From the above it will readily be seen, as Schindler plaintively asserts, that the office of friend to Beethoven was no sinecure.  But he appreciated the advantage of living in the reflected glory of the great master, and such tact as he possessed was brought to bear, to continue the relations of friend, counsellor and general factotum, which were maintained to the end.  Beethoven at times spoke slightingly in his letters of his humble follower, but there is no doubt that Schindler was of great service to him, and that this was appreciated by the master is equally true.  Schindler did not deliver the letters just quoted, and the affair did not sever the relations of the parties concerned.

Beethoven’s contention all along was for an advance in price of admission to the concert, owing to the heavy expense for theatre hire, copying, etc.  As the works to be performed had not yet been published, it was necessary to copy out the separate parts for the members of the orchestra and chorus,—­an immense task.  The manager objected to any advance in prices, and insisted also that the concert be held on a subscription night—­a good arrangement for the patrons of the theatre who would thus have free admission, but a bad one for the master.  He finally had to submit, however.  “After these six weeks’ squabbling,” he writes to Schindler toward the end of April, “I feel absolutely boiled, stewed and roasted,” a state of mind brought about by his conflict with copyists, managers and performers.

The concert which took place on May 7, 1824, was the occasion for great enthusiasm.  The programme consisted of the Overture Weihe des Hauses, as well as the Kyrie, Credo and Agnus Dei of the Mass in D, and the Ninth Symphony.  The solo parts were taken by Madame Sontag and Fraeulein Unger, who protested more than once at the unsingable nature of some of the parts in the Choral Finale when practising them at Beethoven’s house.

The applause from the very beginning was phenomenal.  The people became vociferous on seeing him, and this enthusiasm was continued throughout the evening.  At the close of the performance the demonstrations became, if possible, more forcible than before, owing, perhaps, to the fact that Beethoven maintained his former position, facing the orchestra and with his back to the audience, as if unaware of the applause.  At last Fraeulein Unger turned him about so that he could see the demonstrations of the audience.  The picture is presented of excited masses of people carried away by the emotions of the moment, rending the air with boisterous applause, and in the midst this great one, unresponsive to the homage showered on him, unconscious, seeing visions, perhaps planning a Tenth Symphony.

Beethoven’s deafness was not total.  He was no doubt able to hear some of this extraordinary applause, and, in any event, must have known that it would be forthcoming.  He had probably become wearied with it all, and let his thoughts go far afield.  The utter vanity of this kind of thing must often occur to great minds at such a time.  These frenzied people by their very actions showed their inability to comprehend his work, and could not confer honor in this manner.