Master of sound and fury
Known for his emotional sonatas and symphonies – and his terrible rages – Beethoven kept producing awe-inspiring works even after he lost his hearing
We join Beethoven, 29, living in Vienna. He is already a successful composer of piano concertos and violin sonatas, with rich patrons funding his career.
11 MARCH 1800 Yesterday I took part in a musical duel. It was organised by Prince Lobkowitz, a great musical patron in Vienna. He thought it would be fun if I challenged his protégé Daniel Steibelt, the pianist, to an improvisation contest. So much fuss has been made of Steibelt’s prowess, I couldn’t refuse.
Prince Lichnowsky, who has supported me greatly, pointed out he had just bestowed upon me a large annuity and wanted his money’s worth by seeing me defeat Lobkowitz’s man.
Steibelt went first and all the ladies thought him superb. I did not. It was showy, empty nonsense. The rules in these duels are that you listen to your opponent’s effort, then improve upon it. Within 20 bars of my own effort, which deliciously mocked his fingerwork, he stormed out, vowing never to return to Vienna. I have slain my opponent. The best man won.
3 APRIL 1800 I premiered my First Symphony, a work in C major, yesterday, in a programme that included some Haydn and a Mozart symphony. Towards the end, I did some piano improvisation: the audience expects it. The symphony went down excellently and the takings on the door were very healthy, though I heard mutterings of my work being too heavy on the wind instruments. Really!
29 JUNE 1801 Walking along the Danube, I saw a blackbird open its mouth, but I couldn’t hear its song. Dear God, I fear that my hearing, which has been weakening for some time in my left ear, may be becoming critical. I hear buzzing and humming where there should be silence, and silence where there should be song. I’ve tried almond oil and tepid baths, but nothing helps.
21 JULY 1801 I was up, as usual, at 5am to work hard on my piano sonata [christened the ‘Moonlight Sonata’ five years after his death]. I’m striving to capture, especially in the slow opening passage, the heart and its sense of yearning, such as that – dare I say – I feel for Countess Giulietta Guicciardi. She’s my pupil, aged 19 and a rare beauty. I stand little chance; she is a countess, I’m a music teacher’s son. Though surely we live in modern times? I hope I live to see the day when such distinctions are meaningless.
24 MAY 1802 I’ve come to Heiligenstadt, a peaceful village north of Vienna, on the advice of Dr Johann Schmidt, who says I need to escape the city and avoid all work to improve my hearing. This is intolerable. Without my work, my life is hollow. But my soul is soothed by the orchards here, which are in full blossom.
17 JUNE 1802 Heiligenstadt is a balm. No one knows me. I can avoid all society without appearing rude. In Vienna I rarely venture out for fear I’ll bump into someone and not be able to comprehend what they say. In another profession I might cope with this infirmity, but it’s a terrible handicap! If my enemies knew of my deafness, what terrible mischief they’d make.
14 JULY 1802 I can’t help it. I’m working every day in Heiligenstadt. I have finished a violin sonata, two piano sonatas and my Second Symphony – a piece with verve. My breakfast, lunch and dinner is music. Maybe this country sojourn is making me stronger. To create true art out of music, to reveal the mysteries of creation – is that not God’s purpose?
3 OCTOBER 1802 To what depths I have sunk. I am deaf. I am deaf. I can no longer escape it. Withered on the vine, my hearing, the most treasured of my senses, has gone. How can I partake of company when, if we were to walk together and they hear a shepherd singing, I would hear nothing? Nothing.
I’ve come so close to ending my life. It’s only my art that holds me back. I have within me more art, and it is my duty to usher that into the world. I shall return to Vienna and, by the grace of God, produce more.
JUNE 1804 News reaches that Napoleon Bonaparte has declared himself Emperor of France and wishes to be crowned by the pope. Perfidy! I had hoped Bonaparte would usher in liberty across Europe. But he is the basest of men. He, too, will tread underfoot all the rights of Man, indulge only his ambition, and become a tyrant! I had dedicated my Third Symphony, so nearly finished, to him. No more! I have torn his name off the title page. I will call it Eroica [Heroic] instead.
DECEMBER 1804 Eroica has been heard in public for the first time, at Prince Lobkowitz’s palace – in his drawing room. I worry these stately homes aren’t the best places to hear my music; we need to find a building that can house a modern, large orchestra.
My beloved former pupil, the incomparable Josephine Brunsvik, was there. She’s widowed, after Count Deym died earlier this year. Oh, to ask her to consider me to be her new husband! But she dare not risk losing her status, title and guardianship of her children for a humble composer. Why do I fall for women I cannot have?
She loved the funeral march in the second movement. She said it is a worthy memorial to Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. It is a lament for liberty.
4 DECEMBER 1805 Napoleon has defeated Austria at Austerlitz. What a
calamity! Vienna will soon be awash with French troops; the price of everything is rising alarmingly. Prince Lichnowsky says I should escape with him to his estate in Silesia. He is a rare thing in his social class – he does not see me as a composer who serves his court, but as an equal. He’s one of my most faithful friends and loyal patrons.
16 SEPTEMBER 1806 Lichnowsky is an intolerable fool. He insists on toadying to the French and has invited Napoleon’s officers to his estate. What a scene was caused last week by his insistence on treating these men like conquering heroes. He asked me to perform for them in his ballroom. When I refused, he tried to pull rank. ‘Do not forget who is the prince and who is the teacher’s son from Bonn,’ he said. In a rage I picked up a dining chair to smash over his head. The intervention of Count Oppersdorff prevented me from spilling Lichnowsky blood. I stormed out and returned to Vienna. On entering my apartment I found the bust of the lumpen Lichnowsky, which he had given me and was atop my dresser. I took great pleasure in smashing it to the ground. Two days later and I have not calmed down. I can’t believe I dedicated my Second Symphony to him. He forgets – there are hundreds of princes in Europe but only one Beethoven.
23 DECEMBER 1808 What can I say about last night? I spent months organising my benefit concert, determined to improve my finances since the battle of Austerlitz caused prices to soar. I’ve been so busy trying to pack out the Theater an der Wien in Vienna, which can fit nearly 2,000, to make a good return, but I couldn’t afford to heat it – which was foolish as it was devilishly cold. The concert started at half past six. By the time it finished at half past ten, some had left to find warmth.
No matter. I premiered my Fifth and Sixth Symphonies and my fourth piano concerto – I was the soloist, even though it is a supreme effort to hear the orchestra. I fear my performing days are over. I offered up The Gloria from my Mass In C and finished the night with another new work: Fantasy For Piano, Orchestra And Chorus.
The orchestra struggled – they had refused to rehearse with me. I fail to understand why players object to my criticism. It’s always helpful. The Fantasy finished with a poem celebrating the power of music to bring peace and joy. Is that not what I do every day? I was pleased with how my Fifth Symphony went down. Those opening notes, the hammer blows, I could feel in my bones even if I couldn’t hear them. Are those notes fate knocking on the door? I don’t know; I know I want my art to help people glimpse the infinite.
5 JULY 1812 I’m in Teplitz, in Bohemia, taking the waters to improve my health. I was thinking of travelling to Karlsbad for a few precious hours with Antonie Brentano, the arts patron who lights every Viennese salon. She’s in Karlsbad for the summer. But that’s foolish: she’s married to a merchant. Another woman whose heart I cannot capture. All of Prague and Vienna have come to Teplitz for the summer. The Hapsburg royal family, to whom you have to bow and scrape, are around every corner. What rot! But I did meet the poet Johann Goethe, a god among men. If my music can match his poetry, I’ve achieved all I desire. 6 JULY 1812 I couldn’t sleep last night. I only think of my beloved Antonie – her precious love has made me the happiest, and the unhappiest, man. Could we ever be together? I fear not.
JANUARY 1813 I’ve asked Johann Maelzel, ingenious inventor of mechanical devices like the metronome, to make me some ear trumpets – I hope they help me, but I fear it’s too late. Between 1813 and 1822 Beethoven continued to write, but his output slowed considerably.
FEBRUARY 1822 The pain in my chest has incapacitated me for weeks and I struggle to write. Wine dulls it a little.
APRIL 1822 I’m working on my Ninth Symphony. I want to use voices, and I’ve found the perfect words for them to sing: poet Friedrich Schiller’s Ode
To Joy. A suitably German work. Vienna is obsessed with Italian composers such as Rossini, all trills, ruffs and silliness. I desire to celebrate mankind. And using poetry with an orchestra is the new art form we need. Not music, not words, but both together!
10 NOVEMBER 1822 Anton Schindler, my secretary, is making a fuss about my rooms, saying, ‘No normal man can work amid dirty plates, discarded clothes and wine bottles’. I am no normal man. Without wine I cannot write.
FEBRUARY 1824 I was determined that my Ninth Symphony should premiere in Berlin: a German city for a German masterpiece. But friends have petitioned me to stage it in Vienna, so the Theater am Kärntnertor will have it. And I shall conduct, even though it is 12 years since I’ve been on a stage.
8 MAY 1824 I may not hear, but I can feel sounds. Last night I felt the great eruption as the chorus sang Ode To
Joy. Remarkable. At the end, the contralto Caroline Unger, who performed perfectly, turned me around to see the applause. I hadn’t realised an audience could love it so. Handkerchiefs, hats, all sorts were thrown into the air, and we had five standing ovations.
18 DECEMBER 1826 I’m in great pain and the doctors must cut open my abdomen to reduce swelling.
27 FEBRUARY 1827 Pain is intolerable and the doctors treat me like a carcass on a butcher’s chopping block.
2 MARCH 1827 I’ve started work on a Tenth Symphony, but I fear I may not be able to finish it. He died soon after, but the exact cause of death is unknown.