a time his sister-in-law was successful in front of the magistrate court. Beethoven countered with a brief to the court, but in the fall of 1819 he was relieved of his rights as guardian. Only as late as April 1820 did the Vienna Court of Appeals decide in Beethoven's favor, the decision being confirmed by the emperor in September.
The long, complicated negotiations form the main topic of conversation of these years. We read the advice such friends as the lawyer Dr. Bach, the editor Joseph Bernard, and Franz Oliva gave to the composer. Ironically, although Beethoven continues to compose and plan his greatest works-the Missa Soletnnis occupied him from 1819 on-there isn't a word about the genesis of these works to be found in the conversation books. A curious taboo! Similarly, in 1823, after he has finished the Missa and taken up again for a few weeks the composition of the Diabelli Variations (which were published in June of that year), he devotes the second half of the year to the composition of the Ninth Symphony: not once is the symphony mentioned in the conversations. On the other hand, plans which Beethoven never executed are freely discussed, particularly the composition of an opera to the libretto Melusine by Franz Grillparzer, intellectually perhaps the most worthy conversational partner of Beethoven. Anton Schindler enters the scene and discusses with Beethoven questions of the proper tempo of his piano sonatas and symphonies. The analysis of these remarks can be helpful to the interpreter. We learn about Beethoven's move from Baden to a summer residence in Hetzendorf, after he quarreled violently with his landlord.
Beethoven writes: "Base slave, miserable fox." We hear of the successful graduation examinations of the nephew at Joseph Bloechlinger von Bannholz' highly regarded school in Vienna, and become witnesses to the moderately happy life Beethoven and Karl are leading during their initial months together.
We get reports about important artistic happenings.
such as the performance of Carl Maria von Weber's Euryanthe in October 1823 and the concerts by Ignaz Moscheles at the end of the year, for which Moscheles borrowed Beethoven's English piano. We are apprised of performances of Beethoven's works, especially those by violinist Ignaz Schuppanzigh; we share Beethoven's financial worries; we are told about a painful eye infection. Yet we frequently come across conversations which take a jocose turn and bring us closer to Beethoven's humanity. Behind all this there remains the fascinating process of the Ninth Symphony's creation to which Carl Czerny perhaps alludes when he writes in Baden at the end of August, "But the world is enriched all the more through a masterpiece." After completion of the two great works, the Missa and the Ninth Symphony, Beethoven devoted himself to preparations for their performance. Envoys of European courts in Vienna are asked to subscribe to the works in advance. Beethoven's copiers have ample work in completing the ordered copies: instructions are given in the conversation books.
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62
These dramatic entries were suede during the time u/ Karl's attempted suicide on July 30, 1826. Although Beethoven's excited conversation with his sister-in-law is on the page after the nephew's writing, it undoubtedly came first.
(Right-hand page): Beethoven: "When did it happen!" Johanna: "He arrived just now. The coachman curried him down from a rock in Baden and has just now driven taw town to you.,' (Left-hand page): Karl: "Now it is over, I want a discreet surgeon;
.Smenanu [misspelled: should he Smetana. a surgeon who had operated on Karl for hernia-Ed.l, if he is in town." "Don't plague me with reproaches and accusations. It's over with. Presently everything will be all right." And after a question, apparently from Beethoven, "Site has .sent for a doctor. But he is not home." "Holz [a young violinist friend of Beethoven] will [look in ( ?)iilegible]."
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The preparation of the great works is dramatic.
Beethoven did not at first consider an Akademie (concert) in Vienna. His friends were dismayed.
Count Moritz Lichnowsky, a close friend of Beethoven, authored a memorandum-which was signed by many aristocrats, musicians, and publishers in Vienna-imploring Beethoven not to introduce "his youngest children to their place of birth as aliens." He finally decided to prepare the concert for Vienna while his friends Schindler, Lichnowsky, and Schuppanzigh took on all the difficulties of the negotiations.
However, the fussy master has a hard time making decisions. When his friends try to force Beethoven to clarify certain basic questions he becomes upset.
Every phase of these dramatic preparations for the concert, organizational work as well as rehearsals, we find ourselves witnessing in the talks of 1824.
The concert of May 7, 1824, in the Kärntnerthor theater proved a triumph for Beethoven. Schindler writes: "Never in my life did I hear such frenetic and yet heartfelt applause as today. The second movement of the symphony was interrupted several times." Yet the financial result of the concert (420 gulden) turned out to be so disappointing that Beethoven rashly accused his friends of having cheated him. Then he quickly sought forgiveness. This time he has to accept Schindler's reproof: "You create such scenes, I nearly decided never to come to you again. You can be neither counseled nor helped." In the center of Beethoven's late works stand the magnificent last five quartets of 1824-26, the first three of which were commissioned by the Russian Prince Galitzin. The hope for financial gain may explain this extraordinary creativity. The Parisian music publisher Schlesinger visits Beethoven in September 1825 and remarks, "If you write quartets you will earn more money than with the rest of your great works. He who lives among wolves must learn to howl. The world these days is a wolves' den." Schuppanzigh performed the E flat Quartet in March 1825, but "it was not quite fully baked." Beethoven was able to hire violinist Joseph Boehm for a second performance and supervised the rehearsals himself: although he could not hear anything, he judged the tempos by watching the bow movements of the performers. Shortly before the A minor Quartet is premiered he gives a jocular puzzle canon on the notes B-A-C-H [in German, B is B flat, H is B natural] to the Danish composer Kuhlau who visits him in September. The words, a pun on the Dane's name, are "Kühl, nicht lau" (cool, not lukewarm) . Then Schlesinger asks Beethoven for permission to print the canon, with its solution, in the Berlin Music Journal. (See the illustration on page 61.) Now new friends come to the foreground in the conversations, like the young violinist Holz and the friend of his youth Gerhard von Breuning; we hear of the visit of the Berlin poet Rellstab; again Beethoven negotiates about material for an opera; we hear of a serious illness Beethoven contracts and about the warnings of his physician, Dr. Braunhofer.
In the conversation books of 1825 we can once again follow the fate of the nephew in the increasing tension which a year later led to catastrophe. The relationship of Beethoven to his nephew changes frequently with jumpy rapidity. Now he utters bitter reproach, now the entries testify to a touching fatherly tenderness. Surely life with the often suspicious and quickly enraged uncle, a man laboring with tierce concentration, could not have been easy for the youngster. The nephew undertook philological studies at the University of Vienna in the fall of 1823. After but one year he was unable to pass the necessary examinations and in the spring of 1825 he renounced his studies. All his teachers testified to his intelligence and endowment; yet his own frivolity led him astray. He skipped lectures and neglected his studies. He changed over to the Polytechnic Institute and prepared himself for the career of a merchant.
Here too, in the summer of 1826, the fear of the exams, the demands of which he did not feel equal to, took hold of him. Though Beethoven conceded him the liberty to occupy a room of his own in the city, the uncle's psychological difficulties and complexes overwhelmed Karl. Whether he also contracted gambling debts, as Schindler asserts, cannot be proved. On July 30 the nephew discharged two pistol shots against his head. The attempted suicide was unsuccessful but Karl was severely wounded. In a conversation book we take part in this calamity.
(Sec opposite page.) After two months' recuperation in a hospital the young criminal (attempted suicide was considered a criminal act) spent one night at the police station.
(Schindler's description would make it appear that he spent four weeks there!) A priest gave him the necessary absolution, yet he had to leave Vienna. Beethoven took him to the estate of his brother Johann in Gneixendorf. There, in October 1826, he composed the last quartet. Returning to Vienna at the beginning of December, Beethoven fell seriously ill.
The mortal illness lasts four months. We become witnesses to the tour operations-punctures to relieve the swelling caused by dropsy-performed by Professor Wawruch. Days of unspeakable suffering pass before us. A temporary and last flickering of health prompts his friends to congratulate him on his "recovery." Beethoven's mind remains wakeful and active. One of the last documented conversations is one he holds with Schindler-about Shakespeare.
To mine the content of these conversation books fully will be possible only when they are available in their totality (ten volumes are planned). Schiller's words about Kant-Kant is twice mentioned in the conversation books-are applicable to Beethoven: "When the kings build, the carters are kept busy." Article translated by George Marek; conversation book excerpts by Dagmar Rios, Peter Stadien, Leonard Marcus.
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--- Maurice Feldman, Public Relations Counselor, City of Vienna The
house in Heiligenstadt, now part of Vienna, where Beethoven wrote his
heartbreaking testament. Situated on Probusgasse 6, it will soon become
a museum. In 1802 the thirtyone-year-old Beethoven, growing progressively
deafer, was advised by his physician, Dr. Schmidt, to spare his hearing as
much as possible.
That summer he temporarily left the city noises of Vienna for the nearby countryside where, in Heiligenstadt, contemplating suicide, he wrote the following remarkable and touching document. For some strange reason, he left the name of his brother Johann blank throughout. The translation is taken from Thayer's Lite of Beethoven.
The Heiligenstadt Testament
For my brothers Carl and Beethoven Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me. You do not know the secret cause which makes me seem that way to you. From childhood on my heart and soul have been full of the tender feeling of goodwill, and I was ever inclined to accomplish great things. But, think that for 6 years now I have been hopelessly afflicted, made worse by senseless physicians, from year to year deceived with hopes of improvement, finally compelled to face the prospect of a lasting malady (whose cure will take years or, perhaps be impossible). Though born with a fiery, active temperament, even susceptible to the diversions of society, I was soon compelled to withdraw myself, to live life alone. If at times I tried to forget all this, oh how harshly was I flung back by the doubly sad experience of my bad hearing.
Yet it was impossible for me to say to people, "Speak louder, shout, for I am deaf." Ah, how could I possibly admit an infirmity in the one sense which ought to be more perfect in me than in others, a sense which I once possessed in the highest perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed.
--Oh I cannot do it, therefore forgive me when you see me draw back when I would have gladly mingled with you. My misfortune is doubly painful to me because I am bound to be misunderstood; for me there can be no relaxation with my fellow-men, no refined conversations, no mutual exchange of ideas. I must live almost alone like one who has been banished, I can mix with society only as much as true necessity demands. If I approach near to people a hot terror seizes upon me and I fear being exposed to the danger that my condition might be noticed. Thus it has been during the last six months which I have spent in the country. By ordering me to spare my hearing as much as possible, my intelligent doctor almost fell in with my own present frame of mind, though sometimes I ran counter to it by yielding to my desire for companionship. But what a humiliation for me when someone standing next to me heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or someone heard a shepherd singing and again I heard nothing. Such incidents drove me almost to despair, a little more of that and I would have ended my life-it was only my art that held me back. Ah, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had brought forth all that I felt was within me. So I endured this wretched existence-truly wretched for so susceptible a body which can be thrown by a sudden change from the best condition to the very worst.
-Patience, they say, is what I must now choose for my guide, and I have done so--I hope my determination will remain firm to endure until it pleases the inexorable Parcae to break the thread. Perhaps I shall get better, perhaps not, I am ready.
Forced to become a philosopher already in my 28th year, oh it is not easy, and for the artist much more difficult than for anyone else. Divine One, thou seest my inmost soul, thou knowest that therein dwells the love of mankind and the desire to do good. Oh fellow men, when at some point you read this, consider then that you have done me an injustice; someone who has had misfortune may console himself to find a similar case to his, who despite all the limitations of Nature nevertheless did everything within his powers to become accepted among worthy artists and men.--You my brothers Carl and as soon as I am dead if Dr. Schmid is still alive ask him in my name to describe my malady, and attach this written document to his account of my illness so that so far as is possible at least the world may become reconciled to me after my death.
-At the same time I declare you two to be the heirs to my small fortune (if so it can be called); divide it fairly; bear with and help each other. What injury you have done me you know was long ago forgiven.
To you, brother Carl I give special thanks for the attachment you have shown me of late. It is my wish that you may have a better and freer life than I have had.
Recommend virtue to your children; it alone, not money, can make them happy. I speak from experience; this was what upheld me in time of misery. Thanks to it and to my art I did not end my life by suicide-Farewell and love each other-I thank all my friends, particularly Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmidt--I would like the instruments from Prince L to be preserved by one of you, but not to be the cause of strife between you, and as soon as they can serve you a better purpose, then sell them. How happy I shall be if I can still be helpful to you in my grave-so be it-With joy I hasten to meet death--If it comes before I have had the chance to develop all my artistic capacities, it will still be coming too soon despite my harsh fate and I should probably wish it later-yet even so I should be happy, for would it not free me from a state of endless suffering?--Come when thou wilt, I shall meet thee bravely--Farewell and do not wholly forget me when I am dead, I deserve this from you, for during my lifetime I was thinking of you often and of ways to make you happy-please be so--
- Ludwig van Beethoven (seal)
Heiglnstadt [sic], October 10th, 1802, thus I bid you farewell--and indeed sadly-yes, that fond hope--which I brought here with me, to be cured to a degree at least--this I must now wholly abandon. As the leaves of autumn fall and are withered-so likewise has my hope been blighted--I leave here-almost as I came--even the high courage--which often inspired me in the beautiful days of summer-has disappeared.
Oh Providence--grant me at last but one day of pure joy-it is so long since real joy echoed in my heart--Oh when-Oh when, Oh Divine One--shall I feel it again in the temple of nature and of mankind
Never?--No-Oh that would be too hard.
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( High Fidelity magazine)
Also see:
Beethoven's American Boswell: Alexander Wheelock Thayer