by Suchet, John
And who was youngest, and therefore most junior, of all? None other than Ludwig van Beethoven, who along with the slightly older cellist Bernhard Romberg, was appointed kitchen scullion. To me, the thought of the twenty-year-old Beethoven being given the lowliest of kitchen duties is one of the most enchanting images from his Bonn years.
None other than Ludwig van Beethoven was appointed kitchen scullion
The boat, with ‘mast and sail, flat deck with railing, comfortable cabins with windows and furniture, generally in the style of a Dutch yacht’,3 made slow progress against the current, but it would not have been long before it approached another massive rock, even richer in legend than the Drachenfels, which towers several hundred feet above the river: the Loreley.
It is true that the legend of the maiden who inhabits the rock and lures sailors to their death with the sweetness of her song achieved global fame following the publication of a poem a decade or so after the Bonn musicians’ boat trip, and its musical setting some years after that. But legends have swirled around the Loreley since medieval times, occasioned by the fact that at this point the Rhine bends and narrows alarmingly.4
The current flows fast, and lethal rocks – the Sieben Jungfrauen (Seven Virgins) – lie just below the surface, creating dangerous whirlpools. Many a vessel has come to grief here.5 As with the Drachenfels story there are several versions of the legend, but the best-known one certain to have been familiar to the Bonn musicians recounts how the lovely maiden Loreley was engaged to be married to a sailor, but he deserted her. In her grief she threw herself from the top of the rock into the swirling waters below, and in revenge lures sailors with her beautiful singing, which turns to mocking laughter as their vessel breaks up on the rocks and they disappear into the depths.6
As with the Drachenfels, it is certain the Bonn musicians would have gathered on deck as their yacht passed the massive rock. It is said that if conditions are right, a sevenfold echo can be heard on the southern slope of the rock. I imagine King Lux commanding silence so the musicians could listen out for it. Was it sweet singing, or scornful laughter?
In Beethoven’s day, the stretch of river to the south of the Loreley became even more treacherous, narrowing to little more than a gorge, with vicious cross-currents and lethal underwater rocks. Approaching Bingen, where the Rhine takes a sharp turn east, it reached its narrowest point and was unnavigable.7
For this reason the yacht docked on the east side of the river and the musicians had to leave it, climb up to the thickly wooded hill above the bend in the river, and join it again where it widens on the stretch towards Mainz. On the heights above the small town of Rüdesheim King Lux summoned his court, and there conferred promotions on those who had earned them.8
Step forward kitchen scullion Ludwig van Beethoven who, in recognition of his devotion to duty, was promoted to less menial tasks.9 He must have performed extremely well, because King Lux presented him with a diploma confirming his promotion. Several threads cut from the yacht’s rigging were attached to the document, and at the other end was a huge seal of pitch attached to the lid of a small box. The document folded neatly into the box. Beethoven treasured this, and kept it with him for many years after he moved to Vienna.
At Mainz, where the Rhine turns south, the musicians boarded another boat to take them east along the Main. An easy day’s sailing – the Main was less turbulent and fast flowing than the Rhine – took them to Aschaffenburg, where the Elector of Mainz had his summer palace. Since their own Elector had put them under no pressure to reach Mergentheim, it was decided to make a stop in Aschaffenburg, and introduce Beethoven to one of Germany’s most renowned and respected piano virtuosos, the Abbé Sterkel, who resided at the palace.
Two senior members of the orchestra took Beethoven, along with former kitchen scullion colleague Romberg, to meet the great musician, and the ensuing encounter has entered legend. The palace was an imposing four-sided structure encompassing a courtyard, standing on the banks of the Main, and it is likely that the Bonners – albeit familiar with palaces – were impressed.10 It is also probable that Sterkel played on his great reputation, no doubt dropping into the conversation how pleasant it was to be resident at the palace itself, as befits a renowned musician.
After some polite conversation during which the visitors would surely have flattered Sterkel, they urged him to demonstrate his powers at the keyboard, and the Abbé it appears took little persuading. We do not know what he played, but we do know that Beethoven approached the piano and stood transfixed. He quite simply had never heard playing like it. Relating the story later, one of those present said that brilliant young virtuoso though Beethoven was, his playing was ‘rude and hard’, whereas Sterkel had a ‘refined and cultivated’ style, and his playing was ‘in the highest degree light, graceful and pleasing’.
As the sole pianist in Bonn with virtuosic talent, it was the first time Beethoven had heard another pianist who even came close to his skills, and Sterkel’s technique introduced him to a new world of grace and delicacy. He was seriously impressed, more than he had ever been before.
Sterkel finished his display to universal praise, and all eyes turned towards Beethoven – including those of Sterkel. They urged him to demonstrate his skills, but Beethoven demurred, muttering he would rather not under the circumstances. Sterkel seized the moment.
‘Maybe the young gentleman from Bonn does not quite measure up to the reputation he seems to have established?’
It was, as Sterkel might well have reasoned it would be, a red rag to a bull. Seeing Beethoven’s discomfort, he pressed harder. ‘We have seen your latest publication, and I confess to being impressed with the complexity of the writing and the skills you require in the performer. In fact, dare I suggest, you demand more skills in the performer than maybe you yourself possess? I have an idea. Why do you not play the piece now, and put our suspicions to rest?’
Earlier in that same year Beethoven had composed a substantial piece, a set of no fewer than twenty-four variations on a theme by one Vincenzo Righini, a colleague of Sterkel in the service of the Elector of Mainz. For that reason the published work – Beethoven’s first for seven years – had quickly found its way to Aschaffenburg.
Beethoven, clearly stung, his honour impugned and his ire aroused, said he would play. ‘Give me the score.’ Sterkel rifled through the sheet music on the piano, inside the stool, on nearby surfaces, but failed to find it. Undeterred, Beethoven began to play.
He played variation after variation, including some of the most technically demanding, from memory. Then, in the midst of playing, announcing he could not recall the remaining variations, he instantly improvised entirely new ones, of a complexity equal to the most difficult of those he had already played. To round things off, he imitated Sterkel’s style of playing, exaggerating its lightness and refinement, making it appear ‘almost ladylike’, no doubt drawing discreet chuckles from those present.
We are not told of Sterkel’s reaction, but this would not be the last time that Beethoven, his skills at the keyboard thrown into doubt, would embarrass his accuser with an unparalleled display of virtuosity.
As well as an illuminating tale regarding how easily Beethoven could be goaded into performing when his skills were impugned, this encounter in Aschaffenburg is important for another reason too. It provides evidence that, through publication, knowledge of his compositional skills had spread well beyond his home town of Bonn. Now his virtuosity was certain to achieve a similar fame.
On arrival in Bad Mergentheim, the musicians from Bonn turned their minds to musical duties. On the orders of the Elector they were given quarters in the complex of buildings that housed the Teutonic Order, and no doubt appreciated the comfort and convenience this afforded. They had a busy schedule. There were performances in theatres, ornate halls and churches, on every day of the week. There were balls, concerts, operettas and plays. Added to this were lavish receptions and banquets, with musicians on hand to entertain gues
ts. The Teutonic Knights – Count Waldstein attended for a period – were dressed in medieval finery of white cloaks.
On the Elector’s name day he presented his Bonn musicians with a bag containing one thousand ducats. Beethoven’s share amounted to around forty guilders.
We would know little more about the stay in Mergentheim, were it not for the diligence of a well-known composer and music-writer of the time by the name of Karl Ludwig Junker. He visited Mergentheim and was warmly received by the Bonners. It says something of his perspicacity as music critic that he regarded the orchestra to be sufficiently accomplished to merit a lengthy report, which he published in a musical journal.
He praises the orchestra’s ‘surpassing excellence’ in music of the utmost difficulty. He writes that the musicians were resplendent in red uniforms trimmed with gold. Beethoven played in the viola section, and it is a beguiling thought to imagine the young musician, so notoriously careless about his appearance in later years, sitting in resplendent uniform with his fellow players.
So far, so interesting, but little more than that. Indeed the name of Karl Ludwig Junker would be well and truly consigned to oblivion were it not for the paragraph that he wrote next. For reasons we do not know, he watched Beethoven improvise on the piano in a private room with no audience. More than that, Beethoven asked him for a theme, so that he could improvise on it. This is something Beethoven was consistently asked to do throughout his life, and (as I have noted earlier) he nearly always refused. On this occasion he obliged. Not only that, but he made an impression on Junker that led to a description possibly unique in all the thousands of words written by men and women who knew him. It is so extraordinary, it is worth quoting at length.
I heard also one of the greatest of pianists – the dear, good Bethofen [sic] ... True he did not perform in public, probably the instrument here was not to his liking ... But what was infinitely preferable to me was that I heard him extemporise in private. Yes, I was even invited to propose a theme for him to vary ... The greatness of this amiable, light-hearted man, as a virtuoso, may in my opinion be safely estimated from his almost inexhaustible wealth of ideas, the altogether characteristic style of expression in his playing, and the great execution which he displays. I know, therefore, of not one thing that he lacks that is necessary to the greatness of the artist ... Bethofen, in addition to his execution, has greater clarity and weight of ideas than Vogler,11 and more expression – in short his playing goes straight to the heart. Even the members of this remarkable orchestra are, without exception, his admirers, and are all ears when he plays. Yet he is exceedingly modest and free from all pretension. Had I agreed, as my friend Bethofen implored me, to stay another day in Mergentheim, I have no doubt he would have played to me for hours, and the day ... would have been transformed into a day of the highest bliss.
This is on several levels a quite remarkable commentary. For a start here is a professional music-writer in his forties openly stating that Beethoven is a better keyboard player than the best he knows. Even if we might have expected that, it comes as a genuine shock – given what we know of Beethoven’s notoriously unpredictable temperament – to learn that he is so popular with his musical colleagues. There is not one, according to Junker, who does not admire him and listen attentively when he plays. We have to deduce from this they liked him too. It comes shining through Junker’s prose. Finally, what do we make of the words ‘he is exceedingly modest and free from all pretension’? Well, the earliest and most authoritative of all Beethoven biographies, written by a man who interviewed many people who had known Beethoven, describes these words as ‘utterly inexplicable’!12
Certainly Junker was caught up in the moment.13 But if Beethoven actually tried to persuade him to stay so he could play some more for him, the two men – a generation apart in age – must have got on exceedingly well. We cannot simply dismiss Junker’s words as those of a sycophant. He observed the Bonn orchestra performing, witnessed their relationships, and was given a private recital by Beethoven.
My reading of this is that Beethoven, twenty years of age, was away from Bonn, away from the tensions of family, away from the confines of court, away from anyone – and any circumstance – that was not musical. He was in the company of musicians, making music. Nothing else. I do not find it in the least surprising that here, in Mergentheim, for the first time in his life we see Beethoven, the innate musician.14
One can almost feel his sense of despair when the time came to return to Bonn in late October 1791.
AT ONE O’CLOCK in the morning on 5 December 1791, an event occurred that went largely unnoticed in Vienna, that caused much sadness in musical circles in Bonn, that would have caused Beethoven considerable grief, and that is still being mourned today. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart died at the age of thirty-five. It is not an exaggeration to say that Beethoven, who turned twenty-one less than two weeks later, was soon being talked of as Mozart’s natural successor. As performer his virtuosity was unquestioned and unparalleled.15 As composer he now had a substantial number of works, in a variety of genres, to his name.
One man recognised that more than any other. He was in London when the sad news reached him, but he kept his promise to pass through Bonn on his return to Vienna. In July 1792 Beethoven once again met Joseph Haydn, now Europe’s unquestioned pre-eminent musician. Haydn was now sixty years of age, and a good enough musician to recognise that he belonged to an older generation and that new blood was needed. More than that, he was prepared to do something about it.
A breakfast meeting was arranged between Haydn and members of the court orchestra at Bad Godesburg, close to Bonn. Beethoven was present, and no doubt remembering Haydn’s suggestion at their last meeting, had the manuscript of his Cantata on the Death of Emperor Joseph II with him. Haydn asked to see it. He studied several pages, finally confessing himself very impressed. He urged Beethoven to continue his studies.
The meeting is recounted by Wegeler, who frustratingly gives us no further detail. However, by the time Haydn left Bonn shortly after, there was a clear commitment that if Beethoven could find his way to Vienna, he, Haydn, would give him lessons. We do not know how this was viewed by the people around Beethoven, Count Waldstein, or Christian Neefe, or most importantly the Elector, who would not only have to give Beethoven permission to take leave of absence, but also subsidise the trip. It was summer, certainly, and court duties were light, but come autumn the new opera and theatre season would have to be prepared and then got under way. There was not much Beethoven could do in the few weeks before then. But if it was to be a longer stay, how likely was it that the Elector would grant leave of absence to a young man who had by now made himself such an indispensable member of musical life at court?
Not for the first time, extraneous events worked in Beethoven’s favour, though he must have been the only resident of Bonn for whom this was true. In October 1792 the French Revolutionary Army invaded German territory and marched towards the Rhine. On the 22nd they took Mainz and headed north. The towns and cities of the lower Rhine were at their mercy. Those who could fled. It was decided that the Elector and his family should leave Bonn.
In the chaos of evacuation, the question of whether or not Beethoven should be allowed to go to Vienna paled somewhat. We do not know exactly what happened, but almost certainly Count Waldstein seized the moment to secure the Elector’s agreement for Beethoven to go to Vienna, possibly for six months, maybe for a year.
Beethoven did not need telling twice. He immediately began making preparations. We do not know how he told his father, or what his father’s reaction was. Probably he presented it as a fait accompli, in the knowledge that his two brothers, now in their mid- and late teens, would take over responsibility.
Before leaving, Beethoven made the rather charming decision – or maybe it was made for him – to fill an autograph book with messages from close friends. This book has survived, and is rather more surprising for what it does not contain than for what it does.
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Only fourteen friends have signed it, none of them musical colleagues, many with names that do not feature in any of the literature. Christian Neefe did not sign it. It seems to give the lie to Junker’s assessment of Beethoven’s popularity among his fellow musicians. On the other hand, it is always possible that he had another book for musicians, or that shyness prevented him from approaching everyone he would have liked to.
One notable omission is Stephan von Breuning, one of Helene von Breuning’s sons to whom he had given piano lessons. With Stephan the young Beethoven had formed an even closer friendship than with Wegeler. The two youths – Beethoven was the elder by nearly four years – spent a lot of time together. Stephan appears to feature less in this period than Wegeler, by virtue of the fact that he did not write his reminiscences down. But the friendship with Stephan von Breuning was to be the closest, and longest lasting, of Beethoven’s life. It was to last, literally, until Beethoven’s death. Stephan was to follow Beethoven to Vienna, and his name will feature many more times in these pages. Why, then, is he absent from the autograph book? We do not know. It might be simply that he was away at the time, because Beethoven would be gone within days.
‘There never was a time when Beethoven was not in love, and that in the highest degree’
Stephan’s sister Eleonore most certainly does feature in the autograph book, and thereby, I am convinced, hangs a tale. We are in the realms of conjecture now, but I make no apologies for what follows. It is a subject that has not been accorded much space by previous biographers, but I believe that to ignore it leaves us with an incomplete picture of an adolescent Beethoven.
Where are the young women in this narrative? Conspicuous by their absence. Girls do not feature greatly in Beethoven’s pubescent years, but it was not, apparently, for want of trying. According to Wegeler, ‘There never was a time when Beethoven was not in love, and that in the highest degree.’ In this period, in his adolescence, as well as in his entire adult life, he would fall in love with females who were simply not available. It is a consistent pattern, to such an extent that you have to wonder if it was a deliberate course of action on his part, as if he was somehow fearful of the commitment it could lead to. But in the early years, this was clearly not the case. He was certainly more than anxious to have an amorous relationship.