The door was opened softly a little way, and in the crevice appeared a long and very red nose, and a pair of small, twinkling eyes, overshadowed by coal-black bushy eye-brows. Gradually became visible the whole withered, sallow, comical, yet good-humored face of Master Peter Pirad.
Peter Pirad was a famous kettle-drummer, and was much ridiculed on account of his partiality for that instrument, though he also excelled on many others. He always insisted that the kettle-drum was the most melodious, grand, and expressive instrument, and he would play it alone in the orchestra, partoutement, as he said. But he was one of the best-hearted persons in the world. It was quite impossible to look upon his tall, gaunt, clumsy figure, which, year in and year out, appeared in the well-worn yellow woolen coat, siskin colored breeches, and dark worsted stockings, with his peculiar fashioned felt cap, without a strong inclination to laugh; yet ludicrous as was his outward man, none remained long unconvinced that spite of his exterior, spite of his numerous eccentricities, Peter Pirad was one of the most amiable of men.[9]
From his childhood, Louis had been attached to Pirad; in later years they had been much together. Pirad, who had been absent several months from Bonn, and had just returned, was surprised beyond measure to find his favorite so changed. He entered the room, and walking up quietly, touched the youth on the shoulder, saying, in a tone as gentle as he could assume, “Why, Louis! what the mischief has got into your head, that you would not hear me?”
Louis started, turned round, and recognising his old friend, reached him his hand.
“You see,” continued Pirad, “you see I have returned safely and happily from my visit to Vienna. Ah! Louis! Louis! that’s a city for you! May I be hanged if ’tis not a noble city! Something new every day; something to please all tastes. Such living! Oh! ’twas admirable! and as for taste in art, you would go mad with the Viennese! As for artists, there are Albrechtsberger and Haydn, Mozart and Salieri,—my dear fellow, you must go to Vienna.” With that Pirad threw up his arms as if beating the kettle-drum, (he always did so when excited) and made such comical faces, that his young companion, spite of his sorrow, could not help bursting out a laughing.
“Saker!” cried Pirad, “that is clever; I like to see that you can laugh yet; it is a good sign; and you shall soon give care and trouble to the winds. Ay, ay, where old Peter comes, he banishes despondency; and now, Louis, pluck up like a man, and tell me what all this means. Why do I find you in such a bad humor, as if you had a hole in your skin, or the drums were broken? You know me, lad, for a capital kettle-drummer; there is not another such in the land. I warrant you there are plenty of ninnies who fancy they can beat me; but everybody who is a judge laughs at them. You know, too, I have always wished you well; so out with it, my brave boy, what is the matter with you?”
“Ah!” replied Beethoven, “much more than I can say; I have lost all hope, all trust in myself. You, perhaps, will not understand me, Pirad; you will censure me if I have been doing wrong; yet you have always been a kind friend to me, and I will tell you all my troubles, for indeed, I cannot keep them to myself any longer!” So the melancholy youth told all to his attentive auditor: his unhappy passion for his cousin; his master’s dissatisfaction with him, and his own sad misgivings.
When he had ended, Pirad remained silent awhile, his forefinger laid on his long nose, in an attitude of thoughtfulness. At length, raising his head, he gave his advice as follows:
“This is a sad story, Louis! but it convinces me of the truth of what I used to say: your late excellent father—I say it with all respect for his memory—and your other friends, never knew what was really in you. As for your disappointment in love, that is always a business that brings much trouble and little profit. Women are capricious creatures at best, and no man who has a respect for himself will be a slave to their humors. I was a little touched in that way, myself, when I was something more than your age, but the kettle-drum soon put such nonsense out of my head. My advice is, that you stick to your music, and let her go; my friendship will be a truer accompaniment for you; and that, I need not assure you, will never fail. For what concerns the court-organist, Neefe, I am more vexed; his absurdity is what I did not precisely expect. I will say nothing of Herr Yunker; he forgets music in his zeal for counterpoint; as if he should say, he could not see the wood for the tall trees, or the city for the houses! Have I not heard him assert, ay, with my own living ears, slanderously assert, that the kettle-drum was a superfluous instrument? Only think, Louis, the kettle-drum a superfluous instrument! Donner and —. Did not the great Haydn—bless him for it!—undertake a noble symphony expressly with reference to the kettle-drum? What could you do with “Dies iræ—dies illa,” without the kettle-drum? I played it at Vienna in Don Giovanni, the chapel-master Mozart himself directing. In the spirit scene, Louis, where the statue has ended his first speech, and Don Giovanni in consternation speaks to his attendants, while the anxious heart of the appalled sinner is throbbing, the kettle-drum thundering away—” Here Pirad began to sing with tragical gesticulation. “Yes, Louis, I beat the kettle-drum with a witness, while an icy thrill crept through my bones: and for all that, the kettle-drum is a useless instrument! What blockheads there are in the world! To return to your master,—I wonder at his stupidity, and yet I have no cause to wonder. You are perhaps aware that many wise and sensible people take me for a fool and a ridiculous fellow, because I disagree with them on certain subjects; nevertheless, I know much that wise and sensible people do not know. Now my creed is, that Art is a noble inheritance left us by our ancestors, which it is our duty to enlarge and increase by all honest and honorable means. There are those among the heirs who think the capital already large enough; talk of the impossibility of bettering it—a bird in the hand being worth two in the bush, etc. But such spiritless persons only waste what they know not how to use to advantage. He who has a soul for art will not spare his labor, but consider how he may best do justice to the testator, and render useful the good gift of the Almighty, surely not bestowed for nought! No, my dear boy, I tell you I hold you for an honest heir, who would not waste your substance; who has not only power, but will, to perform his duty. So take courage; be not cast down at trifles; and take my advice and go to Vienna. Himmeltausend! whom have you here above yourself? but there you will find your masters: Mozart, Haydn, Albrechtsberger, and others not so well known, but well worthy your emulation. One year, nay, a few months in Vienna will do more for you than ten years vegetating in this good city. You can soon learn, then, what you are capable of, and what not; only mind what Mozart says, when you are playing in his hearing.”
The young man started up, his eyes sparkling, his cheeks glowing with new enthusiasm, and embraced Pirad warmly. “You are right, my good friend!” he cried, “I will go to Vienna; and shame on any one who despises your counsel! Yes, I will go to Vienna.”