monotonous task. Why should his life be made so much harder than that
of other children? he might have asked himself bitterly. It was not
that he disliked music--no, he loved it--but he yearned for the
brightness and sympathy which seemed to be given freely to others, and
yet were denied to him. And as he strove to master his long exercise
his eyes wandered from the music to a portrait which hung over the
piano. It represented an elderly gentleman with a kindly face, bushy
dark hair, and large dark eyes. It was a humorous face, not handsome,
yet frank and pleasant, and decidedly clever. How clearly Ludwig could
recall the bright blue coat, with its large gilt buttons, which the
artist had faithfully portrayed! As the boy's glance rested upon the
portrait the recollection of the merry times he had spent with his
grandfather was presented to his mind. Once more he heard the old
man's genial laugh, and felt the gentle pressure of his hand upon his
curls. And then his playing! How little Ludwig had listened enrapt
whilst Grandfather Ludwig charmed forth those mysterious melodies
which seemed to be locked up at other times in the silent, prim little
clavier! Those were delicious day-dreams that Grandfather Ludwig had
the power to conjure up in his grandson's mind. But two years had
passed since the kindly old musician had gone to his rest, and during
those years the surroundings of Ludwig's childhood had changed for the
worse.
The parents of Ludwig van Beethoven, as the boy was named, were
extremely poor. Johann Beethoven, the father, was a member of the
Court band of the Elector of Cologne, at Bonn, in which town Ludwig
was born on December 16, 1770. The German Princes of those days
maintained companies of musicians for the performance of Divine
service in their chapels, as well as for their private entertainment,
and such companies frequently comprised musicians of considerable
ability. Johann's position as tenor singer was but a humble one,
bringing in not more than £25 a year. The grandfather, who also
belonged to the band, first as bass singer, and later as music
director, had, on the other hand, achieved a considerable reputation,
both as performer and composer, and during his latter years his
earnings had gone far to support Johann's family, with whom he lived.
With the old man's death, however, this help ceased, and the family
means became greatly reduced.
It was, no doubt, in consequence of the privation felt at this time
that the father was induced to keep Ludwig so hard at work. Mozart as
a boy had exhibited marvellous powers, and his performances in public
at an early age were attended by success. Johann, therefore, seemed to
think that his little son would have a chance of earning money by his
forced capacities for music. That a child of such tender years should
have been regarded in the light of a bread-winner for the family
appears unreasonable and hard; and it is not to be wondered at that
Ludwig failed to understand the necessity which led to such pressure
being put upon him. In his mother, Marie Magdalena, however, he could
always find a ready sympathy and a tenderness which must have served
to counteract, to some degree, the unhappiness occasioned by the
father's severity. But not even a mother's love could make up for the
loss the child had sustained by his grandfather's death, for the
excellent qualities of head and heart which the old man had exhibited
were just those which the boy missed in his father. To Ludwig music
meant everything--or, rather, it would have meant everything, even at
that early time, had its development only been continued under the
same kindly influence.
Despite his severity and unreasonableness, however, Johann must be
credited with the determination that his boy's knowledge of music
should be as thorough as it was possible to make it with the means at
his command, and to this end he spared no pains. Moreover, in order
that Ludwig should not grow up in complete ignorance of subjects which
lay outside his art, he was sent to the public school of Bonn to pick
up what learning he could, though this chiefly comprised reading and
writing. With his schoolfellows Ludwig had little in common. They
thought him shy, because he kept to himself, and showed no desire to
join in their games. The truth was his mind was almost wholly absorbed
by music, and the consciousness that this great love had taken
possession of his soul, and was growing stronger day by day may have
made him inapt for games or boyish society, and thus may have led to
his taking refuge in his own thoughts. In the companionship of music
he could never have felt lonely, and in his walks between school hours
he found plenty to interest him. He never tired of sounding Nature for
her harmonies, and as he pursued his way through the fields and lanes
he listened to the peasants singing at their work, and then, catching
up the simple tunes, he fitted his own notes to them, so as to produce
beautiful and subtle effects of harmony. Many of those old folk-tunes
were closely connected with the history of the country to which they
belonged; they were often the musical expression of the feelings,
struggles, and passions of the people, and to Beethoven's sensitive
ear they conveyed a deeper meaning than they did to the simple
peasants who hummed or carolled them to the whirr of the
spinning-wheel, the blows of the forge-hammer, or the speeding of the
plough.
Thus, with the drudgery of unremitting toil and constant reproof, the
years passed away until Ludwig was nearly nine. Hard as the lessons of
those years had been, there could be no doubt as to the progress which
he had made. Not even the severity and harshness of his father could
lessen or abate his yearning for musical knowledge; and so it came
about that one day Johann, regarding him with an expression more akin
to pride and satisfaction than that which Ludwig was accustomed to
read in his father's face, said, 'I can teach you no more; we must see
about finding you another master.'
But how this was to be accomplished it is as difficult for us as it
must have been to Johann himself to imagine; for, so far from the
family circumstances having improved, the poverty was even more acute
than before, and such further efforts as the father may have been
induced to make to increase their comforts were negatived by his
growing addiction to drink--a fact which must of itself have caused a
further reduction in their resources. Fortunately, at this critical
period help was forthcoming in the shape of a musician boarder, who
agreed to give instruction to Ludwig in part return for his
accommodation.
The coming of Tobias Pfeiffer, as the new boarder was named, must have
been regarded by Ludwig with some curiosity. Would he turn out an even
harder task-master than his own father had been? This question was
soon settled by the glimpse which Tobias early gave to his pupil of
his peculiar method of imparting instruction. Johann's evenings were
now chiefly spent at some tavern resort, whither it became the custom
for Tobias to repair at a very late hour, in order that he might give
his drunken landlord a safe convoy home. By this friendly help the
erring Johann escaped falling into the hands of the police--an
eventuality which would have resulted in his losing his employment.
Having fulfilled his friendly mission, Pfeiffer would betake himself
to Ludwig's bedside, and, with a shake which soon became familiar,
would arouse the boy with, 'Now then, Ludwig, time for practice!' At
this gentle admonition the sleepy child would rise obediently, rubbing
his eyes, and master and pupil descended to the sitting-room, where
they would play together till the early hours of the morning--Pfeiffer
giving out a theme, and Beethoven extemporising upon it, and then
Ludwig in his turn giving the lead to Pfeiffer. Extemporisation would
be followed by duets, until the approach of day gave warning that it
was time to retire to bed. Such music as these two players made in
the still hours of the night was, no doubt, but rarely heard in the
district in which they lived, and on the other side of the open
window, in the early dawn of the summer morning, a small knot of
listeners frequently gathered, attracted by the unusual performance
proceeding within.
[Illustration: '"_Now then, Ludwig, time for practice!_"']
For about a year this curious mode of instruction continued, and
during this time Ludwig's education received a stimulus in the shape
of lessons in Latin, French, Italian, and Logic, given by a man named
Zambona. This Zambona was an eccentric personage, whose peculiarities
would appear to have been well adapted to the condition of things
prevailing in the Beethoven home. He apparently considered himself
qualified to fill a variety of posts, as he had acted as innkeeper,
chamber-porter at the Court, and book-keeper, in addition to being a
teacher of languages; but his worth was proved by the fact that
Beethoven made good progress under his tuition. Hitherto Ludwig's
playing had been confined to the pianoforte and violin, but at this
point a friendly hand was held out to him by an old friend of his
grandfather, named Van den Eeden, who for many years had held the post
of organist at the Court. 'Come to me, and I will teach you the
organ,' the kindly old musician said to Ludwig, and the boy's heart
leapt with pleasure at the generous offer. No doubt Van den Eeden saw
in the young player the signs of genius such as his old friend had
exhibited in no small degree in past years, and felt drawn towards him
in consequence. A new field was thus opened to Beethoven, and when, at
the end of a year, Van den Eeden resigned on account of ill-health,
and the post was given to Christian Neefe, Ludwig was happy in the
discovery of a new friend, who not only expressed his willingness to
carry on the instruction, but was quick to recognise the boy's
extraordinary talent. At this point of our story we get our first
glimpse of the fruits of Beethoven's work at composition. The death of
a friend who had assisted the family with money gifts inspired him to
write a cantata in his honour; but though it was performed at the
funeral, no trace exists for us of this little outcome of gratitude on
Beethoven's part.
Ludwig was now ten years old, and in the winter of 1781 he made his
first essay at bread-winning for the family. The state of things at
home was wretched in the extreme, and the hopelessness of looking to
the father to retrieve the condition into which they had fallen
decided Ludwig's mother upon undertaking a tour through Holland with
the boy, in the hope that his playing at the houses of the rich might
bring in money. We may well believe that sheer necessity alone
impelled the gentle, ailing woman to such a step. Her faith in her
son's powers was evidently of a higher order than that of Johann, and
she must have seen that this exhibition of his talents at so early an
age not only implied an interruption to his studies, but also, to some
extent, a debasing of the art which she felt that he loved for its own
sake. The tour produced money--that chiefest need of the moment--and,
so far, it was a success; but Ludwig himself did not carry away any
pleasing recollections of his visit. 'The Dutch are very stingy, and I
shall take care not to trouble them again,' he afterwards remarked to
a friend; and there was no repetition of the experiment.
In the following year a notice appeared in _Cramer's Magazine_,
calling the attention of music-lovers to a young player who, though
not more than eleven years old, could play with force and finish, read
well at sight, and--most remarkable of all--play the greater part of
Bach's 'Wohltemperirte Klavier' (Well-tempered Clavier), 'a feat,'
declared the writer, 'which will be understood by the initiated.'
'This young genius,' the article went on to say, 'deserves some
assistance that he may travel. If he goes on as he has begun, he will
certainly become a second Mozart.'
The writer of this notice was Christian Neefe, and the subject of his
praise was none other than his pupil, Ludwig Beethoven. That the boy
should have mastered a work of such extraordinary difficulty as Bach's
collection of preludes and fugues may well have excited the
astonishment of his friend and teacher, whose praise was thus
deservedly given. But Neefe's confidence in his pupil's abilities was
shown in a more substantial manner during this same year. Van den
Eeden's death took place in June, and when the Court band had played
the old organist to his last resting-place Neefe received orders to
proceed with the rest of the performers to Münster, whither the
Elector had already gone. Two days before the band left Bonn Neefe
called Beethoven to his side, and told him that he was going away for
a time. 'I must have a deputy to take my place at the organ here,'
continued the organist, looking keenly into his pupil's face as he
spoke. 'Now, tell me, who do you think I ought to appoint to the
post?'
Ludwig's face was crossed by a shade of trouble. If his kind tutor was
going away, how did he know whether he would find his deputy equally
willing to teach him? But Christian Neefe was waiting for his answer,
and his eyes were shining with a kindly, half-amused light. 'I do not
know,' Ludwig began hesitatingly. But Neefe's eyes had grown serious,
and he now spoke with earnestness.
'I have thought of a deputy, Ludwig, and I think I can trust
him--yes, I am sure I may trust him. The deputy shall be yourself!'
Beethoven's surprise and delight may be imagined. But Neefe knew what
he was about, and in this preferment we may mark the first step in the
recognition of Beethoven's genius. The honour was great. To be
entrusted with the conduct of Divine service at the chapel, and to
receive the deference due to the position of organist--it must have
seemed incredible to Ludwig at first; and he was only eleven and a
half! To his mother he must first have carried the good news, and if
the father's expression had in it less of joy and thankfulness than
hers it must be attributed to the fact that no pay was attached to the
exalted position which Ludwig had obtained.
Beethoven had now practically the choice of three instruments to
select from; but his heart did not waver for long, ere it became fixed
upon the pianoforte as the fittest interpreter of his genius, and he
was true to his first love to the end. His 'Three Sonatas for the
Pianoforte,' written about this time, gives us the first record of his
published works. Evidently those terrible finger exercises were
beginning to bear fruit, for the young musician had acquired
considerable command over the instrument of his choice--indeed, his
musical life was now beginning to open itself before him, and the
longing to do great things had taken possession of his soul. There
were no more tears at being forced to work, for the greatest
incentives to work--love and ambition--were now swaying him and
impelling him onwards at a speed which nothing could check. Neefe's
confidence and praise were more than justified, and before he had
completed his thirteenth year Beethoven received his first official
appointment at the hands of the Elector. He could now sign himself
'Ludwig van Beethoven, Cembalist im Orchester,' and his duties
comprised not only the playing of the pianoforte in the orchestra, but
the conducting of the band at rehearsals. With this accession,
however, there was still the fact staring him in the face of no money
coming in. Just at this time, too, the Elector Max Friedrich died; and
it was not until a year later, when Beethoven was appointed second
organist to the Court, under the new Elector Max Franz, that he began
to receive a small salary in return for his services. Thirteen pounds
a year sounds very little for so much work and responsibility, but
Ludwig was overjoyed to think that he could back up his announcement
to his parents with so substantial a fact as the receipt of an income.
For the poverty at home was keener than ever; Johann's earnings did
not exceed £25 a year, and as his voice was steadily declining, the
outlook for the family had become exceedingly black.
The time would not appear to have been propitious for joking;
nevertheless, Beethoven sat in the organ-loft one day planning a joke.
He had just had a conversation with one of the chief singers of the
band--a tenor named Heller--and the latter had been boasting that his
knowledge of singing was so great that he could easily surmount any
difficulty as it presented itself. Beethoven inherited from his
grandfather a love of joking, and the temptation to lower the singer's
vanity was too great to be resisted. Accordingly, on the following
Sunday, whilst Heller was singing a solo to Ludwig's accompaniment,
the latter adroitly introduced a modulation of his own. Heller
unsuspectingly followed his lead, and fell into the trap devised for
him, with the result that, after attempting to keep up with the
organist, he lost himself entirely and, to the astonishment of the
congregation, came to a dead stop; and it was only when Beethoven
returned to the original key that the disconcerted singer could
proceed. Heller was naturally furious at the trick played upon him,
and lodged a complaint with the Elector. The latter, however, was too
good a musician himself to be angry at this exhibition of skill on the
part of his youngest performer, and he contented himself with
admonishing Beethoven not to attempt any more clever tricks.
There was a dream which had taken possession of young Beethoven's mind
at this time. It was constantly recurring during the hours of work,
and when he lay down to sleep in his poorly-furnished attic it was
with the hope that the dawning of a new day might bring him nearer to
its realisation. Yet for some time the dream remained only a shadowy
companion to his working thoughts, ever present, it is true, and
sometimes glowing in brighter colours that seemed to give to it the
semblance of reality--but still, only a dream. But the vision seen
afar off was to be realised at length--Beethoven was to visit Vienna!
It was the city of his dreams, the centre of his longings, this
Vienna, just as it was the centre of the musical world of Germany at
that time. A kind friend had come forward with the offer to pay his
expenses for the journey, and Ludwig knew that his dream had come
true.
As we have seen, the dire straits into which the family had fallen had
not hindered Beethoven's pursuit of musical knowledge. His genius had
steadily asserted itself under the most adverse conditions; and now we
are to picture the young musician, at the age of seventeen, full of
fire and energy, setting out on a journey which must have been fraught
with the brightest anticipations. He was to meet in Vienna the
greatest composer of the day. Mozart--the divine Mozart--was staying
in the city, planning the production of his opera, 'Don Giovanni,'
and it had been arranged that he should receive Beethoven and put his
powers to the test.
On reaching Vienna, Ludwig made his way to Mozart's house, and with a
heart beating high with expectancy, and a face aglow with excitement,
he was ushered into the presence of the maestro. Mozart received him
kindly, but it was evident that his thoughts were preoccupied, for,
after desiring Beethoven to play, he began to turn over his papers in
a listless fashion. 'Ah!' thought Beethoven; 'he imagines that I have
merely come to play him something which I have practised for the
occasion.' Dismayed by this reflection, he took his hands from the
keyboard and, turning to Mozart, said, 'Will you give me a theme on
which to extemporise?' Aroused by his appeal, and the earnest look
which accompanied it, Mozart sat down and played a simple theme; and
then Beethoven, taking up the slender thread, improvised so
finely--allowing his feelings to flow into the music as he went
on--that a bystander could not fail to have been struck by the change
which came over Mozart's face as he listened. The abstracted look gave
place to one of pure astonishment. Then he arose from his seat, and,
stepping softly into an adjoining room, where a number of his friends
were waiting to see him, he exclaimed, 'Pay attention to this young
man, for he will make a noise in the world some day.' Beethoven,
meanwhile, played on and on, lost in the intricate melodies which he
was weaving out of the single thread, until the touch of Mozart's hand
upon his shoulder recalled him to earth to hear the master's praises
sounding in his ear.
Vanished in a moment were the memories of the trials and hardships
which he had undergone in order to perfect himself for this day of
trial, for Beethoven realised that he possessed the power of
impressing so great a judge as Mozart; and praise and encouragement
were needed at that time, when he was trying to do his best, rather
than later on, when his powers were assured. Nor was this the only
recognition which his talents received on his visit. The fame of the
young player had reached the ears of royalty itself, and he was
granted an audience of the Emperor Joseph, whose love of music had
made him desirous of hearing for himself what the Bonn performer could
do.
[Illustration: "_Pay attention to this young man, for he will
make a noise in the world some day._"]
Beethoven's happiness, however, was soon to be clouded by sorrow, for
shortly after his return to Bonn his mother died--the mother to whom
he owed so much gentleness and sympathy in his childhood; she who was
always ready to forgive his outbursts of temper and impatience, and
to cheer and encourage him to further effort. How deeply he felt her
loss may be gathered from the letter which he wrote to a friend at the
time. 'She was, indeed, a kind, loving mother to me, and my best
friend. Ah! who was happier than I, when I could still utter the sweet
name of mother, and it was heard? But to whom can I now say it? Only
to the silent form resembling her, evoked by the power of
imagination.' That her death inspired some of his most beautiful
compositions we may suppose, for it is natural that his grief should
have found its best expression in music. A few months later his little
sister Margaretha died, and the sense of loneliness deepened.
And then something bright came into his life. He made the acquaintance
of a family named Breuning, comprising a widow lady and her four
children--three boys and a girl--all of about his own age. The
youngest boy and the daughter became his pupils, and a close
friendship sprang up between them. He stayed at the house for several
days at a time, joined in their excursions, and in every way was
treated as one of the family. As the Breunings were intellectual
people, their friendship was a great help to Beethoven; his whole
nature expanded in the sunshine of their society, and very soon he
found himself taking a deep interest in the literature of his
country--a subject of which he had previously been ignorant. An
affection for English authors likewise grew from this intimacy with a
family of wide tastes and acquirements--indeed, new interests and
fresh paths of pleasant intercourse were opening to him every day,
whilst the separation from the miserable surroundings of his own home
invigorated him for work. Every hour that could be spared from his
official duties or his teaching was devoted to study and composition.
Most of his composing was done in the open air; and for this purpose
he provided himself with rough sketch-books, one of which he always
carried with him, so that he might jot down in it such musical ideas
as occurred to him during his rambles through the lanes and fields.
[Illustration: '_Seated before an old, worn-out piano._']