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?”