The Life of Ludwig van Beethoven, Volume II

by Alexander Wheelock Thayer

Beethoven’s studies were now, for the third time, diverted from important works in hand to an order from the directors of the theatres—the “Egmont” music. The persevering diligence of the last months, of which he speaks in his letters, was evidently for the purpose of clearing his desk of a mass of manuscript compositions sold to Breitkopf and Härtel, before attacking Goethe’s tragedy—as decks are cleared for action before a naval battle. If so, he could hardly have seriously engaged upon the “Egmont” before the new year; but nothing is known, which fixes the exact date of either the beginning or completion of the work. Its overture bears the composer’s own date “1810”; its first performance was on the evening of Thursday, May 24. The Clärchen was played by Antonie Adamberger—a young actress alike distinguished for her beauty, her genius and her virtues—whose marriage in 1817 to the distinguished archæologist von Arneth was a distinct loss to the Vienna stage. The two songs which Clärchen has to sing, necessarily brought Fräulein Adamberger for the moment into personal relations with Beethoven, of which she wrote to the present author the following simple and pleasing account under date January 5, 1867:

... I approached him (Beethoven) without embarrassment when my aunt of blessed memory, my teacher and benefactress, called me to her room and presented me to him. To his question: “Can you sing?” I replied without embarrassment with a decided “No!” Beethoven regarded me with amazement and said laughingly: “No? But I am to compose the songs in ‘Egmont’ for you.” I answered very simply that I had sung only four months and had then ceased because of hoarseness and the fear that continued exertion in the practice of declamation might injure my voice. Then he said jovially with an adoption of the Viennese dialect: “That will be a pretty how do you do!”—but on his part it turned out to be something glorious.

We went to the pianoforte and rummaging around in my music ... he found on top of the pile the well-known rondo with recitative from Zingarelli’s “Romeo and Juliet.” “Do you sing that?” he asked with a laugh which shook him as he sat down hesitatingly to play the accompaniment. Just as innocently and unsuspiciously as I had chatted with him and laughed, I now reeled off the air. Then a kind look came into his eye, he stroked my forehead with his hand and said: “Very well, now I know”—came back in three days and sang the songs for me a few times. After I had memorized them in a few days he left me with the words: “There, that’s right. So, so that’s the way, now sing thus, don’t let anybody persuade you to do differently and see that you do not put a mortant in it.” He went; I never saw him again in my room. Only at the rehearsal when conducting he frequently nodded to me pleasantly and benevolently. One of the old gentlemen expressed the opinion that the songs which the master, counting on certain effects, had set for orchestra, ought to be accompanied on a guitar. Then he turned his head most comically and, with his eyes flaming, said, “He knows!”...

Long afterwards, in a Conversation Book, an unknown hand writes: “I remember still the torment you had with the kettledrums at the rehearsal of ‘Egmont’.” Nothing more is known of the history of this work. Beethoven’s name appears on both this year’s concerts for the Theatrical Poor Fund—March 25, with the first movements of the Fourth Symphony; April 17, with the “Coriolan” Overture; but it does not appear that he conducted on either occasion; it is, however, probable that he did conduct the rehearsals and performance of a symphony in Schuppanzigh’s first Augarten concert in May.

Add to the above the subsequent notices of a few songs and the Quartet, Op. 95, and the meagre history of Beethoven as composer for 1810 is exhausted; what remains is of purely private and personal nature. Kinsky’s active service in the campaign of 1809 and his subsequent duties in Bohemia had prevented him hitherto from discharging his obligations under the annuity contract; but the Archduke, perhaps Lobkowitz also, was promptly meeting his; and these payments, together with the honorable remuneration granted by Breitkopf and Härtel for manuscripts, supplied Beethoven with ample means for comfort, even for luxury. He had at this time no grounds for complaint upon that score.

It was in 1810 that Beethoven received from Clementi and Co. the long-deferred honorarium for the British copyrights bought in April, 1807. Exactly when this money was received by Beethoven cannot be determined from the existing evidence, but it seems to have been before February 4, 1810, on which date Beethoven wrote to Breitkopf and Härtel offering them the compositions from Op. 73 to 83 (exclusive of 75), and remarking that he was about to send the same works to London. He would scarcely have had such a purpose in mind unless he had had a settlement with his London publishers. Additional evidence, though of little weight, is provided by the circumstance that at the same time he was contemplating a change of lodgings, as a letter to Professor Loeb, written on February 8, shows; it was to his old home in the house of Baron Pasqualati, which he had occupied two years before and which he now took again at an annual rental of 500 florins.

Thoughts Hymeneal and Sartorial

A number of letters to Gleichenstein and Zmeskall to which attention must now be called seem to show us Beethoven in the character of a man so deeply smitten with the charms of a newly-acquired lady friend that he turns his attention seriously to his wardrobe and personal appearance and thinks unusually long and frequently of the social pleasures enjoyed at the home of his charmer. A desire to save space alone prevents the publication of the letters in full, but the reader may find them in the published Collections of the composer’s letters.[77] In the first of these he sends Gleichenstein 300 florins which the Count was to expend for him in the purchase of linen and nankeen for shirts and “at least half a dozen neckties.” On the same day, he informs his correspondent that acting on his advice he had paid Lind 300 florins. Henickstein had paid him twenty-seven and a half florins for a pound sterling and invited him and Gleichenstein to dine the next day with Clementi. Very significantly the letter ends with: “Greet everything that is dear to you and me. How gladly would I like to add to whom we are dear????” Lind was a tailor and Henickstein the son of a banker. The next day he writes that on the previous evening the Archduke had requested his presence on the day set for the dinner and he had been obliged to send Henickstein a declination. The day after that he concludes a note telling about the meeting at the Archduke’s with “Farewell. This evening I will come to the dear Malfattis.” Here is the next letter in full:

As I shall have enough time this morning, I shall come to the Savage (zum wilden Mann—a restaurant) in the Prater. I fancy that I shall find no savages there but beautiful Graces, and for them I must don my armor. I know you will not think me a sponge because I come only for dinner, and so I will come straight. If I find you at home, well and good; if not, I’ll hurry to the Prater to embrace you.