Conversations with Beethoven Page 6

  His reason, which I must say I find convincing: if he were here,

  you would have too much to say to him and that would cause new quarrels.

  That is water under the bridge. Now the salient question is what would be best for both of you.

  In truth he expressed a preference to stay with his mother.

  Your nephew is now 20 years old. No matter how depraved his mother is, she cannot be held responsible forever for his actions.

  At his age he is sure to encounter such women wherever he goes, not solely at his mother’s.

  Then let him stay with me.

  If he runs away, he will run away wherever I send him.

  In that case perhaps you should speak to him yourself.

  • • •

  Uncle, since it’s such a beautiful day the Sister permitted me sit in the garden.

  After so many weeks of confinement, the moment I stepped out of doors I found myself singing your Prisoners’ Chorus, “Oh, what joy to breathe the scent of open air.”

  That was kind of Councilor Breuning, but I told him that I wish to stay with my mother.

  Back to my room.

  Because I will not be upbraided.

  Very well, but only on condition that you refrain from such remarks; in no wise have I given you reason to censure me.

  Indeed you did say that I was to stay with you, yet for my part I made no such promise.

  On the contrary I believe that the Councilor agrees with me.

  I won’t hear anything derogatory about my mother; it’s not for me to judge her. The least I can do to repay her for all she has suffered on my account is to spend that time with her.

  Since it’s only a matter of four or five days, it makes no sense to speak of a harmful influence on me.

  By no means will I treat her more coldly than has been my practice in the past.

  All the less reason then to deny her wish to be with me, inasmuch as I’m not likely to be in Vienna soon again.

  I fail to see how my staying with her will keep me from being with you.

  Rest assured that I’ll visit you as often as you like.

  • • •

  Most honorable Magistrate von Czapka,

  I urgently request

  Sir!

  I urgently request you to arrange that my nephew, who will have recovered in a few days, shall not leave the hospital with anybody but myself and Mr. Holz—It is out of the question to allow him to be much in the company of his mother, that extremely depraved person. My anxieties and my request are warranted by her most evil, wicked and spiteful character; her enticement of Karl for the purpose of getting money out of me; the probability that she has spent those sums on him; and that she too is intimate with Karl’s dissolute companion Niemetz; the sensation she has been causing with her daughter, whose father is still being traced; and, what is more, the likelihood that in his mother’s home he would make the acquaintance of women who are anything but virtuous. Even the habit of being in the company of such a person cannot possibly lead a young man along the path of virtue—While asking you to give this matter your most serious consideration I send you my best regards. I merely add the remark that, although the occasion was a painful one, it has given me very great pleasure to have made the acquaintance of a man of such excellent intellectual and moral qualities—

  I remain, Sir, with due respect, yours sincerely,

  BEETHOVEN

  • • •

  No, Maestro, I’m not early but please don’t fret. If you haven’t finished, Haslinger will just have to wait. This won’t be the first time nor, I suspect, the last that you keep your publisher waiting. One cannot finish the dedication page of one’s greatest symphony, compose a letter to the Magistrate and deal with one’s brother all in the same breath.

  If Czapka has already summoned Breuning, rest assured that your letter hit the mark. As for the manuscript, the delay is entirely the Royal Librarian’s fault; he should not have insisted that the corrections be made in your own hand.

  Don’t misunderstand me, your hand is perfectly legible. And don’t concern yourself about the smudges, the bookbinder will clean them up.

  The man gives his word that it will be bound handsomely and ready for you next Tuesday, the 26th.

  Since the Royal Librarian doesn’t return to Berlin until the 29th, there is sufficient time. Altogether the Prussian King should be extremely pleased.

  Unfortunately I must return to the office at once. However, on my way here I encountered your brother.

  Indeed not, he was riding about in his carriage, with two tricked up servants on the box. Thus he could easily deliver the manuscript to Haslinger and at the same time fetch the Clementi for Gerhard.

  By the way your brother said to tell you that he’ll be late. The poor man seemed extremely anxious and harried.

  Presumably with regard to his property taxes which, he let on, are due on the last day of the month.

  I must leave now; do let me know what Breuning reports.

  • • •

  Brother, the dedication page is comme il faut—fit for a king, as the saying goes—All joking aside, will you not also write a dedicatory letter to His Majesty?

  When I consider that the late father of this Prussian King is sometimes spoken of, behind the hand naturally, as your own, I’m at a loss for words. Just imagine! Were the consanguinity true, you and the dedicatee would be half brothers.

  If it dishonors the memory of our mother, you could easily deny it, as I and others have urged you to do, yet you insist upon remaining silent—I can’t help but think that you take some satisfaction from such gossip.

  If your unwillingness to say a word about yourself is a matter of principle, I have no choice but to bow to your silence—indeed it makes your silence golden!

  Then let us change the subject—I’m surprised to find so many mistakes in the manuscript; obviously the copyist is an arch-bungler!

  It’s the same in every trade—unless one does the job oneself, mistakes crop up like crab grass.

  Why bring it to the publisher on foot when my carriage-and-four is waiting below?

  In that case I’ll bring it to Haslinger for you—But first, with regard to this Karl business

  Our sister-in-law has been in touch with me.

  By no means are we entering into any kind of conspiracy.

  Believe me, I am not siding with Johanna—on the contrary

  If only you would listen, I have a proposal to make—Since you are opposed to his staying with his mother, and Breuning is opposed to his staying here with you, what better plan than for you to come to Gneixendorf—the two of you, en famille. It would surely do you a world of good. Anyone can see that you haven’t fully recovered from your last attack of Kolik, to say nothing of what happened with our nephew.

  I beg you not to dismiss the idea out of hand.

  Come now, you exaggerate my wife’s iniquities.

  The daughter was too young at the time to know any better.

  Even so, what is there to lose?

  But I will bear all the expenses.

  Won’t you at least

  Calm yourself, I’m on my way to Haslinger presto!

  • • •

  Thank you, Ludwig, Gerhard will be overjoyed. From the moment that you mentioned the Clementi the boy has not stopped chattering about the book. Now he will have no further excuse to put off practicing.

  As to Czapka, I am afraid that his ruling will satisfy neither you nor your sister-in-law; indeed it makes your brother’s invitation seem all but providential.

  In brief, upon discharge from the hospital your nephew is ordered to spend the following fortnight outside of Vienna.

  When I asked if the ruling permitted him to go to Hetzendorf or Döbling etc., Czapka declared that “any and all environs” were forbidden.

  Because that is how long I assumed it would take for the hair to grow back in. Thus I told Czapka and, I may say, with a bit of Ulyssean cunning,
that your nephew is obliged to join his regiment in two weeks’ time.

  The ruling strikes me as judicious; not only does it remove him from the chance of familial strife, but from the temptations of Vienna.

  I did not mean—I was thinking only of billiards and gambling.

  I am concealing nothing. If your nephew has a mistress, I know nothing of it.

  The name of Niemetz is unfamiliar to me; what is more, I consider such an attachment unlikely.

  Suspicion aside, let us determine where he is to go.

  I have no idea; perhaps Czapka assumed he would go directly to his regiment, but that is out of the question. With whom would he stay at Iglau? Or indeed elsewhere?

  In fact there is no other possibility, which is why your brother’s invitation comes as such a godsend.

  How much harm could the woman do in two weeks’ time?

  I know you, Ludwig; once you decide to go to Gneixendorf you’ll find a way to stomach your sister-in-law. You have done so in the past and can do so again—It’s all in the deciding.

  Thank goodness; at times you run Prince Hamlet a close race. Now we must inform your nephew.

  It’s no imposition, I could easily stop at the hospital tomorrow. But would it not be wiser to tell him yourself or, better still, to go there with your brother? In that way your nephew won’t hold you alone responsible for the decision.

  • • •

  But Uncle, what I fail to understand, and in this Uncle Johann agrees with me, is why we don’t set out on Tuesday. If Czapka forbids me to be here after Monday, he’ll surely not allow me to stay two or three days more while the bookbinder binds the score.

  You could write the dedicatory letter to H.M. beforehand.

  Holz could bring it to the Royal Librarian for you.

  Brother, my business cannot wait on so many ifs, ands and buts—I must be back in Gneixendorf by Friday at the latest.

  Clearly you are forgetting the overnight stop in St. Polten—even if we set out at the crack of dawn on Wednesday

  Uncle, in that case I’ll tell my mother to expect me on Monday!

  I understand that I’m not to leave the hospital with anyone but you or Holz; however, if you intend to flout the ruling, I don’t see why

  Brother, don’t be so quick to cry conspiracy—I merely told our nephew that we are wasting time bickering over what amounts to one day. Further, I suggested that it would be truly unkind of him to stay with his mother for so brief a period, since it would only serve to tantalize the poor woman.

  I’m happy to say that our nephew bows to my greater wisdom. Thus our departure is now in the hands of the gods—or, to be exact, of the bookbinder.

  • • •

  Maestro, you are overhasty. Far be it from me to instruct you in the laws of nature, yet generally these matters take nine months.

  Dr. Seng expects us to come for your nephew at one o’clock; hence Sali plans to serve at two. She showed me the carp, it’s a beauty!

  If you think it will smooth the waters with Karl, I’ll be glad to join you for dinner. I’ll tell Sali on my way out.

  Although the bookbinder assures me he hasn’t slept or eaten in three days, he no longer promises you’ll have the manuscript to-morrow.

  Not until Wednesday—with luck.

  I’ll simply inform His Royal Librarianship that there has been a slight delay.

  Why do you assume that the Royal Librarian smokes cigarros?

  That’s a different matter; of course I know that your nephew enjoys them. I’ll fetch some on my way to work. And don’t forget that Gerhard will be coming here from school; according to Breuning the boy is quite taken with the Clementi.

  • • •

  Prospero, thank you so much for Clementi’s System; I’m most honored by the interest you take in my playing.

  In all concience I would have to admit that my fingering is not perfect.

  Oh dear, I always have difficulty with sc words. Would you like to see my fingering?

  I didn’t realize that you were watching for expression; I was concentrating on the fingering. In future I’ll use more pedal.

  Most likely I won’t see you again before you leave for Gneixendorf.

  It’s not a stroke of luck; with Gneixendorf I made certain beforehand to find out the spelling.

  By the time you return there should be a noticea a good deal of improvement in my playing; I plan to practice every day.

  I must go now, otherwise I’ll be late for dinner. I hope that you have a safe journey and a pleasing two weeks with your brother.

  • • •

  Uncle, many thanks for the cigarros. Only now does it begin to dawn on me that I have left the hospital. Just imagine, a cigarro after dinner! And what a dinner! You are right to say that your Sali is the first good cook you

  Because I don’t regard her as mine.

  But I don’t regard this apartment as mine, I mean as my home.

  You are wrong to assume anything of the kind; my mother’s place is her’s. It so happens that I have no home at present, unless it be at Iglau.

  Maestro, forgive me but I must go back to my work now.

  Indeed I did. What is more, I told the man that you’ll bind him hand and foot with his very own binding cord if he fails you on Wednesday. Meanwhile don’t forget that you must still compose the dedicatory letter to H.M.

  I’ll let myself out.

  Uncle, I don’t wish to appear ungrateful, but if we are to leave on Wednesday, I too have a million things to attend to.

  At dinner you said that the letter must be in your own hand.

  In that case why ask

  Very well, I’ll help you draft it, providing that you know more or less what you wish to say. But do let’s be quick about it.

  Your Majesty!

  One of the great happinesses of my life is that Your Majesty has most graciously permitted me to dedicate the present work to you in all humility.

  Your Majesty is not only the supreme father of your subjects but also the patron of arts and sciences. How much more, therefore, must your most gracious permission delight me, seeing that I too, since I am a native of Bonn, am fortunate enough to regard myself as one of your subjects.

  I request Your Majesty most graciously to accept this work as a slight indication of the high regard I cherish for your supreme virtues—Your Majesty’s most humble and most obedient

  LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN

  • • •

  Maestro, the bookbinder has failed us! He now says that he will have it tomorrow.

  There is nothing to do about it except to resume your seat and finish your porridge. Everything, including your brother’s property taxes, will simply have to wait a day.

  Your brother is not late, I am early.

  Your nephew assured me that he would apply himself this morning to the metronome markings.

  That must be your brother now.

  Brother, I can see that for myself—your face is blood red. What excuse did the scoundrel

  But surely Czapka won’t grant you

  Never mind H.M., if we don’t depart the day after tomorrow, I’ll be ruined!

  Heavens no, that would be too dear—Why, for you to follow in a hired carriage would cost you a pretty penny.

  Congratulations! However, a “token” from a monarch might turn out a mere souvenir or, God grant, a castle. What sort of token has H.M. hinted at?

  Well and good, yet there is a world of difference between a decoration and something costly.

  Although the Royal Order of the Red Eagle, Second Class, is nothing to sneeze at, it won’t pay your way to Gneixendorf. Call me what you will—neither one of us is so well off that he can thumb his nose at costly things. I’ll be curious to learn what Ambassador Hatzfeld reports.

  Maestro, I told your brother that it wasn’t Hatzfeld but the Royal Librarian Spiker who will be coming here.

  Let’s not waste time; I’ll go to the Prussian Embassy at once to postpone the meet
ing.

  I’ll try to arrange it for the same hour tomorrow.

  • • •

  Maestro Beethoven, your enthusiasm does H.M. full justice. He is indeed a modern Medici, although neither Cosimo nor Lorenzo had dedicated to him a great symphony with choruses.

  I cannot speak for the All-Highest; for myself I find the dedication, to say nothing of the letter, altogether praiseworthy.

  I do not quite follow you.

  Ah! I failed to grasp the pun. Notwithstanding the form, the worth of praise derives from the worth of its author.

  Suffice it to say that H.M. regards you with favor.

  If by praise in its material form you are alluding to the Royal Order of the Red Eagle, Second Class, such talk may prove more than idle gossip.

  Kindly stop there; beyond that point silence, nay, the strictest silence reigns.

  You may depend upon me to transmit the score as safely and swiftly—or, better still, mercurially—as the messenger of the gods.

  True enough, yet Mercury was an infant when he stole the cows. Rest assured that I am much too old and loyal to H.M. to carry off your great symphony.

  • • •

  Frankly, Brother, if I were you I wouldn’t wish to stake my hopes on something that may—ergo may not—prove more than idle gossip.

  Maestro, there isn’t the slightest doubt that you’ll receive the decoration; the only question is when.