Wilhelm of Wittenberg

This was what I had to write for a Music History Take-home test. Keep in mind that at this point in time, someone "learned" you how to do something, while now it is considered correct to say "teach" or "taught" someone to do something.

Please leave your comments/critiques. Feel free to take a guess at when in history this occured, as there are enough hints throughout the story to give you indications (though you may need to look up dates). Oh, and the genre is historical fiction.



Wilhelm Back slowly trudged through the snow, lugging his cello case with absolute discomfort. He hated the snow, but more importantly, he hated what the weather would do to his instrument, warping it if he left it too near the small fireplace in the miniature room (???If you could even qualify it as a room,??? he half-snickered to himself in near despair as he moved along) above the store he lived in. In truth, it was barely a room, as the roof was caving in on itself in places; parts of the wall facing west had holes in it, and absolutely everything became soaking wet when it rained. There was hardly any warmth retained as the wind cut right through it, but it was the only thing he could afford on his measly salary from playing at the local opera house and occasionally playing for a few of the wealthier aristocracy to be found in the town of Wittenberg. This winter, however, had been one of the worst in his memory, and he often doubted his choice to move there in the first place.

Wilhelm was the youngest of 5, though only he and his eldest brother had lived past the age of 4. The two of them had been born and had grown up together in Haigerloch, yet eventually his brother Konrad had moved away to study music in Ehingen an der Donau and Zwiefalten. A person of great faith, Konrad had traveled home after a few years away to announce to the family that he had joined a monastery in Ottobeuren, where he would be teaching and leading the choir there. Wilhelm had been only 6 at the time, and while he had been happy that his brother had found something he could be happy doing for the rest of his life, he???d been somewhat bitter, knowing that he???d been left alone without a sibling to look up to.

Within a year, however, his father had offered to start learning him how to play his old cello with a few of the local composers, and he had happily agreed. Looking back on it now, he wondered with a bit of remorse that he had not thanked his parents for their sacrifice, as both had perished in a tragic fire three years later, leaving him an orphan on the street. Had it not been for one such local composer who had taken pity on his student, he???d probably still be a street urchin, begging for a bit of bread or spirits to quench the hunger and loneliness.

Wilhelm plodded along until he reached the ancient staircase that led to his sorry excuse for a room. Each time he walked up these rotting stairs he feared that the weight of both him and his father???s instrument would snap the boards and send him tumbling to his death, or at least a broken bone or two. Yet as he carefully made his way up the stairs again for the fifth time that day, they only moaned and creaked in warning, and with every cautious step he took he could hear the faint happy jingle of coins from his inner jacket pocket, reminding him that at least he had gotten paid the night of his performance, rather than waiting the usual 3 or 4 weeks afterwards. But then again, the Von Fulda family were known for their timely (and generous) payments, one of the reasons he???d agreed to take time out of his busy life to play the cello part of their son???s first composition, one he had appropriately named ???Arnt Von Fulda???s Primo Composition.??? Their son had been a mere child in comparison to many musicians writing their own works, having spent only 13 years alive, but he had done quite well in mastering the styles of the past few centuries, as well as had become proficient enough on the piano in the past two years to play what he had written correctly.

???Now if only he could learn to play the piano and write his music with some emotional expression, we could turn him into a modern-day composer and I???d be more willing to play his works more often, rather than when I???m desperate for funding,??? he muttered out loud as he fumbled for his door handle in the dark. The moon peaked out from behind a cloud for a moment, giving him just enough light to see, and he opened the door. He leaned the cello case against the best wall and covered it with a woolen blanket he???d purchased with his last paycheck to keep the damp from seeping into the case. Then he moved about as best he could in the dark, gathering flint and tinder to light the fireplace. Within a few minutes, the smallest of flames could be seen smoldering on the moist brush and wood, flickering in the cold draft that moved through the room, threatening to extinguish it. ???It???s fighting to stay lit and warm, just like me,??? Wilhelm noted in mock irony. ???At least it had been warm in the Von Fulda home, or I might be apt to think this misery had no end.???

After what seemed like hours, the little flame spread to the rest of the tinder, and he applied a small log to feed it. Now able to see, he moved about gathering up the food he???d left from earlier in the day and placing it in the pot over the fire with a bit of water to make himself a nice stew for dinner. As it cooked, he pondered how the day???s work had been. He and several of the local musicians had all been asked by the Von Fulda???s to perform their son???s work during their dinner party that evening, and while he knew their faces, he felt strange working with performers on such a basis without even knowing their names. He???d thought of asking, but upon seeing their polished instruments, he???d looked down at his father???s old and slightly disheveled wooden cello and had felt so out of place, he abandoned the idea almost at once. Even as they had played, he could feel the looks he was receiving from both friends and several of the older Von Fulda family members, staring at him and his instrument with looks of scorn and mockery.

He was just sitting down to a bowl of his homemade stew, which he was afraid might taste as nasty as the water had the past few days, when he heard a knock at his door. He jumped at the unexpected noise, but rose humbly to see who had called so late at night. He opened the door to find Adam von Fulda II, the father of the son whose composition he had been playing only a few hours before, standing there with a small smile on his lips.

It took Wilhelm a few minutes to remember his manners, so great was the shock of seeing one of the town???s wealthiest patrons standing on his doorstep, but he eventually recovered and invited him in. Yet von Fulda declined politely.

???I came to ask you if you would accept my patronage and learn my son how to play with emotion and expression, something that you seem to excel in, more than any other composer in Wittenberg. I would be honored to invite you into my home, as it gets lonely there sometimes, especially since my wife died last year, and it would be nice to have someone to have a rousing debate with. And I promise you that you will have a much better room if you were to come work for me,??? von Fulda remarked, looking at the shabby room with distain. Wilhelm just stared at him in surprise, unable to speak. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words would not come to him, no matter how hard he tried.

???Please, at least think it over," von Fulda pleaded gently, wondering what was holding him back. Eyeing the cello case leaning against the far wall, he added, "I would also be able to pay for a new cello for you,??? hoping to entice him with the promise of a new instrument. But at seeing the look of horror in Wilhelm???s eyes, he quickly realized that there was a strong emotional attachment to said instrument and revised his statement. ???Or if you would simply rather keep your treasured cello, I would be able to have it refurbished so it looked and played as good as new.???

Finally the whole conversation sunk in, and the relief washed over him like a blast of warmth in the cold weather. Wilhelm felt himself moved to tears of joy. When he opened his mouth again, words of gratitude flowed out so fast he could hardly breathe.

???I???ll do it! I???ll take the job! Oh sir, thank you so much! I promise I won???t let you down!??? Adam von Fulda II smiled.

???Good. Now come with me back to my house, where it is warm and dry. Take your cello with you and we???ll fetch your other things tomorrow in the light,??? and Wilhelm agreed, picking up the cello once more. The two headed off into the night just as the moon broke free of the prison of clouds to light their way home.