Conversations with Beethoven Page 2
All of which calls to mind the receipt for this month’s room and board. I can only repeat for the hundredth time that I do not have it because I gave it to you. Moreover let me state once for all and unequivocally that I did not embezzle that money! (Embezzlement, as you used to remind me regularly, is the crime of which my father accused my mother fifteen years ago and for which she was placed under house arrest—never mind that the money “stolen” was her own!) My room and board are paid in full through July. Thus the sum that you are out of pocket is 11 gulden, 10 kreuzer, for Thursday, Friday, today and tomorrow. (Under the circumstances, perhaps the landlord will be good enough to grant you a refund; he is, after all, an honorable man.) Nor have I ever stolen a penny from you! Ha! I can hear you scoff: how about those books of mine that you pawned last month! For that I am deeply sorry; it stains my honor—for the first and only time, believe me. I had every intention of redeeming them at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps if you had not been so severe with me in money matters, I would not have been obliged to take them in the first place; nor would I have been driven to wager on my skill at billiards. Regardless of what you imagine, it’s simply impossible nowadays for a youth my age to live in Vienna without pocket money. But God in heaven, don’t blame my friend Niemetz for corrupting me! By no means is he the “uncouth fellow” that you take him for; on the contrary he is a young man of upstanding character—By the way, did you look in your portable secretaire for the landlord’s receipt?—Well, it makes no difference now; after this, you will no longer have to relinquish the bank shares that you bought for me and held on to so tenaciously all these years. Just think! now you can do with them as you please. And may that lay to rest, together with me, your everlasting money worries!
There! the first birdcall. Except for Venus, there is scarcely a star to be seen. Now it is Sunday. In order not to disgrace you, I have put on my best coat and trousers, the ones cut from the English flannel that you bought for me last year. I wish to be buried next to my father, if indeed suicides are permitted burial there. Although I first threatened to take my life in May, I did not in fact buy the pistols until three weeks ago. (I am speaking now of the pair that the landlord found in my room on Friday, not of the ones in the open case before me on the table.) Despite my despondency in May, there was in everything I did and said an echo of Werther, a yearning for what Werther calls “the ecstasy of death.” Well, now all that has changed. Now there is no ecstasy, no wish to posture or publish my sentiments—Since yesterday I have been in the power of a mysterious Force. It is that Force which commanded me to pawn the watch you gave me in order to buy these pistols, that Force which made me change into these clothes before boarding the six o’clock coach to Baden. (On my way here I asked myself, wherefore Baden? but to no avail.) It was that selfsame Force which brought me to this room last night, that Force which told me to sit down and write these letters while it was still dark, not to climb up to the castle before daylight.
Now there is a trace of light on the horizon, blue with a tint of rose—it is going to be a lovely day, my last on earth.—Much as I asked myself, wherefore Baden, I now ask wherefore Castle Rauhenstein, why climb all the way up there to put a bullet in my head? Does this, too, relate to Fidelio—the unlocking of the cells, the releasing of the prisoners, their brief stroll in the open air? “Only here, here is life,” they sing, “prison is a tomb.”—Well and good—Yet for me they are indistinguishable—both the open air and the dungeon constitute my tomb.
Basta! says the Force—I would almost wager—Finish up now!—Uncannily, its tone of voice—Finish up!—But of course! its voice resembles yours—Why didn’t I—I should have recognized—realized from the start—Yes, yes, it’s you, Uncle Ludwig—You are the one who brought me here, who is waiting now—Finish up!—waiting so impatiently to lead me up the mountainside, as Abraham led Isaac—Of course!! Now at last I understand—Castle Rauhenstein will be the sacrificial altar at Moriah, and I, your son, the offering—To what God, may I ask? In the name of what God are you doing this to me? What angel will intercede on my behalf? What ram—Basta!—So be it—Now I am finished—finished—
May God forgive you, Uncle.
Your
KARL
2
MAESTRO, I understand your agitation, yet it does no good to vent your wrath on me. I am neither your nephew nor his crude companion Niemetz but your devoted friend Holz. Apart from an ardent desire to marry my fiancée next month and to hold my job at the Chancellery, my only object at present is to help you find your nephew.
I am not disputing that. However, just because Karl told his landlord on Thursday that he planned to shoot himself by Sunday, doesn’t make it a fait accompli. Sunday has scarcely begun! Besides, not only were the pistols confiscated by the landlord, but Karl told me on Friday he had every intention of returning to his room.
Since we have no other clues, it behooves us to go there at once and question the landlord.
Regardless of whether the man is a churchgoer, early Mass will be over by the time we reach his house.
We are wasting time—let us be off.
• • •
Revered Composer, unfortunately your nephew did not sleep in his room last night; indeed I have not seen him since Friday morning.
For your sake and, I may say, his I’m terribly sorry that this distressing business continues.—As for the receipt for July’s room and board, I have written out a copy for you and marked it paid in full.
Would that I had somewhere else to suggest. Unless—perhaps he is with that disreputable friend of his—Yes, without question I would look for him there, I mean at Mrs. Niemetz’s.
May God be with you.
• • •
Maestro, Mrs. Niemetz asserts he is not in the house.
She insists she hasn’t seen him since Thursday when he spent the night.
Please calm yourself!
Depravity aside, the woman is old enough to be Karl’s mother.
I didn’t know that he had stayed overnight once before. Still, only a Secret Agent would enter by force.
I did indeed ask to speak to the son; she said he was sleeping.
She refused to wake him.
I have no reason to doubt her word; after all, she didn’t say he was attending church.
Sometimes women of her type are more truthful than women of virtue.
Your sister-in-law excepted, naturally. In her case—Heavens! we haven’t looked for Karl at the most likely place of all, his mother’s house. Let us go there at once!
If you won’t cross her threshold, you could wait in the bakery across the street.
Then by all means come with me to the door.
In any case it needn’t be decided now.
Come, we are wasting time; you’ll make up your mind along the way.
• • •
God be thanked, Maestro, Karl is here
Unfortunately he has already made good on his threat.
He is not dead.
In the bedroom with his mother. She urges you to come into the house.
Presumably she has no objection to your seeing him, but only a moment.
• • •
Please, Uncle, it’s useless to ask why. I wrote you a letter last night—Niemetz will soon deliver it.
Please don’t kneel beside the bed—it’s too pathetic.
To you—I hardly did it to you! I am the one with a bullet in his head.
For God’s sake, don’t torment me with tears and reproaches. It’s done! “What’s done is done.” What’s needed now is a surgeon, in particular a man who knows how to hold his tongue.
Mother has already sent for someone.
Naturally, Ludwig, a doctor was sent for at once.
No, not Smetana—I sent for Dr. Dogl.
He is just as respected as S. and lives much nearer.
Shh! let us step out—Karl must rest.
• • •
Ludwig, do sit down until the doct
or comes. You look so pale—would you like a schnapps?
I understand—But even so, it’s eleven years since your brother died in this house.
Be still! I will not discuss the matter in front of a stranger—please send Mr. Holz out of the room.
It makes no difference that Holz obliged—I will not discuss the matter under any circumstances.
Come to your senses—my son is dying
Not again! Instead of fabricating my part in your brother’s death, you would do better to ponder yours in your nephew’s suicide.
Spare me that shit—I won’t hear another word!
• • •
Maestro, not only does she refuse to rejoin you, but she demands that you leave the house.
If you won’t apologize, at least refrain from speaking of your brother’s death.
Do lower your voice or she’ll hear you.
I’m not taking her part. Yet after what has happened, it’s essential for you to cooperate with her; otherwise you will be the one to suffer.
Well and good, I’ll try to smooth things over.
• • •
Ludwig, before we go on I’ll thank you to remember that your brother died of consumption, not at my hands! Hardly had he breathed his last when you demanded that an autopsy be performed. The doctor, lest you forget, was a personal friend of yours. Even so, he found no grounds for your abominable suspicion that I had poisoned your brother—I will not put up with these repeated accusations.
In that case let us go on. A teamster, God be thanked! found the boy and carried him down from the ruins at Baden.
Less than half an hour ago. I sent the man on to your place with a note explaining what had happened—obviously you didn’t receive it.
The name is Dogl—I have no idea what could be keeping him.
By all means send for Dr. Smetana—whichever man arrives first will do the job. But one thing is of the utmost importance—regardless of who it is, he must not report what happened.
Because they will surely take Karl away, and if he is moved—Well, I fear the worst!
• • •
VIENNA, JULY 30, 1826
Most honored Doctor Smetana,
A terrible misfortune has occurred, a misfortune which Karl has accidentally brought upon himself. I hope there is still a chance to save him, but my hope depends particularly on you, provided you can come soon. Karl has a bullet in his head. How this happened, you shall learn in due course—But quickly, for God’s sake, quickly.
Yours respectfully,
BEETHOVEN
As help had to be provided quickly, he had to be taken to his mother’s where he now is. I enclose her address.
• • •
Maestro, the man who just arrived is Dr. Dogl. He asks that you remain in here until he finishes.
Yes, but first he must shave the wounded area.
Shall I dispose of the note to Smetana?
In that case I’ll deliver it now and return without delay.
• • •
Maestro Beethoven, I’m greatly honored to meet you.
So far so good; I have removed the bullet and dressed the wound. Still, I would be deceiving you, were I to say he is out of danger. Far from it! In truth his life is in the balance.
At this moment I have no way of knowing the condition of his brain. If the brain has been injured, the signs may not appear until next week, in which case he is lost.
You misunderstood me, I didn’t say he is lost at present, nor that the signs are certain to appear; we can only wait and see. So far there is no fever; if it comes that will be the turning point.
As for this other matter of not informing the authorities, I’m afraid I can’t oblige your sister-in-law; to do so would finish me as a surgeon. Surely you understand.
The best I can do is to delay your nephew’s removal from the house.
To the prison ward of the hospital.
Naturally, it goes without saying that suicide is looked upon as a criminal act.
If you’ll excuse me, I’ll say good-bye now to your nephew.
• • •
Maestro, I have word from Dr. Smetana. He considers Dr. Dogl altogether capable and will not come to Karl unless Dogl requests a second opinion.
It can’t be helped, you know the way of doctors.
Dr. Dogl is leaving now—he says he’ll look in again tomorrow.
While you were seeing him out I read what he wrote. In view of that, I suppose it would be best for us to go the police ourselves.
If you wish, but frankly you look spent. Would it not be better for me to go there on my own and report back to you?
D’accord! I’ll wait while you say good-bye to him.
Presumably she is with Karl.
For heaven’s sake, that is no reason not to say good-bye. By all means go in.
• • •
Maestro, what is it, what happened inside?
But something caused your tears.
Don’t continue—she has come into the room.
Ludwig, presumably you understand that my object was not to hurry you but to keep Karl from growing agitated—in his condition that would be the worst thing possible. If indeed I pushed you, I apologize.
It’s not for me to explain why your “son” refuses to speak to you—if he lives, perhaps he’ll explain the matter himself.
I know nothing of the letter entrusted to Niemetz.
It would be best for you to leave now—Holz is fetching your hat and stick.
Maestro, your sister-in-law is right; do leave now. I will delay a moment and find out what I can of why Karl won’t speak to you. Then I shall attend to the matter we discussed earlier.
• • •
Maestro, you were wise not to come with me to the police; the officiousness and the posturing were extremely tedious. As you already know from Dr. Dogl, suicide is punishable by law.
Karl will receive a serious reprimand and be placed under police surveillance; worse still, you yourself, as guardian, will have to appear before the Magistrate tomorrow.
Of course I shall accompany you.
Although I persuaded her to let me have a word with him, your nephew was anything but helpful.
With regard to his unwillingness to speak to you, he merely said, “if only you would stop reproaching him.”
Believe me, that is more or less the sum of it.
There will be time enough tomorrow to discuss the rest.
Please don’t insist upon
Well then, he also said, “if only you would never show your face again.”
If you do, he threatens to tear off the bandage!
In my view he is suffering some sort of delirium; your sister-in-law mentioned that Dr. Dogl
No, in truth he is not delirious. As you well know, I don’t always regard your nephew as deserving of your devotion. If you were not so kindhearted, you would have sent him packing long ago. But never mind, your sister-in-law gave me this for you.
Dear Ludwig,
Before Dr. Dogl left, he told me that Karl would be allowed to stay here for a week at most. Do let us make a bargain. If you agree to let him stay with me and not visit, not even once during this critical period, I give you my word that I will abide by all your future wishes. Please, for the sake of Karl whom we both love, agree to this.
Yours
JOHANNA
Maestro, since it is only for a week, I urge you to agree.
Good! Now let us have something to eat and call it a day; you have been through a terrible storm.
Never! you will not find yourself “shipwrecked” while I am alive.
• • •
Prospero, I hope I’m not disturbing you.
My piano lesson is not until 5:30.
I’m still using Pleyel until the translation of Clementi’s System arrives.
I was in fact just sitting down to practice when Mother asked me to bring you this.
Dear Ludwig,
I cannot tell
you how upset I am by what you said about Karl when I bumped into you on the esplanade this morning; I have never seen you in such a state—all at once you seemed a man of seventy. Please come and have dinner with us today at the usual time, 2 o’clock; it will be just Gerhard and the girls and us (to start with we are having one of your favorites, scrambled eggs and brains). During this trying time, Stephan and I would like you to dine with us as often as you wish, indeed take all your meals with us. And rest assured that it will be no imposition; after all, you are not only Stephan’s oldest friend, but practically a member of the family. Besides, it is but 27 steps from your front door to ours, as Gerhard never tires of telling us. You cannot imagine how happy it would make him, your Ariel, to see you every day; the mere idea of this invitation had him hopping about like one of those performing monkeys in the menagerie, so much does he worship you.—Sometimes it is hard for me to believe that he will be 14 next month.
Your devoted
CONSTANCE VON BREUNING
Yes, Prospero, Mother told me what happened.
I lowered my head not because I’m ashamed, but because I’m sorry.