Part 4

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.”

“Complain all you will; you will make nothing by it,” said Lucchesi.[22] “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.”

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.