“As chapelmaster Ries has already declared, we not only must, but will,
testify that everything was done fairly.”
“That does not signify,” replied Heller, still in bad humor. “I will yet
disgrace him. Such an accompaniment as his is not proper in church at
least.” Seizing his hat, he ran out, and disappeared before any one
could stop him.
Beethoven, entirely unconcerned, let him go. Neither he nor the others
believed that Heller was in earnest with his threats or that he would
really complain to the Elector against his enemy. But when the entire
party after the service returned to the wine-shop, where they expected
to find Heller, there was no trace of him.
“Well, that is of no consequence,” said Beethoven, good-humoredly. “We
will drink the keg of wine regardless of him. I will pay for it out of
my own pocket.”
Mine host was ordered to furnish some excellent wine, the glasses
clinked, and they gave themselves up to unrestrained conviviality.
Beethoven, delighted over the defeat of his obstinate and bitter enemy,
overflowed with hilarity, when suddenly a lackey in the electoral livery
appeared in their midst and loudly asked whether the court organist,
Ludwig van Beethoven, was present.
Deep silence followed the question, and consternation was manifest on
every countenance. Had Heller in his wrath really carried out his threat
after all? Beethoven, who was the one most closely concerned, understood
at once and sprang up. “Here I am,” he said. “What does His Highness,
the Elector, wish of me?”
“That you come at once, just as you are, to the castle,” was the reply.
“The Elector wishes to speak with you.”
“I will obey at once,” replied Beethoven, as he took his hat. “Do not be
disturbed, friends. Perhaps I shall return soon.”
Although he had succeeded tolerably well in concealing his apprehensions
while with his companions, he was not altogether easy in his mind on his
way to the castle. To be sure, he knew from Count Waldstein’s
description of the Elector that he was a very kind and merciful man, but
notwithstanding this he neither knew nor could imagine how he might
criticise that pleasant little artistic performance in the church.
Therefore he prepared himself to receive an appropriately long and sound
rebuke. He determined to accept it, humbly and patiently, and at last
with tolerable composure entered the apartment of the Elector.
That high personage was sitting with his back to Beethoven, writing at
his desk. He did not turn around when Beethoven entered, and apparently
did not hear the servant’s announcement. Five minutes, which seemed an
eternity to Beethoven, passed in utter silence. At last the Elector
suddenly threw down his pen and quickly turned round. “Ah! there you
are, dear Beethoven,” he said in a by no means unfriendly manner. “Come
a little nearer.”
[Illustration: _Beethoven approached within a couple of steps of the
Elector, the latter scrutinizing him with a sharp glance_]
Beethoven approached within a couple of steps of the Elector and bowed
low, the latter scrutinizing him with a sharp glance, which the
delinquent stood bravely.
“My dear Beethoven,” began the Elector, “I have sent for you that I may
thank you for the beautiful music which you composed for our Count
Waldstein’s Ritter ballet. Accept for your services your appointment as
my chamber musician, and this slight compensation of one hundred
ducats.” With these words he took a little roll of gold pieces and a
signed document from his desk and gave them to Beethoven, whose beaming
countenance could not conceal his joyous surprise.
“Gracious master, this is too much, really too much,” he exclaimed.
“Take them, take them,” insisted the Elector. “I am well satisfied with
you. Count Waldstein has told me many nice things about you, and I
myself have noticed in the court concerts that God has bestowed upon you
a beautiful and important talent. It is my duty to promote this,—and
besides, do you suppose that I will allow you to give me your
compositions? So take this.”
With trembling hands Beethoven took the roll and the document, and, in
his extreme confusion, stammered out a few disconnected words of
gratitude. The Elector interrupted him.
“Very good,” said he. “But”—and here his face assumed a stern
expression—“now that we have finished up this piece of business, a word
about a more serious matter. Heller has been to me, and complained of
you. Before I make my decision I would like to hear from you what you
have really been doing to Heller.”
The flush of joy in Beethoven’s face disappeared, and gave place to the
pallor of fear. He courageously composed himself, however, and frankly
told, without reserve and with exact truth, the circumstances of the
hostile encounter with Heller.
“I understand, and find that you are not as guilty as I feared,” said
the Elector, resuming a kindly tone. “But, notwithstanding this, are you
not aware that you have made a bad mistake?”
“Yes, I realize it now, gracious master,” replied Beethoven. “The church
should not have been the scene of our quarrel. In my passion I did not
think of that. I deserve punishment, and will submit to it humbly and
repentantly.”
“Well,” replied the Elector, smiling, “he who recognizes and regrets his
faults has already half atoned for them. I will not be too severe in my
sentence, but I ought not to let your fault go unpunished. The venerable
Abbot of Heisterbach told me some time ago you had an unsurpassed talent
for organ playing. This gives me the opportunity to announce your
punishment. You are to be banished from my court for a year, with the
special order that you spend that year in Vienna, where all
distinguished organists ought to go that they may profit by the
knowledge they can gain there. So you are banished for a year to Vienna.
This is your punishment.”
Beethoven could hardly believe he heard aright. “But, Your Highness,” he
exclaimed, his eyes glistening brightly, “this is not a punishment; it
is a reward—the fulfilment of my dearest wishes.”
The Elector could not repress a slight smile at the open-hearted
simplicity of the young man, but he quickly assumed a more serious
manner and said earnestly: “Any other one would have considered
banishment from my court a very severe punishment, and I regard it so
also, and expected that you would. It is not complimentary to me that
you should regard removal from my vicinity as a reward.”
“Great heavens! I did not mean it that way,” said Beethoven, seriously
alarmed. “I intended to say I had always wished to go to Vienna
sometime, because one can learn the most in music there. Pardon me, my
gracious master. My whole heart is filled with gratitude to you.”
“Well, well, quiet yourself,” replied the Elector, and the kindly smile
returned to his face. “I think you understand that you are still in
favor, but your punishment must make expiation, and it must also be
considered as punishment. Keep this in mind. In future I recommend a
simple accompaniment for the church music. As to the other matter, if
you should need any money for the journey, or anything else, apply to
Count Waldstein. He knows my intentions in relation to you. Adieu, dear
Beethoven, and employ your time usefully in Vienna, so that it may
compensate for your absence from my court. Adieu.”
A gracious inclination of the head by the Elector, a low bow by
Beethoven, and the audience was at an end. Intoxicated with delight
Beethoven staggered rather than walked down the steps, and in a corridor
of the castle happened upon Count Waldstein, whom he would have rushed
by without recognizing if the Count himself had not stopped him.
“Here, here, my dear fellow, are you again all fire and flame?” he said
to him. “Has anything special happened to you?”
“Oh, you know everything already, Herr Count, for it is you I have to
thank for your kind intercession,” replied Beethoven, cordially.
“Chamber musician! A hundred ducats! A journey to Vienna! My head
swims.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose because of your sorrow over the unkindness of the
Elector, who has punished you for your petulancy,” said the Count, with
his peculiar smile. “As a punishment you have been consigned to
banishment from your colleagues. Keep this in mind. The Elector so wills
it.”
“Yes, but for my advantage, Herr Count,” said Beethoven, joyfully. “But,
God knows, it is a merciful punishment, for which one should be a
thousand times thankful.”
And away he flew to the beloved mother to make his sorrowful complaint
of the severity of the hard, cruel, merciful Elector.
Tears flowed. It was but natural. But the tears were certainly not
altogether those of sorrow.
_In Vienna_
The most distinguished and refined society of that period was accustomed
to assemble at the house of Prince Lichnowski,[23] and the best music
was often performed there by the most eminent artists. Both the Prince
and his amiable wife had received a thorough musical education, and
loved and promoted music of the highest kind.
Beethoven brought a most cordial letter of introduction from Count
Waldstein to the Prince, and consequently received an immediate
invitation to a musical evening at the Lichnowski palace, which he of
course accepted.
Upon entering the splendid apartments of the Prince, he found a
brilliant company assembled. The contrast with his simple, ordinary
dress made him feel a little uneasy, and he would have quietly slipped
away had not Prince Lichnowski fortunately prevented his attempt to
escape, just in time. Beethoven’s name had hardly been announced to him
by a servant before he hastened to receive him, greeted him in the most
cordial manner, bade him welcome, and shook hands with him warmly.
“I am exceedingly delighted to see you at my house,” said he. “My
friend, Count Waldstein, has written many nice and kindly things about
you, and His Electoral Highness, the Archbishop, has added with his own
hand the strongest and most hearty words of recommendation. I hope you
will feel perfectly at home with us very soon. I beg you to come with
me, that I may present you to the Princess, who will be no less pleased
than myself to make your acquaintance.”
After such a cordial reception Beethoven quickly regained his composure,
and walked through the hall at the Prince’s side with uplifted head and
without permitting the glitter and finery of the other guests to disturb
him. Many eyes followed with astonishment the strange figure which,
notwithstanding its entire lack of physical attractiveness, suggested
the bearing of the lion, and notwithstanding its youthfulness concealed
something great and distinguished under its insignificant exterior.
The Princess Lichnowski received the young man with an expression of
gracious satisfaction, which was very agreeable to Beethoven. “It is
nice that you are here,” said she. “I hope we shall be good friends, and
then we shall have some good music together. Dear Mozart”[24]—she turned
quickly to a simply but nicely dressed gentleman who stood near
by—“please come here a moment.”
Mozart smilingly obeyed the summons and bowed low before the Princess,
who held out her hand familiarly to him, and said: “No such ceremony
between us, sir. Here, look at this young man. This is Herr Ludwig van
Beethoven of Bonn, the electoral chamber musician and court organist—and
this, my dear Beethoven, is our world-renowned master, Wolfgang Amadeus
Mozart, the brightest sun in our musical firmament.”
Mozart greeted the young man, of whom he perhaps had not yet heard, in a
friendly but at the same time somewhat cool manner. Beethoven, on the
other hand, who enthusiastically admired Mozart’s compositions, could
not conceal his delight that an opportunity was offered him to make the
acquaintance of the great master, and expressed his feelings in the most
emphatic manner.
“Let us be a little more quiet, young man,” interposed Mozart, smiling
at Beethoven’s excessive adoration. “I can readily believe you like some
of my compositions, and that pleases me. But we will not make too much
noise about them. I see that you know me, but I do not yet know your
ability as a musician. Therefore may I ask that sometime you will give
us something of your best on the piano? I shall be delighted if I can
return your compliments.”
Beethoven needed no second request. He felt inspired by the presence of
the high priest in the temple of art, whose wonderful melodies had so
charmed him, and he replied eagerly and quickly: “Where is the piano? If
you will listen to me, Herr Mozart, I will play at once.”
“All the better,” said Mozart. “There is a piano in the next room. Let
us go there.”
“Brava!” said the Princess, as she clapped her hands. “We shall hear
something beautiful now. Let us go at once.”
Beethoven, his heart swelling with pride and eager to show himself to
the master of music in the most advantageous light, threw himself into
his work with impetuous vigor, and played continuously for a full
quarter of an hour whatever the occasion and his own genius suggested.
Those present listened intently, and when Beethoven brought his
performance to a close with some splendid chords, a storm of applause
followed. Prince and Princess Lichnowski openly expressed their
astonishment at Beethoven’s artistic skill, and all the others praised
him. Mozart alone remained calm and unexcited, and contented himself
with saying a few coolly polite words of praise.
Beethoven blushed and turned pale alternately. He had expected a warmer
recognition on the part of the renowned master, and such cool civility
chilled the enthusiasm and inspiration in his breast like an icy breath.
With a bitter smile he bowed his proud head and covered his heated brow
with his hand. A moment before, he thought he had accomplished something
excellent. Had his feelings deceived him? Had he completely
overestimated his talent? That was a terrible thought.
Silence reigned in the room. The guests also were disturbed by Mozart’s
reserved manner,—the same Mozart who was always so willing to praise and
quick to appreciate, when there was occasion for praise and
appreciation, and who now showed not a trace of his customary enthusiasm
after such a specially masterly performance.
“You judge the young man too severely, dear Mozart,” whispered Prince
Lichnowski to him. “His playing has really electrified me.”
“Oh, that performance is of no great consequence,” replied Mozart, with
a shrug of the shoulder. “It is only a prepared show-piece which the
young man has given us; I do not allow myself to be excited by such
things.”
This was said in a low voice, but Beethoven heard it. The cloud
disappeared from his brow. He raised his head, shook his mane, and with
flashing eyes said to Mozart:
“No, sir, that is not a show-piece learned by heart that I played, but a
free fantasie. In proof of this I ask you to give me a theme for another
free fantasie, and then I will show you what I can do.”
“Oho! Oho! don’t get too excited, young man,” replied Mozart. “You can
have a theme—develop this one.”
Mozart leaned over Beethoven’s shoulder, played the theme, and then
stepped back a little. Beethoven instantly grasped the theme. He always
played best when aroused, and at this instant he was still excited by
the presence of the honored master. He developed the theme with such
skill and brilliancy of technique that he carried his audience away with
wonder at his inspired performance.
All indifference and coolness disappeared from Mozart’s manner. With the
young musician’s first passages and accords, deep interest was apparent
on his countenance, and when Beethoven finished his fantasie and arose
from the piano, Mozart went up to him, embraced him, and said in a tone
of voice all could hear, “This young man, some day or other, will make a
noise in the world.”
Now it was all joy and exultation. Beethoven was visibly affected, and
trembled, while flashes of triumph shot from his piercing eyes. The
princely couple and the guests overwhelmed him with congratulations.
After that evening Beethoven was regarded in Vienna as destined to
musical greatness, and he found friends and well-wishers everywhere.
Prince Lichnowski was completely devoted to him. He gave him a room in
his palace, and a standing invitation to his table as a guest.
Beethoven thoroughly appreciated these friendly attentions, but he was
not on that account any the less obstinate and self-willed. Proud of his
genius, which the great Mozart had so clearly recognized, he did not
display a fawning, servile manner. He seemed rather like one who was on
guard against favors, than as one who was receiving them.
Prince Lichnowski, an extremely amiable man, and one who was well
acquainted with the world, let Beethoven go his own way. He clearly
recognized the great genius of his young friend, and did not trouble
himself about the oddities, and at times rude ways, in his behavior. The
Princess did the same. She valued and admired the inner worth of the
young artist, and did not concern herself about his rough exterior.
The first visit of Beethoven to Vienna was not a long one. His leave of
absence, or, if you prefer, his term of banishment from the electoral
court at Bonn, approached its end, and he must return home. His devoted
friends, Prince and Princess Lichnowski chief among them, let him go
reluctantly, and cordially and urgently invited him to return soon.
“Always consider my house as your residence, dear Beethoven,” said
Prince Lichnowski, as he embraced him at his departure. “Whether I may
be in Vienna or not, you will always find a room ready for you here.”
The Princess manifested the same kind feeling.
Beethoven was deeply affected by his separation from these noble and
devoted friends, and with heart-felt emotion expressed his gratitude for
all the favors he had received.
“I shall come again,” said he. “Be it sooner or later, depend upon it, I
shall come. Vienna has become very dear to me. Such friends as I have
found here are treasures for a lifetime. One must find such friends to
appreciate the joyousness of living.” So he departed; but he forgot
neither his promises nor his affectionate friends and admirers.
In the narrow limits of Bonn the young eagle, Beethoven, could not
spread his wings for his highest flight. He longed to be back again in
the Kaiser city. There were the great masters of the art, Gluck,
Haydn,[25] and Mozart, whose music was admired by all cultured persons;
and there, music was considered the highest of all the arts and was most
honored. Beethoven needed such a soil to bring his mighty genius to its
highest development, and therefore his thoughts repeatedly turned toward
Vienna, and he longed for nothing so ardently as to go back there. This
was not because he loved and esteemed his old friends in Bonn less than
his new Vienna friends. He clung to them with all his earlier
attachment; but his art urged him on to the highest and holiest things
of life, and it was only in Vienna that he could find at that time the
soil fitted to bring his art to its complete blossoming.
The Elector, in whose good graces Beethoven still remained, heard of the
ardent wishes of the young man from Count Waldstein, but for a long time
he did nothing to promote them. A fortunate dispensation brought the
renowned Haydn to Bonn in July, 1792,[26] and Beethoven did not lose the
opportunity to renew the acquaintance which he had made during his first
visit to Vienna.
Haydn manifested delight at seeing the young artist again, and expressed
his astonishment that he had not yet gone back to Vienna, where he would
be received with the greatest possible pleasure and honors.
“It is not my fault that I was not there long ago,” he replied. “The
Elector wishes me to remain here, and I am so greatly indebted to him
that it is impossible for me to oppose his desires.”
“That is truly an unanswerable argument,” said Haydn. “For all that,
keep up good courage. Everything will come out right yet.”
And so it did, and more quickly than Beethoven had dared to hope. The
good Haydn eloquently appealed to the Elector to gratify the young man’s
wishes, and Count Waldstein reinforced him so enthusiastically that the
Elector at last decided to let him go. It was done as a mark of favor
and honor; and delighted with the realization of his longings, Beethoven
returned, in 1792,[27] to his loved Vienna, where he was to settle down
for the rest of his life.
His friends in Vienna received him with open arms. Prince Lichnowski
again arranged a room for him in his palace, and gave him a seat at his
table, and the Princess treated him as if she had been his mother.
Beethoven accepted all these proffered favors with gratitude, and such
truly intimate relations soon existed between his patron and himself,
that his peculiarities, and the little improprieties of which he was
often guilty, failed to disturb them for any length of time. And the
young musician showed himself peculiar, very peculiar, often extremely
so. For instance, he did not come to the table for a long time. Prince
Lichnowski asked him the reason, and Beethoven curtly replied:
“What! do you think it strange that I am not seated promptly at table at
four o’clock in the afternoon? Must I be at home every day at half-past
three, dress myself, comb my hair, and shave? Not by any means! I will
not endure it. I decided at the very first it was best to go to a
restaurant. There at least I am under no restraint, and I can go and eat
at any hour I please.”
The Prince let him have his own way. He fully realized that one must not
put bridle and reins on an artist like Beethoven, but must let him go as
he pleases.
At another time Beethoven took a fancy to have daily horseback rides,
and had hardly intimated his purpose when Prince Lichnowski generously
placed his entire stable at his disposal.
“What!” said Beethoven, “shall I ride a strange horse? shall I go and
obsequiously ask the stable-master every time I wish to ride whether it
is agreeable to him to saddle a horse for me? I will do nothing of the
kind; I will buy my own horse.”
And he did so. He rode a fortnight, and then seemed entirely to have
forgotten that he had a horse. His whim was over, and his servant had
been doing a profitable business for a long time by hiring the horse out
by the hour.
On still another occasion Beethoven rang his bell several times one
morning, but the servant did not answer the call. When he came at last,
and excused his neglect by saying that he was ordered to wait upon the
Prince, Beethoven flew into a passion, took the fellow by the collar,
and marched him to the Prince.
“This churl has let me wait,” he cried in a furious rage, “because you
had called him.”
“That is all right, of course,” said the Prince, quietly. “Excuse me,
dear Beethoven; but you, Friedrich”—he turned and spoke decidedly to the
servant—“must serve Herr van Beethoven first when he and I ring for you
at the same time.”
The young artist’s anger was quickly changed to shame, and the result
was that he procured a servant of his own that very day, to answer his
bell.
The Prince, as usual, let him do as he pleased, without paying any
attention to his extraordinary conduct. The good understanding between
them was so little disturbed by it that he gave him an annuity of six
hundred gulden, for the Elector of Cologne had died in the meantime, and
by his death Beethoven’s salary as chamber musician was cut off.