Many consider the ensemble pieces the most successful examples of vocal writing in Fidelio. The Act 1 quartet (discussed in Lesson 2), the “Prisoners’ Chorus,” the final trio, the concluding rejoicing—these are precisely the places where Beethoven can treat the voices symphonically, and that is his métier.
Caption: Image of the Prisoner’s Chorus from Utah Opera’s 1999 production of Fidelio
Next, the famous “Prisoners’ Chorus:”
(Music starts at 0:57)
There is no question this is gorgeous music—a terrific 7-minute chorus in the style of a German Männerchor. But how does it propel the drama? It doesn’t. Absolutely nothing happens on stage during the chorus, and the theme of its text is only incidental to the opera. For all the lofty philosophizing about freedom and liberty in this chorus, the opera itself is about the love of a woman for her husband, and her bravery. A brave wife’s love is what the final chorus celebrates, and what the original subtitle of the opera underscored. This is another example where Beethoven’s remarkable music is far more important than the dramatic pacing or the story at this point.
Finally, the “stand-off” in Act II, “Er sterbe”:
The music in this scene is amazingly vivid—impassioned, emotional, moving—and yet Pizzaro, Leonore, Florestan, and Rocco stand there virtually stock-still for a full five minutes, with daggers and pistols drawn, making sure to reveal their true identities to all before the drama can continue. Then everyone freezes when the trumpet signals the arrival of the Minister, and they sing at length again about Leonore’s love and courage. The most exciting scene of the story, and the most musically animated, is actually one of the most visually static parts of the opera.
There is no issue at all with Beethoven’s musical instincts. He develops themes, varies the melodies, sustains the musical interest with masterly perfection. That is Fidelio’s greatest strength, and undoubtedly the reason for its continued success. But dramatically, in terms of the action on stage, these scenes are weak. (I personally find them almost farcical, for opposite reasons. The Act I quartet is a comic scene, but is treated as a very serious theme and variations. “Er sterbe,” on the other hand is a serious scene, the most intense of the opera, but the dramatic pacing so attenuated as to make it almost ludicrous on stage.)
Caption: Fidelio, Act II, Scene 3 (”Er sterbe”), an engraving from 1815
What carries the day is Beethoven’s music. It is proof, if it were needed, that opera is essentially a musical genre, not a dramatic genre. Otherwise (as a critic once claimed) Meryl Streep would be hired to sing every mad scene, and Sigourney Weaver would do everything else. We forgive opera for not being totally realistic because there is compensation in the music itself. And with Beethoven’s Fidelio, there is more than enough compensation for the weaknesses in dramatic pacing and libretto. Wilhelm Fürtwangler, the great German conductor, once observed, “Fidelio is not an opera in the sense we are used to, nor is Beethoven a musician for the theater, or a dramaturgist. He is quite a bit more, a whole musician, and beyond that, a saint and a visionary.” So the struggle Beethoven experienced in producing Fidelio wasn’t so much a struggle to write a good opera. It was the struggle to write an opera on his own terms, a symphonic opera that breaks all the “rules” of staged drama and allows the music itself to be the lead character. It is what he excelled at in his symphonies, and in that struggle to symphonize the opera genre with Fidelio, he succeeded beautifully.
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——————
Dr. Howard began his formal music studies in Sydney, Australia, where he received the Bachelor of Music Education degree with an emphasis in piano performance. After receiving a Master of Arts in Musicology from Brigham Young University in 1994, he earned a Ph.D. in Musicology with a dissertation on the history and reception of Górecki’s Third Symphony. Dr. Howard has served on the faculties of the Department of Music at Minnesota State University Moorhead, and the Conservatory of Missouri Kansas City. He joined the faculty of Brigham Young University in 2002 as an Associate Professor in the School of Music, where he teaches music history and general studies courses.
So why precisely did Beethoven, the great musical genius, struggle so much with Fidelio? First, Beethoven was not a natural dramatist—certainly not in the way that, for example, Mozart, Wagner, and Verdi were. He did not possess an innate understanding of the stage, and his sense of dramatic pacing in a theatrical context (as opposed to a purely musical context) was clearly lacking. Second, his choice of genre created its own problems. Though the story itself is decidedly serious, Beethoven wrote it as a singspiel—a lighter form of musical drama with spoken dialog and an expectation of some comic content. Beethoven did include comedy, particularly in the first act, but the effect was to dilute the seriousness rather than highlight it. Mozart understood how comedy can enhance drama, and demonstrated that marvelously in a work such as Don Giovanni. But trying to tell a serious story through a genre designed for light entertainment creates a tension between content and form that Beethoven never really grasped and never fully solved.
Margaret Jane Wray as Leonore in Utah Opera's 1999 Production
What saves this opera from potential mediocrity is the music. But this isn’t simply a case of great music compensating for a composer’s lack of stage know-how. It is a different kind of opera from those being produced in the early 19th century, an opera in which music dominates completely and dramatic integrity is secondary. When Gluck attempted to reform opera from the excesses of baroque artificiality in the mid-18th century, he had suggested that dramatic integrity should be returned to opera—that music should serve the drama. And except for Mozart (who would never let music be subservient to anything!), that notion was beginning to catch on in Romantic-era operas with passionate stories and vivid musical settings. But—and again, Mozart is the exception here—opera composers tend not be great symphonists (think Wagner, Verdi, Puccini), and great symphonists (Haydn, Brahms) tend not to write great operas. For Beethoven to write a successful opera, I believe, he had to approach it as if it were a symphony. And there is no major opera quite that is quite so symphonic as Fidelio.
Some examples might be useful to illustrate this. First, the quartet from Act I, “Mir ist so wunderbar”:
(2000 Met production with Utah’s own Jennifer Welch-Babidge as Marzelline!)
The story has been all light-hearted to this point. And the plot devices of love triangles and mistaken gender are straight out of opera buffa. But this ensemble set piece is written as a theme and variations, shifting the main theme from voice to voice while adding counter-melodies that weave through it, and later putting the accompaniment in triplets. It is exactly the same musical process, though with different emotions entirely, that Beethoven had used in the finale to the “Eroica” Symphony, and again later, in the second movement from his Symphony No. 7.
Symphony No. 3 “Eroica” (especially from 0:19 to 1:58)
Symphony No. 7 (0:00 to 2:42)
Beethoven seems to be thinking instrumentally in the Fidelio quartet rather than vocally (which should come as no surprise to anyone who has tried to sing Beethoven).
This quartet is immediately followed by a buffa aria from Rocco, which makes it something of an odd little insertion of quasi-symphonic seriousness into an essentially comic series of scenes in the first act. Of course, the act takes another oddly serious turn when Pizarro appears. And then there is no (intentional) comedy in the second half of the opera at all. Dramatically it’s a bit of a mess, but musically it’s stunning.
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It might seem strange that one of the most innovative and talented composers in the history of Western music, the man who single-handedly revolutionized the symphony, string quartet, and piano sonata in the early 19th century, should write only one opera. Music seemed to flow naturally from Beethoven. It’s true that, unlike Mozart, his music did not emerge with seemingly effortless facility; we know from his sketchbooks and letters something of the struggles he endured to compose. But it was almost always produced with supreme artistry and, yes, genius. Nobody questions Beethoven’s gift.
So why only one opera? And why should he feel the need to revise it so frequently? Why are there four different overtures for the opera? Clearly, the gestation of Fidelio was a challenge that created more than the usual amount of trouble for the composer.
Joseph Sonnleithner and Jean-Nicolas Bouilly
Beethoven started work on Fidelio in early 1804, but it was not premiered until 1805. It was revised the following year (and performed with almost exactly the same cast), and revised again in 1814. All three versions were published together as his Op. 72. The libretto Beethoven used in the 1805 version was by Joseph Sonnleithner, based on a French libretto by Jean-Nicolas Bouilly for the 1798 opera Léonore, ou L’amour conjugal composed by Pierre Gaveaux. (According to some sources, the original plot is based on a true story.) Bouilly’s libretto also served as the basis for the 1804 opera Leonora by Ferdinando Paer. At some point Beethoven procured a copy of Paer’s score for his own library, but no one is certain whether he had heard Paer’s opera yet or had access to the score while working on his own version. Certainly, he had begun thinking about his own opera before Paer’s was produced in Dresden in October 1804.
Pierre Gaveaux and Ferdinando Paer
These various versions of the opera tell a roughly similar story. Leonore, disguised as a young (male) prison guard named Fidelio, manages to find her husband, Florestan, who has been kept as a political prisoner under the orders of a malevolent governor. She rescues him just as he is about to be murdered by the governor, and the couple are happily reunited. These kinds of “rescue” operas, very popular in post-revolutionary France, were enjoying a renewed vogue as Napoleon’s army swept across Europe in the first decade of the 19th century. Although the plot is primarily about Leonore’s courage and her love for Florestan, the political undercurrents—highlighted in Beethoven’s version, especially—added some historical depth to the story.
Fidelio was premiered at the Theater an der Wien in November 1805, only days after Napoleon and his army had occupied Vienna. With a popular storyline, contemporary political relevance, and nearly two years of effort by Europe’s leading composer of the day, Fidelio seemed to have all the ingredients for a success. But the performances were a disaster, attended by almost no one except for some of the composer’s friends and a handful of stray French soldiers. (Ironically, Beethoven’s Third Symphony, the “Eroica,” which expressed both admiration for and disappointment with Napoleon, had been premiered in the same theater several months earlier in 1805.) Problems with the libretto, and Beethoven’s inherent difficulty with producing convincing music for the stage, were the main issues. When he revised the opera the following year, it was performed by almost the same cast, and was slightly more successful. Beethoven had composed a new overture for the 1806 revision (now known as the “Leonore Overture No. 3”—the original 1805 overture is usually designated “Leonore Overture No. 2”), and tightened up the libretto, especially in the first half of the opera. It would have had a longer run had not Beethoven run into difficulties with the theater management.
For a planned 1808 revival in Prague, Beethoven wrote a third overture (“Leonore Overture No. 1”), but the production was cancelled. Then, with the help of Georg Freidrich Treitschke, Beethoven revised the opera yet again in 1814, including another new overture (the “Fidelio Overture”). This final version was, at last, a great success, even though (as Beethoven remarked to Treitschke) it had emerged with difficulty over a long period of time. The composer wrote: “I assure you, dear Treitschke, that this opera will win me a martyr’s crown. You have by your co-operation saved what is best from the shipwreck. For all this I shall be eternally grateful to you.”
Lesson 2 of 3 was posted on Friday, September 23rd.
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During a preview lecture for Utah Opera’s 1999 production of Beethoven’s Fidelio, Ardean Watts made the claim that everything Beethoven wrote was an “ode to joy.” If you attended recent Utah Symphony performances of Symphony No. 9, which contains the now-famous “ode to joy” in its fourth movement, you know that Beethoven’s representation of joy is not an unvarying portrait of unalloyed pleasantness. To arrive at joy, you spend an hour journeying through depths….there is sweetness and light-hearted dancing en route, to be sure, but also terror, despair, and wrenching sorrow. When you emerge from that progress, and the vocalists begin their assertion of brotherhood and sublime happiness, you feel a profundity in that certitude that would not have been possible without the journey. One of the wonders of Beethoven’s music is that the victorious ending feels incredibly large. It feels symbolic… mythical…it claims a victory for all humanity.
Beethoven’s works are full of this kind of drama and passion, and these two qualities, of course, are the stuff of opera. So we might suppose Beethoven would have been drawn to this art form. Yet Beethoven left behind only a single opera, Fidelio.
That is not to say, however, that he never had other opera projects in mind during his career. Opera was extremely popular in Bonn and Vienna, the two cities where he spent most of his career. His father, often drunk and abusive, was an operatic tenor. Moreover, as a young musician, Beethoven played viola in an orchestra in Bonn that accompanied operas, and during the four seasons he held that position, he became acquainted with the operas of Mozart and the Italian composer Cherubini. Tellingly, Beethoven didn’t approve of the stories Mozart chose for his operas: Mozart’s plots were often ambiguous and light-hearted, not sternly focused on uplifting themes, and Beethoven regarded opera as a vehicle for ideas. He proposed himself as an opera composer to opera companies of his day. He did work on a Romeo & Juliet and a Macbeth; and he considered working with his contemporary Goethe on an opera version of Faust. But none of these made it past the idea and sketch phase.
It was, instead, an opera story of ideals and strong message that compelled him to completion. As a young adult in the late 1780s, in Bonn, Beethoven applauded the outbreak of the French Revolution, and he maintained his excitement about it until 1804, when Napoleon disappointed him by crowning himself emperor. But even that outcome of the Revolution did not stain Beethoven’s allegiance to its goals. The vision of commoners rebelling against ancient aristocratic rule in the name of liberty, equality, and brotherhood appealed to his idealistic spirit.
A French style of opera popular during and after the Revolution drew Beethoven’s attention: “rescue operas” featured plots full of heroic endeavor and lofty morals in which characters defy and triumph over power. Beethoven was so attracted to this style that he selected a French rescue drama, Jean-Nicolas Bouilly’s Leonore, or Married Love, as the source for his first opera. Beethoven preferred to keep that title, but to distinguish his works from three other contemporary operas written on the same story, was compelled to change his title to Fidelio, with the subtitle The Triumph of Married Love.
Set simply, all in a prison, the play’s equally simple plot centers on brave wife Leonore, who goes undercover as a young man named Fidelio in order to rescue her husband, who is a political prisoner of an unequivocally evil tyrant. Fidelio/ Leonore comes near to achieving her goal, but succeeds only because of a ‘deux ex machina’ intervention: a Minister of State arrives to apprehend the evil governor and finds his old friend, whom he had thought dead, in chains. The Minister allows Fidelio/Leonore to release her Florestan from his chains, and the freed man celebrates his noble wife.
Beethoven liked this unambiguous plot: the good people are clearly good, and the tyrant deserves the punishment he will receive. No confusion is possible.
Interestingly, our stage director has chosen to add ambiguity to the production by avoiding setting the story in any one time or place. The original French play was set in Spain, but was actually based on an event that took place in France during the Reign of Terror. Beethoven set it several centuries in the past, to satisfy censors who decried any semblance to current events. Producers of today often have the liberty of making the opposite selection: they want us to take stories personally, so they contemporize. Our production staff has selected a set that could be a prison in any time, any place. And in order to show that wrongful imprisonment could happen to any of us, the male chorus, who are all prisoners in the story, will appear in costumes suggesting a variety of cultures, religions, and countries, all of them incarcerated together, many of them (the story suggests) wrongfully.
Beethoven labored over this opera. No Mozart he, with works completed inside his head just lacking time to write them down. He wrote sketches and revised musical ideas time and again: there are at least 16 sketches for the beginning of Florestan’s first aria, and 346 pages of sketches for the opera. The lovely melody of the Act 1 quartet (“Mir ist so wunderbar”) took him 13 attempts. He wrote four versions of the overture, and took three stabs at the entire score, with productions in 1805, 1806 and 1814. Despite Beethoven’s careful and painstaking work, however, the opera’s premiere in November 1805 was unsuccessful, partly because of accidents of historical timing, but also because the drama was clumsy, with too much stage-time devoted to the domestic theme of Marzelline, who is smitten with Fidelio, and of her father….and not enough on the heroic theme of Fidelio finding and saving her husband.
Beethoven’s friends tried to advise him, and he made a few changes for the 1806 production. The version we see produced today (and which Utah Opera is using) is regarded as the best of the three, and came to the stage in 1814. When given the opportunity for this final revision, in those years when he realized he was fully deaf, Beethoven said he wanted to rethink the entire work, and he suffered through the process, claiming: “I could compose something new far more quickly than patch up the old…. I have to think out the entire work again….this opera will win for me a martyr’s crown.” Beethoven regarded this revision and this revival of his sole opera his greatest triumph.
Many critics still see weaknesses in this opera: one suggests that Beethoven’s music is “dramatic” but not “theatrical.” Another critic with the same complaint called it an “orchestral opera.” As you listen to it, notice all the usual passion in the music and its development, but recognize that the dramatic music doesn’t easily suggest stage action. The Act I quartet, for example, is one of the musical moments where all four characters on stage are frozen in place, singing their internal thoughts in a harmony that is musically moving. In Beethoven’s defense, though, most arias and many ensembles up until the late 19th century were of this nature: the music expresses emotion and shows the beauty and expressive ability of the singers rather than progressing the drama. Because Beethoven selected a story with a simple plot, there’s not a lot of drama to progress, so the opera can be very much about the emotion of the music as the story communicates its unmissable themes: tyrants shall be defeated, a noble wife is a wonderful thing, humanity will be victorious.
Utah Opera produces Fidelio in October 2011 in commemoration of those who died in the 9/11/01 bombings committed by those who, like Fidelio’s tyrant Don Pizarro, would rule through terror. Beethoven’s opera, emerging from his life of personal disappointment and illness and disability, delivers to us against that terrorizing a message of noble human triumph, and not just joy, but hope and encouragement. It is a powerful and appropriate response to any who would attempt to contain or inhibit humankind: Beethoven’s music compels us with its claim that the human spirit is greater than any tyrant can imagine, and will triumph in the end.
In opera, political prisoners are as common as gods and kings. It is highly effective and deeply moving, this image of protagonists both large and small singing through the proverbial (and sometimes literal) bars of their subjugation. In addition to Florestan in FIDELIO there is Angelotti in TOSCA, Goryanchikov in Janacek’s FROM THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD, Joan herself from Honegger’s JEANNE D’ARC AU BÛCHER, the nuns from DIALOGUES OF THE CARMÉLITES, the unnamed “Prisoner” from Dallapiccola’s IL PRIGIONIERO and many others. 21st Century variations on the theme include works based on Nelson Mandela and Leonard Peltier but it isn’t always so obvious. Verdi’s entire canon, which also includes a version of the Joan of Arc story, has been viewed (with a bit of free historical “back-reading”) as a single grand paean to his oppressed Italian countrymen. Idealism and chains can lurk nearly everywhere in opera, if you look hard enough and symbolically enough.
The individual fates that await the members of this incarcerated class of operatic characters run the full range of possibility. There is death, of course – pure, simple and in varied abundance. There is also that sinister psychological game between captors and captured in which hope is offered and hope is inexorably dashed. There is martyrdom, both willing and unwilling. And yes, for Florestan at least, there is rescue. The role of the prisoner archetype in opera’s alternate reality is to give voice to some basic and elemental aspects of the human condition. Poet Paul Laurence Dunbar spoke most eloquently of this in his Sympathy (1899) when he wrote “I know why the caged bird sings…When he beats his bars and he would be free.” We know why they sing too. It is not necessary for us to have personal experience with jails to innately understand the desire to get out of one.
Another important feature of our sympathy for the dungeon-bound Florestan is the unjustness of his sentence. As FIDELIO opens, he is locked up for exposing the crimes of the nobleman Don Pizzaro, a nasty fellow that happens to serve as governor of a prison near Seville. Florestan states his case and predicts his end quite clearly in the monologue at the beginning of Act 2. “Boldly I dared to speak the truth,” he sings, “and fetters are my reward. Willingly I endure all suffering and end my course pitiably…I have done my duty!” These lines highlight an additional characteristic of the prisoner persona in opera. He is stoic in the face of isolation and slow death and has in him the ingredients of a hero. Like the Carmélite Prioress comforting her nuns on the eve of their execution and Dallapiccola’s “Prisoner” whispering “freedom” after being tricked by his jailer, Florestan gives us something to root for. Whether or not he is to be free again, we applaud his choices and share his moral convictions.
As compelling a case as Florestan presents on his own, the real star of his story is his wife Lenore. She brings something to the tale that is not regularly available to most operatic inmates, the possibility of Earthly deliverance and triumph. From the source material, hers was the courage and devotion that most impressed Beethoven and he rewarded her character richly in his re-telling. She embodies the unequivocal steadfastness of the composer’s own ethical outlook at a time when the concept of liberty was under Napoleonic siege in Europe. Though not technically a prisoner herself, Lenore is indeed chained by the actions of both her husband and his keeper. Because of her abiding love for Florestan, freedom has just as surely been withheld from her by Don Pizzaro and she takes on the challenge of defeating him with impressive resolve. “First kill his wife!” she cries as she shields Florestan from Pizzaro’s blade.
How much of Napoleon’s growing infamy Beethoven wrote into the Don Pizzaro character is a matter for the individual listener to determine. There is no doubt however about what he intended for his two “prisoners.” They represent the small but potent voice against injustice that still sings out in opera today. Florestan spoke up against it to his own peril and Lenore faced it bravely to save him. It is possible that Beethoven saw some of that same idealistic fervor in the earlier, pre-“Emperor” Napoleon of the revolution and that, maybe, both versions of the man might exist simultaneously in the opera. Regardless, the drama of FIDELIO suited the black-and-white political opinions of the composer and has succeeded in tapping the aversion to tyranny in all of us ever since. Just like the real-life parallels in Beethoven’s time, there are simply too many in our own to ignore.
Though love has not been enough to save all of the political hostages of opera history, it certainly was for proud Florestan. While so many others end up at the stake, he walks free thanks to Lenore. Fittingly, the chorus of newly freed men (expanded in Beethoven’s 1814 revision, incidentally a year of severe decline for Napoleon’s reign) gets the last word…
“Never can we too much hymn the savior of her husband’s life!”
Ludwig van Beethoven is undoubtedly one of the most well-known and influential composers of all time. Historians generally regard him as the culmination of the Classical Era (1750-1830). In fact, scholars frequently delineate the end of the Classical Era and the beginning of the Romantic Era with Beethoven’s death in 1827. His works are considered among the finest of the classical repertoire.
Perhaps his best-known works are his nine monumental symphonies, which set a new standard for symphonic composition and are widely regarded as the cornerstone of orchestral literature. Indeed, numerous composers throughout the 19th century were too intimidated to compose a symphony because of Beethoven’s supreme legacy. For example, Johannes Brahms, born six years after Beethoven’s death, was widely regarded as the embodiment of German Romanticism. He would spend his life in Beethoven’s shadow, and would not publish a symphony until well into his forties for fear of being perceived as woefully inferior to Beethoven.
Ludwig van Beethoven was born in Bonn, Germany in December, 1770, to Johann Beethoven and Maria Magdalena Keverich Beethoven. His exact birth date is unknown. However, his well-documented baptism occurred on December 17, 1770, so it is likely he was born on December 16. For various reasons, Beethoven was under the impression he was born in December, 1772. He clung to this delusion his entire life despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Yet another misconception Beethoven failed to dispel was his parentage. During his lifetime, rumors circulated that Beethoven was actually fathered by Frederick the Great, Emperor of Prussia. How anyone could believe a man of such influence would engage in a dalliance with a downtrodden Hausfrau in Bonn is surprising, to say the least. Of the seven children born to Johann and Maria Magdalena, only three survived to adulthood, Ludwig, and his two younger brothers, Caspar Anton Carl and Nikolaus Johann.
Beethovenhaus in Bonn
Beethoven was not the first musician in his family. His grandfather, Lodewijk (the Dutch cognate of Ludwig) van Beethoven (1712-73) was employed as a bass singer at the court of the Elector of Cologne. Although Lodewijk’s Flemish ancestors were well known as “master bakers,” through lifelong diligence, Lodewijk was rewarded a prestigious position as the Kapellmeister (music director) to the Elector in Bonn. Beethoven’s grandfather was the beloved patriarch of the family. Lodewijk died in 1773 when young Ludwig was only three. Although it is doubtful Ludwig retained any memory of his grandfather, he nevertheless idolized him, and sought to emulate Lodewijk his entire life. Among Beethoven’s most prized possessions was a portrait of his grandfather. This portrait occupied a prominent place in Beethoven’s Vienna apartment throughout the course of his life.
Lodewijk van Beethoven
Beethoven’s father Johann likewise enjoyed some musical skill. Johann was employed as a tenor at the same court as his father Lodewijk. He also gave violin and piano lessons to supplement the family income. However, he lacked the emotional stability and leadership skills Lodewijk possessed. Johann never achieved the same professional status of his father. He unsuccessfully petitioned for the same position of Kapellmeister that Lodewijk held. That failure was due not only to lacking the skill, but to an increasing alcohol addiction. Moreover, this lifelong battle with alcoholism took a heavy toll on the well-being of the Beethoven family. Johann was held in low regard throughout Bonn, particularly during his later years when he assumed the role of town buffoon and drunk. His debilitating alcoholism forced Johann to rely on the charity of court administrators when he could no longer function as a musician.
Johann van Beethoven
Beethoven’s mother, Maria Magdalena Keverich , never claimed to have any musical ability. However, her family occupied a slightly higher social status than the Beethoven family. Her father, Johann Heinrich Keverich, served as head chef at the court of the Archbishopric of Trier. Maria Magdalena was initially married at the age of 16 to Johann Leym, a valet to the elector of Treves. She bore him one son who died in infancy. Maria was widowed a short time later, in 1765, at the age of 19. Johann married Maria on November 12, 1767, despite Lodewijk’s erroneous assumption her family occupied a low social rank.
Maria Magdalena Keverich Beethoven
Maria often described her marriage to Johann Beethoven as a “chain of sorrows.” She gradually assumed the leadership of the household as her husband descended into alcoholism. Acquaintances described her as a quiet, serious person. Close friends claim she never smiled or laughed. Although she was a good mother to Ludwig, she found him distant and aloof, and was unable to comprehend his genius. Moreover, she did little to curtail Johann’s cruel treatment of their son, Ludwig.
Johann initiated Ludwig’s musical training on the clavier (i.e., harpsichord or piano) and violin at the age of five. Although some contemporary historians attempt to minimize Johann’s cruelty towards his son, there are numerous, well-documented accounts of his brutal treatment of young Ludwig. A reliable account from one of Ludwig’s childhood companions related: “Beethoven’s father used violence when it came to making him start his musical studies. There were few days when he was not beaten in order to compel him to set himself at the piano.” Other dependable accounts from a local civic official reported: “He (Johann) treated him harshly and sometimes shut him up in the cellar.” In light of this abuse, it is highly surprising Beethoven didn’t grow to despise the piano.
Portrait of the 13-year-old Beethoven (1783)
Johann was well aware of the child wunderkind Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who was born in 1756, fourteen years prior to Ludwig. Leopold Mozart, a responsible, level-headed individual and competent violinist by profession, had successfully marketed his own children, Wolfgang and Nannerl, as child prodigies throughout Western Europe. Johann, attempting to follow the same model, unsuccessfully attempted to exploit his own son for monetary gain. Although Beethoven was considered a fine musician for his age, he lacked the precocious genius of the young Mozart. The discrepancy between their childhood musical skills may be due to Mozart’s stellar training from a meticulous, conscientious father Leopold, as opposed to Beethoven’s harsh, second-rate training from a drunken Johann.
In later childhood, however, Beethoven eventually received better training. Beethoven’s most influential teacher in Bonn was Christian Gottlob Neefe. Beethoven began studying with him in 1779 at the age of nine, the same year that Neefe was appointed Court Organist. Neefe taught young Ludwig organ and composition. Under this tutelage, Beethoven was eventually awarded the position of Assistant Court Organist. Neefe was a positive, stabilizing influence on Beethoven during his teenage years. He provided the mentorship young Ludwig’s own father was incapable of delivering. Neefe assisted Beethoven in the publication of his first composition, the “Variations on a March by Dressler”, WoO 63 (1782).
Beethoven would become Neefe’s lasting claim to fame. Indeed, history would have likely forgotten Neefe but for his association with the young Beethoven.
Christian Gottlob Neefe
By his mid-teenaged years, Beethoven became a highly-skilled pianist and promising composer. In 1787, at seventeen, Beethoven traveled to Vienna alone. Although his motives for the trip are not entirely clear, presumably he hoped to study with Mozart. At that time, Vienna was the undisputed center of the musical world. The city was home to the powerful Hapsburg Dynasty, whose ruling members were ardent patrons of the arts. Mozart spent the majority of his adult life in Vienna, and Haydn likewise had close ties to the city throughout his life. Ultimately, Beethoven permanently settled in Vienna. Indeed, these three pivotal composers of the Classical Era are often referred to as the “Viennese Trinity.”
Historians are widely divided as to whether Beethoven and Mozart actually met. While it is tempting to believe they met, there is little concrete evidence to support an encounter between these two musical giants. The 19th century biographer Otto Jahn gives the following account:
Beethoven made his appearance in Vienna as a youthful musician of promise in the spring of 1787, but was only able to remain there a short time; he was introduced to Mozart, and played to him at his request. Mozart, considering the piece he performed to be a studied show-piece, was somewhat cold in his expressions of admiration. Beethoven, noticing this, begged for a theme for improvisation, and, inspired by the presence of the master he revered so highly, played in such a manner as gradually to engross Mozart’s whole attention; turning quietly to the bystanders, he said emphatically, “Mark that young man; he will make himself a name in the world!”
Mozart, 1789
While it makes for a good story, Jahn could never provide specific detail as to the origin of this suspect encounter. When pressed to authenticate the story, his response was: “It was communicated to me in Vienna on good authority.” Maynard Solomon, the respected 20th century Mozart and Beethoven biographer, does not even mention this doubtful encounter in his meticulous Beethoven biography. Despite no valid documentation of a meeting, Solomon believes Beethoven probably did meet Mozart, but was likely rejected by the latter for a variety of reasons. In the event such an encounter took place, Beethoven would not record it; he would be too proud to discuss the rejection. Although Beethoven would have undoubtedly been capable of impressing Mozart, the latter already had a pupil living in his household, and was likely preoccupied with improving his own tenuous financial situation while battling chronic illness.
After spending only two weeks in Vienna, Beethoven received news his mother’s health was rapidly declining. She died from consumption (i.e., tuberculosis) shortly after his return to Bonn. Beethoven’s father lapsed even deeper into alcoholism. His father was now squandering the majority of the meager family income in pursuit of debauchery. Beethoven obtained a legal order in 1789 to receive half his father’s salary directly in order to provide for himself and his two younger brothers.
Beethoven’s financial situation improved still more while still in his late teens. At that time, he received patronage from powerful and influential individuals in Bonn. The Elector of Bonn at that time was Maximilian Franz, the brother of Marie Antoinette and youngest son of Hapsburg Empress Maria Theresa of Austria. Maximilian Franz served as an early, albeit stingy patron of Beethoven.
Archduke Maximilian Francis
A pivotal event in Beethoven’s early career occurred with the death of the Hapsburg Emperor Joseph II in Vienna on February 20, 1790. Joseph II was the elder brother of Maximilian Franz and Marie Antoinette. Beethoven, although relatively inexperienced in composition, was commissioned to compose a piece to memorialize Joseph’s death, otherwise known as the “Funeral Cantata on the Death of Joseph II.” For various reasons, the cantata was never preformed, and the work was entirely forgotten. The music remained unknown until the score was discovered nearly a century later by Johannes Brahms in 1884. The score shows a remarkable degree of maturity that was not to be discovered by the rest of the world until many years later.
Another fortunate event in Beethoven’s life occurred in late 1790. Joseph Haydn met the 20-year-old Beethoven while traveling through Bonn on Christmas Eve on a return trip from London to Vienna. Arrangements for Beethoven to study with the great master in Vienna were likely discussed during this encounter. The 60-year-old Haydn was at the height of his career, and was widely regarded as the greatest European composer of that time.
Franz Joseph Haydn
Beethoven left Bonn for Vienna in November, 1792, to study with Haydn a year following Mozart’s death. He would never return to Bonn. Beethoven’s friend and financial supporter, Count Ferdinand von Waldstein, in his farewell note to Beethoven wrote: “Through uninterrupted diligence you will receive Mozart’s spirit through Haydn’s hands.” Little did von Waldstein know that this brief, but extremely poignant utterance would define and summarize the relationship of these three great masters of the Classical Era.
Portrait of Beethoven as a young man (1801)
Beethoven’s patrons were very supportive during his transition from a troubled, often turbulent childhood in Bonn to a career full of infinite promise as a gifted young pianist and composer in Vienna. He must have realized he was the successor of the recently deceased Mozart. Indeed, he dedicated himself during his early years in Vienna to studying Mozart’s works, as is evident by his early compositions in a distinctly “Mozartian” style.
His relationship with Haydn over the years was often rocky. Although the immature, often arrogant Beethoven would sometimes mutter that Haydn had taught him nothing, his biographer Maynard Solomon notes that, in his later years, “Beethoven unfailingly referred to his old master (Haydn) in terms of reverence, regarding him as the equal” of Mozart and Bach. His musical foundation, rooted in the traditions of Haydn and Mozart, would undoubtedly serve him well as he began his meteoric rise in Vienna to become one of the most influential and pivotal figures in all of music history.
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Beethoven permanently established himself in Vienna in late 1792, at the age of 22. Shortly after his arrival, Beethoven learned his father had died in Bonn. Undoubtedly, this news generated mixed emotions. Although Johann van Beethoven had been relatively forgotten in Bonn at the time of his death, Beethoven’s Bonn patron, Archduke Maximilian Franz marked the occasion by noting that “the revenues of the liquor excise have suffered a loss.” Beethoven opted to not return for his father’s funeral.
Beethoven spent a great deal of time during his early years in Vienna focusing on his compositional studies. Vienna was the center of the musical world at that time, which may have been partly due to its relatively central geography. Vienna is physically located between Italy and Germany, which made it an ideal crossroad for a blending of Italian lyricism and German counterpoint. Vienna in the late 18th and early 19th century was an incredibly fertile environment, full of rich opportunities for musicians and composers. Members of the ruling Hapsburg monarchy were ardent patrons of the arts. Vienna contained a multitude of wealthy aristocrats that were willing and able to lend assistance to promising new talent such as Beethoven. Unquestionably, he was delighted to encounter such a large number of professional, semi-professional, and amateur musicians at his disposal.
Schönbrunn palace in Vienna, summer residence of the Hapsburg monarchy
Scholars generally divide Beethoven’s career into three creative periods. The first major period (1792-1802) began upon his arrival in Vienna, and lasted until the onset of deafness. The second period, otherwise known as the “Heroic” period (1802-1814) is by far his most productive phase. The majority of his symphonies were composed during this period. Works from the third and final period (1814-1827) are sparse, but more musically dense and complex than those of earlier periods.
Ludwig van Beethoven, 1803
Beethoven was absorbed in analyzing the works of the recently deceased Mozart during his first creative period. He sought to master the art of counterpoint under Haydn’s direction. He also received occasional instruction from Antonio Salieri, the celebrated Italian composer and conductor unfairly vilified as Mozart’s bitter rival in the dramatic and highly fictionalized Amadeus. There was evidently little animosity between Mozart and Salieri, given the fact the latter served as pallbearer at Mozart’s pauper burial. In truth, Salieri was not threatened by musical talent, and taught Beethoven the fundamentals of Italian vocal compositional style.
Antonio Salieri (1750-1825)
Beethoven received financial assistance from the Elector of Bonn, Archduke Maximilian Francis of Austria, during his early years in Vienna. The Elector financed Beethoven’s sabbatical with the understanding he would return home after two years of study in Vienna.
Maximilian Franz visits with his sister Marie Antoinette and King Louis XVI of France
However, Beethoven had no intention of returning to Bonn after his initial years in Vienna. Fortunately, he came to the attention of several wealthy Viennese patrons who recognized his blossoming talents and abilities. Within a year of Beethoven’s arrival in Vienna, he established himself as a gifted piano virtuoso. His ability to freely improvise elaborate pieces in the salons of the Viennese nobility was particularly celebrated.
Beethoven’s arrival into the early 19th century Viennese musical scene was fortuitous for a number of reasons. Beethoven enjoyed unprecedented freedoms as an artist and musician in ways his predecessors could not have fathomed. Previous composers were either shackled to a liturgical position with an accompanying meager salary, or functioned as indentured servants to a wealthy aristocrat. Beethoven was considered the first major composer to break away from this feudal system. He could freely accept commissions from wealthy patrons without the burdensome obligations his predecessors endured. For example, Haydn was required to serve as a court valet and stable hand in the Esterhazy Court when not performing his musical duties.
Additionally, Beethoven shrewdly negotiated substantial royalties from his publishers at Breitkopf and Härtel. He also freely organized his own concerts, for which he would receive the majority of the proceeds. Due to his notoriety, he could charge double or triple for tickets to his concerts compared with those given by his contemporaries. Nevertheless, Beethoven was still somewhat financially vulnerable, particularly during his early years in Vienna as he labored to establish his reputation as a composer. He relied on various patrons during those early years.
Bernhard Christoph Breitkopf, founder of Breitkopf und Härtel in Leipzig, 1719
A notable among Beethoven’s early patrons is Prince Karl Lichnowsky, a Chamberlain at the Imperial Hapsburg court. Lichnowsky was also a patron of Mozart, though their relationship soured after Mozart reneged repayment on a fairly large loan. Lichnowsky successfully sued Mozart in 1791 by obtaining an imperial order to garnish half of Mozart’s wages until the debt was repaid. Mozart died before the order could take effect.
Karl Alois, Prince Lichnowsky
Lichnowsky was one of Beethoven’s most ardent supporters. Beethoven referred to him as “one of my most loyal friends and promoters of my art” in a letter dated 1805. Beethoven was actually invited to live with the Lichnowskys shortly after his arrival in Vienna, and remained with them as an adopted (and highly fortunate) member of the family for several years. Lichnowsky’s wife, Princess Christiane, was well known for her piano skills among Viennese nobility. Acquaintances described her as a “motherly” figure to Beethoven, despite the fact she was just five years his senior. Beethoven dedicated one of his most well-known piano sonatas to Lichnowsky in 1798, the Piano sonata in C minor, Opus 13 “Pathetique”. The “Pathetique” sonata was considered a major early triumph, which one biographer describes as “surpassing any of his previous compositions, in strength of character, depth of emotion, level of originality, and ingenuity of motivic and tonal manipulation.”
Lichnowsky gave Beethoven an annual stipend in 1800 until the latter could be self-sufficient. Unfortunately, Beethoven and Lichnowsky had a bitter falling out in 1806. The event is a typical example of Beethoven’s passionate, often volatile temper leading to a detrimental, self-destructive outcome. Beethoven was staying at Lichnowsky’s country estate when he refused the Prince’s request to perform for visiting French officers. The two men quarreled passionately over the incident, and Beethoven smashed a bust of the prince after storming back to Vienna.
The Viennese Count Ferdinand von Waldstein was yet another significant early Beethoven supporter. Waldstein was admitted to the court of the Prince Elector of Cologne in 1788, when Beethoven was 18 and still in Bonn. Although Waldstein was a lifelong friend and supporter to Beethoven, his financial assistance was interrupted at some point during Beethoven’s career.
Count Ferdinand Ernst Gabriel von Waldstein
Waldstein spent a considerable portion of his fortune attempting to raise an army to defeat Napoleon in the late 1790’s, and subsequently lost the remainder of his fortune in Vienna after a series of unfortunate financial transactions. He died a pauper in Vienna in 1823. Beethoven dedicated one of his most celebrated and significant piano sonatas to him, otherwise known as the “Waldstein” sonata, opus 53 in C major.
By 1800, Beethoven had firmly established himself as a gifted musician who composed chiefly for solo piano. Around this time, he embarked on more ambitious genres such as the symphony and string quartet. Scholars feel he was beginning to reach musical maturity by this time. His First and Second Symphonies premiered in 1800 and 1802 respectively. Beethoven hired the Burgtheater on April 2, 1800, for the premiere of his First Symphony in addition to several smaller works.
He also performed one of his early piano concerti (historians are uncertain as to whether the First or Second Piano Concerto was performed). Other works by Haydn and Mozart were also featured.
Concerts at that time were long affairs, often lasting several hours. The concert at the Burgtheater was a big success. A musical journal of the day, the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung described the concert as “the most interesting concert in a long time.”
Beethoven began to suffer from tinnitus or a “ringing” in his ears as early as 1796. The auditory disturbances were intermittent at this time. When the condition flared, it became difficult for Beethoven to hear music. His ailment also took a toll on his performing ability. His piano skills began to rapidly deteriorate as the tinnitus progressed. Beethoven’s behavior became increasingly erratic; he became short-tempered with friends and colleagues. He began avoiding conversation, and became progressively reclusive.
In the late 1790s, during the early onset of this malady, Beethoven attempted to deny his deafness, both to himself and to his friends. On the advice of his doctor, he moved to the small town of Heiligenstadt, a fashionable resort town near Vienna, for a prolonged hiatus from April until October of 1802.
Heiligenstadt
Ferdinand Ries, a pupil and friend of Beethoven, recalls visiting Beethoven in Heiligenstadt, and described both his apparent deafness and his moods:
“I called his attention to a shepherd who was piping very agreeably in the woods on a flute made of a twig of elder. For half an hour Beethoven could hear nothing, and though I assured him that it was the same with me (which was not the case), he became extremely quiet and morose. When occasionally he seemed to be merry, it was generally to the extreme of boisterousness; but this happened seldom.”
It was in Heiligenstadt that Beethoven poured out his heart in the form of a letter addressed to his brothers Carl and Johann dated October 6, 1802. The letter was never sent to his brothers, but was discovered by his biographer Anton Schindler in March, 1827, shortly following his death. The letter has since become known as the “Heiligenstadt Testament,” but was likely shown to no one during Beethoven’s lifetime. Since the letter’s discovery in 1827, it has become one of the most significant documents to be associated with Beethoven. It has provided scholars and historians with vivid insight into the inner recesses of Beethoven’s mind during a time of intense personal crisis.
Beethovenhaus in Heiligenstadt
Throughout the document, Beethoven, overcome with anguish over his progressive deafness, attempted to explain the source of his “malevolent and stubborn” behavior to his brothers. He discussed the intense anguish he was suffering, as well as the cruel irony that he, as a gifted composer and musician, should have to endure the loss of hearing.
Fascimile of the Heiligenstadt Testament
Although Beethoven’s anguish over his condition was clearly genuine, scholars and historians have described the overall tone of the document as somewhat melodramatic and self-indulgent. In particular, Beethoven discusses suicidal ideations in the document, but claims he would ultimately not end his life because of his higher calling:
“I would have ended my life-it was only my art that held me back..”
“Thanks to virtue and to my art, I did not end my life by suicide…”
Beethoven, in a particularly pictorial passage near the conclusion of the document, likens his personal tragedy to the impending change of seasons:
“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.”
For the full text of the Heiligenstadt Testament, please click here.
Following the cathartic Heiligenstadt period in his life, Beethoven would scarcely refer to his deafness over the course of the next decade, suggesting that either his deafness had abated, or that he had come to terms with his malady. Beethoven would emerge from Heiligenstadt with tremendous creative energy as he embarked on his most creative period, or “heroic” phase.
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Beethoven, after coming to terms with his failing hearing, entered an extremely fruitful and productive phase in his career, otherwise known as the “Heroic” period. After his return from Heiligenstadt, a notable pupil, Carl Czerny, recalls Beethoven exclaiming:
“I am not satisfied with the work I have done so far. From now on I intend to take a new way.”
This middle period, spanning 1803-1815, is characterized by a high level of musical maturity. Works from this period are generally larger in scale, longer in duration, and overall more complex when compared to prior works. Notable works from this period include his only opera, an oratorio, a mass, six symphonies (Symphonies 3-8), four concertos, five string quartets, three trios, three string sonatas, six piano sonatas and numerous other miscellaneous works. This middle “Heroic” phase roughly coincides with the rise and fall of Napoleon.
Ludwig van Beethoven, 1804
Beethoven’s most fruitful years were times of extreme political turbulence in France—years that had significant repercussions throughout Europe. The Elector of Bonn, Maximilian Franz, sponsored Beethoven during his initial years in Vienna. During the chaos of the French Revolution, one year after Beethoven’s arrival in Vienna, Franz would lose his elder sister, Marie Antoinette, to the guillotine in 1793.
Marie Antoinette’s execution on October 16, 1793
Beethoven was a well-known champion of the common man, and fully embraced the ideas of democracy spilling out of France during the Revolution. Initially, Beethoven was an ardent fan of Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821), commending Napoleon’s ability to stabilize France following the Revolution. However, Beethoven’s attitude towards Napoleon, shared by many of Europe’s leading intellectuals, was extremely conflicted. Beethoven embarked on a love-hate relationship with Napoleon for the next twenty years. Napoleon himself noted that:
“Everybody has loved me and hated me: everybody has taken me up, dropped me, and taken me up again”
Napoleon Bonaparte
At first, Beethoven viewed Napoleon as the embodiment of the democratic ideals sweeping across Europe in the early 1800’s. Beethoven decided to dedicate his newly completed 3rd Symphony to Napoleon. However, when Napoleon declared himself “Emperor of the French” in May 1804, Beethoven was enraged. One of Beethoven’s pupils, Ferdinand Ries, recalled Beethoven’s response:
“At that time Beethoven had the highest esteem for him (Napoleon) and compared him to the greatest consuls of ancient Rome. Not only I, but many of Beethoven’s closer friends, saw this symphony on his table, beautifully copied in manuscript, with the word ‘Buonaparte’ inscribed at the very top of the title-page and ‘Ludwig van Beethoven’ at the very bottom. …I was the first to tell him the news that Buonaparte had declared himself Emperor, whereupon he broke into a rage and exclaimed, ‘So he is no more than a common mortal! Now, too, he will tread under foot all the rights of man, indulge only his ambition; now he will think himself superior to all men, become a tyrant!’ Beethoven went to the table, seized the top of the title-page, tore it in half and threw it on the floor. The page had to be re-copied and it was only now that the symphony received the title ‘Sinfonia Eroica.’”
Apparently, three months later, Beethoven had second thoughts. At that time, Beethoven wrote to his publisher: “The title of the symphony is really Bonaparte.” After several subsequent name changes and dedications, however, the 3rd Symphony simply became known as the “Eroica” (Italian for “heroic”) in 1806. Given this history, it seems, at least in Beethoven’s mind, the “Eroica” may or may not have been dedicated to Napoleon.
The “Eroica” is a milestone of symphonic repertoire given its unprecedented length and strong emotional content. Due to its avant-garde nature, the 3rd Symphony received mixed reviews at its premiere. As one music critic wrote: “Beethoven was doing for music what Napoleon was doing for society—turning tradition upside down.”
By 1809, Beethoven’s opinion of Napoleon again soured during Napoleon’s victory over Vienna. Beethoven was forced to hide in the basement of his brother’s house during the French bombardment of Vienna in May, 1809. Beethoven covered his ears with pillows to preserve the remnants of his hearing. He was composing his fifth and final piano concerto at the time, otherwise known as the “Emperor” Concerto.
Bombardment of Vienna, May 12, 1809
Contrary to popular belief, the term “Emperor” has nothing to do with homage to Napoleon. Indeed, the term “Emperor” was not Beethoven’s own, but was coined by Johann Baptist Cramer, the English publisher of the concerto.
Although Beethoven had firmly established an extremely productive and fruitful career, his personal life remained troubled. Beethoven’s abrasive personality and volatile temper were notorious. He had a spectacular gift for alienating people. Regarding Beethoven’s demeanor, one acquaintance famously quoted: “the only thing predictable about Beethoven is his unpredictability.” Beethoven’s biographers are particularly intrigued by his series of failed relationships with women.
Ludwig van Beethoven, 1814
Much has been written regarding Beethoven’s romances, or lack thereof. Beethoven appears to have possessed many complex, mixed attitudes towards the opposite sex. There are several documented love-hate relationships with various women in Beethoven’s life. Early biographers have reliable, often eyewitness accounts that Beethoven was “very often in love,” but his “attachments were mostly of very brief duration.” Some historians posit Beethoven had a general disdain for marriage. This disposition might have been planted early in life after observing his parents’ rocky relationship.
In fact, Beethoven’s mother may well have unwittingly poisoned any chance the composer would have for a healthy relationship. She held strong opinions on the subject of marriage. Cecilia Fischer, a friend of Beethoven’s mother, recalls Frau Beethoven’s response when discussing one of Cecilia’s potential suitors:
“If you want to take my good advice, remain single, and then you will have the most tranquil, most beautiful, most pleasurable life. For what is marriage? A little joy, then
a chain of sorrows, and you are still young!”
Cecilia reported that young Ludwig was present when his mother dispensed the glum advice, and was apparently subjected to frequent anti-marital sentiments during the course of his young life.
In terms of Beethoven’s personal life, the mystery behind the “Immortal Beloved” has become a particularly intriguing, never-ending source for scholarly speculation. Following Beethoven’s death in 1827, a letter dated July 6-7 was found among his personal possessions. Missing from the letter were the year, the place of its composition, and, most importantly, the name of the intended recipient. They were addressed simply as “unsterbliche Geliebte” or “Immortal Beloved”.
For nearly 200 years, countless scholars have poured over this letter in an attempt to establish the identity of the Immortal Beloved. Through an analysis of the paper’s watermark, researchers in the 1950’s were able to establish 1812 as the year in which the letter was written. Various records indicate Beethoven was in the Bohemian spa town of Teplitz in early July, 1812. Given the content of the letter, it seems Beethoven was writing to someone he had recently encountered, and was anticipating another meeting with the same woman in the near future. The tone of the letters is highly stylized and sentimental, as evidenced by the following excerpts:
July 6, in the morning
My angel, my all, my very self – can our love endure except through sacrifices, through not demanding everything from one another; can you change the fact that you are not wholly mine, I not wholly thine – My heart is full of so many things to say to you – there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all. The gods must send us the rest, what for us must and shall be
Your faithful Ludwig
Evening, Monday, July 6
Ah, wherever I am, you are with me – I will arrange it with you and me that I can live with you. What a life!!! thus!!! without you. Is not our love truly a heavenly structure, and also as firm as the vault of Heaven?
Good morning, on July 7
Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved – I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits. – Oh continue to love me – never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.
Ever thine
Ever mine
Ever ours L.
There are several plausible, though perhaps not probable, candidates for the recipient of the letter. A potential “Immortal Beloved” candidate is Countess Giulietta Guicciardi. Beethoven met her around 1801. Apparently, Beethoven declared his love for the 17-year-old Giulietta after teaching her piano for several months.
Countess Giulietta Guicciardi
Beethoven reportedly dedicated the Piano Sonata No. 14, otherwise known as the “Moonlight” Sonata, to Giulietta. Beethoven did not coin the term “Moonlight” to describe the sonata, but instead included the phrase “Quasi una fantasia” (almost a fantasy) to describe the dreamy, melancholy first movement. The term “Moonlight” was coined by music critic Ludwig Rellstab several years after Beethoven’s death in 1832. Rellstab felt the piece was evocative of “moonlight shining upon Lake Lucerne.”
Many scholars believe Guilietta accepted Beethoven’s marriage proposal. However, according to the 19th century Beethoven biographer Alexander Thayer, Guilietta’s father was firmly against the union when he described Beethoven as:
“without rank, fortune or permanent engagement; a man, too, of character and temperament so peculiar, and afflicted with the incipient stages of an infirmity which, if not arrested and cured, must deprive him of all hope of obtaining any high and remunerative official appointment and at length compel him to abandon his career as the great pianoforte virtuoso”.
Beethoven’s earliest and notoriously unreliable biographer Anton Schindler claims that Giulietta was the true “Immortal Beloved,” though modern scholars place little stock in any of Schindler’s assertions.
Another “Immortal Beloved” candidate is Therese von Brunsvik. Beethoven taught her piano as well, and dedicated the Piano Sonata Op 78 to her in 1809. A strong consensus of opinion existed in the late 19th century that Therese was the “Immortal Beloved.” In 1891, Marie Hrussoczy published Therese’s memoirs under the name “Beethoven’s Immortal Beloved: From Personal Reminiscences.”
Therese von Brunsvik
According to the author, Therese purportedly gave a vivid, melodramatic account of her torrid affair with Beethoven, including detailed plans of their secret engagement in 1806. The book was wildly popular, in spite of the fact the book was proven to be a complete fraud soon after publication. Some scholars also speculated she may have been the “Elise” for whom the piece “Fur Elise” was composed, given the fact Elise is a nickname of Therese, and that she once possessed the original score. Therese is notable not merely for her connection to Beethoven. In addition to her association with Beethoven, she is widely credited with the advent of nursery school, opening the first pre-school in Hungary in 1828. The term “kindergarten” was coined in 1837 after Germans capitalized on her idea.
A more plausible candidate for the Immortal Beloved, however, is a different Burnsvik—Josephine Brunsvik—Therese’s sister, and daughter of the Hungarian Countess Anna Brunsvik. Beethoven began teaching Josephine piano in May, 1799. Josephine married Count Josef Deym a short time later. Beethoven was a frequent household guest at the Deyms after their marriage. Josephine bore Deym four sons before his sudden death in 1804. Josephine corresponded with Beethoven throughout the course of their lives. Beethoven referred to her as his “Only Beloved” in earlier love letters. There are rumors her husband’s premature demise may have strengthened their relationship, though the depth of their romance is speculative.
Josephine von Brunsvik
The eminent Beethoven scholar, Maynard Solomon, narrowed the field further by eliminating these previously discussed candidates based on their whereabouts in early July, 1812. In his 1977 Beethoven biography, Solomon suggests Antonie Brentano is the only logical Immortal Beloved candidate. Antonie’s husband, Frankfurt banker Franz Brentano, became a close friend of Beethoven’s during the family’s two-year stay in Vienna. Antonie met Beethoven through her husband in 1810. Prudish Victorian Era scholars were either unwilling or unable to entertain the possibility of Antonie as the Immortal Beloved given the fact she was married. Beethoven stopped over in Prague on July 3, 1812, while on his way to Teplitz. Antonie and Franz were in Prague on the same day as evidenced by a hotel registry, just days before Beethoven composed the letters.
Antonie Brentano
It is speculated Beethoven and Antonie were planning to unite in Teplitz shortly after the letters were written. However, Solomon suggests that Beethoven, though deeply in love with Antonie, was unwilling to consummate a relationship given her marital status and his admiration for her husband.
With a dearth of precise information, the exact identity of the Immortal Beloved can never be firmly established. Present scholars remain deeply divided as to the identity of the Immortal Beloved, though most serious scholars agree the two most likely candidates are Josephine Brunsvik and Antonie Brentano.
Ludwig van Beethoven, 1815
By 1812, as this middle period of Beethoven’s life neared its end, Beethoven was suffering from a variety of physical ailments. His compositional output began to decline as his appearance became progressively disheveled during the final years of the “Heroic” phase. Furthermore, his personal life would continue to falter. Following his unsuccessful romantic endeavors, he was about to become embroiled in family matters that would occupy a great deal of his time and effort during the final decade of life.
This project has received funding from the Utah Humanities Council. The Utah Humanities Council (UHC) enriches our cultural, intellectual, and civic life by providing opportunities for all Utahns to explore life’s most engaging questions and the wonders of the human experience.
This project has received funding from the Utah Humanities Council. The Utah Humanities Council (UHC) enriches our cultural, intellectual, and civic life by providing opportunities for all Utahns to explore life’s most engaging questions and the wonders of the human experience.
Take our survey to help evaluate this online learning course: Click here
Beethoven’s last creative period, often referred to as the mature period, commenced in 1815 and lasted until his death in 1827. Beethoven’s previous “heroic” period, which roughly coincided with the rise and fall of Napoleon, was an extremely productive period in his life. The majority of his larger works, particularly his symphonies, were composed during the heroic period. Although Beethoven’s compositional output during this final phase dropped considerably, the compositions during this period are generally larger in scale, deeper in emotional content, and more harmonically adventurous and avant-garde than compositions produced during earlier periods. These final phase compositions more strongly foreshadowed the Romantic Era than those of earlier years.
Beethoven’s final years were difficult for a variety of reasons. Although he began to experience hearing loss as early as the late 1790’s, he was profoundly deaf by 1815. His ability to publicly perform greatly diminished over the years as a result of this hearing loss. Beethoven began relying on ear trumpets designed by his friend, the Viennese inventor Johann Maelzel, in order to maintain some degree of speech recognition.
Beethoven’s ear trumpets
While the hearing loss was a profound tragedy for Beethoven, it was beneficial to future generations in one respect. During this time, Beethoven employed “conversation books” to aid in communication. The conversation books provided historians tremendous insight into Beethoven’s later years. Individuals who wished to communicate with Beethoven were obliged to write their correspondence in his conversation books during the final decade of his life. Beethoven is known to have possessed over 400 such books at his death.
Beethoven’s conversation book
Unfortunately, Beethoven’s earliest biographer, Anton Schindler, destroyed nearly two-thirds of these conversation books. Schindler’s motivation for such fragrant vandalism is not entirely clear, though most historians believe Schindler hoped to portray Beethoven as a flawless, angelic individual. Schindler took it upon himself to whitewash Beethoven’s image by destroying any material in the conversation books that might reveal perceived character flaws. Not only did Schindler destroy numerous conversation books, he is known to have tampered with the surviving books, even inserting falsified entries after Beethoven’s death to suit his own agenda. Schindler also professed enjoying a very close friendship with Beethoven, a claim Beethoven’s genuine acquaintances disputed. Needless to say, Schindler has been largely discredited as an historian of any merit. The Beethoven Compendium (1991) states: “Schindler’s propensity for inaccuracy and fabrications was so great that virtually nothing he has recorded can be relied on unless it is supported by other evidence.”
Anton Schindler
During these final years, Beethoven became progressively more reclusive. His legendary disheveled appearance and personal grooming further deteriorated as his temperament became increasingly erratic and volatile. In addition to his hearing problems, Beethoven experienced a number of other physical maladies during his later years. He suffered from various gastrointestinal ailments and liver cirrhosis, likely due to his heavy drinking.
With regard to Beethoven’s personal life, a particularly trying event for Beethoven was the death of his brother Carl in late 1815, and the events which followed that death. Carl had been ill with consumption (i.e., tuberculosis) for some time, and Beethoven spent a small fortune on his care. Carl left a will awarding joint custody of his son to Beethoven and his widow, Johanna. Following Carl’s death, Beethoven immediately embarked on a long and bitter custody battle for sole custody of Carl’s nine-year-old son (also named Karl) on grounds Carl’s widow Johanna was an unfit mother. Beethoven strongly disapproved of Johanna due to reports she had loose morals. Johanna gave birth to an illegitimate child prior to meeting Carl van Beethoven. In addition, Carl and Johanna initially chose to live together until Beethoven coerced them into marrying for decency’s sake.
Beethoven’s nephew, Karl van Beethoven
In 1816, the lower courts awarded Beethoven full custody of Karl. When Johanna appealed, Beethoven pled his custody case to a high court that dealt with individuals of noble birth. He felt the high court would be more sympathetic to his cause than that of his lowly sister-in-law. Beethoven attempted to capitalize on the fact his last name was preceded by “van,” which implied he descended from an aristocratic family, and would therefore be eligible for a hearing at the high court. Use of the German “von” implied a person was of noble birth, but this was not necessarily true for individuals of Dutch descent who incorporated “van” before their last name. Beethoven lost full custody of Karl in 1818 when he inadvertently revealed the “van” in his name did not denote nobility.
Thereafter, Beethoven appealed the high court’s verdict, and went to great lengths in order to prove Johanna was of lowly character, even submitting documentation Johanna was convicted of petty theft as a teenager. In 1820, he regained full custody of Karl. Johanna countered by unsuccessfully pleading her case to the Emperor, who “washed his hands of the matter.” The acrimonious legal battles took a heavy toll on Beethoven’s health and financial resources.
Beethoven’s motivation for dedicating years of his life and spending a small fortune in legal expenses to separate a boy from his mother is unclear. That Beethoven perceived Johanna as entirely incapable of raising a son to adulthood seems unlikely. Many historians believe the aging composer had an overwhelming urge to serve as father figure to a close relative. The celebrated Beethoven scholar Maynard Solomon suggests Beethoven was likely starved for posterity, and would spare no effort to achieve his goal.
Without doubt, Beethoven loved Karl, but in the role of legal guardian, he proved to be a rigid, strict disciplinarian. He enrolled Karl in the most exclusive schools, and demanded Karl that live the highest of moral standards. Beethoven must have been disappointed that Karl demonstrated no aptitude for the piano and was thoroughly disinterested in music. Karl’s life with Beethoven was reportedly a misery for the teenage boy. A pivotal event in their relationship occurred in July, 1826. The twenty-year-old Karl traveled to Baden bei Wien, a fashionable resort town on the outskirts of Vienna he and Beethoven frequently visited. Karl took a pistol, climbed to an abandoned hillside medieval castle, and attempted to shoot himself in the head.
Photograph of a middle aged Karl van Beethoven
Fortunately, Karl was either a bad aim, or his suicide attempt was half-hearted; the bullet only grazed his scalp. Beethoven was devastated by the suicide attempt. To add insult to injury, Karl insisted on being taken to his mother’s house after the shooting, and refused to see Beethoven during his recuperation. Karl and Beethoven had a chilly reconciliation. Subsequently, Karl enlisted in the army in 1827 against Beethoven’s wishes. Eyewitnesses to their final encounter claim Karl gave Beethoven a stiff, formal handshake and quickly walked away from Beethoven as his army unit departed Vienna. Karl would have been fully aware Beethoven was ill, and the two would likely never meet again, which was indeed the case. Beethoven died a few weeks after Karl’s departure. In spite of Karl’s turbulent upbringing, he apparently thrived once he was out of Beethoven’s reach. Eventually, he married and had four daughters and one son, whom he named Ludwig. He lived comfortably on his Uncle Ludwig’s inheritance for the remainder of his life. He lived long enough to have his photograph obtained. Throughout his life, Karl parted his hair far to one side to hide the scar from his suicide attempt.
A bright spot in Beethoven’s otherwise relatively dark final years was the acquisition of a Broadwood fortepiano in 1817. The piano was still a relatively new instrument during Beethoven’s life. There were numerous piano manufacturers in Vienna during Beethoven’s lifetime, all vying for Beethoven’s endorsement. Although these early Viennese pianos provided a light, quick action, Beethoven was rarely satisfied with the quality of these instruments. Beethoven is known to have broken hammers and strings on these fragile, inadequate pianos.
The London-based Broadwood firm had been producing superior pianos since the late 1700’s. During the summer of 1817, Thomas Broadwood met Beethoven in Vienna. After returning to London, Broadwood asked five accomplished pianists to select the finest instrument from his inventory. The piano then made an arduous, seven-month journey from London to Vienna as a gift to Beethoven. The instrument was considerably larger, more durable, had innovative new foot pedals, and had a wider dynamic and tonal range than any piano he had previously encountered. The Broadwood piano was undoubtedly the inspiration for his monumental piano works during this final phase, including the last five piano sonatas (particularly the well-known Hammerklavier Sonata) and the Diabelli Variations for piano.
Other important works from this final phase include the late string quartets, which occupied his efforts until shortly before his death. These quartets are considered the most avant-garde works he ever produced. The quartets went far beyond what musicians and audiences could absorb at the time. Contemporaries found the quartets bewildering, unapproachable, and abstract. They were not widely accepted until long after his death, when they became the source of great inspiration for future composers as diverse as Richard Wagner and Bela Bartok.
However, it is the final symphony of Beethoven’s career, the monumental 9th Symphony, otherwise known as the “Ode to Joy,” that was to be the epic swan song and crowning achievement of his long, illustrious career. The work has become one of the best-known works of the Western classical repertoire. So beloved is the theme from the Ode to Joy that it was adapted for use as the European Anthem in 1972.
A page from the original 9th Symphony manuscript
The Philharmonic Society of London commissioned the symphony in 1817. Beethoven would labor over the symphony until 1824. Beethoven wanted to incorporate the “Ode to Joy” into a major musical work as early as 1793, when he was only 23 years old. Segments of the 9th Symphony appear in Beethoven’s sketchbooks in 1811 and 1817.
The text from “Ode of Joy” or “An die Freude” was taken from a poem written by Friedrich Schiller in 1785. Schiller (1759-1805) was a beloved German poet, philosopher, historian and playwright. He was a close friend and colleague to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, arguably the greatest of all Germanic literary figures.
Friedrich Schiller (1759-1805)
Schiller’s “An die Freude” celebrates the brotherhood and unity of all mankind. The poem, written during the height of the French Revolution, captures the spirit of democracy and celebration of the common man that was sweeping Europe at this time.
The symphony is comprised of four movements. The first three movements are strictly instrumental, but Beethoven employed larger instrumental forces than in any of his prior symphonies. Four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra are employed for the final movement in which the actual “Ode of Joy” text and melody are presented.
The 9th Symphony premiered on May 7, 1824, in Vienna. Beethoven initially hoped to premiere the work in Berlin. He believed the musical atmosphere in Vienna had become too contaminated by a strong “Italian” influence with the recent rise in popular Italian operas, namely those of Gioachino Rossini. The 9th Symphony premiere was a significant event in Beethoven’s life, since he had not given an on-stage appearance in 12 years. Due to his reclusive nature, Beethoven had somewhat faded from the Viennese musical scene over the previous decade, largely due to his poor health, deafness, and preoccupation with his nephew’s custody.
The theater’s Kapellmeister, Michael Umlauf, directed the performance, though Beethoven insisted on sharing the stage with him. After witnessing Beethoven’s highly unsuccessful attempt to conduct his own opera Fidelio two years earlier, Umlauf was aware Beethoven’s attempt at co-conducting could very well end in disaster. To avoid a potential performance debacle, unbeknownst to Beethoven, Umlauf instructed the performers to ignore the entirely deaf Beethoven.
Beethoven conducting the 9th Symphony
There are a number of anecdotes regarding the premiere of the 9th Symphony. Some claim the piece was shabby and under-rehearsed. Violinist Josepf Böhm recalled:
“Beethoven directed the piece himself; that is, he stood before the lectern and gesticulated furiously. At times he rose, at other times he shrank to the ground, he moved as if he wanted to play all the instruments himself and sing for the whole chorus. All the musicians minded his rhythm alone while playing.”
Nevertheless, the piece was a tremendous triumph. At the conclusion of the piece, Beethoven was still beating his hands furiously in the air though the audience was already applauding. A nearby vocal soloist, Caroline Unger, approached Beethoven on the podium. Caroline, a notable pupil of Aloysia Weber (Mozart’s first love and elder sister of Mozart’s wife, Constanze Weber) had a respectable career as a singer in early 19th century Vienna. However, she will be best remembered throughout history for having turned Beethoven around to face an enraptured audience at his most celebrated final public appearance.
Another eyewitness describes the event:
“The whole audience acclaimed him through standing ovations five times; there were handkerchiefs in the air, hats, raised hands, so that Beethoven, who could not hear the applause, could at least see the ovation gestures.”
The applause lasted for nearly thirty minutes, and was particularly enthusiastic since many in attendance suspected the event might be Beethoven’s final appearance. The applause was so tumultuous and the crowd so enraptured that police agents had to curtail the pandemonium. Beethoven was deeply moved by the event, and considered it one of the most profound moments of his life.
Beethoven’s health declined steadily after the triumphant premiere of the 9th Symphony. He was bedridden for the final few months of his life. Beethoven died on an overcast, stormy morning on March 26, 1827. A close friend, Anselm Hüttenbrenner, and Beethoven’s sister-in-law provided a vivid account of the event. Beethoven’s last recorded words were “Pity, pity-too late!” There has been extensive debate as to the significance of this final statement, with many historians attaching profound meaning to the final utterance. However, documentation explaining the exclamation was uncovered relatively recently. Hüttenbrenner claimed someone drew the dying Beethoven’s attention to a crate of wine sent to Beethoven by his publishers, Breitkopf and Härtel. In uttering that final phrase, Beethoven was lamenting the fact he was too sick to imbibe. A popular account circulated claiming Beethoven shook his fist in the air during a loud thunderclap immediately before his death, but that has never been fully substantiated.
Beethoven’s death mask
At least two individuals are known to have snipped lockets of hair from Beethoven’s remains, including his infamous biographer, Anton Schindler. One locket of hair, now the property of the Center for Beethoven Studies at San Jose State University, has undergone rigorous, scientific analysis. This analysis has become the source of extensive media coverage, including recent books and documentaries. The attention focused on analytical techniques researchers employed to better ascertain Beethoven’s illnesses and cause of death.
Unlike Mozart’s sparsely attended pauper funeral thirty-six years earlier, Beethoven’s funeral was an enormous affair with estimates between 10,000 to 30,000 mourners lining the streets of Vienna during his funeral procession. Businesses and theaters were closed. A number of notable pallbearers participated in the event, including Beethoven’s well-known students, Carl Czerny and Johann Nepomuk Hummel. Franz Schubert, largely unknown to Beethoven since the former had been too timid to approach the living Beethoven, likewise served as a pallbearer. The young Schubert would follow Beethoven to his grave one year later in 1828.
In the days following his funeral, Beethoven mania reached a feverish pitch. One of Beethoven’s gravediggers claimed he was offered a substantial sum of money for Beethoven’s head, which prompted the placement of guards around his gravesite for several months following his death.
Beethoven will be forever remembered as one of the greatest composers of all time. Nearly all composers that followed him have expressed deep gratitude for his contributions. Indeed, following Beethoven’s death, many 19th century composers felt tremendously inadequate knowing their musical efforts would invariably draw comparison to the great master. Beethoven was the culmination of the Classical Era and did much to usher in the age of Romanticism in music. His creations were the embodiment of a new spirit of humanism and nationalism during a time of intense political upheaval and revolution. He was a master at portraying deep human emotion without the need for spoken text. His legacy will be remembered as one who overcame enormous obstacles to the benefit of countless generations of music lovers.
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Jeffrey Dee Olpin, M.D., is a native of Pleasant Grove, Utah. He began violin instruction at the age of six. Prior to his college studies, Jeff’s musical training consisted of personal instruction with David Dalton and Percy Kalt, both faculty members with the Department of Music at Brigham Young University. Jeff pursued a Bachelors Degree in Music Performance at Brigham Young University. Subsequently, he received a Masters Degree in Music Performance at the Yale School of Music. Although passionate about music, Jeff ultimately chose a career in medicine. He graduated from the Tulane University School of Medicine in New Orleans, Louisiana, followed by residency training in Diagnostic Radiology at Beth Israel Medical Center in New York City. He then pursued a fellowship in Abdominal Imaging at the University of California, San Francisco. Currently, Jeff is an Associate Professor of Diagnostic Radiology at the University of Utah Health Sciences Center. He resides in Bountiful, Utah, with his wife and two children.
Olivier Messiaen has a connection with Utah. In the early 1970’s, he was asked by Alice Tully to write a commission for the United States’ Bicentennial. In accepting, he decided to base his work, in part, on a place of exceptional beauty in the United States.
Alice Tully, Arts patron
Messiaen decided on Bryce Canyon, which he had seen pictures of in a coffee table book, and informed his agent who complained vociferously that this was too far away and expensive. Fine, the composer responded, the alternative would be Hawaii, even further distant. So Utah it was.
In April 1972, Messiaen and his wife spent 2 weeks in Bryce, Zion and Cedar Breaks driving around taking in the scenery, photographing and, of course, notating bird song.
After this trip, Messiaen composed a large work, Des Canyons aux étoiles…, which was premiered in New York City in 1974. In 2007 it was played by the Utah Symphony Orchestra. This piece was more than birds. It tried to grasp the immensity and awesome beauty of Southwest Utah.
Messiaen remarked “Whenever I hear music or read music, I see colors…the piece I composed about Bryce Canyon is red and orange…the color of the cliffs.”
Not long afterwards a young school teacher named Julie Whitaker from Parowan, Utah, wrote Messiaen wondering whether Utah might honor him with a named mountain. She had formed a group of Parowan locals called the “Parowan Cultural Society” which included the mayor. Messiaen wrote back, “ I would be very happy and very honored that the mayor and yourself have agreed to give my name to a bird walk or a mountain, even a mere pebble in Bryce Canyon, Zion Park, or in Cedar Breaks, or even just a street in Parowan.” The mayor donated land in Parowan Canyon on Highway 143 (the route to Brian Head) and an escarpment of white sandstone has, for thirty years, borne a plaque naming it for Messiaen.
View of Mount Messiaen (formerly Lion’s Head) in Parowan Canyon
It was Messiaen’s great hope to return to Utah. He even helped Ms. Whitaker design a festival of his music to be performed in honor of his 70th birthday at venues around the Salt Lake metropolitan area.
“When I told my publisher M. LeDuc in Paris about it, he was astounded too. He couldn’t imagine that there would be a mountain anywhere with my name; at first he laughed, but then he almost cried. And we plan to go back there soon. It’s a great excuse to see Utah again, and, in any case, it seems to me that I now have the obligation to present myself before those three cliffs. They’re there waiting for me.”
In the end, circumstances and time made this an impossibility.
The plaque designating Mount Messiaen by Lyman Whitaker who interrupted a construction job in Antarctica to design and cast it.
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