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Rivalry of Beethoven and Wölffl

It was now no longer the case that Beethoven was without a rival as pianoforte virtuoso. He had a competitor fully worthy of his powers; one who divided about equally with him the suffrages of the leaders in the Vienna musical circles. In fact the excellencies peculiar to the two were such and so different, that it depended upon the taste of the auditor to which he accorded the praise of superiority. Joseph Wölffl of Salzburg, two years younger than Beethoven, a “wonder-child,” who had played a violin concerto in public at the age of seven years, was a pupil of Leopold Mozart and Michael Haydn. Being in Vienna, when but eighteen years old, he was engaged, on the recommendation of Mozart, by the Polish count Oginsky, who took him to Warsaw. His success there, as pianoforte virtuoso, teacher and composer, was almost unexampled. But it is only in his character as pianist that we have to do with him; and a reference may be made to the general principle, that a worthy competition is the best spur to genius. When we read in one of his letters Beethoven’s words “I have also greatly perfected my pianoforte playing,” they will cause no surprise; for only by severe industry and consequent improvement could he retain his high position, in the presence of such rivals as Wölffl and, a year or two later, J. B. Cramer. A lively picture of Wölffl by Tomaschek, who heard him in 1799, in his autobiography sufficiently proves that his party in Vienna was composed of those to whom extraordinary execution was the main thing; while Beethoven’s admirers were of those who had hearts to be touched. A parallel between Beethoven and Wölffl in a letter to the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” (Vol. I, pp. 24, 25) dated April 22, 1799, just at the time when the performances of both were topics of general conversation in musical circles, and still fresh in the memory of all who had heard them, is in the highest degree apposite to the subject of this chapter. The writer says:

Opinion is divided here touching the merits of the two; yet it would seem as if the majority were on the side of the latter (Wölffl). I shall try to set forth the peculiarities of each without taking part in the controversy. Beethoven’s playing is extremely brilliant but has less delicacy and occasionally he is guilty of indistinctness. He shows himself to the greatest advantage in improvisation, and here, indeed, it is most extraordinary with what lightness and yet firmness in the succession of ideas Beethoven not only varies a theme given him on the spur of the moment by figuration (with which many a virtuoso makes his fortune and—wind) but really develops it. Since the death of Mozart, who in this respect is for me still the non plus ultra, I have never enjoyed this kind of pleasure in the degree in which it is provided by Beethoven. In this Wölffl fails to reach him. But W. has advantages in this that, sound in musical learning and dignified in his compositions, he plays passages which seem impossible with an ease, precision and clearness which cause amazement (of course he is helped here by the large structure of his hands) and that his interpretation is always, especially in Adagios, so pleasing and insinuating that one can not only admire it but also enjoy. … That Wölffl likewise enjoys an advantage because of his amiable bearing, contrasted with the somewhat haughty pose of Beethoven, is very natural.

No biography of Beethoven which makes any pretence to completeness, can omit the somewhat inflated and bombastic account which Seyfried gives of the emulation between Beethoven and Wölffl. Ignatz von Seyfried at the period in question was one of Schikaneder’s conductors, to which position he had been called when not quite twenty-one years of age, and had assumed its duties March 1, 1797. He was among the most promising of the young composers of the capital, belonged to a highly respectable family, had been educated at the University, and his personal character was unblemished. He would, therefore, naturally have access to the musical salons and his reminiscences of music and musicians in those years may be accepted as the records of observation. The unfavorable light which the researches of Nottebohm have thrown upon him as editor of the so-called “Beethoven Studien” does not extend to such statements of fact as might easily have come under his own cognizance; and the passage now cited from the appendix of the “Studien,” though written thirty years after the events it describes, bears all the marks of being a faithful transcript of the writer’s own memories:

Beethoven had already attracted attention to himself by several compositions and was rated a first-class pianist in Vienna when he was confronted by a rival in the closing years of the last century. Thereupon there was, in a way, a revival of the old Parisian feud of the Gluckists and Piccinists, and the many friends of art in the Imperial City arrayed themselves in two parties. At the head of Beethoven’s admirers stood the amiable Prince Lichnowsky; among the most zealous patrons of Wölffl was the broadly cultured Baron Raymond von Wetzlar, whose delightful villa (on the Grünberg near the Emperor’s recreation-castle) offered to all artists, native and foreign, an asylum in the summer months, as pleasing as it was desirable, with true British loyalty. There the interesting combats of the two athletes not infrequently offered an indescribable artistic treat to the numerous and thoroughly select gathering. Each brought forward the latest product of his mind. Now one and anon the other gave free rein to his glowing fancy; sometimes they would seat themselves at two pianofortes and improvise alternately on themes which they gave each other, and thus created many a four-hand Capriccio which if it could have been put upon paper at the moment would surely have bidden defiance to time. It would have been difficult, perhaps impossible, to award the palm of victory to either one of the gladiators in respect of technical skill. Nature had been a particularly kind mother to Wölffl in bestowing upon him a gigantic hand which could span a tenth as easily as other hands compass an octave, and permitted him to play passages of double notes in these intervals with the rapidity of lightning. In his improvisations even then Beethoven did not deny his tendency toward the mysterious and gloomy. When once he began to revel in the infinite world of tones, he was transported also above all earthly things;—his spirit had burst all restricting bonds, shaken off the yoke of servitude, and soared triumphantly and jubilantly into the luminous spaces of the higher æther. Now his playing tore along like a wildly foaming cataract, and the conjurer constrained his instrument to an utterance so forceful that the stoutest structure was scarcely able to withstand it; and anon he sank down, exhausted, exhaling gentle plaints, dissolving in melancholy. Again the spirit would soar aloft, triumphing over transitory terrestrial sufferings, turn its glance upward in reverent sounds and find rest and comfort on the innocent bosom of holy nature. But who shall sound the depths of the sea? It was the mystical Sanscrit language whose hieroglyphs can be read only by the initiated. Wölffl, on the contrary, trained in the school of Mozart, was always equable; never superficial but always clear and thus more accessible to the multitude. He used art only as a means to an end, never to exhibit his acquirements. He always enlisted the interest of his hearers and inevitably compelled them to follow the progression of his well-ordered ideas. Whoever has heard Hummel will know what is meant by this. …

But for this (the attitude of their patrons) the protégés cared very little. They respected each other because they knew best how to appreciate each other, and as straightforward honest Germans followed the principle that the roadway of art is broad enough for many, and that it is not necessary to lose one’s self in envy in pushing forward for the goal of fame!

Wölffl proved his respect for his rival by dedicating to “M. L. van Beethoven” the pianoforte sonatas, Op. 7, which were highly commended in the “Allg. Mus. Zeit.” of Leipsic of January, 1799. Another interesting and valuable discussion of Beethoven’s powers and characteristics as a pianoforte virtuoso at this period is contained in the autobiography of Tomaschek, who heard him both in public and in private during a visit which Beethoven made again this year to Prague. Tomaschek was then both in age (he was born on April 17, 1774) and in musical culture competent to form an independent judgment on such a subject.

Tomaschek on Beethoven’s Playing

In the year 1798, says Tomaschek (unfortunately without giving any clue to the time of the year), in which I continued my juridical studies, Beethoven, the giant among pianoforte players, came to Prague. He gave a largely attended concert in the Konviktssaal, at which he played his Concerto in C major, Op. 15, and the Adagio and graceful Rondo in A major from Op. 2, and concluded with an improvisation on a theme given him by Countess Sch … (Schick?), “Ah tu fosti il primo oggetto,” from Mozart’s “Titus” (duet No. 7). Beethoven’s magnificent playing and particularly the daring flights in his improvisation stirred me strangely to the depths of my soul; indeed I found myself so profoundly bowed down that I did not touch my pianoforte for several days. … I heard Beethoven at his second concert, which neither in performance nor in composition renewed again the first powerful impression. This time he played the Concerto in B-flat which he had just composed in Prague.[83] Then I heard him a third time at the home of Count C., where he played, besides the graceful Rondo from the A major Sonata, an improvisation on the theme: “Ah! vous dirai-je, Maman.” This time I listened to Beethoven’s artistic work with more composure. I admired his powerful and brilliant playing, but his frequent daring deviations from one motive to another, whereby the organic connection, the gradual development of idea was put aside, did not escape me. Evils of this nature frequently weaken his greatest compositions, those which sprang from a too exuberant conception. It is not seldom that the unbiassed listener is rudely awakened from his transport. The singular and original seemed to be his chief aim in composition, as is confirmed by the answer which he made to a lady who asked him if he often attended Mozart’s operas. “I do not know them,” he replied, “and do not care to hear the music of others lest I forfeit some of my originality.”

The veteran Tomaschek when he wrote thus had heard all the greatest virtuosos of the pianoforte, who, from the days of Mozart to 1840, had made themselves famous; and yet Beethoven remained for him still “the lord of pianoforte players” and “the giant among pianoforte players.” Still, great as he was now when Tomaschek heard him, Beethoven could write three years later that he had greatly perfected his playing.

It is only to be added to the history of the year 1798, that it is the time in which Beethoven fixes the beginning of his deafness. Like it, the year 1799 offers, upon the whole, but scanty materials to the biographers of Beethoven—standing in broad contrast to the next and, indeed all succeeding years, in which their quantity and variety become a source of embarrassment.

Two new and valuable, though but passing acquaintances, were made by Beethoven this year, however—with Domenico Dragonetti, the greatest contrabassist known to history, and John Baptist Cramer, one of the greatest pianists. Dragonetti was not more remarkable for his astounding execution than for the deep, genuine musical feeling which elevated and ennobled it. He was now—the spring of 1799, so far as the means are at hand of determining the time—returning to London from a visit to his native province, and his route taking him to Vienna he remained there for several weeks. Beethoven and he soon met and they were mutually pleased with each other. Many years afterwards Dragonetti related the following anecdote to Samuel Appleby, Esq., of Brighton, England: “Beethoven had been told that his new friend could execute violoncello music upon his huge instrument, and one morning, when Dragonetti called at his room, he expressed his desire to hear a sonata. The contrabass was sent for, and the Sonata, No. 2, of Op. 5, was selected. Beethoven played his part, with his eyes immovably fixed upon his companion, and, in the finale, where the arpeggios occur, was so delighted and excited that at the close he sprang up and threw his arms around both player and instrument.” The unlucky contrabassists of orchestras had frequent occasion during the next few years to know that this new revelation of the powers and possibilities of their instrument to Beethoven, was not forgotten.

Cramer, born at Mannheim, 1771, but from early infancy reared and educated in England, was successively the pupil of the noted Bensor, Schroeter and Clementi; but, like Beethoven, was in no small degree self-taught. He was so rarely and at such long intervals on the Continent that his extraordinary merits have never been fully understood and appreciated there. Yet for a period of many years in the first part of the nineteenth century he was undoubtedly, upon the whole, the first pianist of Europe, The object of his tour in 1799 was not to display his own talents and acquirements, but to add to his general musical culture and to profit by his observations upon the styles and peculiar characteristics of the great pianists of the Continent. In Vienna he renewed his intercourse with Haydn, whose prime favorite he had been in England, and at once became extremely intimate with Beethoven.

Cramer surpassed Beethoven in the perfect neatness, correctness and finish of his execution; Beethoven assured him that he preferred his touch to that of any other player; his brilliancy was astonishing; but yet taste, feeling, expression, were the qualities which more eminently distinguished him. Beethoven stood far above Cramer in power and energy, especially when extemporizing. Each was supreme in his own sphere; each found much to learn in the perfections of the other; each, in later years, did full justice to the other’s powers. Thus Ries says: “Amongst the pianoforte players he [Beethoven] had praise for but one as being distinguished—John Cramer. All others were but little to him.” On the other hand, Mr. Appleby, who knew Cramer well, was long afterwards told by him, “No man in these days has heard extempore playing, unless he has heard Beethoven.”

Cramer’s Recollections of Beethoven

Making a visit one morning to him, Cramer, as he entered the anteroom, heard Beethoven extemporizing by himself, and remained there more than half an hour “completely entranced,” never in his life having heard such exquisite effects, such beautiful combinations. Knowing Beethoven’s extreme dislike to being listened to on such occasions, Cramer retired and never let him know that he had so heard him.

Cramer’s widow communicates a pleasant anecdote. At an Augarten Concert the two pianists were walking together and hearing a performance of Mozart’s pianoforte Concerto in C minor (Köchel, No. 491); Beethoven suddenly stood still and, directing his companion’s attention to the exceedingly simple, but equally beautiful motive which is first introduced towards the end of the piece, exclaimed: “Cramer, Cramer! we shall never be able to do anything like that!” As the theme was repeated and wrought up to the climax, Beethoven, swaying his body to and fro, marked the time and in every possible manner manifested a delight rising to enthusiasm.

Schindler’s record of his conversations upon Beethoven with Cramer and Cherubini in 1841 is interesting and valuable. He has, however, left one important consideration unnoticed, namely, that the visits of those masters to Vienna were five years apart—five years of great change in Beethoven—a period during which his deafness, too slight to attract Cramer’s attention, had increased to a degree beyond concealment, and which, joined to his increased devotion to composition and compulsory abandonment of all ambition as a virtuoso, with consequent neglect of practice, had affected his execution unfavorably. Hence the difference in the opinions of such competent judges as Cramer, describing him as he was in 1799–1800, Cherubini in 1805–6, and two years later Clementi, afford a doubtless just and fair indication of the decline of Beethoven’s powers as a mere pianist—not extending, however, at least for some years yet, to his extemporaneous performances. We shall find from Ries and others ample confirmation of the fact.

And now let Schindler speak:

To the warm feeling of Cramer for Beethoven I owe the more important matters. … Cherubini, disposed to be curt, characterized Beethoven’s pianoforte playing in a single word: “rough.” The gentleman Cramer, however, desired that less offence be taken at the rudeness of his performance than at the unreliable reading of one and the same composition—one day intellectually brilliant and full of characteristic expression, the next freakish to the verge of unclearness; often confused. (Which is confirmed by Ries, Czerny and others.) Because of this a few friends expressed a wish to hear Cramer play several works publicly from the manuscript. This touched a sensitive spot in Beethoven; his jealousy was aroused and, according to Cramer, their relations became strained.

This strain, however, left no such sting behind it as to diminish Cramer’s good opinion of Beethoven both as man and artist, or hinder his free expression of it. To this fact the concurrent testimony of his widow and son, and those enthusiasts for Beethoven Charles Neate, Cipriani Potter and others who knew Cramer well, bear witness. It was the conversation of Cramer about Beethoven which induced Potter, after the fall of Napoleon, to journey to Vienna, to make the acquaintance of the great master and, if possible, become his pupil.

Cramer’s musical gods were Handel and Mozart, notwithstanding his life-long love for Bach’s clavier compositions; hence the abrupt transitions, the strange modulations, and the, until then, unheard passages, which Beethoven introduced ever more freely into his works—many of which have not yet found universal acceptance—were to him, as to Tomaschek and so many other of his contemporaries, imperfections and distortions of compositions, which but for them were models of beauty and harmonious proportion. He once gave this feeling utterance with comic exaggeration, when Potter, then a youth, was extolling some abstruse combinations, by saying: “If Beethoven emptied his inkstand upon a piece of music paper you would admire it!”

Upon Beethoven’s demeanor in society, Schindler proceeds thus:

Beethoven’s Demeanor in Society

The communications of both (Cramer and Madame Cherubini) agreed in saying that in mixed society his conduct was reserved, stiff and marked by artist’s pride; whereas among his intimates he was droll, lively, indeed, voluble at times, and fond of giving play to all the arts of wit and sarcasm, not always wisely especially in respect of political and social prejudices. To this the two were able to add much concerning his awkwardness in taking hold of such objects as glasses, coffee cups, etc., to which Master Cherubini added the comment: “Toujours brusque.” These statements confirmed what I had heard from his older friends touching the social demeanor of Beethoven in general.

Cramer reached Vienna early in September, and remained there, according to Schindler, through the following winter; but he does not appear to have given any public concerts, although, during the first month of his stay, we learn from a newspaper, he “earned general and deserved applause by his playing.” It is needless to dwell upon the advantages to Beethoven of constant intercourse for several months with a master like Cramer, whose noblest characteristics as pianist were the same as Mozart’s, and precisely those in which Beethoven was deficient.

Let us pass in review the compositions which had their origin in the years 1798 and 1799. First of all come the three Trios for stringed instruments, Op. 9. The exact date of their conception has not yet been determined, all that is positive being that Beethoven sold them to Traeg on March 16, 1798, and that the publisher’s announcement of them appeared on July 21st of the same year. The only sketches for the Trios quoted by Nottebohm show them in connection with a sketch for the last movement of the “Sonate pathétique,” which was published in 1799; but this proves nothing. It may be easily imagined that Beethoven desired to make more extended use of the experience gained in writing the Trios, Op. 3, and that he therefore began sketching Op. 9 in 1796 or 1797. Beethoven dedicated the works to Count Browne in words such as could hardly have been called forth by the present of a horse. Perhaps some future investigator will be able to show upon what grounds Beethoven in the dedication called Count Browne his “first Mæcenas,” a title better deserved by Prince Lichnowsky.

The First Two Pianoforte Concertos

The first two concertos for pianoforte call for consideration here, for it was not until 1798 that they acquired the form in which they are now known. That the Concerto in B-flat was the earlier of the two has been proved in a preceding chapter of this volume. It was this Concerto and not the one in C major (as Wegeler incorrectly reported) that was played in March, 1795. Wegeler’s error was due to the circumstance that the Concerto in C was published first. Sketches for the Concerto in B-flat major are found among the exercises written for Albrechtsberger, sketches for the Sonata in E major (Op. 14, No. 1), and others for a little quartet movement which was owned by M. Malherbe of Paris; on this sheet occurs a short exercise with the remark “Contrapunto all’ottava” which points to the beginning of 1795 or even 1794. The sketch is an obviously early form of a passage in the free fantasia. This agrees with the statement that on March 29, 1795, Beethoven played a new concerto, the key of which is not indicated. It is most likely that it was this in B-flat, since the one in C did not exist at the time. Beethoven, it appears, played it a few times afterward in Vienna and then rewrote it. According to Tomaschek’s account he played the B-flat Concerto (expressly distinguished from that in C) in 1798, again in Prague. Tomaschek added, “which he had composed in Prague.” This is confounding the original version with the revision, concerning which Nottebohm gives information in his “Zweite Beethoveniana” on the basis of sketches which point to 1798. The fact of the revision is proved by Beethoven’s memoranda, such as “To remain as it was,” “From here on everything to remain as it was.” The revision of the first movement was radical, and the entire work was apparently undertaken in view of an imminent performance, most likely that of Prague in 1798. It was published by Hoffmeister und Kühnel and dedicated to Carl Nikl Edlen von Nikelsberg.

That the Concerto in C was composed later than that in B-flat has been proved by Beethoven’s testimony as well as other external evidences and is confirmed by the few remaining sketches analyzed by Nottebohm. They appear in connection with a sketch for the cadenza for the B-flat Concerto which, therefore, must have been finished when its companion was begun. A sketch for a cadenza for the C major Concerto comes after sketches for the Sonata in D, Op. 10, No. 3, which was published in 1798. This new concerto must, therefore, have been finished. According to the testimony of Tomaschek he played it in 1798 in the Konviktsaal in Prague. Schindler says he played it for the first time “in the spring of 1800 in the Kärnthnerthor-Theater,” but this concert is likely to have been that of April 2nd, 1800, described by Hanslick in his “Geschichte des Concertwesens in Wien” (p. 127). Schindler evidently knew nothing of the performance in Prague and a confusion must be at the bottom of Czerny’s statement that the Concerto was played in the Kärnthnerthor-Theater in 1801. The Concerto in C, dedicated to the Countess Odescalchi, née Keglevich, was published by Mollo in Vienna in 1801. There are three cadenzas for the first movement of the Concerto, the last two of which call for an extended compass of the pianoforte and are thus shown to be of later date than the first.

To these concertos must be added the Rondo in B-flat for Pianoforte and Orchestra found unfinished among Beethoven’s compositions and published by Diabelli and Co. in 1829. Sonnleithner, on the authority of Diabelli, says it was completed by Czerny, who also filled out the accompaniment. There is no authentic record of the time of its composition. O. Jahn surmised that it may have been designed for the Concerto in B-flat. Its contents indicate an earlier period. A sketch printed by Nottebohm associated with a Romanza for Pianoforte, Flute and Bassoon, judged by the handwriting, is not of later date than 1795. E. Mandyczewski compared the original manuscript, now in the library of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, with the printed form and decided that the work was completed in plan and motiri by Beethoven, who, however, did not carry out the cadenzas and only indicated the passages. The share which Czerny had in it is thus indicated; he added the cadenzas and extended the pianoforte passages which Beethoven had only indicated, making them more effective and brilliant. The use of the high registers of the pianoforte which Czerny employs somewhat too freely in view of the simple character of the piece, was not contemplated by Beethoven, who once remarked of Czerny: “He uses the piccolo too much for me.” In Mandyczewski’s opinion the handwriting points to a time before 1800, and the contents indicate the early Vienna if not the Bonn period. Mandyczewski also thinks that the romanza-like Andante is palpably a very early composition and that the correspondence in key and measure with the B-flat Concerto might indicate that it was originally designed as a part of that work, a supposition which is strengthened by the fact that the original manuscript is neither dated nor signed. This internal evidence has much in its favor, the more since it is not at all obvious what might have prompted Beethoven to write an independent rondo for concert use. There is no external evidence; if there were, the conception of the B-flat Concerto would have to be set at a much earlier date than has yet been done. The first Vienna sketches for the Concerto, as Nottebohm shows, prove that the present three movements belonged together from the beginning. They were, therefore, surely played at the first performance in 1795. Nottebohm, who repeated Jahn’s surmise in his “Thematisches Verzeichniss,” changed his mind after a study of the sketches and rejected the notion that the rondo had been designed for the Concerto. Only by assuming an earlier date for the rondo can the theory be upheld. Attention may here be called to Wegeler’s statement (“Notizen,” p. 56) that the rondo of the first Concerto (he says, of course, the Concerto in C) was not composed until the second afternoon before the performance. There may possibly have been another. This is not necessarily disproved by the fact that sketches for the present one were in existence. The question is not settled by the evidence now before us, but the probabilities are with Mandyczewski.

Now begins the glorious series of sonatas. The first were the three (Op. 10) which, though begun in part at an earlier date, were definitively finished and published in 1798. Eder, the publisher, opened a subscription for them by an advertisement in the “Wiener Zeitung,” July 5th, 1798; therefore they were finished at that time. The sketching for them had begun in 1796, as appears from Nottebohm’s statement,[84] and Beethoven worked on the three simultaneously. Sketches for the first movement of the first Sonata are mixed with sketches for the soprano air for Umlauf’s “Schusterin” which have been attributed to 1796, and the Variations for three Wind-Instruments which were played in 1797. Sketches for the third sonata are found among notes for the Sextet for Wind-Instruments (composed about 1796) and also for the Concerto in C minor, which, therefore, was begun thus early, and for one of the seven country dances which appeared in 1799, or perhaps earlier. The sketches for the last movement of No. 3 are associated alone with sketches for a cadenza for the C major Concerto which Beethoven played in Prague in 1798, and may therefore be placed in this year. It follows that the three sonatas were developed gradually in 1796–98, and completed in 1798. From the sketches and the accompanying memoranda[85] we learn, furthermore, that for the first Sonata, which now has three movements, a fourth, an Intermezzo, was planned on which Beethoven several times made a beginning but permitted to fall. Two of these movements became known afterwards as “Bagatelles.” We learn also that the last movement of the first Sonata, and the second movement of the second, were originally laid out on a larger scale.

Composition of the “Sonate Pathétique”

The “Sonate pathétique,” Op. 13, was published by Eder, in Vienna, in 1799, and afterwards by Hoffmeister, who announced them on December 18 of the same year. Sketches for the rondo are found among those for the Trio, Op. 9, and after the beginning of a fair copy of the Sonata, Op. 49, No. 1. From this there is no larger deduction than that the Sonata probably had its origin about 1798. One of the sketches, however, indicates that the last movement was originally conceived for more than one instrument, probably for a sonata for pianoforte and violin. Beethoven published the two Sonatas, Op. 14, which he dedicated to the Baroness Braun, immediately after the “Sonate pathétique.” They came from the press of Mollo and were announced on December 21, 1799. The exact time of their composition cannot be determined definitely. Up to the present time no sketches for the second are known to exist; copious ones for the first, however, are published by Nottebohm in his “Zweite Beethoveniana” (p. 45 et seq.), some of which appear before sketches for the Sonata, Op. 12, No. 3, then approaching completion, and some after sketches for the Concerto in B-flat. Because of this juxtaposition, Nottebohm places the conception of the Sonata in 1795.

Touching the history of the Trio, Op. 11, for Pianoforte, Clarinet and Violoncello, little is known. It was advertised as wholly new by Mollo and Co. on October 3, 1798, and is inscribed to the Countess Thun. Sketches associated with works that are unknown or were never completed are in the British Museum and set forth by Nottebohm in his “Zweite Beethoveniana” (p. 515). The sketch for the Adagio resembles the beginning of the minuet in the Sonata, Op. 49, No. 2, and is changed later; this points approximately to 1798. The last movement consists of a series of variations on the theme of a trio from Weigl’s opera “L’Amor marinaro,” beginning “Pria ch’io l’impegno.” Weigl’s opera was performed for the first time on October 15, 1797. Czerny told Otto Jahn that Beethoven took the theme at the request of a clarinet player (Beer?) for whom he wrote the Trio. The elder Artaria told Cipriani Potter in 1797, that he had given the theme to Beethoven and requested him to introduce variations on it into a trio, and added that Beethoven did not know that the melody was Weigl’s until after the Trio was finished, whereupon he grew very angry on finding it out. Czerny says in the supplement to his “Pianoforte School”:

It was at the wish of the clarinet player for whom Beethoven wrote this Trio that he employed the above theme by Weigl (which was then very popular) as the finale. At a later period he frequently contemplated writing another concluding movement for this Trio, and letting the variations stand as a separate work.

If Czerny is correct in his statement, obvious deductions from it are these, which are scarcely consistent with Artaria’s story: if the theme was “very popular” at the time the opera must have had several performances, and it is not likely that the melody was unfamiliar to Beethoven, who also, it may be assumed, wrote the title of Weigl’s trio, which is printed at the beginning of the last movement of Beethoven’s composition. Beethoven produced the Trio for the first time at the house of Count Fries on the occasion of his first meeting with Steibelt. The three Sonatas for Pianoforte and Violin, Op. 12, were advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of January 12, 1799, as published by Artaria, which would seem to place their origin in 1798. The program of a concert given by Madame Duschek on March 29, 1798, preserved in the archives of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, announces a sonata with accompaniment to be played by Beethoven. The accompanying (obbligato) instrument is not mentioned, but the work may well have been one of these Sonatas. Nottebohm discusses the juxtaposition of sketches for the second Sonata with sketches for the Pianoforte Concerto in B-flat and the sonata in E, Op. 14, No. 1, and is inclined to fix 1795 as the year of the sonata’s origin. But we are in the dark as to whether the sketches for the Pianoforte Concerto were for its original or its revised form.

Among the instrumental compositions of this year belong the Variations for Pianoforte and Violoncello on “Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen” from Mozart’s “Zauberflöte,” of which nothing more is known than that Traeg announced their publication on September 12, 1798. They were afterward taken over by Artaria. The Variation for Pianoforte on a theme from Grétry’s “Richard, Cœur de Lion” (“Une fièvre brûlante”) were announced as newly published on November 7, 1798, by Traeg; Cappi and Diabelli acquired them later. Sketches for them are found by the side of sketches for the first movement of the Sonata in C minor, Op. 10, No. 1, which circumstance indicates that 1796 was the year of their origin. According to Sonnleithner, “Richard, Cœur de Lion” was first performed at the Hoftheater, Vienna, on January 7, 1788; then again on June 13, 1799 in the Theater auf den Wieden; but a ballet, “Richard Löwenherz,” by Vigano, music by Weigl, in which Grétry’s romance, “Une fièvre brûlante,” was interpolated, was brought forward on July 2, 1795, in the Hof- und Nationaltheater and repeated often in that year, and it was thence, no doubt, that the suggestion for the variations came to Beethoven. The six little Variations on a Swiss air were published, according to Nottebohm, by Simrock in Bonn in 1798. The ten Variations on “La stessa, la stessissima” from Salieri’s “Falstaff, ossia le tre Burle,” were announced as just published in the “Wiener Zeitung” of March 2, 1799. Salieri’s opera was performed on January 3 (Wlassak says January 6), 1799, in the Hoftheater; Beethoven’s, therefore, was an occasional composition conceived and produced in a very short time. Sketches are found among some for the first Quartet, Op. 18, and others. The Variations are dedicated to the Countess Babette Keglevich. Twice more in the same year operatic productions induced similar works. The publication of the Variations on “Kind, willst du ruhig schlafen?” from Winter’s “Unterbrochenes Opferfest,” was announced in the “Wiener Zeitung” of December 21, 1799, by Mollo and Co.; the opera had its first performance in Vienna on June 15, 1796, and was repeated frequently within the years immediately following—six times in 1799. In this case also it may be assumed that publication followed hard on the heels of composition. Sketches are found in companionship with others belonging to the Quartet, Op. 18, No. 5, and the Septet. The Variations on “Tändeln und Scherzen,” from Süssmayr’s opera “Soliman II, oder die drei Sultaninnen,” belong to the same time. The opera was performed on October 1, 1799, in the Hoftheater; the publication of the variations by Hoffmeister was announced in the “Wiener Zeitung” on December 18, 1799. They may have been printed previously by Eder. They were dedicated to Countess Browne, née von Bietinghoff. It is interesting to learn from Czerny that these Variations were the first of Beethoven’s compositions which the master gave him to study when he became his pupil. Before them he had pieces by C. P. E. Bach and after them the “Sonate pathéthique.”

The Period of the First Symphony

As evidence pointing to the period in which the first Symphony was written we have, first of all, the report of the first performance on April 2, 1800; but inasmuch as the copying of the parts and the rehearsals must have consumed a considerable time, the period would be much too short (especially in view of Beethoven’s method of working) if we were also to assume that the Symphony originated in 1800. It is very likely that, with the Quartets, it was sketched at an earlier period and worked out in the main by 1799 at the latest. It was published toward the end of 1801 by Hoffmeister and Kühnel as Op. 21, dedicated to Baron van Swieten and advertised in the “Wiener Zeitung” of January 16, 1802. Beethoven had already planned a symphony while studying with Albrechtsberger. Nottebohm reports on his purposes after a study of some sketches and from him we learn that the theme of the present last movement was originally intended for a first movement. Beethoven must have worked on this composition in 1794-’95, perhaps at the suggestion of van Swieten—a conclusion suggested by the fact that the dedication of the first symphony went to him. Beethoven abandoned this early plan and turned to other ideas for the new symphony, but there is no clue as to the precise time when this was done. In 1802, Mollo published an arrangement of the symphony as a quintet at the same time that Hoffmeister and Kühnel published a like arrangement of the Septet. Beethoven published the following protest in the “Wiener Zeitung” of October 20, 1802:

I believe that I owe it to the public and myself publicly to announce that the two Quintets in C major and E-flat major, of which the first (taken from a symphony of mine) has been published by Mr. Mollo in Vienna, and the second (taken from my familiar Septet, Op. 20) by Mr. Hoffmeister in Leipzig, are not original quintets but transcriptions prepared by the publishers. The making of transcriptions at the best is a matter against which (in this prolific day of such things) an author must protest in vain; but it is possible at least to demand of the publishers that they indicate the fact on the title-page, so that the honor of the author may not be lessened and the public be not deceived. This much to hinder such things in the future. At the same time I announce that a new Quintet of mine in C major, Op. 29, will shortly be published by Breitkopf and Härtel in Leipzig.

Mention may here be made in conclusion of the two French songs, “Que le temps (jour) me dure” (Rousseau) and “Plaisir d’aimer,” recovered from sketches and described by Jean Chantavoine in “Die Musik” (Vol. I, No. 12, 1902). The origin of the latter is fixed in 1799, by its association with a sketch for the Quartets, Op. 18.