There resounds a proverbial question, "If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear, does it make a sound as it falls?" Capricious as this query may appear I have had occasion to entertain just such a notion when, as a youth, I found an exploratory journey down a deep wood's path abruptly halted by the greeting of an enormous fallen tree. The colossal obstacle lay across my path and presented itself a motionless, silent guardian that protected that which lay beyond from my further intrusion. What a monumental disturbance must have been witnessed by the forest as this giant came crashing down! I wondered how the tree came to be there in the first place or what of the countless forms of life that had sprang forth from its protective purview over the decades of the tree's history. I wondered what might have led to the demise of the strong anchoring system that had so obviously sustained the uprightness of this tower for so long. Not to mention what a scurry for life itself must have taken place by the multitude of creatures that were no doubt within the danger zone as tons of falling wood rushed earthward. Notwithstanding the magnitude of this event and the obvious lasting effects that resulted, I still wondered if "the falling tree had made a sound?"
When the life of Ludwig van Beethoven first encroached upon my path, much the same sensation was experienced. No doubt I had heard of the composer's name, but then so had I foreknowledge of trees, both fallen as well as standing ones. However, what of this particular composer. Had I ever entertained conversation with him? Had I known of his particular work, achievements, or failures? What difference had been made by this long extinguished life, at least where I was concerned? So here I stood. Yet another fallen giant before me in an apparently posture of complete silence leaving me to contemplate what, if any, true sound had been made as it fell.
Every inquiry has its beginnings and Beethoven's began in Bonn, Germany on December 16, 1770 (Cross 45). Though he had somewhat of a musical heritage with both his father and grandfather being performers themselves, it appears to have been that the emotion of greed more probably served as the conduit for molding of the youth. Johaan Beethoven, Ludwig's drunkard father, had become aware that his son possessed musical talent. Though apparently not particularly moved to enrich the young child's life, Johaan saw Ludwig as a potential Mozart style child prodigy of which could be capitalized on for financial gain.
It is ironic that the same greed over Mozart's success inspired the creation of one genius, Ludwig Beethoven, yet aided in the demise of another, Wolfgang A. Mozart himself. It was this greed that enticed a drunken Johaan to pull young Ludwig from his bed in the middle of the night and then force hours of practice on the violin with abusive beatings being the corrective measure for mistakes the exhausted child might make (Cross 46). Johaan felt that if Mozart could be so successful at such a young age, then so could Ludwig. Consequently, it was precisely this same envy over Mozart's ability that motivated adversaries of the likes of Salieri to continually undermine the potential advancement of Mozart's work, and thus, contributing to his poverty and ultimate premature popper's funeral (Cross 522-23). Johaan's greed took the form of envy while Salieri's took that of fear. However, both were greed in its purest form and most likely had equal effect on Beethoven. Johaan's greed resulted in abusive, yet not unproductive, practice. The final product of this was technical ability as well as much emotion, both of which furthered Beethoven's compositions. On the other hand, Salieri's greed contributed to Mozart's early death. In his later years Beethoven greatly feared that he too would face a premature death as his idle, Mozart, had done. This pushed productivity out as Beethoven...
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