John Suchet: The chaotic genesis of Beethoven’s greatest hit

Beethoven as imagined by 20th-century artist Michel Katzaroff (detail) – Lebrecht Music & Arts/Alamy Stock Photo

Few themes in classical music are more famous than the “Ode to Joy” setting in the final movement of Beethoven’s Symphony No 9, the Choral. Its universal message of brotherhood – “All Mankind will become brothers” – has been taken up by social reformers, from Karl Marx, who revered it, to Keir Starmer, who said it best summed up the Labour Party under his leadership.

The European Union chose it as its anthem, and when the Berlin Wall came down in 1989, Leonard Bernstein conducted the Ninth in a united Berlin, alternating players from different orchestras between movements to stress the music’s universality, and substituting Freiheit (“Freedom”) for Freude (“Joy”) in the final movement. Beethoven would have nodded in affirmation.

The premiere of Beethoven’s Ninth took place on May 7, 1824. In many ways it is a miracle he completed it – or that the first performance took place at all. To begin with, those words of Schiller’s that Beethoven would make so enduringly famous did not exist when the young student of philosophy at Bonn University first discovered Schiller’s poem “An die Freude’ (Ode to Joy).

Originally, the line that so appealed to the young Beethoven read “Beggars will become the Brothers of Princes” (Bettler werden Fürstenbrüder). But when Schiller revised his collected poems in 1803 – Beethoven was by now in Vienna and working on his Third Symphony, the Eroica – he replaced that line with “All Mankind will become Brothers” (Alle Menschen werden Brüder), which accorded with Beethoven’s personal creed even more closely.

For two decades or more, Beethoven carried Schiller’s poems with him, determined one day to set “Ode to Joy” to music. But how? The decision to include it, sung by soloists and a chorus, in the final movement of a symphony, did not come to him until late in the day. He knew what a radical departure this would be. No composer had ever included words, spoken or sung, in a symphony. It would not be the first time Beethoven changed the rules.

Leonard Bernstein marks the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 with a recital of the Ninth – dpa picture alliance / Alamy

After a year of intensive work, the new symphony was completed by the start of 1824, shortly after Beethoven turned 53. Now the problems really began. Where to hold the first performance? That was easy. Theatre managers were falling over themselves to offer their establishment, given that this would be the first symphony by Beethoven for more than 10 years, and word of mouth was already predicting something extraordinary. One by one, offers were made; one by one, Beethoven turned them down.

Then, in a remarkable act of vengeance against the musical establishment of Vienna that he despised, Beethoven announced he would hold the premiere in Berlin. Berlin? In desperation, no fewer than 30 illustrious musical names wrote an open letter to Beethoven “whose name and creations belong to all humanity… A new flower glows in the garland of your glorious, still unequalled symphonies… Do not allow your latest offspring to be introduced to persons to whom you and your mind are alien! Appear soon among your friends, your admirers, your venerators!”

Beethoven loved a bit of flattery, and it did the trick. But where in Vienna to hold the premiere? The Theater an der Wien, where he had premiered so many of his works, offered him the theatre for free, but its manager had offended Beethoven some years before so he turned it down. He finally settled on the Theater am Kärntnertor – one of the imperial court theatres – and a date in late March.

At last, rehearsals could begin. Then the censor intervened. Beethoven planned to premiere his great setting of the Holy Mass, the Missa Solemnis, at the same concert. Impossible, said the censor. A religious work cannot be performed in a commercial theatre, and he banned the concert. Back and forth the arguments went. Finally a compromise was reached. Beethoven could perform three movements only of the Missa (Kyrie, Credo, Agnus Dei).

Beethoven conducting one of his three ‘Rasumowsky’ string quartets, c 1810, by Borckmann – Rischgitz/Getty

The concert was back on, but the new date – May 7, 1824 – was almost at the end of the season, by which time the aristocratic patrons expected to fill the hall would have left for their country estates.

As if that was not enough, Beethoven dropped a late bombshell. He insisted on conducting. Those around him knew his deafness made this impossible. So they hired a professional, Michael Umlauf “just to act as your assistant, Herr Beethoven”. The orchestra was instructed to follow Umlauf’s beat, not Beethoven’s.

There was time for two rehearsals only, at the end of which the four soloists all protested to Beethoven that their parts were unsingable. When Beethoven insisted they sing exactly what he had written, the contralto, Caroline Unger, called Beethoven “a tyrant over all the vocal cords”. The bass singer quit, to be replaced by a chorus member.

The stage was set for a disastrous performance in a sparsely filled hall – no emperor, no Archduke Rudolf, his greatest patron. A ripple of laughter greeted Beethoven’s entry. He was in a green frock coat. Green! Did the man not own a black frock coat? He did not.

Umlauf drew more laughter when he made a sign of the cross over the orchestra. He coordinated his opening down beat with Beethoven’s, and the audience heard the mysterious, veiled opening of Beethoven’s Choral Symphony. They may have been non-aristocratic and unsophisticated, but the Viennese knew their music, and they instantly recognised that they were hearing something ground-breaking.

So popular was the second movement, they demanded an encore. When the bass singer sang “O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!” at the beginning of the fourth, the audience held their breath. At the final exultant finish, they exploded, leapt to their feet, cheering, waving hats and handkerchiefs and calling “Beethoven! Beethoven! Beethoven!”

Beethoven was still conducting the imaginary orchestra that he heard in his head. Gently, Caroline Unger turned him to face the audience. At that moment, Beethoven knew the gift he had given the world.

‘In Search of Beethoven’ by John Suchet is published October 17, 2024 by Elliott & Thompson

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