they came to a handsome house, before the door of which hung a lighted
lantern. Wegeler was no stranger there. He conducted Ludwig up a broad,
easy flight of steps, opened the door, and led his somewhat timid young
friend into a spacious and brilliantly lighted apartment, in which a
company of twelve persons was assembled. An elderly lady, whose face
still revealed traces of beauty, and with an unusually noble and
gracious expression of goodness and benevolence, advanced a few steps
and received them with a kindly smile.
“Welcome, dear Wegeler,” she said in a soft, gentle voice which came
straight from the heart; “I think I make no mistake in welcoming in your
companion my future young friend, Ludwig van Beethoven.”
“You are right, gracious lady,” replied Wegeler. “This is my friend
Ludwig, and this, Ludwig, is the Frau Hofrathin von Breuning.”
“Welcome, cordially welcome, dear Beethoven,” said the Frau Hofrathin,
extending her hand with friendly and very motherly good wishes.
Beethoven was by nature a strong, proud character, who did not easily
bow before any one, and least of all was inclined to waste much civility
in social intercourse. The amiability of Frau von Breuning, however,
made such a deep impression upon him that he took the hand offered him,
bowed low, and kissed it.
In the meantime the others present came forward. The sons of Frau von
Breuning—Stephen, Christopher, and Lenz—shook the young man’s hand
cordially, and then the sister, Eleonora, welcomed him with a cordial
inclination of the head and bright, friendly eyes. Some of the guests
already knew Ludwig, particularly the chapelmaster Ries, and some
members of the Elector’s chapel. He exchanged a few friendly words with
them and was then presented to a handsome, distinguished looking man,
the Count von Waldstein,[19] who, notwithstanding his high rank and
standing, greeted him with genuine cordiality. In a short time Beethoven
felt as much at home in this circle as if he had been in it for years,
and Wegeler therefore quietly indulged the hope that his young protégé
would bring no discredit upon his urgent recommendations of him. He was
in no way disappointed in this hope. Beethoven appeared more cheerful,
companionable, frank, and affable than ever before, and when the talk
turned upon music he seated himself at the piano without being urged,
much to Wegeler’s astonishment and delight, and played a long time with
such a splendid technique and depth of feeling that all conversation at
once stopped and every one paid the closest attention to his beautiful
melodies.
“Brava, brava!” cried every one when the young artist finished his
performance. Count Waldstein stepped up to him and tapped him lightly on
the shoulder. “You have indeed done splendidly,” he cordially said. “I
fancy that I also understand music a little, and therefore speak so
positively.”
Chapelmaster Ries complimented Ludwig so enthusiastically that he felt
extremely comfortable as well as happy. Wegeler thought it an opportune
time to try the new trio, and took it from his pocket. “As we are
engaged with music,” he said, “and as we have professional artists right
at hand, I would beg you to play an entirely new composition, which by a
happy chance has come into my possession.”
“What is it?” said chapelmaster Ries, “and who is the composer?”
“The composer wishes temporarily to remain unknown,” replied Wegeler,
“but the work is a trio for piano, violin, and violoncello.”
“That can be arranged without any difficulty,” said Ries. “Our Beethoven
will play the pianoforte, friend Muller the violoncello, and I will
undertake the violin. The instruments are here, so let us get to work at
once.”
In a few minutes the necessary arrangements were made and the trio
began. The three accomplished artists easily played it at sight, and the
audience paid close attention to the entirely original harmonies and
melodies. The trio was played to its close smoothly and with precision,
but instead of loud applause after the last tones there was a very
painful silence. The good Wegeler turned pale with anxiety, but
Beethoven sat as proud as Jupiter at the piano and seemed to have
forgotten where or in whose company he was.
Chapelmaster Ries was the first to break the uncomfortable silence and,
turning quickly to Wegeler, said: “This is truly a charming composition,
full of originality, and developed with true genius. Who is the
composer? I am really eager to know, for I never before have heard such
music.”
“In fact, very strong but characteristic,” Count Waldstein added.
“I have never heard anything more beautiful,” said Christopher Breuning,
enthusiastically and excitedly. “It must be an entirely distinctive
art-work by Mozart, or perhaps something of Haydn’s.”
Wegeler, who had regained his natural color, smiled and shook his head.
“Neither Mozart nor Haydn,” said he. “The composer is a new man, and is
in our midst.”
“Ah! Count Waldstein,” said Frau von Breuning with a light, graceful
bow. “Do not deny it, Count. You have prepared a most pleasant surprise
for us.”
“On the contrary, dear lady, I should consider myself most fortunate if
I could accept your compliment,” replied Count Waldstein, “but I must
reluctantly decline it. Probably we have to thank our chapelmaster for
the great surprise.”
“No, no,” said the chapelmaster, “I will not adorn myself with borrowed
feathers however beautiful they may be. But really, if I could
accomplish such a work as this trio, I should regard myself as a pretty
good artist.”
“But who can the composer be if he is neither our dear Count nor the
chapelmaster?” said Frau von Breuning. “Surely you are just teasing us a
little, dear Wegeler. Anyway, the composer of the trio is known by
name.”
“Yes, he has a name,” said Wegeler, smiling, “but his name is not yet
famous, though I have no doubt it will become so one day. The composer’s
name is—Ludwig van Beethoven, and he has the honor to sit before your
ladyship, at the piano.”
If a bomb had fallen into the company it could not have caused greater
astonishment than Wegeler’s simple announcement. All present evidently
were surprised in the highest degree. Beethoven alone sat entirely
unmoved and at ease, and looked about him smilingly and unembarrassed.
“What is there to be astonished at?” he said. “I composed the entire
trio to-day.”
It is hard to describe the effect these few words produced. All crowded
around Beethoven, and each had his word of admiration for him. He was
quietly pleased when they shook his hand and overwhelmed him with
compliments; but at last he became uneasy, and sprang up from his seat.
“This is too much,” he said. “I do not deserve it. Later, years hence,
perhaps,—but now? no! There are still those who can construct better
things than I.”
“But there are very few of them,” said Count Waldstein, earnestly.
“Anyway, I feel impelled to exercise all my influence for the
advancement of a talent such as yours, dear Beethoven. I beg you to
consider me as your fatherly friend and patron.”
Beethoven bowed, and stammered a few words of thanks. A moment later he
had forgotten the assurances of the Count and was chatting in the most
intimate manner with the sons of Frau von Breuning, who welcomed this
talented new acquaintance with genuine enthusiasm. The mother also
graciously conversed with the young man, and at last asked him if he
would at some future time give piano lessons to her daughter Eleonora,
which Beethoven naturally was glad to promise.
As it was getting rather late, the company left one after another.
Beethoven withdrew with Wegeler, and warmly thanked his friend on the
street for introducing him into this pleasant family circle.
“I did it with all my heart,” said Wegeler, “and with the hope that it
will be for the pleasure and advantage of both parties.”
All of Wegeler’s hopes were realized. Beethoven soon found himself at
home among his new friends. This was not strange, for the Hofrathin
entertained a true motherly affection for him, and her children regarded
him as a brother. Beethoven himself, at a later period, often declared
that his happiest years were spent in the Breuning home.
Thus weeks and months passed. Beethoven’s outward circumstances
gradually improved, for the Hofrathin Breuning was assiduous in
procuring pupils for him among her acquaintances, which paid well at
that time. Ludwig could now furnish a part of the support for his brave
mother, so that matters gradually became more pleasant in the household
life. Everything contributed to keep him in good humor, so that he
commended himself more and more to the affection and good-will of his
new friends.
Ludwig had heard nothing for a long time from Count Waldstein about the
patronage he had promised. In reality he had hardly given it a thought.
But the Hofrathin Breuning many a time quietly wondered that the Count
should have forgotten his protégé so quickly and completely, “especially
when there is so much he might do for his advantage,” she said to
herself. “He is a favorite with the Elector, and hardly needs do more
than drop a word occasionally to interest him in our Beethoven. If he
would do so but once, everything else would take care of itself, and I
should no longer have any anxiety about the young man’s future.”
But none of the Hofrathin’s wishes or hopes seemed likely to be
realized. Count Waldstein appeared now and then in the Hofrathin’s
social circle, but seldom remained there long, and seemed to concern
himself little about Beethoven, though at times he gave him a friendly
word. One evening, however, he asked for the trio which Beethoven
composed, and requested permission to keep it a few days. The permission
naturally was granted promptly and willingly, although Beethoven did not
appear to attach the slightest importance to the Count’s request. Frau
von Breuning, however, smiled to herself in silent satisfaction. She
anticipated and conjectured more than Ludwig, and this simple,
unimportant act aroused the hope that something would come of it, and
that his interests would be promoted.
Nothing in the least occurred in the next few days to confirm these
hopes, and Frau von Breuning, though she still clung to her hope, had to
admit to herself there was little foundation for it, when one evening
Count Waldstein appeared entirely unexpectedly in the circle of friends
who were entertaining themselves with music. Besides the Breuning
family, Beethoven, Wegeler, and chapelmaster Ries were present. All
extended a respectful and friendly greeting to the Count. He smiled
contentedly, roguishly looked at Beethoven, and pressed his right hand
upon his left breast-pocket, in which something light rustled.
“Young man,” he said good-humoredly, “what do you imagine I am carrying
here in my coat-pocket? Guess!”
“How can I guess, Count?” replied Ludwig. “It must be something of
considerable importance, since Your Grace is so mysterious about it.”
“Why, yes, important enough for certain people, though to me simply
pleasant and agreeable. But I already perceive you are not gifted with
the faculty of guessing, dear Ludwig, so I must help you a little. This
mysterious thing in my pocket is a document from the electoral court. I
got sight of the address there, and incidentally, as I intended to visit
my worthy friend here, I took the document with the intention of handing
it to the person addressed. He is a certain Ludwig van Beethoven, and I
was sure I should find him here.”
“A document from the electoral court to me! Impossible!” exclaimed
Beethoven, at first astonished and then delighted, while the kindly face
of Frau von Breuning was lit up with joy.
“Yes, yes, to you, my young friend,” said the Count, as he removed the
document from his pocket. “Here, take it. Open it, and see what the
Elector has done for you.”
Beethoven slowly took the large envelope, looked at the address and
seal, and shook his head. “The Count doubtless is only making sport of
me,” he said. “If I break the seal I shall only be heartily laughed at.”
“Oh, you most distrustful of all distrustful men and musicians!” the
Count replied. “How can you entertain such a foolish supposition? Open
it! Open it! Quick!”
“I will not,” replied Beethoven, firmly, as he placed the envelope on
the table.
“You foolish fellow, you can do as you please, of course,” said the
Count, a little impatiently. “This much I know, however, that our most
gracious lord, the Elector, has not done this for a fool, but for his
court organist, and this highest of all honors he has bestowed upon you
in this document.”[20]
“Impossible!” exclaimed Beethoven.
“I thought so,” joyfully said the Hofrathin.
“Fine! splendid!” cried all the others.
Beethoven was so overcome with astonishment that he seemed as rigid as a
statue, but at a sign from the Count, chapelmaster Ries opened the
envelope, showed the signature of the Elector, and the appointment of
Ludwig van Beethoven as court organist, carefully drawn up in due form.
“Hearty congratulations, Ludwig,” said he, handing the document to him.
“I call this good fortune, even if it does come to the one most
deserving of it.”
All present surrounded Beethoven and congratulated him. He received
their good wishes with a radiant smile and beaming eyes. Then he
suddenly rushed to Count Waldstein, pressed his lips to his hand, and
exclaimed to him from the fulness of his heart, “Thanks! thanks! my
benefactor!” Thereupon he seized his hat, crying joyously, “To my
mother, to my good mother! Good-night to all!”—and was out of the house
as quick as a flash.
No one wondered at his somewhat strange behavior. All knew him and his
ways and manners, and all were his friends, which signified for him all
that was sincerely true and good.
_A Merciful Punishment_
Good fortune often arouses jealousies and enmities, for while there are
many good men in the world, there are also many base and evil-minded
ones. Beethoven was destined to make this discovery at once. His
appointment as court organist was received by most of the members of the
electoral chapel with expressions of great discontent, and some of them
did not conceal their resentment that such a green young student should
have been selected as their colleague. Of course it never occurred to
these narrow-minded persons that there was more creative skill in this
“green student” than in the whitening heads of all these old musical
pedants.
Beethoven was one who troubled himself very little about such displays
of petty hatred and jealousy. As he was exempt from the pressing
anxieties of everyday life by his position and teaching, and had found
in Count Waldstein a truly good and fatherly patron, he carried his head
high, and looked down with proud self-assurance upon his enemies. Not
that he had grown supercilious,—nothing was farther from him than
that,—but he could clearly discriminate between himself and these
malicious ones. He knew that he surpassed them as far as the heavens are
above the earth.
It happened one day that Count Waldstein called upon his young protégé
and found him deeply absorbed in a book.
“How is this, Ludwig?” said the Count. “I expected to find you busy at
the piano, or with the violin, and now I catch you reading an insipid
novel! Shame on you, my young friend! In your difficult art there is but
one road to success—‘forward, always forward.’ You should not waste time
on trifles if you expect to accomplish great and important things.”
At the first words of his patron Beethoven had arisen, and greeted him
in the most cordial manner. His manner did not change, however, when the
Count reproached him; on the contrary, he handed him the book he was
reading, and smilingly said: “Excuse me, this is not a trifle, Count; it
is ‘Plutarch’s Lives,’ but unfortunately only a good translation, for I
cannot read it in the original.”
The Count’s frown began to disappear. “Of course I cannot disapprove of
good reading. But I see you have more books. Are they all Plutarch?”
“No, worthy sir,” replied Beethoven, excitedly, as he took his books and
quickly opened them one after another. “This is Homer’s Odyssey, these
are Plato’s writings, this the Odes of Horace, and these a few volumes
of Shakespeare—all classical literature.”[21]
“Yes, yes, I see; but of what use are they to you?” said the Count,
wonderingly. “Do you learn anything about music in them?”
“Certainly not, Herr Count,” replied Beethoven, “but I am acquiring the
general information which all composers and musicians should have. You
perhaps are not aware that in consequence of my parents’ poverty I could
not attend a good school. The natural result was that I learned very
little, and now, if I am not to be an ignoramus, I must make up by my
own exertions what I lost in childhood.”
“Ah, that is really quite another thing,” said the Count, approvingly,
“and instead of censuring you, I ought to have praised you for your zeal
and industry. In reality I have called to-day neither to blame nor to
praise you, but for an entirely different purpose.”
“Tell me what it is, Herr Count. I am entirely at your pleasure,” said
Beethoven, eagerly. “You will make me very happy by assigning me to any
position where I can be of the slightest service to you.”
“Good, good, dear Ludwig! I knew as much when I applied to you,” said
the Count. “And now to the point. A Ritter ballet is to be given at the
forthcoming carnival for the pleasure of His Highness, the Elector.
Those who are to participate in it are already engaged, and the sketch
and text are prepared and contained in this roll. The music alone is
lacking. Will you do me the favor to compose it?”
“I shall be a thousand times delighted,” said Beethoven. He took the
roll as if it had been a precious treasure. “I will take the utmost
pains to meet your expectations, so that I may not only show my
gratitude to you, my most esteemed patron, but also to my most gracious
lord and Prince. At what time must the music be ready, Herr Count?”
“You can have at least four weeks,” replied the Count. “Therefore do not
be in too much haste. When you are ready let me know. Adieu, and good
luck, my young friend.”
Beethoven applied himself with enthusiastic zeal to the composition of
the different parts which were necessary for the performance of the
ballet, and was able to give the work to Count Waldstein before the
expiration of the allotted four weeks. The Count, himself a clever
musician, or at least a well-schooled amateur, glanced over the score
with experienced eyes, nodded several times in a satisfied way, and
smiled to himself.
“Thanks, my friend,” he said at last. “I hope the music will please. You
are to conduct. I have this further suggestion to make. I know the
prejudices of many of your colleagues against you. If they know that you
composed the ballet music, then the envious ones will seize the
opportunity to play badly, and thereby intentionally spoil the pretty
music. Keep it secret until after the first performance that you are the
composer. I will privately have the report circulated that I was the
artist who wrote the music. When it comes to the knowledge of the
gentlemen of the chapel for whom they are taking so much pains, they
certainly will do their utmost to please. So, secrecy and silence. I
will make the necessary explanation to the Elector, and after the first,
and as I hope successful, performance of the ballet, I will let all the
world know who the real composer is. Are you satisfied with this
arrangement?”
“I am extremely grateful to you for it, Herr Count,” replied Beethoven.
“You have rightly remarked that many of my associates are maliciously
disposed toward me, and caution therefore will do no harm. On my part, I
accept all your arrangements with pleasure.”
“Then I am convinced we may hope for the best results,” replied the
Count.
Everything turned out as Count Waldstein had expected. The report that
he had composed the music of a Ritter ballet in honor of the Elector was
circulated all over the city, and particularly among the artists and
musicians. Hence when the first rehearsal of the ballet took place the
chapel orchestra played excellently and correctly. After the rehearsal
the members were of the unanimous opinion that the music was thoroughly
graceful, charming, and masterly. All were loud in their praises, and
many a one cast a malicious side glance at Beethoven, as much as to say,
“Now you see what certain people can learn from a mere amateur.”
Rehearsals were repeated several times, and then followed the
performance of the ballet in the presence of the Elector and all his
court. Everything passed off well, and the music in particular received
enthusiastic applause. Count Waldstein smilingly accepted the
compliments which were tendered him on all sides, but no one concerned
himself about Beethoven. He was not in the least troubled on that score,
but smiled to himself at the fawning of his associates, who bowed low to
the Count and extolled to heaven the music of the ballet. “They will be
astonished sometime, when they hear that the music is mine,” he said to
himself, rubbing his hands.
When it was announced a few days afterwards that Beethoven was the
composer of the much-praised ballet, his associates were not only
astonished, but many of them openly acknowledged they had been deceived
in taking him for a fool. Of course this was said only behind his back,
but he heard of it, and discovered that one of the electoral singers,
named Heller, had been particularly busy in attacking him.
Some days later Beethoven went, either accidentally or purposely, to a
popular wine-shop where there were a number of his chapel associates,
among them the aforesaid singer, Heller. After a hasty greeting
Beethoven seated himself at a side table and overheard them making sport
of him. Heller, in particular, gave the young composer many palpable
side-thrusts, and boasted that there were plenty of musicians who could
compose better things than a certain conceited young person ever dreamed
of.
Beethoven listened calmly for a little while without taking personal
notice of the abuse or the boasting. Suddenly, however, he arose, went
to the table where his colleagues were sitting, and looked the singer
Heller sharply in the eye. “Tell me,” he said quietly but firmly, “do
you not perform ‘The Lamentations of the Prophet Jeremiah’ in church in
the morning?”
“Certainly,” replied Heller. “Why do you ask?”
“Because, perhaps I can make a wager with you,” said Beethoven. “I will
play the accompaniment on the piano, and will bet that I will break your
time, or, as they say, ‘put you out.’”
“I take the bet. What shall it be?” cried Heller with malicious glee;
for he believed himself so sure of winning that he already regarded his
opponent as a loser.
“A keg of wine, which we can empty together after church here in the
wine-shop,” replied Beethoven.
“It is agreed. I take the bet,” said Heller.
“It’s agreed,” said all the other musicians, with a malicious look at
Beethoven; for not one of them believed that he could “put out” the most
correct singer of them all. But Beethoven finished his glass of wine,
smiling to himself.
“The Lamentations of the Prophet Jeremiah” are little sentences of four
or six lines each, and in performance are chanted like the old chorals
in a definite rhythm. The tune consists of four successive tones,
several words and sometimes whole sentences being sung upon the third,
and coming to a rest which the accompanist fills in with a free harmonic
passage. Thereupon the singer returns to the ground tone,—not a
difficult accomplishment for a clever musician, if the accompanist does
not “put him out.”
On the following morning, confident of winning, Heller began his song.
Beethoven accompanied him at first in the old and customary manner. All
at once, however, he modulated so freely and independently, while he
firmly held the first tone in the treble, that Heller could not find his
way back to it, and, in fact, was completely “put out” by the “conceited
young person.”
“He played incorrectly,” said Heller, angrily.
“On the contrary, he played correctly and in a masterly way,” retorted
Ries, “but all the same in a way that is too much for you. Everything
was done fairly and honestly, as all here will concede. So keep quiet.
You have lost your bet.”
“Be it so, then. I will pay for the miserable keg of wine,” roared
Heller, “but I will also make complaint to our most gracious Elector
about an accompaniment out of which the devil himself could not find his
way.”