As the Muse Urges, Ch.1, Part 1: Road by the Rhine

Since my fourth year music has become the foremost of my childish occupations.  At so early an age I met the beautiful Muse who led my spirit to pure harmonies.

Dedication on the first edition of the ‘Elector Sonatas’ (1783)


                                       Chapter One: Road by the Rhine

                                                          1

Along the banks of the river, all was quiet.  Sound still existed, of course, as it did everywhere; one could hardly escape from noise completely.  Here, though, a far different quality shimmered in the air that I have never heard elsewhere.  Every sound drifting amongst the chestnut trees was gentle: the rustle of tree branches over my head, stirring sleepily in a west-heading breeze; the soft whispering voices in the river as it turned a lazy bend; the distant honk of a goose and the delicate plunk it made when it landed out in the middle of the water.  
      I paused my journey to stare out into the river.  Its current moved deceptively slowly.  From where I stood on a path meandering around the river’s left side, it seemed the waves just gently lapped one over the other.  I would not want to plunge into the river to find out if the water really were so calm, of course.  It was enough to listen and watch.  Sunlight danced on top of ebbing water, creating an ever-shifting sparkle so bright it made me squint.  That was the sharpest sensation I experienced out here beside the Rhine, and even that was pleasant.  What a relieving juxtaposition from the abrasiveness of human civilization.
      That said, I could not escape the city for long.  In the distance I could see Bonn waiting for me, a chunk of stone disrupting rolling half-green hills.  It was not an enormous city, by human standards, though not tiny either – an estimated population of ten thousand.  Still, it was large enough to create unwanted noise.  That is why I left the city in the first place.  And that is why I still lingered here by the Rhine, wishing I could remain amongst the trees and uninhabited river shore.  Although it was a bit chilly, the weather only just starting to warm up for spring, I would much rather be here than in the warmth of human civilization.
      I could just imagine the city Bonn crossing its arms and pulling its lips into a pout, insulted for my laggard return.  I’m coming, I’m coming, I assured Bonn with a semi-sincere wave of my hand.  The city was so impatient – just like its inhabitants.  Men and women charging up and down the streets to work.  Merchants calling wares loudly at the marketplace, ships moving up and down the river hauling in Europe’s latest manufactured goods.  Hoards of brightly-clad students swarming the new college for classes.  Even the horses yanked their buggies through streets at an alarming pace.  I would bet mice scampered across their houses twice the pace as a mouse in the countryside, though I had not paused to study Bonn’s mice thoroughly enough to assert that as fact.  Maybe I would do that the next time I was bored.  There always was time to kill.  More than enough time.
      And it certainly felt like killing time every moment I suffered in human cities.  Not just I, but everyone else around me slaughtered precious seconds and minutes without any conscience.  Out in the countryside, at least, I could flee that cloud of death; upon entering Bonn, I knew I would encounter yet another mass execution from which I could not hide.  I could do nothing for it, though, except act with civil disobedience.  As everyone else concerned themselves over work and various engagements, I simply wandered up and down the city blocks.  
      There was a reason for loafing beyond simply resisting culture.  I milled around the narrow streets hoping to somehow divinely run into work.  I had no systematic method for procuring a job – how could I, with my strange area of expertise?  Not many people found my talents of use.  I needed someone to inspire, that was all.  It meant a lot of people-watching and trying to sort out potential personality types who might find some interest and use in me.  And if I did – someday – encounter that lucky individual, then I would feel more than overjoyed I had lingered in cities.  Even if, for now, I felt mostly dread walking back towards Bonn.  Thus far I had encountered nothing but bleak and uninspired souls rushing from job to home to job again.
      Perhaps I spoke a little too critically about the residents of Bonn.  By human standards, I suppose, the city was rather relaxed.  Nevertheless it felt as though I were the only being alive on Earth who recognized the sacredness of allowing time to ebb and flow like water.  There was a beauty to walking out along the banks of the river alone, to listening to the rustle of the tree’s leaves and the river’s soft mumbles, to gazing at glowing blue water and the sun drifting lower and lower and the sky, to concern oneself with nothing but placing one foot before the other.
      Even if other peoples’ method of rushing about probably got them jobs a little more quickly.
      That’s why you need to return, Bonn reminded me.  You can hardly find any work along this part of the Rhine.
      I was still grumbling and trying to ignore the pressures of finding work when I almost stumbled into a bush.  And that is when I found him: a little boy, no more than seven years old, staring out at the river.  He sat crouched down behind the bush, almost as though hiding – but if he were hiding, he did it with only half his mind.  Any watchful soul would have heard me approach and seen me almost fall face-first towards the ground.  As it was, I do not believe the boy even noticed I existed; he appeared much more engrossed with the Rhine than he did watching his surroundings.  Had he been any older, I would have claimed he was meditating.
      It seemed a bit odd to encounter a boy on a path I had not seen anyone else travel.  It was just bizarre enough, in fact, I decided to wait a moment and watch the child – out of sight – to assess his situation.  If he were a runaway, it would probably be my duty to take him back to Bonn.  If he were simply playing hide-and-seek with a friend, though, and that friend would come running up the shore any minute, then I simply could continue on my way.  
      A part of me wondered if my justification for watching him was simply to avoid returning to the city.  Bonn was waiting, and quite impatiently at this point.  I imagined the city would give me a good lecture as soon as I returned, assuming if did not outright punish me for my lack of attention to it.  In all likelihood, some disaster would happen once I set foot back in the city.  Every street I tried to cross would be crowded with people.  A carriage would almost run me over.  A house would spontaneously collapse and leave me struggling under rubble.  It would not be beyond my poor luck.  Yet just as much as the river entranced this boy, so this boy entranced me.  I could not move.
      Bonn can wait.  Watching a little couldn’t hurt, I decided, and so, remaining as quietly as possible, I waited to see what he would do.  In fact, I’m helping this boy by making sure he’s safe.  A small part of my nagging mind reminded me it would bode ill if anyone noticed a strange woman peeking from around a tree to watch a little boy.  I might receive a little more leniency than if a man had been stalking him, but regardless of my gender, I highly doubted anyone in society would approve of a woman just standing there staring at a child.  Cringing a little, I pulled myself behind a wide-girthed chestnut tree – just enough to hide my body, but not enough to obstruct my view.
      It was hard to see his features from where I stood.  A few intervening trees blocked my view of his face, and his back was to me, besides.  Not like I needed to know every detail of his face – I really was not out amongst chestnut and linden trees to spy on little human boys.  So why am I doing that now?  I knew it was not just to verify his safety.  
      My fascination of the boy could not be helped.  There was… something… about him, something I could not name, something I could hardly even cognize, that forced me to remain rooted amongst the trees.  It was not his appearance.  He looked generically like any other child, perhaps minus his dark-colored hair.  Maybe it was his quietness.  He seemed much more stoic than the average child his age, though, admittedly, I hadn’t been around many children lately.  Most children were too young to appreciate the work I did, so I had trouble communicating or relating to them at all.  But after thinking it through a little, I dismissed that possibility.  There were lots of taciturn children out there that never caught my attention.  And lots of taciturn adults, for that matter.  Certainly something else in his disposition besides his quietness explained why I remained crouched behind a tree.
      He moved as little as I did.  Only his fingers twitched.  Sometimes, on rare occasions, he picked up his stubby fingers to scratch his head.  
      He continued staring out at the river.
      Nothing else happened.
      Why did I find him interesting?
      Maybe just because he’s a mystery, something I didn’t expect to find out along the river banks…
      That was it.  That had to be it.  Maybe.  Close enough.  I forced myself to turn to a more immediate problem: what to do with the boy?  Just leave him by himself?
I was just about to stand and approach him when the sound of two dozen twigs being ripped simultaneously from trees scared me back into my hiding spot.  An even younger child, one just graduated from his toddler age, suddenly flew up the banks of the Rhine, kicking up dirt and a bit of water as he charged, laughing, through the countryside.  My immediate reaction was irritation.  I almost marched right up to silence him for that disruptive cacophony.  Sound was sacred, and he was running around slaughtering it for everyone a kilometer around.  Only after taking several deep breaths did I calm.  Though I tended to find children annoying and incomprehensible, this tiny boy’s energy could hardly be condemned.  He did not mean any harm.  He, like I, was enjoying nature – a commonality between us to appreciate.
      The quiet older boy jerked out of his reverie, almost falling over.  His head swiveled around like an owl’s, trying to locate the sudden loud noises he heard.  I caught a quick glimpse of storm colored eyes and a shaggy brown mop head before he directed his gaze towards his companion.  He crouched even lower – apparently he had been meaning to hide, after all – and waited to ambush.
      Great.  Now I was watching two little boys.  Really time to get moving.  I could not care at this point whether or not they were lost, motherless, hungry, or homeless, there was a city to be returned to, work to be found, and people to inspire with song.  I forced my eyes away from the kids and began to walk forward on my path again.  Yet when I heard the excited screech of the younger boy – the older one must have jumped out and surprised him – I turned around and glanced back again.
      It was an entire family on the shore.  A young woman, maybe a maidservant, maybe their mother, carried a third child, also a boy, as she hurried up to the other two.  So they’re not alone, just on a small holiday.  Nobody saw me as I stood rooted amongst the trees watching.  I might as well have been a tree; I moved as much as one of them, maybe even less.
      It would be nice to have a family.
      It would be nice to have anyone again.
      As soon as those thoughts floated across my mind, I felt sick.  So that is what it was all about.  I was watching the little boy because I felt lonely.  
      The young woman scooped the older boy up, carrying him piggyback.  He burst into exuberant laughter.  Looking at the other child, who was still shrieking loudly, the woman called out, “Caspar!  Time to go!”  A typical amount of protests erupted from his mouth, trying to convince her they should stay another ten minutes.  Firmly, she repeated her instructions.  Dragging his feet, he reluctantly mumbled, “Okay,” and followed his other two brothers back to the village.
      Only when they left my vision did I exhale.  That had been… an interesting experience… one that certainly indicated I had been out of work for too long.  Work was about the only human interaction I experienced, after all.  Apparently it had been so long since my last business partner that I was starting to stare at little boys and longingly wish for their companionship.  But what could I do with a child that age?  I was a musician; for someone to even be a candidate working for me, he needed an ample amount of classical training.  Knowledge of the clavichord, violin, and voice; experience at court with the other musicians; knowledge of music theory and human emotions.  So there was no reason to stare at that boy.  I likely as not would never see him again, and trying to find him would undeniably land me in trouble.  Even if he providentially was the greatest musical prodigy of the century, I had no reason to charge into a six-year-old boy’s life.  If he ended up being ‘the one’, I would run into him again.  When he was older.
      It was time to continue my journey back to Bonn.  For once, I felt ready to reenter the city.  The sooner there, the sooner I could run into people again, locate potential business partners, and – optimally – get back to work.  And forget about every stupid emotion I had experienced on the road by the Rhine.