Three Weeks in Vienna: A Singer's Account of the Premiere of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony
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When Ludwig van Beethoven chose singers for the first performance of his last symphony he did so for reasons other than their voices; he could not hear them. Karoline Unger, the alto soloist, is an ardent admirer of the great composer, despite his ferocious temper and lack of social graces. She begs for the opportunity to be part of the premiere. Relying on her reputation as a singer and being fond of the company of an attractive young woman, he consents. The logistics of the performance are nearly impossible. Beethoven wants an extraordinarily large number of musicians on stage. Sections from a recently written Mass are also on the program, which causes problems with the Catholic Church. Beethoven wants to direct the concert but, being unable to hear the music, it is impossible for the orchestra and chorus to follow him. The music itself is extremely difficult; the musicians all complain and some even abandon the effort. Beethoven himself has not performed for the Viennese in a dozen years and has serious doubts about their reaction to his music. Is he still their beloved adopted son?
Through all of these trials and tribulations, Karoline stuggles to remain loyal to Beethoven and the lofty ideals he intended to illustrate with his final symphony. Her abilities as a musician come into question and attempts at sabotage are made against her. This is a story of loves triumph over adversity. It is Karolines story.Related to Three Weeks in Vienna
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Three Weeks in Vienna - Susan L. Haugland
Copyright © 2000 by Susan L. Haugland.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was printed in the United States of America.
To order additional copies of this book, contact:
Xlibris Corporation
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1846
Contents
Acknowledgements
Preface
Chapter 1
Impressions
Chapter 2
Decisions
Chapter 3
Competition
Chapter 4
The Tyrant
Chapter 5
Resignation
Chapter 6
The Replacement
Chapter 7
Schonnbrunn
Chapter 8
Censorship
Chapter 9
Resolution
Chapter 10
Divine Intervention
Chapter 11
Deception
Chapter 12
Triumph
This book is dedicated
to my darling husband, James,
and my three beautiful daughters,
Kate, Laura, and Solveig,
who endure my obsession with patience, grace, and humor.
Acknowledgements
My thanks to my editor and friend, Mary Ellen Shanley, and to all of my colleagues, students, family, and friends for all their encouragement. Thanks also to my online support group from the America Online Classical Music Chat room, and fellow Beethoven junkie Don Sloan, in particular. Finally, thank you to Allen Reford for dragging me out of my Vienna hotel room and showing me the door.
Preface
Sometime during his late twenties Ludwig van Beethoven began to notice a decline in his ability to hear. Advice and treatment from physicians brought no relief and by the time he was thirty-five, he was completely deaf. One can only imagine being the creator of some of the world’s most beautiful and revolutionary music and lacking the sense needed to enjoy it.
Understandably, Beethoven had a miserable temperament. His many friends and admirers remained steadfastly so, in spite of his outbursts and lack of social graces. It goes without saying that there was much more to the man than his rough, unkempt, and often rude exterior would suggest. This was a highly revered member of Viennese society. A testament to their devotion, his funeral was attended by twenty thousand people—one out of every ten people residing in Vienna in 1827.
Among his many admirers were two young women who begged to be part of the premiere of Beethoven’s Ninth and final symphony. Always fond of beautiful women and flattered by their attention, Beethoven consented. He, of course, had to rely on their reputations as musicians, since he was unable to judge for himself their abilities as singers.
The author has made every effort to include as much fact as possible in this story. Records of actual conversations have been used. These records came from surviving conversation books,
used by Beethoven to communicate with others. Since Beethoven himself could speak, his side of every conversation is absent from those books and one can only guess what he might have said.
Whenever possible, actual dialogue from these books has been used, and the chronology of events has been taken from the remaining books. Some of the books were destroyed by Beethoven’s appointed biographer, Antonin Schindler, who felt information written about him was derogatory. Sadly, that also destroyed many important records about Beethoven’s existence.
This is the story of events leading up to and including the premiere of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony as seen through the young admiring eyes of Karoline Unger. Unger, the contralto soloist, played a special role in showing the great composer the love and respect felt for him by the citizens of Vienna.
Chapter 1
IMPRESSIONS
The morning sun crept over the hills outside her bedroom window and brightened the room with a soft, rosy glow. Karoline rose on her elbow to look out the window. Lining the opposite side of the street were buildings, four and five stories high, each trimmed with ornate sculptures of faces, leaves, and geometric designs. Under the many rows of windows were doorways. Most were arched and wooden, some flush with the walls; some recessed in darkness, all concealing main entrances within. A clacking sound came from a parade of horses pulling all manner of carriages over the round smooth stones that paved the street. There were some that were small, undecorated and open, carrying only one or two plainly dressed passengers; others were larger and grander, their occupants hidden within the coaches. They moved slowly down the bumpy cobblestone while pedestrians wove between them, like shuttles in a life size tapestry.
"Grüß Gott, Fräulein Unger. She turned toward the friendly female voice.
Grüß Gott. Guten morgen. Hier ist ihre kaffee, a slight young woman said cheerfully as she entered the room. Karoline’s voice, still frozen from sleep, caused her to momentarily stare at the woman carrying a silver tray with a small steaming porcelain carafe. Tied about her shoulders was a starched white linen scarf and covering her blond curls was a small white cotton bonnet. She wore a long beige skirt and white apron that swooshed as she walked toward the window and set the tray down on a delicate little table next to the bed.
How was the rehearsal, Fräulein Unger? Is he as difficult as everyone says? the young woman asked while pouring a cup of coffee. Karoline’s eyebrows raised in question, but still she was silent.
I’m sorry, said the young woman.
I should not ask so many questions. Would you like cream?"
No. Thank you,
she answered finally. What’s the date today?
26th of April. Is there somewhere you have to be?
No, I don’t believe there’s another rehearsal until Wednesday. At least I don’t think there is. Perhaps I will think more clearly after I have my coffee. Thank you for bringing it up.
The young woman left the room and Karoline sipped her coffee, admiring her surroundings. A plump white feather duvet covered the beautifully carved bed and lace trimmed the bottom edges of the dust ruffle and the sheer curtains on the tall window over her bed. On the floral covered walls were brass sconces holding half-used candles. A more elegant candelabra boasting five candles rested on the small bedside table next to the silver tray. Shoved up against the wall on the other side of the bed was a well used secretary, containing many long small drawers and niches, stuffed full of letters and treasures. The desk itself was covered with music scores and papers, and a glass jar that neatly held three feather pens sat next to a waiting inkwell. Opposite her bed, in the corner, a white porcelain bowl sat on the round top of a wash stand, with a pitcher of water on a shelf underneath. Standing against the wall next to the washstand was a large pine wardrobe carved to match the head and footboard of the bed, with an oval mirror set into the center of the door.
Time to get dressed.
She set the empty cup on the bedside table, threw back the covers, slid out of bed, and tiptoed across the wide planks of the wooden floor. She lifted the latch on the door of the wardrobe. The hinges creaked as she slowly opened the door. Inside were three beautiful dresses: One pale yellow, one powdery blue, and one pink as a peony, each rather low cut in the front, the neck lines trimmed with satin and lace. There were coordinating ribbons attached to each in various patterns at the waists and in the ruffles at the hems. Next to the dresses hung all of the necessary accessories and undergarments: white petticoats, corsets with laces hanging loose, and frilly lace-trimmed leggings. There were fancy hats with long ribbons to match each of the dresses, smaller bonnets, bows, and boots to lace.
She went to the wash stand, lifted the pitcher and poured cold water into the bowl. Both hands plunged in and brought the water splashing on to her face. There was a towel on a rod under the wash basin and she pulled it off, burying her face in it.
Turning back to the cabinet, she opened the drawer below the mirror and lifted the required undergarments from inside and set them on the bed. She untied the laces at her neck, pulled the white cotton nightdress up over her head and tossed it toward the wardrobe. After pulling on her petticoats she wrapped a corset around her middle and pulled the laces tight. She chose the yellow dress and slid it over her arms and head. Finally she took the ends of the ribbons which now hung at her sides and tied them in a neat bow behind her.
She took a pearl encrusted pin from the washstand and used it to pull her hair back into a tidy knot. Sitting down on the edge of the bed she pulled on the boots and laced them. When she had finished tying the last tie, she shut the wardrobe door and twirled in front of the mirror, making all the necessary adjustments. She stared for a moment at her reflection. She was young, not yet twenty, and her skin had an olive tone that complemented the curly dark hair which framed her heart shaped face in soft ringlets. Satisfied that she was appropriately dressed for the day she walked to the bedroom door, touched the white porcelain doorknob, gave it a turn and opened the door.
A long intricately carved banister lined the staircase that led from her bedroom door. She took hold of the rail and quietly, slowly, descended. The arched glass doors at the bottom of the steps emptied into a beautiful green courtyard where two stone benches sat among manicured bushes. Crocus were just beginning to bud, creating small pools of pastel color here and there among the grass. Karoline walked along the smooth stone path through the garden to the arched wooden door in the stone wall that surrounded the yard, carefully lifted the large iron latch, pushed the door open, and stepped into the street.
Horses and carriages noisily passed by quiet pedestrians hurrying