Ludwig van Beethoven was born in 15th or 16th December 1770. The roots of his family are still fairly obscure. In 1733 Louis van Beethoven, the composer's grandfather, settled in Bonn, which had since the 13th century been the seat of the Archbishop-Electors of Cologne. Beethoven quickly learned all that his father could teach him. Music took upevery minute of the boy's time and his schooling was forcedto take second place.

When Ludwig left school he began to take lessons from the most important of his masters, Christian Gottlob Neefe, who had come to Bonn in 1779 as musical director of a theatre company and who had subsequently been appointed court organist. Neefe gave his pupil a thorough musical training, teaching him in particular to play Bach's Well-tempered Clavier, and his influence was acknowledged by Beethoven in 1793 when he wrote to Neefe, 'If 1 ever become a great man, yours shall be a share of the credit.' During Neefe's absence abroad in 1782 Beethoven, then only 11  years old, deputised for him as court organist, and the following year he acted as cembalist (or director) of the court orchestra≈an extremely responsible position, for the cembalist guided the orchestra's performance, playing by sight from the score. This work gave Beethoven an opportunity to put his lessons into practice, and while he was at the theatre he also became well acquainted with the popular operas of the day. But his work was not officially recognised until 1784, when he was appointed assistant court organist at a salary of 100 thalers a year. 

Beethoven was by this time already skilled in the improvisations which were to make his name in Vienna: in 1785, while accompanying the singer Ferdinand Heller, he asked leave to try and put Heller off his note. Heller agreed, thinking that it would be impossible for so young a performer to do this; but he soon found that he was wrong, for Bee­thoven's accompaniment became so complicated that Heller was unable to find the closing notes. In 1787 Beethoven visited Vienna. Who sponsored the visit or how he obtained money for his journey is not known, but it was at this time that he met Mozart, for whom he played. Mozart at first received the playing rather coolly, gathering of musicians, 'Some day this young man will make a great noise in the world.'

Beethoven's stay in Vienna was however abruptly cut short when he received news that his mother was seriously ill. He hurried back to Bonn, but on 17th July she died.  

After his wife's death Johann van Beethoven began to go steadily downhill: he drank more and more, and on one occasion Stephan von Breuning recollects seeing Ludwig 'furiously interposing to rescue his drunken father from an officer of police'. These years were very hard ones for the Beethoven family and Ludwig was forced to apply for help to Franz Anton Ries, with whom he had formerly studied the violin. He also gave music lessons and it was as a music teacher that he entered for the first time the house of the von Breuning family, with whom he was to become very close friends. Frau von Breuning was a widow with four children (Stephan, her second son, had studied with Bee­thoven under Ries): Beethoven soon became a member of their family circle, and this first contact with a cultured society so different from the hard world in which he had grown up had a markedly softening effect on his character. At their home he also met Franz Gerhard Wegeler, a young doctor who married Eleonore von Breuning, and who was later to write a biography of Beethoven.

Another friend Beethoven made at this time was Count Ferdinand Waldstein, an enthusiastic amateur musician, who was to be one of his most generous benefactors≈among other works the so-called 'Waldstein' Piano Sonata is ded­icated to this patron, who gave the composer a piano and numerous gifts of money (which he usually pretended had come from the Elector!); Beethoven on his side composed the music for a Ritterballet performed in March 1791, and which purported to be by Count Waldstein.

In 1788 the Elector Max Franz decided to revive the theatre and opera at Bonn. A new orchestra was engaged including both Beethoven, who played viola, and Franz Anton Ries, who played violin. The four years during which Beethoven was a member of this orchestra gave him a knowledge of all the best schools of the day (except that of Berlin), and ex­perience as an active member of an orchestra. By 1789 Johann van Beethoven had become incapable of carrying out his work properly. He was dismissed from the chapel choir and Ludwig now became legally, as well as in fact, head of his family: Johann continued to receive half his salary, but the other half was paid to Ludwig in addition to his own. After Johann's dismissal his general decline continued, and in 1792 he died.

In 1790 Haydn passed through Bonn on his way to England and when he visited the town again on his return journey in 1792 the musicians gave a big dinner in his honour. Bee­thoven, who was present on this occasion, showed Haydn a cantata he had composed, and perhaps Haydn suggested that Beethoven should come and study with him in Vienna. Wherever the idea came from, it was not long before Bee­thoven acted on it. By August he had left Bonn, never to return. Among his luggage was his autograph album, in which Count Waldstein had inscribed: '. . . The Genius of Mozart is mourning and weeping over the death of her pupil. She found a refuge but no occupation with the inexhaustible Haydn; through him she wishes to form a union with another.

When Beethoven arrived in Vienna in 1792, turning his back on Bonn and the Rhineland for the last time, the city was the musical capital of Europe. It was dominated by the personalities of Haydn (now sixty) and Mozart (who had died the previous year) but there was also a constant demand for new music which was met by a host of minor composers, most of whom have been forgotten today. Opera flourished in two state-controlled theatres and at the newly-formed Theater auf der Wieden, but public concerts were seldom given and even subscription series - the normal form of concert-giving at the time - were few. Some members of the nobility maintained permanent musical establishments and chamber music was very popular; most music-lovers played with, and even composed for, chamber ensembles. Pianists were judged above all by their ability to improvise, but in 1792 Mozart's" supremacy in this art had not yet been challenged.

 It was as a student that Beethoven came to Vienna, and he was soon taking lessons with Haydn - an arrangement which did not prove to be very satisfactory, as Beethoven was far too strong-willed for his easy-going master. By the time Haydn left for England in 1794 the lessons were at an end, and when publishing his first composition Beethoven refused to call himself 'pupil of Haydn', for he insisted that although he had had some instruction from Haydn he had never learned anything from him. He subsequently studied with Albrechtsberger, court organist and an authority on contrapuntal and church music, and with Antonio Salieri, Mozart's former rival, who was court Kapellmeister and director of the Opera. Franz Anton Ries's son Ferdinand recalls: 'All three valued Beethoven highly, but were also of one mind touching his habits of study. All of them said Beethoven was so headstrong and self-sufficient that he had to learn much through harsh experience which he had re­fused to accept when it was presented to him as a subject of study.' This is very revealing of Beethoven's character -until his meeting with the von Breunings and Count Waldstein he had never learned to practice self-control, and he was subject throughout his life to ungovernable fits of temper.

When Beethoven first arrived in Vienna he was very short of money, for although he was still in theory employed by the Bonn court his salary was soon discontinued, in spite of Franz Anton Ries's efforts on his behalf. There were, how­ever, many ways for a musician to earn a living in Vienna. Piano-playing in the salons of the aristocracy was very remunerative, and was also a means of gaining well-to-do pupils. Publication of compositions could bring in a little money, but it was more profitable to sell the sole rights in new works for a limited period before publication, or to his own benefit until he had been in Vienna for eight years.

 Acclaimed as a pianist and well on the way to making his name as a composer, at the end of the 18th century Beethoven appeared to be poised on the threshold of a brilliant career. But already he was threatened by the disaster which was to change his life. It was in 1798 or 1799 that he first noticed symptoms of deafness, and although they had not yet be­come serious he visited innumerable doctors during the next few years in an attempt to find a cure. But nothing worked, and by 1801 Beethoven could no longer pretend to the world that his hearing was normal. On 1st June he wrote to Amenda: '1 wish that you were with me, for your Beethoven lives most unhappily, in discord with nature and with the Creator. More than once I have cursed the latter for exposing his creatures to the slightest accident, so that often the loveliest blossoms are destroyed and broken by it. You must be told that the finest part of me, my hearing, has greatly deteriorated . . . Whether it can ever be cured, re­mains to be seen.' His hopelessness increased as his hearing gradually grew worse - 'the unhappiest of God's creatures', he called himself- and on 29th June he wrote to Wegeler: 'My ears . . . whistle and roar incessantly, night and day. I can say that I am leading a miserable life; for two years, almost, I have been avoiding all the social functions, simply because I feel incapable of telling people I am deaf.'

However, by November Beethoven again had cause for happiness: he was in love, as he told Wegeler. 'Now my life is a little more agreeable again, because I spend more time with others. You would hardly believe how dreary, how sad my life has been in the last two years: my bad hearing haunted me everywhere like a ghost, 1 fled from men, had to appear a misanthropist, though 1 am far from being one. This change has been brought about by a charming fasci­nating girl, who loves me and whom I love. At last, after two years, there have been some moments of complete bliss, and this is the first time I have ever felt that marriage could make one happy . . .' It seems most likely that this letter referred to Countess Giulietta Guicciardi, to whom Beethoven had previously given piano lessons. But nothing came of his love, perhaps because of the difference in their social positions, and in 1802 Giulietta Guicciardi married Count Gallenberg. With his love affair at an end and the prospects for his future increasingly grim in 1802 Beethoven left Vienna to spend the summer in nearby Heiligenstadt.

With the help of introductions which he had been given by his friends in Bonn, Beethoven was soon established in Viennese society. His first lodgings were in the same house as those of Prince Lichnowsky, a patron of the arts and amateur musician, and before very long he had moved into the Prince's apartment and was living with him as an honoured guest. Beethoven became quite a dandy - al­though the unaccustomed necessity of keeping up appear­ances began to be rather a strain. Dinner at Prince Lichnowsky's house was served at four o'clock. 'Now,' said Beethoven, 'it is desired that every day I shall be at home at half past three, put on better clothes, care for my beard etc. - I can't stand that.' Besides Lichnowsky, at this time Beethoven met and became intimate with other Viennese nobles including Prince Lobkowitz (another musical amateur and patron), Baron van Swieten (the friend of Haydn and Mozart) and Freiherr Zmeskall von Domanowetz (an official in the Royal Hungarian Court Chancellery), as well as many of the city musicians, among them the violinist Schuppanzigh, the pianist Hummel, and Amenda, a theology graduate who had become a music teacher. His circle of friends was also increased by the arrival in Vienna of Wegeler and two members of the von Breuning family.

But despite the glamour of his new life Beethoven did not forget his brothers. After his father's death they too came to Vienna. Kaspar Karl became a teacher of music, while Nikolaus Johann took a job in an apothecary's shop and was eventually able to set up on his own account. And Beethoven was always ready to help them with gifts of money, or with advice if necessary. In 1795 a young singer, Magdalene Willmann, came to Vienna, where she appeared in several productions of the Court Opera. She so entranced Beethoven that he proposed marriage, but was refused, according to the girl 'because he was so ugly and half crazy'. His sorrow does not seem to have lasted very long and, besides, the year was marked for him by a number of other important events: for the first time he appeared in public as composer and pianist; and best of all was the appearance of the first of his works to be published in Vienna, the three Piano Trios, which Beethoven himself distinguished as the first of his compositions deserv­ing attention when he designated them 'opus 1'. From this time he composed steadily - often working on several pieces at once - and each work added to the foundations of his new fame as a composer. By 1801 he had written the first three Piano Concertos, the First Symphony and an enormous amount of chamber music, including the 'Pathetique' and 'Moonlight' Sonatas.

Although he was never a keen traveller, in 1796 Beethoven visited Prague and Berlin, where he played several times at court and, according to Ries, received a gold spuff box filled with money of which he was very proud. But although he did not go abroad very often, he preferred to spend the summer months in some quiet country retreat near Vienna. He was always a great lover of the country - a love that was later to be revealed in the 'Pastoral' Symphony.

 Acclaimed as a pianist and well on the way to making his name as a composer, at the end of the 18th century Beethoven appeared to be poised on the threshold of a brilliant career. But already he was threatened by the disaster which was to change his life. It was in 1798 or 1799 that he first noticed symptoms of deafness, and although they had not yet be­come serious he visited innumerable doctors during the next few years in an attempt to find a cure. But nothing worked, and by 1801 Beethoven could no longer pretend to the world that his hearing was normal. On 1st June he wrote to Amenda: '1 wish that you were with me, for your Beethoven lives most unhappily, in discord with nature and with the Creator. More than once I have cursed the latter for exposing his creatures to the slightest accident, so that often the loveliest blossoms are destroyed and broken by it. You must be told that the finest part of me, my hearing, has greatly deteriorated . . . Whether it can ever be cured, re­mains to be seen.' His hopelessness increased as his hearing gradually grew worse - 'the unhappiest of God's creatures', he called himself- and on 29th June he wrote to Wegeler: 'My ears . . . whistle and roar incessantly, night and day. I can say that I am leading a miserable life; for two years, almost, I have been avoiding all the social functions, simply because I feel incapable of telling people I am deaf.'

However, by November Beethoven again had cause for happiness: he was in love, as he told Wegeler. 'Now my life is a little more agreeable again, because I spend more time with others. You would hardly believe how dreary, how sad my life has been in the last two years: my bad hearing haunted me everywhere like a ghost, 1 fled from men, had to appear a misanthropist, though 1 am far from being one. This change has been brought about by a charming fasci­nating girl, who loves me and whom I love. At last, after two years, there have been some moments of complete bliss, and this is the first time I have ever felt that marriage could make one happy . . .' It seems most likely that this letter referred to Countess Giulietta Guicciardi, to whom Beethoven had previously given piano lessons. But nothing came of his love, perhaps because of the difference in their social positions, and in 1802 Giulietta Guicciardi married Count Gallenberg. With his love affair at an end and the prospects for his future increasingly grim in 1802 Beethoven left Vienna to spend the summer in nearby Heiligenstadt.

In 1802 Beethoven told the composer Johann Krumpholz, 'I am not satisfied with my works up to the present time. From today I mean to take a new road.' His first two symphonies and three piano concertos were behind him, as well as the highly original piano sonatas of op. 27 and op. 31 (the second of op. 27 is the famous C sharp minor, so-called 'Moonlight', of lasting popular appeal; and op. 31, no. 2, in D minor is his most dramatic work to date). The three sonatas of op. 31 may well have been completed after his remark to Krumpholz and may have been in his mind when he made it - already they are on the new road.The 'Eroica' was not far off, and he was on the threshold of a period of unparalleled power and fecundity.

To see the true immensity of this achievement (or, rather, to get some idea of the will-power that made it possible) we must consider Beethoven's state of mind in 1802. His hearing had been worrying him, and his doctor had been far from reassuring; the verdict, indeed, was that there was already little hope of an improvement and every possibility of deterioration. No kind of cure could be imagined. Beethoven was plunged into despair. The thought of suicide gripped him more than once. To be faced at the age of thirty-two with such a nightmare was almost too much - and Beethoven at this time thought he was only twenty-eight, since his father, anxious to exploit him as a boy prodigy, had falsified his age. His friend Stephan Breuning, writing to another admirer of the composer, said, 'You could not believe the indescribable, 1 might say horrible effect, which the loss of his hearing has produced on him.' Beethoven spent the summer of 1802 in the country resort of Heiligenstadt, near Vienna, and his darkest (and some of his noblest) thoughts are expressed in a letter, now famous, to his brothers, known as the Heiligenstadt Testament, and clearly intended as a form of will. The following translation is by Constance S. Jolly, and is quoted in Schindler's Beethoven as I Knew Him (Faber, 1966):

For my brothers Karland ....... Beethoven: O ye men who consider or declare me to be hostile, stubborn, or misanthropic, how unjust you are to me! You do not know the secret cause of what seems so to you. From childhood my heart and mind were filled with the tender feelings of goodwill; I was ever ready to perform great things. But consider that for six years I have been afflicted with an incurable complaint, made worse by my incompetent physicians, deceived year after year by the hope of an improvement, forced at last to accept the prospect of a lasting infirmity, whose cure may take years or indeed be impossible.

 Born with an ardent, active temperament, ever inclined to the diversions of society, I was forced at an early age to ignore all this, how narshily doubly sad experience of my poor hearing, yet I could not say to people, 'Speak louder, shout for I am deaf!' Alas, how was it possible for me to admit to an infirmity in the one sense that in me should be more perfect than in others, a sense that I once possessed in the greatest per­fection, a perfection, indeed, such as few in my profession enjoy or have ever enjoyed - oh, I cannot do it.

Forgive me, then, if you see me draw back from your company which I would so gladly share. My misfortune is doubly hard to bear, since because of it I am certain to be misunderstood. For me there can be no recreation in the company of others, no pleasures of conversation, no mutual exchange of thoughts. Only just as much as the most pressing needs demand may I venture into society; I am compelled to live like an outcast. If I venture into company I am overcome by a burning terror, for 1 fear that I may be in danger of letting my condition become known.

Forgive me, then, if you see me draw back from your company which I would so gladly share. My misfortune is doubly hard to bear, since because of it I am certain to be misunderstood. For me there can be no recreation in the company of others, no pleasures of conversation, no mutual exchange of thoughts. Only just as much as the most pressing needs demand may I venture into society; I am compelled to live like an outcast. If I venture into company I am overcome by a burning terror, for 1 fear that I may be in danger of letting my condition become known.

Thus has it been during the last half year, which 1 have spent in the country. Ordered by my wise physician to spare my heating as much as possible, he almost encouraged my present instinctive mood, although, often moved by the urge for companionship, I have let myself be tempted into it. But how humiliating it was when those standing near me heard a flute in the distance that I could not hear, or someone heard a shepherd singing and again I heard nothing.

Such experiences brought me to the depths of despair -a little more, and I would have put an end to my life. Art alone stayed my hand; ah, it seemed impossible for me to quit the world until I had brought forth all that 1 felt under an obligation to produce. And so I endured this wretched existence - wretched indeed, with so sensitive a body that a progressing change can transport me from the best condition to the worst. Patience, I am told, I must choose as my guide. This I have done; my determination, I hope, will remain firm until it shall please the inexorable Fates to break the thread. Perhaps my condition will improve ≈ perhaps not - I am content. To be forced at the early age of twenty-eight to become a philosopher is not easy, less easy for the artist than for any other.

O Divine One, thou lookest down into my innermost soul, thou seest into my heart and knowest that love of mankind and a desire to do good dwell therein. O men, when some day ye shall read these words, reflect that ye wronged me, and let the child of misfortune be comforted that he has found one like himself who, despite all the obstacles that Nature has thrown in his way, yet did all that lay within his power to be received into the ranks of worthy artists and men.

You, my brothers Karl and ...... , as soon as I am dead, if Professor Schmidt be still living, request him in my name to describe my malady, and to this document that you now read attach the account of my ailment so that, at least as far as possible the world may be recon­ciled with me after my death. At the same time, I declare you two to be the heirs of my small fortune (if so it can be called). Divide it fairly; bear with and help each other. What you have done to harm me, that you know was long since forgiven.

To you, brother Karl, I give special thanks for the affection you have shown me of late. Its my hope that your life may be better, more free from care, than mine. To your children, recommend virtue, for that alone, not money, can give happiness. I speak from experience: it was virtue that sustained me even in my affliction; to it, next to my art, I must give thanks that I did not end my life by suicide. Farewell, and love one another.

I thank all my friends, particularly Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmidt. It is my wish that instruments from Prince L. be preserved by one of you, but let no quarrel arise between you because of them. If they can serve a better purpose for you, just sell them - how happy I shall be if, even in my grave, I can be of help to you.

So let it be. Joyfully I hasten to meet death. If it comes before I shall have had the opportunity to develop all my artistic capabilities, then, in spite of my hard fate it will still come too soon, and I shall probably wish that it had been delayed. Even so, I should be content, for will it not release me from a state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt: I shall meet thee bravely.

Farewell, and do not wholly forget me in death. This much I deserve from you, for in life I have often given thought how to make you happy. Be ye so. Ludwig van Beethoven (seal)

A few days later, Beethoven adds a postscript: Thus I take leave of you, and indeed sadly. Yes, the fond hope that I brought hither with me, that at least to a certain degree I might be cured, this hope I must abandon entirely. As the autumn leaves fall withered to the ground, so is my hope blighted. I leave here almost as I came; even that buoyant courage that often animated me in the beautiful days of summer has left me. O providence! grant me but one day of pure joy! It has been so long that true joy has been but a stranger to me. When, oh when, Divine Power, can I once more feel it in the temple of Nature and of men? Never? No, that would be too hard.

It is a salutary experience to listen to the music that followed this sad document, the magnificent brilliance of the Second Symphony, and the wonderful continuous expan­sion of the spirit that leaped into being in the works that came after - the next four symphonies, the 'Waldstein' Sonata, the Fourth Piano Concerto, the Violin Concerto, the Rasumovsky Quartets, Fidelia. The 'new road' became the greatest highway in music, cut through a fearsome terrain against all odds. No one can tell whether the renewal of music Beethoven achieved was the result of his conquest of misfortune, or whether his resolve to continue- was be­cause of the forces that were already seething in his imagina­tion, making suicide impossible. At first it was probably the latter, though it must have given him a new sense of strength in coping with the hard fact of deafness. His will must have been taken over by his imaginative power. The Heiligenstadt Testament shows the gulf between the artist and the man.