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BEETHOVEN.

BY RICHARD GRANT WHITE.

A GENIUS is expected by many, perhaps most of the world, to look and act very differently from the rest of mankind. Indeed, unless a man of great talent be remarkably large or small, or have such a physiognomy as was never before seen or heard of, or behave in such a manner as would make his company intolerable, unless he were that much talked of but rarely recognized thing-a genius-his hope of appreciation by the mass, in his own day and generation, would be, in most cases, vain. The eccentricities of genius, as they are called, are so looked upon as a necessary attendant, if not an essential part of it, as to be considered an unfailing index of its existence. So, but with more reason, miners tell the presence of rich iron beds by the discoloration and fetid odor of the water springing from the soil.

That some men of genius have been peculiar in person and eccentric in manner, there is no doubt; but there is as little doubt that their peculiarities and eccentricities have been greatly exaggerated by their Boswells, and again as little, that of men of genius, there have been comparatively few, very few, distinguished for eccentricity or personal peculiarity. Personal beauty of a high order is the only external characteristic which appears to belong to them as a class. The general belief on the subject seems naturally accounted for by the fact, that the peculiar habits of men of mark are as apt "monstrari digito" as their persons, and that which would be unheeded or frowned down in others, is sought out and tolerated, if not admired, in them. Most men paint for themselves an ideal head of the great creative minds with whose works they are familiar, and, doing so in conformity with the notions of which we have just spoken, most are disappointed on meeting with the portraits of those whom they have thus depicted to themselves.

There has probably never lived a more marked exception to these observationsone who, in his mode, life and personal appearance, more completely satisfied the general requirements as to men of genius-than Ludwig von Beethoven, the deaf composer of Bonn. Short in stature;

wild and melancholy in appearance; strange and careless in dress; painfully awkward in his movements; eccentric in all his habits of life; at times childishly simple, at others absurdly assuming in manner; distrustful of kindness, but intolerant of neglect; himself revering nothing, yet claiming all deference to himself; believing the enemies whom he despised, when they maligned the friends whom he respected; living in want and pleading penury when possessed of the means of comfort; affecting and seeming at times to despise rank and wealth, and yet eagerly seeking the notice of the one, and possession of the other; it seems only necessary that he should be a musician, and deaf, to fill up the measure of strangeness and inconsistency in his character. No one, who has understood and properly felt his music, can be for a moment dissatisfied with his portrait. The massy forehead and ponderous brow, the flood of wild, disheveled hair, the gloomy eye, gazing intensely into vacancy, and the strongly marked mouth, where determination and scorn, wit and melancholy, seem striving for the mastery, are fair exponents of the man and his works.

Schindler, his incompetent biographer, says of him, that he possessed too much genuine religious feeling to believe that Nature had created him to be a model for future ages, as many would have persuaded him; speaks of him as living in another world, though existing in this; compares him to a child, to whom every external influence gives a new impulse, and who turns a willing ear to flattery, because incapable of estimating the motive of the flatterer. "Beethoven," says he, "well knew and always respected the motto, Palmam qui meruit ferat. His upright, impartial mind led him to bestow the most unequivocal approbation on foreign talent. He always bore in mind that a Mozart had preceded him, and that another might follow him. He ever cherished high expectations of the future, for he fervently believed in the omnipotence of the Creator, and the inexhaustibility of Nature." And then breaking out into the superlative of eulogy, he says: "Oh! how great was Beethoven as a man!

Whoever learned to know him on that side, and was capable of comprehending and judging, not only of his mighty genius, but also of his noble heart, will not fail to place the moral man, if not above the great composer, at least on the same level with him."

A very strange appreciation of Beethoven's character this, even taking the very partial and prejudiced biography which Schindler himself has produced, as giving the true points of that character. Dazzled by the halo of glory with which he justly circles the head of the composer, his biographer is blind to the distorted features of the man, drawn by his own unconscious and unwilling hand.

In considering the compositions of any mighty master, if we meet that which is dissonant to our ears and incomprehensible to our minds, we may how in submission to the greatness of his genius, believing the fault in ourselves, and feeling that which is chaotic confusion to us, is clear and regular to him. For not all, even of the cultivated, have that natural organization which necessitates the susceptibility requisite to the perfect appreciation of the most elevated creations of art. And if it be true that, "in art the great is not for all," still more is it true that all are not for the great." For, though in the loftiest creations of the greatest minds, there is a simplicity which makes them felt, even if not comprehended, by the lowliest minds; and though this very simplicity is one strong proof of their greatness, still there are some of their productions which are only for the cultivated and refined-some oracles uttered in a tongue known only to the initiated, because only to the initiated are they addressed; and it may be, some uttered only for their fellow-prophets, and comprehensible only by them. This is eminently the case with the works of Beethoven. He is not always lucid, and though we should recollect that he is great, not by reason of, but rather in spite of, his occasional want of clearness, yet there is no composer, save perhaps Handel, who requires to be read and heard with such implicit faith, and such distrust of self. But though the works of a great author may be regarded in this all trustful light, his life cannot claim the same immunity; still less should his vices or his failings be considered as necessary adjuncts to his genius. The possession of genius adds to, not diminishes, the accountability of its possessor to God

and man, and the biographer who gilds the vices of his subject by the glory of his works, is guilty as false himself to the trust he has received, and as an encourager of those who follow him to make their talent an excuse to themselves for the sins whose guilt it really deepens.

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From these remarks it must by no means be gathered that Beethoven was a man of vicious life. Far from it. Indeed, had he been guilty of great crimes, urged on thereto by strong passions; had he been the wayward thing which genius sometimes is, his failings could have been passed by in that charity which beareth all things, believeth all things, and hopeth all things. But this was not the case. It is from the tone of his whole life and character, that we enter our objection to the eulogy of his biographer. No; Beethoven was mighty genius, but not a noble heart; he was a great composer, but not a great man; for his mind lacked integrity, and his heart charity. Self was the inspiration of the one, and the idol of the other. Shut out during the whole of his life from that rude contact with the world, which destroys the freshness, the purity, and the confidence of youth, but which it is one of the highest attributes of genius to preserve through life in unfading integrity, he seems to have been always distrustful of those around him, always selfish, always egotistical, and never to have had the least consideration for the feelings of others.

Beethoven was born at Bonn, in the year 1770, and passed his life in that city and in Vienna, where he composed all his great works, and where he died. His musical education he received from Haydn, Mozart, Albrechtsberger and Salieri. That is, he was the pupil of each one of these for some time, for he was too selfwilled to learn anything of anybody, and this trait of his character was evident, not only in music, but in all the affairs of life. He yielded nothing, either upon persuasion, reason or compulsion. His whole life as an artist and a man seems to have been the assertion of his own individuality, the enforcement of his own will and caprice. Wegeler, who knew Haydn, Albrechtsberger and Mozart, remarks that "each said Beethoven had always been so obstinate and self-willed, that his own hard experience often had to teach him those things, the study of which he would not hear of;" and Beethoven himself said-when Haydn, proud

of his ungrateful pupil, wished him to write on the titles of his early works, "pupil of Haydn," that although he received some instructions from Haydn, yet he had never learnt anything of him. This is easily to be believed, for two minds more incongruous could scarcely have been found, than the spiritual, pure, gentle, placid, and well-regulated Haydn, and the wild, ungovernable, turgid Beethoven. Their habits of life and of composition were as different as their mental organization, and were in perfect consonance with their characters. Haydn never wrote save when neatly dressed, and having on his hand a diamond ring given him by his princely patron, and always in one apartment, which was kept in order, and had a delightful exposure. His manuscript, too, was scrupulously neat, and very legible; and as his patron wished every day a new composition for the bariton from him, he always produced it. Beethoven, no matter what were his engagements, never composed, save when he pleased, and his pleasure in the matter was most fitful; his manuscript was with difficulty read, even by those most familiar with it, the notes being shapeless things, dashed into the lines in apparent fury and recklessness. Life was too short, he said, to paint notes; yet Haydn wrote much more than he did. His room, Seyfried thus describes :-" The most exquisite confusion reigned in his house; books and music were scattered in all directions; here the residue of a cold luncheon, there some full, some half-emptied bottles; on the desk the hasty sketch of a new quartette; in another corner the remains of breakfast; on the piano forte the scribbled hints for a noble Symphony, yet little more than in embryo; hard by a proof sheet, waiting to be returned; letters from friends, and on business, spread all over the floor; between the windows a goodly Stracchino cheese, and on one side of it ample vestiges of a genuine Verona salai; and, notwithstanding this confusion, he constantly eulogised, with Ciceronian eloquence, his own neatness and love of order! When, however, for whole hours, days, and often weeks, something mislaid was looked for, and all search had proved fruitless, then he changed his tone, and bitterly complained that everything was done to annoy him." If we add to this that he was constantly, and for the most trivial causes, or rather whims, changing his lodgings, we shall obtain some idea of the confusion in

which he lived, and which showed a mind diametrically opposed to that of Haydn. One cause of his remark that he never learnt anything of Haydn, and also of his continual sneers at him and his music, may be found in the following anecdote, which shows the suspicion which marked his character even in early life. His three trios, Op. 1., were to be brought forward at one of Prince Lichnowsky's soirées, to which all distinguished musicians and amateurs had been invited, Haydn, of course, among them, his judgment being anxiously and deferentially expected. The Trios created great sensation, and Haydn himself praised them to Beethoven, but advised him not to publish the third, in C Minor. He, thinking this the best, instead of supposing that he might be in fault, or that Haydn might have been startled by the novel style of the composition, immediately thought that Haydn wished to suppress it from envy and jealousy, and always after bore a grudge against him. Beethoven, however, was right in his judgment; it was the best Trio. He received but little instruction from Mozart, who, however, predicted his future greatness.

This suspicion, and want of confidence in those around, was continually causing unhappiness to all of the few whom he allowed to come in contact with him. On the slightest provocation, or without any, he would subject those to whom he was indebted for the greatest kindness, not only to the most unjust and degrading suspicions, but to the harshest and coarsest language, and afterward, when they could be of service to him again, make mean apologies, and eagerly avail himself of their good offices. That surest index and most admirable attribute of a delicate mind and benevolent heart, consideration for the feelings of others, seemed utterly unknown to him. And yet it was not so from a want of proper instinct in the matter, for none sooner than himself felt or resented a wound to his self-love. The instinct was, with many others of like nature, crushed beneath his idol, Self, the Juggernaut of his own happiness as well as of the comfort of those around him.

Once, on a failure of one of his concerts, he suspected his tried friend Schindler of having cheated him, and soon after, at a dinner which he gave to a few friends, he publicly and angrily accused him of the fraud. The two directors of his concert who were present, in vain showed to

FINANCE AND COMMERCE.

THE state of war which has come upon us so unexpectedly, is producing its natural and necessary effect upon commerce and operations in money. As yet, indeed, it is the apprehension and not the reality of evil that works the mischief, but evil itself cannot fail to follow.

The first direct effect of the law of Congress declaring that war existed between the United States and Mexico, was on the premiums of Marine Insurances, which for voyages to the Gulf of Mexico were immediately trebled-4 per cent. being charged, when only 14 was before paid. The next effect was in the rates of freights in American vessels, from New Orleans and other Gulf ports, as compared with those paid to foreign vessels, and especially to those under the English flag, from apprehension of capture by Mexican privateers. This distinction will be felt yet more disadvantageously on the return voyages of our fine packet ships from London, Liverpool and Havre, for even if they should arm themselves for defence against attack, the mere fact that an armament is deemed necessary, would at once determine shippers to prefer the neutral bottom.

Distant enterprises, moreover, are suspended or abandoned, and there is a fearful looking for of undefined evil, which shakes all confidence or adventure as to the future.

The blockade of the Mexican coast in both seas will not be without its unfavorable operation upon ourselves-for although our commerce with that country is not very large, it is still of sufficient amount to make its interruption sensibly felt. The total amount of our domestic exports to Mexico, for the year ending 30th of June, 1845, according to the Annual Report of the Commerce and Navigation of the United States, was $784,154-that of the foreign exports for the same period was $368,177, making an aggregate of one million and a half dollars of exports. The imports for the same period amounted to $1,702,936. So long as the war shall last, and the ports of Mexico remain closely blockaded, there will be an entire stop put to all that

portion of this trade which is carried on by water. That conducted over land by the way of Santa Fe will cease as a trade-though if, as seems possible, an invading American army shall penetrate the Mexican republic in that direction, the supplies needed for it, and the merchandise which may follow in its track, will be considerable in value and quantity.

The Mexican people are so little a commercial people, and their varied climate and prolific soil furnish so abundantly all the means of life, that less than almost any other people will they suffer from the effects of a blockade. Other nations, and particularly the English, will feel its restrictions and embarrassments more than Mexico herself. England has large interests in that country-in mines as well as in commercial establishments-and the cutting off the returns from these, and the interest on the loans made to the Mexican government, which are for the most part transmitted in coin, will produce a good deal of individual embarrassment in England. The right of blockade, however, is so well established and defined, as one of the ordinary and accredited means of war, and has, moreover, been so freely and inexorably resorted to in times past by the British government, that it cannot take exception to the severest lawful application of the practice on our part. Possibly the loss and inconvenience thus produced may furnish an additional motive for England to adjust her territorial controversy with us, and thus be in a position to interpose more effectually and authoritatively to bring about a peace between Mexico and this country.

The public stocks of the United States, although they have fallen from the high prices they bore some months ago, still range considerably above par. But if it shall become evident that large expenditures are contemplated, without any corresponding increase of means-in other words, if it shall appear, by the course of the administration, that reliance for the moneys to carry on the war, over and above the amount produced by the ordinary revenue, is to be upon loans and the

fection. How awfully descriptive is the instrumental music while Florestano lies in exhausting slumber in the dungeon. We hear, but do not listen, to the groaning of the basses, the wailing of the violins, and moaning of the horns, for Beethoven has made the instruments not suggestive of themselves, but a part of the scene which lies before us. And when the heart is depressed even to gloom and despondency, by the sadness which enters at eye and ear, the emaciated prisoner wakes. At first, his notes are feeble and unconnected, but excited by the madness of his own imaginings, he pours out his terror and his love in such frenzied tones, that the heart beats fitfully, and breathing is a care, till he drops exhausted on his stony couch. And when the tyrant is baffled, and husband and wife stand once more united amid the happy and wondering crowd, how fiercely joyous is the final chorus. The exulting theme bursts now from one, now from another; the instruments are not mere accompainments, nor adjuncts, but each seems to have a voice, and to pour its enlivening and boisterous joy as if involuntarily. The crowd still the expression of their own happiness to hear that of the reunited husband and wife, whose glad tones now rise above the rest, so full of that calm, gushingforth of tenderness from the heart, which comes only from those who are supremely happy, that we think they are about to die away into eloquent stillness; but they are again caught up by, and mingled with, a new burst from chorus and orchestra, which is the last and fullest expression of exulting joy.

The Mount of Olives is matchless as an expression of majestic wo, but has not the chaste gravity which the oratorio demands. The last chorus, "Hallelujah to the Father," is a noble piece of choral writing, and the gem of the composition, but challenges a depreciating comparison with the Hallelujah Chorus

of the Messiah.

But it is in his symphonies that most become acquainted with Beethoven's music. His chamber music is heard but among the professors and the very small class of amateurs before alluded to, and his masses nowhere on this side of the Atlantic, and at rare times and places in Europe. Indeed he wrote but two, one in C and one in D; though the score of another in C Minor, claiming to be his, has been published, but on doubtful authority.

The first of these is sublime, and the second may be, but it is almost unsingable and altogether incomprehensible. His symphonies which are the most general, are also the best means of becoming acquainted with his style, for these are the channels of his greatest thoughts, which here, preserving the purity and sweetness of their first spring, and swelled by knowledge, experience and self-reliance, flow on in unequaled depth and majesty. In the fullness of his power just at the time when the orchestra had reached its richest combination of instruments, he found in it a weapon fit for his gigantic grasp, a voice capable of expressing his big emotions. He writes a Pastoral Symphony, a subject which pale, interesting young gentlemen and sentimental young ladies connect with a one-keyed flute, and walks into the fields to write upon scraps of paper, ideas which he will utter through the voices of an army of instruments. And how beautifully does he cause them to tell their tale, making all from flute to double bass "babble of green fields." How sunny and refreshing are the melodies, how inspiriting the modulations; a blind man could hardly desire a better summer. He brings before us a bright summer day: and the rustling winds, and clear, deep shadows of the woods induce calm reverie and dreamy delight. He takes us to the side of a rivulet, and a gentle murmuring melody runs through the orchestra, till the ear is almost sated with its dreamy tones in linked sweetness long drawn out." The water ripples past waving grass and yellow corn, the "bee hums by, the breeze whispers in our ear, and the nightingale, the cuckoo and the quail call from the rustling trees. He shows us the peasants dancing on the green; we can see their vigorous steps and hear the clatter of their wooden shoes; the festivity becomes boisterous, the music, so thoroughly rustic and exciting in its character, accelerates in time till it seems as if both weary musicians and panting dancers must give out, when all are driven to shelter by the terrific thunder-storm. The distant muttering of the thunder and moaning of the wind, the heavy flash of the first huge drops of rain, the sudden burst of the hurricane, the vivid lightning flash, the bellowing thunder, and the sheets of water which sweep across the fields, are brought be fore the mind's eye in all their terrific reality. The storm passes off, the thun

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