The Life of Ludwig Van Beethoven Volume III, by Alexander Wheelock Thayer--The Project Gutenberg eBook

The reiteration of the word “miracles” is indicated by the usual musical sign of repetition 𝄎. There is no date in Beethoven’s handwriting, but Schindler has endorsed it: “Beethoven’s last lines to Schindler on March 17, 1827.” The endorsement is of a later date and marks another obvious error of memory. It is not possible that Beethoven wrote the letter after he had himself abandoned all hope of recovery, as he had before the date affixed by Schindler. Most obviously the pathetic document is an outburst of jubilation on feeling the exhilaration consequent on Malfatti’s prescription, as mentioned in Dr. Wawruch’s report. Schindler says that the “learned gentlemen” referred to were Wawruch and Seibert. Wawruch says that Beethoven abandoned hope after the fourth tapping; Johann van Beethoven records that the physicians declared him lost on March 16. Schindler in his biography describes a letter written in February as the last letter actually written by the composer.

Gerhard von Breuning, prejudiced as he was against Dr. Wawruch, was yet far from unqualified in his praise of Malfatti. He says:

But the usually brilliant physician seems to have been little inspired in the presence of Beethoven. The frozen punch which he prescribed to restore the tone of the digestive organs, excessively weakened by Wawruch’s overload of medicaments, had, indeed, the desired restorative effect; but it was too transient. On the other hand a sort of sweat-bath prescribed a few days after the second [169] operation was so obviously injurious to the patient, filled with longing and hope, that it had to be abandoned at once. Jugs filled with hot water were arranged in a bath-tub and covered thickly with birch leaves on which the patient was seated, all of his body but the head being covered with a sheet. Malfatti hoped for a beneficient action upon the skin and to put the organs into a productive perspiration. But the very opposite effect resulted. The body of the patient, which had been emptied of its water by the scarcely completed tapping, attracted the moisture developed by the bath like a block of salt; it swelled visibly in the apparatus and in a few days compelled the introduction anew of the tube into the still unhealed puncture.

The story of this sweat-bath needs to be told, if for no other reason than because it is the basis of another of the romances still current, which were retailed for the single purpose of presenting Beethoven as a sufferer from the niggardliness of Johann. On January 25 (the date is fixed by a remark of Johann’s in the Conversation Book) Schindler brought word to Beethoven that the mother of the singer Fräulein Schechner had sent for him that morning to tell him about two remedies which had proved efficacious in the case of her father, who had also been afflicted with dropsy. One of these was Juniperberry tea, the other a vapor bath from a decoction, the ingredients of which were a head of cabbage, two handfuls of caraway seeds and three handfuls of hayseed (Heublumen). These remedies had been prescribed by the physician of the late King of Bavaria and had worked a cure in the case of Madame Schechner’s father when he was 70 years old. Dr. Malfatti seems to have been told of these remedies and to have prescribed the bath, which, it is said in the Conversation Books, he recognized at once as a cure used by Dr. Harz, the Royal Physician mentioned. Within a day or two Schindler notes in the book, that he had asked Johann for some hay and the latter had replied that his hay was not good enough for the purpose; but the next day, on seeing the hay, which had been procured from another source, Johann had said that he had plenty of that sort and that his was dryer. Unwilling, apparently, to admit that Johann might have been honest in his belief that the hay from his stable was not fit for medicinal purposes, Schindler writes for Beethoven’s perusal: “Is it not abominable that he is unwilling even to give hay for a single bath!” Yet this monster of inhumanity, unwilling to sacrifice even a wisp of hay for a dying brother, was at the time in daily attendance upon that brother and had taken upon himself a great deal of the onerous and disagreeable labor of the sick-room!

Among Beethoven’s visitors in February, near the end of the month, when Beethoven was at an extremity of his suffering, was the singer Demoiselle Schechner, who almost forced her way to the bedside to tell him of her great admiration for his music, of her successes in “Fidelio,” and that it was through singing his “Adelaide” that she had won her way to the operatic stage. Under date of February there also came to the composer a cheery letter from his old playmate Wegeler, calling to his mind some of his early flames—Jeanette Honrath and Fräulein Westerholt—and playfully outlining a plan by which the old friends might enjoy a reunion: he would send, he said, one of his patients to Carlsbad and go there with him as soon as Beethoven should arrange also to go there for his convalescence. Then, after a three weeks’ trip through South Germany, there should be a final visit to the home of their childhood. And, as before, Eleonore sends a postscript emphasizing the pleasures of the reunion. Beethoven answered the letter on February 17, and told his old friend how he had tried to send him a letter and portrait through Stephan von Breuning on December 10, but the plan had miscarried. Now the matter was to be entrusted to the Schotts.

Zmeskall, faithful to the old friendship, a bound prisoner to his room through gout, sends greetings and inquiries through Schindler. From his sick-bed Beethoven answers him, not in the jocular spirit which marked his voluminous notes of old, but in terms which breathe sincerity and real friendship:

A thousand thanks for your sympathy. I do not despair. The most painful feature is the cessation of all activity. No evil without its good side. May heaven but grant you amelioration of your painful existence. Perhaps health is coming to both of us and we shall meet again in friendly intimacy.

Though Beethoven had received the Handel scores in December, he does not seem to have had an opportunity to enjoy Stumpff’s gift thoroughly until he turned to them for intellectual refreshment on his bed of pain. He had signed the receipt for them in December, but it was not until his thoughts turned to his English friends in the hope of pecuniary relief that he wrote a letter to Stumpff under date of February 8.[170]

How great a joy the sending of the works of Handel of which you made me a present—for me a royal present!—this my pen cannot describe. An article about it was even printed by the newspaper, which I enclose. Unfortunately I have been down with the dropsy since the 3rd of December. You can imagine in what a situation this places me! I live generally only from the proceeds of my brain, to make provision of all things for myself and my Carl. Unhappily for a month and a half I have not been able to write a note. My salary suffices only to pay my semi-annual rent, after which there remains only a few hundred florins. Reflect now that it cannot yet be determined when my illness will end, I again be able to sail through the air on Pegasus under full sail. Doctor, surgeon, everything must be paid.

I recall right well that several years ago the Philharmonic Society wanted to give a concert for my benefit. It would be fortunate for me if they would come to this determination now. It might save me from all the needs which confront me. On this account I am writing to Mr. S. [Smart] and if you, my dear friend, can do anything toward this end I beg of you to coöperate with Mr. S. Moscheles will also be written to about it and if all my friends unite I believe that something can be done for me in this matter.

Concerning the Handel works for H. Imperial Highness Archduke Rudolph, I cannot as yet say anything with certainty. But I will write to him in a few days and remind him of it.

While thanking you again for your glorious gift, I beg of you to command me if I can be of service to you here in any way, I shall do it with all my heart. I again place my condition as I have described it close to your benevolent heart and while wishing you all things good and beautiful, I commend myself to you.

Stumpff had already been informed of Beethoven’s illness by Streicher. It is evident that he went at once to Smart and Moscheles, and knowledge of Beethoven’s condition and request was communicated to the directors of the Philharmonic Society forthwith. Beethoven, meanwhile, had written to both Smart and Moscheles, enclosing the letter of the former in the letter to the latter; but the quick and sympathetic action of the Society was no doubt due primarily to the initiative of Stumpff, for the letters could by no means have reached London when the directors held a meeting on February 28. Mr. Dance presided, and those present, as recorded in the Society’s minutes, were F. Cramer, Horsley, Moralt, Dragonetti, Neate, Dizi, Beale, T. Cooke, Sir G. Smart, Welsh, Latour, Spagnoletti, Calkin, J. B. Cramer, Cipriani Potter and Watts. The minutes continue:

It was moved by Mr. Neate, and seconded by Mr. Latour:

“That this Society do lend the sum of One Hundred Pounds to its own members to be sent through the hands of Mr. Moscheles to some confidential friend of Beethoven, to be applied to his comforts and necessities during his illness.”

Carried unanimously.

Both Stumpff and Moscheles wrote the good news to Beethoven the next day. Moscheles’s letter appears in his translation, or rather paraphrase, of Schindler’s biography. In it he said:

The Philharmonic Society resolved to express their good will and lively sympathy by requesting your acceptance of 100 pounds sterling (1,000 florins) to provide the necessary comforts and conveniences during your illness. This money will be paid to your order by Mr. Rau, of the house of Eskeles, either in separate sums or all at once as you desire.

He added an expression of the Philharmonic Society’s willingness to aid him further whenever he should inform it of his need of assistance. Beethoven’s impatience was so great that, having found Smart’s address among his papers, he wrote him a second letter on March 6th, being able now to mention the fact of the fourth tapping on February 27th and to utter the apprehension that the operation might have to be repeated—perhaps more than once. On March 14th he was still without the answer of his English friends and he wrote again to Moscheles telling him of the two letters sent to Smart, urging action and concluding with

Whither is this to lead, and what is to become of me if this continues for a while longer? Verily, a hard lot has befallen me! But I yield to the will of fate and only pray God so to order it in his Divine Will that so long as I must endure this death in life I may be protected against want. This will give me strength to endure my lot, hard and terrible as it may be, with submission to the will of the Most High.... Hummel is here and has already visited me a few times.

Schindler says that the appeal to London, which had been suggested by Beethoven, had been discussed with the composer by himself and Breuning, who agreed in questioning the advisability of the step which, they said, would make a bad impression if it became known. They reminded Beethoven of his bank-shares, but he protested vigorously against their being touched; he had set them apart as a legacy for his nephew which must not be encroached upon. The letters to Smart and Moscheles are mentioned several times in the Conversation Books, but there is no record of a protest by Schindler or Breuning. Inasmuch, however, as much of the conversation with Beethoven was at this time carried on with the help of a slate, it is very likely that Schindler’s statement is correct. At any rate it serves to give a quietus to the fantastic notion of the romancers that Beethoven had forgotten that he had the shares. Not only were they talked about by his friends, but they were the subject of discussion in the correspondence and congratulations between Beethoven, Bach and Breuning on the subject of the will.

The last letters to Smart and Moscheles were scarcely dispatched before advices were received from London. Beethoven dictated the following acknowledgment which Schindler, though he held the pen, did not reproduce in full in his biography:

Vienna, March 18, 1827.

My dear good Moscheles:

I can not describe to you in words with what feelings I read your letter of March 1. The generosity with which the Philharmonic Society anticipated my petition has touched me in the innermost depth of my soul. I beg you, therefore, my dear Moscheles, to be the agency through which I transmit my sincerest thanks for the particular sympathy and help, to the Philharmonic Society.

I found myself constrained to collect at once the entire sum of 1,000 florins C. M. being in the unpleasant position of raising money which would have brought new embarrassments.

Concerning the concert which the Philharmonic Society has resolved to give, I beg the Society not to abandon this noble purpose, and to deduct the 1,000 florins already sent to me from the proceeds of the concert. And if the Society is disposed graciously to send me the balance I pledge myself to return my heartiest thanks to the Society by binding myself to compose for it either a new symphony, which lies already sketched in my desk, a new overture or whatever else the Society shall wish.

May heaven very soon restore me again to health, and I will prove to the generous Englishmen how greatly I appreciate their interest in my sad fate. Their noble act will never be forgotten by me and I shall follow this with especial thanks to Sir Smart and Mr. Stumpff.

Schindler relates that Beethoven on March 24, whispered to him, “write to Smart and Stumpff,” and that he would have done so on the morrow had Beethoven been able to sign his name. In a translation of the letter to Moscheles printed in a pamphlet published by the Philharmonic Society in 1871,[171] it concluded as follows:

Farewell! with the kindest remembrances and highest esteem
From your friend
Ludwig van Beethoven.

Kindest regards to your wife. I have to thank you and the Philharmonic Society for a new friend in Mr. Rau. I enclose for the Philharmonic Society a metronomic list of the movements of my ninth Symphony.

Allegro ma non troppo	88 = 𝅘𝅥
Molto vivace	116 = 𝅗𝅥
Presto	116 = 𝅗𝅥
Adagio primo	60 = 𝅘𝅥
Andante moderato	63 = 𝅗𝅥
Finale presto	96 = 𝅘𝅥
Allegro ma non tanto	88 = 𝅘𝅥
Allegro assai	80 = 𝅗𝅥
Alla marcia	84 = 𝅘𝅥
Andante maestoso	72 = 𝅗𝅥
Adagio divoto	60 = 𝅗𝅥
Allegro energico	84 = 𝅗𝅥
Allegro ma non tanto	120 = 𝅗𝅥
Prestissimo	132 = 𝅗𝅥
Maestoso	60 = 𝅘𝅥

The history of the Philharmonic Society’s benefaction may properly be completed at this point. The money, as is to be seen from Beethoven’s acknowledgment, was collected by the composer at once. Herr Rau, of the banking-house of Eskeles to whom it had been entrusted, called upon Beethoven immediately on receiving advices from London. It was on March 15, and two days later he enclosed Beethoven’s receipt (dated March 16) in a letter to Moscheles which the latter transmitted to Mr. W. Watts, Secretary of the Philharmonic Society. Rau wrote:

I have with the greatest surprise heard from you, who reside in London, that the universally admired Beethoven is so dangerously ill and in want of pecuniary assistance, while we, here at Vienna, are totally ignorant of it. I went to him immediately after having read your letter to ascertain his state, and to announce to him the approaching relief. This made a deep impression upon him, and called forth true expressions of gratitude. What a satisfactory sight would it have been for those who so generously relieved him to witness such a touching scene! I found poor Beethoven in a sad way, more like a skeleton than a living being. He is suffering from dropsy, and has already been tapped four times; he is under the care of our clever physician Malfatti, who unfortunately gives little hope of his recovery.

How long he may remain in his present state, or if he can at all be saved, can not yet be ascertained. The joyous sensation at the sudden relief from London has, however, had a wonderful effect upon him; it made one of the wounds (which since the last operation had healed) suddenly burst open during the night, and all the water which had gathered since a fortnight ran out freely. When I came to see him on the following day he was in remarkably good spirits and felt himself much relieved. I hastened to Malfatti to inform him of this alteration and he considers the event as very consolatory. He will contrive to keep the wound open for some time and thus leave a channel for the water which gathers continually. Beethoven is fully satisfied with his attendants, who consist of a cook and housemaid. His friend and ours, Mr. Schindler, dines with him every day and thus proves his sincere attachment to him. S. also manages his correspondence and superintends his expenses. You will find enclosed a receipt from Beethoven for the 1,000 florins (or 100 pounds). When I proposed to him to take half of the sum at present, and to leave the rest with Baron Eskeles, where he might have it safely deposited, he acknowledged to me openly that he considered this money as a relief sent him from heaven; and that 500 florins would not suffice for his present want. I therefore gave him, according to his wish, the whole sum at once. Beethoven will soon address a letter to the Philharmonic Society by which he means to express his gratitude. I hope you will again accept my services whenever they can be of any use to Beethoven. I am, etc.

I much regret that you did not express more decidedly in your letter the wish that he should draw the 100 pounds by installments, and I agreed with Rau to recommend this course, but he (Beethoven) preferred acting on the last part of your letter. Care and anxiety seemed at once to vanish when he had received the money, and he said to me quite happily, “Now we can again look forward to some comfortable days.” We had only 340 florins, W. W. remaining and we had been obliged to be very economical for some time in our housekeeping.... His delight on receiving this gift from the Philharmonic Society resembled that of a child. A letter from that worthy man Stumpff arrived here two days before yours and all this affected Beethoven very much. Numberless times during the day he exclaimed. “May God reward them a thousandfold.”

Beethoven is no more; he died on the 26th inst. at five o’clock in the afternoon, in the most dreadful agonies of pain. He was, as I mentioned to you in my last letter, according to his own statement, without any relief, without any money, consequently in the most painful circumstances; but on taking an inventory of his property after his death, at which I was present, we found in an old half-mouldy chest, seven Austrian bank bills which amount to about 1,000 pounds. Whether Beethoven concealed these purposely, for he was very mistrusting, and hoped for a speedy recovery, or whether he was himself ignorant of his possession, remains a riddle. We found the whole of the 100 pounds which the Philharmonic Society sent him, and I reclaimed them according to your former orders.[172] but was compelled to deposit them with the magistrate until a further communication from that Society arrives. I could, of course, not permit the expenses of the burial to be paid out of this money without the consent of the Society. Beethoven’s nephew now succeeds to all his property. I hope to hear from you soon and explicitly what I am to do, and you may rest perfectly assured of my promptness and exactitude.

Moscheles, “by return post,” as he assures Mr. Watts, asked Rau to send the £100 back to the Philharmonic Society “according to the conditions under which the money was sent.” A correspondence ensued between Moscheles and Hotschevar, who was appointed guardian of the nephew after Breuning’s death (on June 4, 1827), which ended in Moscheles’ (as he himself says) laying before the Philharmonic Society the case of young Beethoven (then under age) and soliciting them “not to reclaim the £100, but, in honor of the great deceased, to allow the small patrimony to remain untouched.” Meanwhile it appears from a letter from Schindler to Smart dated March 31,[173] that Schindler and Breuning applied a portion of the sum to the payment of the funeral expenses; “otherwise,” says the letter, “we could not have had him decently buried without selling one of the seven bank-shares which constitute his entire estate.” The sum thus expended is shown to have been 650 florins C. M. by the inventory preserved by Fischoff.

There are evidences outside of the importunate letters to London that Beethoven had frequent spells of melancholy during the period between the crises of his disease, which culminated in the third operation on February 2,[174] and the fourth. Some of them were, no doubt, due to forebodings touching the outcome of his illness; some to the anxiety which his financial condition gave him (more imaginary than real in view of the easily convertible bank-shares), and some presumably to disappointment and chagrin at the conduct of his nephew, who had not answered his letter to Iglau. Breuning explained that the negligence might be due to Karl’s time and attention being engrossed by the carnival gayeties at the military post, and warned Beethoven that to give way to melancholy was to stand in the way of recovery. We learn this from the Conversation Books, which also give glimpses of friendly visits calculated to divert the sick man’s mind and keep him in touch with the affairs of the city, theatre and the world at large. Doležalek, Schuppanzigh, and apparently Linke also, came in a group; Beethoven showed them the Handel scores and the conversation ran out into a discussion of international politics. Moritz Lichnowsky made a call and entertained him with the gossip of the theatres. Gleichenstein made several visits, and once brought with him his wife and son. The Countess was a sister of Therese Malfatti, to whom Beethoven had once made an offer of marriage, and was disappointed when Beethoven did not recognize her. About the middle of February Diabelli gave Beethoven a print-picture of Haydn’s birthplace, which he had published; Beethoven showed it to his little friend Gerhard von Breuning and said: “Look, I got this to-day. See this little house, and in it so great a man was born!”

On February 25 Holz is called by letter to look after the collection of Beethoven’s annuity. His visits have been infrequent, but evidently there are some things which Beethoven either cannot or will not entrust to anybody else. Schindler is ceaselessly and tirelessly busy with Beethoven’s affairs, but his statement that Breuning and he were the only persons who were much with the composer during his illness, except the lad, Gerhard von Breuning, must be taken with some grains of allowance. On 123 pages of the Conversation Books, covering the months of January and February, 1827 (the evidence of which can not be gainsaid, since the books were long in the hand of Schindler to do with as he willed), there are forty-eight entries by Johann van Beethoven, forty-six by Gerhard von Breuning and thirty by Breuning the elder. Schindler’s entries number 103. Other writers in the Books are Bernhard (1), Holz (7), Bach (2), Piringer (6), Haslinger (11), Schikh (1), Doležalek (4), Schuppanzigh (6), Moritz Lichnowsky (1), Gleichenstein (1), Jekel (1), Marie Schindler, Anton’s sister (1) and Wolfmayer (1).

Sometime in February—it was probably at the time when Beethoven’s mind was so fixedly bent on obtaining help from London—Schindler was either ill or suffering from an accident which kept him for a brief space from Beethoven’s bedside. The composer sent him a gift—a repast, evidently—and a letter of sympathy so disjointed in phrase as to give pitiful confirmation of Schindler’s statement that it was the last letter which Beethoven wrote with his own hand, and that at the time he could no longer think connectedly. It ran:

Concerning your accident, since it has happened, as soon as we see each other I can send to you somebody without inconvenience—accept this—here is something—Moscheles, Cramer—without your having received a letter—There will be a new occasion to write one Wednesday and lay my affairs to his heart, if you are not well by that time one of my—can take it to the post against a receipt. Vale et fave, there is no need of my assuring you of my sympathy in your accident—do take the meal from me, it is given with all my heart—Heaven be with you.

More pathetic than even this letter is the picture of the sufferer in his sick-room at the time of the fourth operation (February 27). So wretched are his surroundings that it is scarcely impossible to avoid the conviction that not poverty alone but ignorance and carelessness were contributary to the woeful lack of ordinary sick-room conveniences. Gerhard von Breuning says that after the operation the fluid which was drained from the patient’s body flowed half-way across the floor to the middle of the room; and in the C. B. there is a mention of saturated bedclothing and the physician suggests that oilcloth be procured and spread over the couch. Beethoven now gave up hope. Dr. Wawruch says: “No words of comfort could brace him up, and when I promised him alleviation of his sufferings with the coming of the vitalizing weather of Spring he answered with a smile: ‘My day’s work is finished. If there were a physician could help me his name should be called Wonderful.’ This pathetic allusion to Handel’s ‘Messiah’ touched me so deeply that I had to confess its correctness to myself with profound emotion.” The incident so sympathetically described bears evidence of veracity on its face; Handel’s scores were always in Beethoven’s mind during the last weeks of his life.

Among Beethoven’s visitors in February was Wolfmayer, whose coming must have called up a sense of a long-standing obligation and purpose in the composer’s mind.[175] On February 22nd he dictated a letter to the Schotts asking that the Quartet in C-sharp minor be dedicated to “my friend Johann Nepomuk Wolfmayer.” The letter then proceeds:

Now, however, I come with a very important request.—My doctor orders me to drink very good old Rhinewine. To get a thing of that kind unadulterated is not possible at any price. If, therefore, I were to receive a few small bottles I would show my gratitude to you in the Cæcilia. I think something would be done for me at the customs so that the transport would not cost too much. As soon as my strength allows you shall receive the metronomic marks for the Mass, for I am just in the period when the fourth operation is about to be performed. The sooner, therefore, that I receive the Rhinewine, or Moselle, the more beneficial it may be to me in my present condition; and I beg of you most heartily to do me this favor for which I shall be under an obligation of gratitude to you.

I am under the necessity of becoming burdensome to you again, inasmuch as I am sending you a packet for the Royal Government Councillor Wegeler at Coblenz, which you will have the kindness to transmit from Mayence to Coblenz. You know without more ado that I am too unselfish to ask you to do all these things gratuitously.

I repeat my former request, that, namely, concerning old white Rhinewine or Moselle. It is infinitely difficult to get any here which is genuine and unadulterated, even at the highest price. A few days ago, on February 27, I had my fourth operation, and yet I am unable to look forward to my complete recovery and restoration. Pity your devoted friend

Beethoven.

On March 8 the Schotts answered that they had forwarded a case of twelve bottles of Rüdesheimer Berg of the vintage of 1806, via Frankfort, but in order that he might the sooner receive a slight refreshment, they had sent that day four bottles of the same wine, two pure and two mixed with herbs, to be used as a medicine which had been prescribed for his disease. The prescription had come, they said, from a friend who had cured many persons of dropsy with it. Before the wine reached Vienna, on March 10, Beethoven wrote again to the Schotts:

According to my letter the Quartet was to be dedicated to one whose name I have already sent to you. Since then there has been an occurrence which has led me to make a change in this. It must be dedicated to Lieut.-Fieldmarshal von Stutterheim to whom I am deeply indebted. If you have already engraved the first dedication I beg of you, by everything in this world, to change it and I will gladly pay the cost. Do not accept this as an empty promise; I attach so much importance to it that I am ready to make any compensation for it. I enclose the title. As regards the shipment to my friend, the Royal Prussian Government Councillor v. Wegeler in Coblenz, I am glad to be able to relieve you wholly. Another opportunity has offered itself. My health, which will not be restored for a long time, pleads for the wines which I have asked for and which will certainly bring me refreshment, strength and health.

There are evidences that the wine was received on March 24. On March 29 the Schotts, under the impression that Beethoven was still alive, wrote him again. Baron Pasqualati, in whose house he had lived for a long time, an old friend, joined his new friends, the publishers, in an effort to contribute to his physical comfort and well-being. There are several little letters in which Beethoven acknowledges the receipt of contributions from his cellar and larder. One of these, most likely the first, has been endorsed by a strange hand as having been sent or received on March 6. It reads:

Hearty thanks for your health-gift; as soon as I have found out which of the wines is the most suitable I will let you know, but I shall abuse your kindness as little as possible. I am rejoicing in the expectation of the compotes and will appeal to you often for them. Even this costs me an exertion. Sapienta pauca—Your grateful friend

Beethoven.

I beg you again to-day for a cherry compote, but without lemons, entirely simple; also I should be glad to have a light pudding, almost a suggestion of a gruel—my good cook is not yet adept in food for the sick. I am allowed to drink champagne, but for the time being I beg you to send a champagne glass with it. Now as regards the wine: At first Malfatti wanted only Moselle; but he asserted that there was none genuine to be obtained here; he therefore himself gave me several bottles of Krumpholz-Kirchner and claims that this is the best for my health, since no Moselle is to be had. Pardon me for being a burden and ascribe it to my helpless condition.

How shall I thank you enough for the glorious champagne? How greatly has it refreshed me and will continue to do so! I need nothing to-day and thank you for everything—whatever conclusions you may draw in regard to the wines I beg of you to note that I would gladly recompense you to the extent of my ability.—I can write no more to-day. Heaven bless you for everything and for your affectionate sympathy.

Many thanks for the food of yesterday, which will also serve for to-day.—I am allowed to eat game; the doctor thinks that Krametsvögel (Fieldfares) are good and wholesome for me. This for your information, but it need not be to-day. Pardon my senseless writing—Weary of night vigils—I embrace and reverence you.

My thanks for the food sent yesterday. A sick man longs for such things like a child and therefore I beg you to-day for the peach compote. As regards other food I must get the advice of the physicians. Concerning the wine they consider the Grinzinger beneficial but prefer old Krumpholz Kirchener over all others.—I hope this statement will not cause you to misunderstand me.

Others who sent him gifts of wine were Streicher and Breuning, and, as we see from one of the letters, Malfatti himself. There is considerable talk in the C. B. about wine. His days were numbered—why should any comfort be denied him?

Concerning the last few days of his life the Conversation Books provide absolutely no information. There is no record of the visit of Schubert to the bedside of the dying man, but the account given by Schindler is probably correct in the main. On page 136 of the second volume of his biography of Beethoven, Schindler says:

As only a few of Franz Schubert’s compositions were known to him and obsequious persons had always been busily engaged in throwing suspicion on his talent, I took advantage of the favorable moment to place before him several of the greater songs, such as “Die junge Nonne,” “Die Bürgschaft,” “Der Taucher,” “Elysium” and the Ossianic songs, acquaintance with which gave the master great pleasure; so much, indeed, that he spoke his judgment in these words: “Truly, the divine spark lives in Schubert,” and so forth. At the time, however, only a small number of Schubert’s works had appeared in print.

Here no date is fixed for the incident and a little suspicion was cast upon the story because of the fact that only “Die junge Nonne” of all the songs mentioned had been published at the time of Beethoven’s death. Schindler helped himself measurably out of the dilemma by saying in an article published in the “Theaterzeitung” of May 3, 1831, that many of the songs which he laid before Beethoven were in manuscript. He contradicts his statement made in the biography, however, by saying: “What would the great master have said had he seen, for instance the Ossianic songs, ‘Die Bürgschaft,’ ‘Elysium,’ ‘Der Taucher’ and other great ones which have only recently been published?” As usual, Schindler becomes more explicit when he comes to explain one of his utterances. Now he says:

As the illness to which Beethoven finally succumbed after four months of suffering from the beginning made his ordinary mental activity impossible, a diversion had to be thought of which would fit his mind and inclinations. And so it came about that I placed before him a collection of Schubert’s songs, about 60 in number, among them many which were then still in manuscript. This was done not only to provide him with a pleasant entertainment, but also to give him an opportunity to get acquainted with Schubert in his essence in order to get from him a favorable opinion of Schubert’s talent, which had been impugned, as had that of others by some of the exalted ones. The great master, who before then had not known five songs of Schubert’s, was amazed at their number and refused to believe that up to that time (February, 1827) he had already composed over 500 of them. But if he was astonished at the number he was filled with the highest admiration as soon as he discovered their contents. For several days he could not separate himself from them, and every day he spent hours with Iphigenia’s monologue, “Die Grenzen der Menschheit,” “Die Allmacht,” “Die junge Nonne,” “Viola,” the “Müllerlieder,” and others. With joyous enthusiasm he cried out repeatedly: “Truly, a divine spark dwells in Schubert; if I had had this poem I would have set it to music”; this in the case of the majority of poems whose material contents and original treatment by Schubert he could not praise sufficiently. Nor could he understand how Schubert had time to “take in hand such long poems, many of which contained ten others,” as he expressed it.... What would the master have said had he seen, for instance, the Ossianic songs, “Die Bürgschaft,” “Elysium,” “Der Taucher” and other great ones which have only recently been published? In short, the respect which Beethoven acquired for Schubert’s talent was so great that he now wanted to see his operas and pianoforte pieces; but his illness had now become so severe that he could no longer gratify this wish. But he often spoke of Schubert and predicted of him that he “would make a great sensation in the world,” and often regretted that he had not learned to know him earlier.

It is likely that the remark, “Truly, the divine spark dwells in Schubert,” as Schindler quoted it in his biography, came more than once from Beethoven’s lips. Luib heard Hüttenbrenner say that one day Beethoven said of Schubert, “He has the divine spark!” Schindler’s article in the “Theaterzeitung” was a defense of the opinion which he had expressed that Schubert was a greater song-composer than Beethoven, and for this reason it may be assumed that it was a little high-pitched in expression. Beethoven knew a little about Schubert, but not much, as appears from a remark quoted from Holz in one of the Conversation Books of 1826. It may have been Schindler’s ambition to appear as having stood sponsor for Schubert before Beethoven which led him to ignore Holz’s remark concerning Schubert’s unique genius as a writer of songs, his interest in Handel and his patronage of Schuppanzigh’s quartet parties. Beethoven and Schubert had met. Anselm Hüttenbrenner wrote to Luib:[176]

But this I know positively, that about eight days before Beethoven’s death Prof. Schindler, Schubert and I visited the sick man, Schindler announced us two and asked Beethoven whom he would see first. He said: “Let Schubert come first.”

It is characteristic of Schindler that he makes no mention of this incident. Another incident recorded by Gerhard von Breuning deserves to be told here. When Beethoven’s friends called they usually reported to Beethoven about the performances of his works. One day Gerhard von Breuning found that a visitor had written in the Conversation Book: “Your Quartet which Schuppanzigh played yesterday did not please.” Beethoven was asleep when Gerhard came and when he awoke the lad pointed to the entry. Beethoven remarked, laconically: “It will please them some day,” adding that he wrote only as he thought best and would not permit himself to be deceived by the judgment of the day, saying at the end: “I know that I am an artist.”

In a letter which Schindler wrote to Moscheles, forwarding Beethoven’s, he said: “Hummel and his wife are here; he came in haste to see Beethoven once again alive, for it is generally reported in Germany that he is on his deathbed. It was a most touching sight last Thursday to see these two friends meet again.” The letter was written on March 14 and the “last Thursday” was March 8th. We have an account of this meeting in Ferdinand Hiller’s “Aus dem Tonleben unserer Zeit.”[177] Hiller was then fifteen years old and had come to the Austrian Capital with Hummel, who was his teacher. Hummel had heard in Weimar that Beethoven was hopelessly ill and had reached Vienna on March 6; two days later he visited his dying friend. Hiller writes:

Through a spacious anteroom in which high cabinets were piled with thick, tied-up parcels of music we reached—how my heart beat!—Beethoven’s living-room, and were not a little astonished to find the master sitting in apparent comfort at the window. He wore a long, gray sleeping-robe, open at the time, and high boots reaching to his knees. Emaciated by long and severe illness he seemed to me, when he arose, of tall stature; he was unshaven, his thick, half-gray hair fell in disorder over his temples. The expression of his features heightened when he caught sight of Hummel, and he seemed to be extraordinarily glad to meet him. The two men embraced each other most cordially. Hummel introduced me. Beethoven showed himself extremely kind and I was permitted to sit opposite him at the window. It is known that conversation with Beethoven was carried on in part in writing; he spoke, but those with whom he conversed had to write their questions and answers. For this purpose thick sheets of ordinary writing-paper in quarto form and lead-pencils always lay near him. How painful it must have been for the animated, easily impatient man to be obliged to wait for every answer, to make a pause in every moment of conversation, during which, as it were, thought was condemned to come to a standstill! He always followed the hand of the writer with hungry eyes and comprehended what was written at a glance instead of reading it. The liveliness of the conversation naturally interfered with the continual writing of the visitor. I can scarcely blame myself, much as I regret it, for not taking down more extended notes than I did; indeed, I rejoice that a lad of fifteen years who found himself in a great city for the first time, was self-possessed enough to regard any details. I can vouch with the best conscience for the perfect accuracy of all that I am able to repeat.

The conversation at first turned, as is usual, on domestic affair,—the journey and sojourn, my relations with Hummel and matters of that kind. Beethoven asked about Goethe’s health with extraordinary solicitude and we were able to make the best of reports, since only a few days before the great poet had written in my album. Concerning his own state, poor Beethoven complained much. “Here I have been lying for four months,” he cried out, “one must at last lose patience!” Other things in Vienna did not seem to be to his liking and he spoke with the utmost severity of “the present taste in art,” and “the dilettantism which is ruining everything.” Nor did he spare the government, up to the most exalted regions. “Write a volume of penitential hymns and dedicate it to the Empress,” he remarked with a gloomy smile to Hummel, who, however, made no use of the well-meant advice. Hummel, who was a practical man, took advantage of Beethoven’s condition to ask his attention to a matter which occupied a long time. It was about the theft of one of Hummel’s concertos, which had been printed illicitly before it had been brought out by the lawful publisher. Hummel wanted to appeal to the Bundestag against this wretched business, and to this end desired to have Beethoven’s signature, which seemed to him of great value. He sat down to explain the matter in writing and meanwhile I was permitted to carry on the conversation with Beethoven. I did my best, and the master continued to give free rein to his moody and passionate utterances in the most confidential manner. In part they referred to his nephew, whom he had loved greatly, who, as is known, caused him much trouble and at that time, because of a few trifles (thus Beethoven at least seemed to consider them), had gotten into trouble with the officials. “Little thieves are hanged, but big ones are allowed to go free!” he exclaimed ill-humoredly. He asked about my studies and, encouraging me, said: “Art must be propagated ceaselessly,” and when I spoke of the exclusive interest in Italian opera which then prevailed in Vienna, he gave utterance to the memorable words: “It is said vox populi, vox dei. I never believed it.”

On March 13 Hummel took me with him a second time to Beethoven. We found his condition to be materially worse. He lay in bed, seemed to suffer great pains, and at intervals groaned deeply despite the fact that he spoke much and animatedly. Now he seemed to take it much to heart that he had not married. Already at our first visit he had joked about it with Hummel, whose wife he had known as a young and beautiful maiden. “You are a lucky man,” he said to him now smilingly, “you have a wife who takes care of you, who is in love with you—but poor me!” and he sighed heavily. He also begged of Hummel to bring his wife to see him, she not having been able to persuade herself to see in his present state the man whom she had known at the zenith of his powers. A short time before he had received a present of a picture of the house in which Haydn was born. He kept it close at hand and showed it to us. “It gave me a childish pleasure,” he said, “the cradle of so great a man!” Then he appealed to Hummel in behalf of Schindler, of whom so much was spoken afterwards. “He is a good man,” he said, “who has taken a great deal of trouble on my account. He is to give a concert soon at which I promised my coöperation. But now nothing is likely to come of that. Now I should like to have you do me the favor of playing. We must always help poor artists.” As a matter of course, Hummel consented. The concert took place—ten days after Beethoven’s death—in the Josephstadt-Theater. Hummel improvised in an obviously exalted mood on the Allegretto of the A major Symphony; the public knew why he participated and the performance and its reception formed a truly inspiring incident.

Shortly after our second visit the report spread throughout Vienna that the Philharmonic Society of London had sent Beethoven £100 in order to ease his sick-bed. It was added that this surprise had made so great an impression on the great poor man that it had also brought physical relief. When we stood again at his bedside, on the 20th, we could educe from his utterances how greatly he had been rejoiced by this altruism; but he was very weak and spoke only in faint and disconnected phrases. “I shall, no doubt, soon be going above,” he whispered after our first greeting. Similar remarks recurred frequently. In the intervals, however, he spoke of projects and hopes which were destined not to be realized. Speaking of the noble conduct of the Philharmonic Society and in praise of the English people, he expressed the intention, as soon as matters were better with him, to undertake the journey to London. “I will compose a grand overture for them and a grand symphony.” Then, too, he would visit Madame Hummel (she had come along with her husband) and go to I do not know how many places. It did not occur to us to write anything for him. His eyes, which were still lively when we saw him last, dropped and closed to-day and it was difficult from time to time for him to raise himself. It was no longer possible to deceive one’s self—the worst was to be feared.

Hopeless was the picture presented by the extraordinary man when we sought him again on March 23rd. It was to be the last time. He lay, weak and miserable, sighing deeply at intervals. Not a word fell from his lips; sweat stood upon his forehead. His handkerchief not being conveniently at hand, Hummel’s wife took her fine cambric handkerchief and dried his face several times. Never shall I forget the grateful glance with which his broken eye looked upon her. On March 26, while we were with a merry company in the art-loving house of Herr von Liebenberg (who had formerly been a pupil of Hummel’s), we were surprised by a severe storm between five and six o’clock. A thick snow-flurry was accompanied by loud peals of thunder and flashes of lightning, which lighted up the room. A few hours later guests arrived with the intelligence that Ludwig van Beethoven was no more;—he had died at 4:45 o’clock.