That would make Schubert extremely happy. You can’t imagine how he reveres you.
Which of the songs do you most admire?
As soon as the operation is successfully over, I’ll ask Hüttenbrenner to bring him by. Meanwhile I beg you to dismiss all thought of privations; your admirers in London, to say nothing of Vienna, will not fail you.
Adieu, dear friend.
• • •
Great Maestro, if I reacted with surprise perhaps it’s because you’ve decided to dedicate the quartet that you yourself regard as your greatest to a draper.
By no means is it a question of snobbery but of proportion. In recompense for a shawl the reward seems overly generous.
I realize that there is more to the friendship than gift-giving.
Then do let us get on with the letter to Artaria.
On the contrary the mistake is mine. I now see that it’s not Artaria; the German publisher Schotts has the C sharp minor quartet, Artaria has the one in B flat.
VIENNA, FEBRUARY 22, 1827
Gentlemen!
I received your last letter through Kreutzer, the Kapellmeister. For the moment I am replying only to the necessary points. The opus (the C sharp minor quartet) which you have is preceded by the one which Matthias Artaria has. Thus you can easily ascertain the number. The dedication is as follows: Dedicated to my friend Johann Nepomuk Wolfmayer.
Now I have a very important request to make—My doctor has prescribed for me some very good old Rhine wine. Even if I were to offer an excessively large sum I could not obtain unadulterated Rhine wine in Vienna. So if I could have a small number of bottles I would show my gratitude. I am inclined to think that something might be arranged for me at the Customs Office so that the cost of the transport would not be too high—As soon as my health permits, you will receive the metronome markings for the Mass as well. But at the moment I am just about to undergo a fourth operation—Hence the sooner I receive this Rhine wine or Moselle wine, the more beneficial it will be to me in my present condition;—and with all my heart I do beg you to do me this kindness for which I shall be gratefully obliged to you.
With kindest regards I remain, Sir, your most devoted
BEETHOVEN
Great Maestro, it’s a good sign that you feel well enough to dictate several more. But surely Stumpff will by now have brought your request to the attention of both the Phil. Soc. and your friend Moscheles. As for Sir Smart there is little use in writing him a second letter when you haven’t yet received the translation of the first.
Strictly speaking I said that you should expect it by the 20th; unfortunately the 20th fell the day before yesterday.
Your nephew’s duties cannot occupy him night and day. Besides, his foremost duty remains to you.
Frankly I find his behavior disgraceful. In all likelihood your brother is right when he says that the boy hasn’t time to translate the letter because he is too busy enjoying the winter carnival.
In that case I’ll say no more.
I will of course take down the two additional letters if you insist. But I would recommend that you leave the one to Smart in German this time. I would further recommend that we put both aside until we have had a glass of wine and something to eat.
• • •
Great Maestro, do you mean to say that he doesn’t even mention the translation?
What then did he find time to mention?
IGLAU, FEBRUARY 23, 1827
Dear Father,
My heartfelt thanks for the money and the flute score.
The concert was a complete success! I must fall in now for drill.
In the greatest haste, your loving son
KARL
Delinquency puts it mildly, your nephew is utterly irresponsible. Thank goodness I had the sagacity to suggest that the second letter to Smart be left in German.
That is unkind; surely I deserve something more for my pains than the Order of the Jackass, First Class.
It so happens that there are only 340 gulden left in the cashbox.
But you can’t economize more than you already do on beef and vegetables without bringing yourself to starvation.
• • •
Ludwig, as you know, I was opposed to your approaching Smart. Since, however, you did so despite my opinion, I find your nephew’s failure to translate the letter inexcusable. Why, even my Gerhard, whose English is negligible, would by now have provided you with a satisfactory translation.
Not only are you about to undergo another operation, but you are in a state of constant anxiety about your debts. Nevertheless you stint yourself to send your nephew money. And how does he requite your kindness? He cannot find the time to translate a two page letter. Clearly the boy is undeserving of your generosity.
Never mind the pocket money, my thoughts are on your will.
Indeed I don’t think you should disown him, yet I do think you should sell a bank share.
It’s not a matter of the whole inheritance but merely of one share.
I can see that you are adamant.
If you view it as stealing, perhaps you should request his permission to sell a share.
Forgive my irony, I did not mean—I am only concerned to make things easier for you, whereas you are only concerned to make things easier for him.
Believe me, I understand how much the bank shares mean to you or, rather, how much bequeathing them to your nephew means to you.
Forgive me again. He is, of course, a son to you. Doubtless I would do the same for Gerhard.
May God preserve you, Ludwig.
• • •
Prospero, I heard today that the bedbugs are tormenting you and wake you constantly.
You need to sleep. I’ll get something to drive them away. Meanwhile when you see one, stick it with a needle; you’ll soon get rid of them.
Then let us change the subject. How was your dinner today?
But the doctor says that you need to eat meat.
In that case I suspect that the ham was not good to begin with. When you buy so little they just don’t care and throw in any old thing.
That’s happened to Mother many times, that something entirely different from what she ordered is brought to the table.
Schindler let drop that he doesn’t really like ham and noodles. At least you may be sure he always likes the wine.
Don’t be angry about it. If you were not so good-natured, you would ask him to pay for his board.
I have to leave now, I’m going to theater at 7:30.
Goodness! I almost forgot. Father and Mother and I fervently hope that tomorrow’s operation will light the way to full recovery and also an end to your financial worries.
Father will be surprised to hear that.
He really doubted that the translation would arrive before the operation, if ever. I’ll tell him.
• • •
Esteemed Patient, I am pleased to say that the surgery is successfully over; relief will soon be evident.
I grant you that the tappings are no more than palliative.
Nevertheless we have come to the end of February; soon winter’s adverse effects upon your dropsy will subside. With spring you will feel revitalized.
I entreat you not to lose heart.
Rest assured that you will work again.
Neither you nor your work is finished. Need I remind you that your two grand pianos are but a step away? With the help of your physician you will soon return to them.
Why do you smile?
Who knows, you may yet regard me as wonderful.
Ah! now I recognize the words. They are from Handel’s Messiah, albeit somewhat muddled.
Perhaps you are right, perhaps only the Physician whose name is Wonderful can help you now. If so, that is the principal reason not to abandon hope—nil desperandum
Well and good. Now Councilor Breuning wishes to have a word with you.
Ludwig, once more you have taught us all the lesson of the Stoics; I am humbled by your p
atience.
You must cheer up, dejection prevents your getting better.
Before we leave, Gerhard has a message for you from Wolfmayer.
Prospero, he went away as soon as it was over but sent you his fondest regards.
Wolfmayer loves you very much; before leaving there were tears in his eyes and he said, “Oh, the great man. Ach! the pity of it.”
He asked if you still have wine.
Even better, he said that as soon as you feel well enough, he’ll bring Schubert to you.
May I be present when he does?
I would like to take Schubert’s coat for him.
Then I’ll pray that he visits midday, when I come from school.
• • •
Great Maestro, Schubert and Hüttenbrenner are here.
But Wolfmayer never planned to accompany them; they came with me.
In that case Gerhard garbled the message.
Usually Hütten. acts as Schubert’s intermediary: he does much, if not most, of the talking.
Of course you may see Schubert alone; I’ll send him in to you.
• • •
Revered Maestro, it’s not the cat that has my tongue.
If I must confess, it’s you.
Please don’t misunderstand me, I really—it’s simply that—in truth I am by nature shy.
It is indeed a fine lithograph.
I am hard put to answer.
Naturally, I should have guessed since Haydn was your teacher.
Mine? I would have to say, I mean, my debt to you—it’s you whom I would emulate.
You are much too generous. Frankly I now consider many of my earlier songs long-winded.
I prefer more recent ones; they are more concise.
For example I might cite “The Young Nun.” Perhaps you had time to glance at it?
If I’m blushing, it’s because—Again you are too generous.
You didn’t find the ringing of the convent bell overdone?
Thank you, that makes me breathe easier.
“The Almighty” was written some six months later.
Dear me, but I know of no way to govern blushing.
True enough. However, I disagree with you about the final line; it is never too late to hope for grace and mercy—Sometimes the Almighty
No, no, I—no one said a word, neither Schindler nor Wolfmayer said a word about dying. In regard to your premonition, three years ago I too believed that I was at death’s door. Yet as you see. . .
I realize that you are 56 and I have just turned 30, that your cheeks are sunken and mine are fat—Would to God I could give you my unneeded fat!
My apologies, tears are even more embarrassing than blushes.
If only widows are meant to cry, my tears are inappropriate. Still, it’s clear to me that if you die, I shall feel—well, if not, strictly speaking, widowed—orphaned.
I had better leave now, lest I baptize you with tears. Thank you for permitting me to visit.
Shall I send in Hüttenbrenner?
I’ll tell him you are tired but extend your warmest greetings.
May God keep you, Maestro.
• • •
Brother, when I saw our sister-in-law yesterday I mentioned your fourth operation.
Come now, it’s hardly a secret—all Vienna knows how gravely ill you are.
Frankly I think it behooves you to invite her here.
Why do you look for ulterior motives where none exist?
Seeing that her son is your sole heir, her hands are more or less already on the bank shares.
As I told you in January, in the event of his death, God forbid, the one way to keep her from acquiring the capital would be to hold it in trust—In that case you could arrange for Karl to receive the interest for the rest of his life; after his death it would pass to his legitimate offspring.
Codicils are useless—Bach will simply have to draw up a new will.
Don’t upset yourself, there is still time to weigh the matter—But apropos of the bank shares, I’ve been thinking that
Clearly the only thing that comes from Schindler’s mouth is shit—Snooping indeed! On the contrary I’ve been searching for them openly—And a good thing, too. Just imagine what a pickle we’d be in if you gave up the ghost and no one knew where the bank shares were hidden.
And who, if I may ask, might that be?
Come now, what is the good of “someone who knows,” if no one knows who that someone is?
I’m in no mood for guessing games, nor have I time for such nonsense. I’ll look in on you tomorrow.
• • •
Great Maestro, how contrary of you to misplace your spectacles on the day that a letter finally arrives from your nephew.
Have you no idea when you last wore them?
If you were searching for Sir Smart’s address, then they must be in the next room.
Just where you left them: on the desk with the letters.
But surely I handed you your nephew’s letter when I went in search of the spectacles.
My mistake, here it is.
My dear Father,
I have just received the boots you sent me and thank you very much for them. You will have received the translation of the letter to Smart; I have no doubt that it will bring the desired result.
Just today a cadet, who had been in Vienna on a furlough, returned to his battalion, and he reports having heard that you were saved by some sort of sherbert and are feeling much better. I hope that the latter is true whatever the means may have been. There is little new to tell about myself. The service goes as usual, the only difference being that the weather is much milder which makes guard duty more agreeable.
Write me very soon about the state of your health; also please give my warm regards to the Councilor. I kiss you.
Great Maestro, what has he done now to cause you such a burst of tears?
Forgive me, I assumed that you had finished; by all means do read the postscript.
Your loving son
KARL
P.S. Please stamp your letters because I have to pay a lot of postage here for which I hardly have enough in my account.
Great Maestro, rest assured that henceforth I’ll stamp them here.
Now, if you have fully digested his letter, it’s time for your frozen punch. And I’ll join you, if I may, with a nice glass of red.
By no means does my “burning thirst” preclude my taking down a letter to Sir Smart. Let us set to work.
VIENNA, MARCH 6, 1827
Sir!
No doubt, Sir, you have already received through Moscheles my letter of February 22nd. Nevertheless since I happen to have found your address among my papers, I do not hesitate to write to you direct and to urge most insistently that you fulfill my request.
Unfortunately as yet I cannot foresee the end of my dreadful illness. On the contrary, my sufferings and my anxieties coupled with them have only increased—On February 27th I was operated on for the fourth time; and perhaps Fate may decide that I must expect this for a fifth time or even more often. If this is going to continue, my illness will certainly persist until the middle of the summer. And if so, what is to become of me? What am I to live on until I have recovered my lost strength and can again earn my living by means of my pen?—But I must be brief and not trouble you, Sir, with fresh complaints. I merely refer to my letter of February 22nd and beg you to exert all your influence to induce the Philharmonic Society to carry out now their former decision to give a concert for my benefit—My strength is not equal to saying anything more on this subject. Moreover I am too deeply convinced of your noble and friendly treatment of me to fear that I shall be misunderstood.
Accept the assurance of my highest esteem and be convinced that, while anxiously awaiting an early reply,
I shall ever remain, Sir, your most devoted
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
Great Maestro, with your permission I shall now fetch the refreshments.
• • •
Prospero, Mother promises to have the roast squabs for you on Sunday. Meanwhile she hopes that these stewed apricots are to your liking.
Did you enjoy Hummel’s visit yesterday?
Naturally it tired you; Father told me that you got up and sat in a chair the whole time.
I’m sorry to have missed him; first it was Schubert and now Hummel.
I find his music a bit shallow.
In my opinion there is no contest, Schubert wins hands down.
I must leave. But Father wishes to have a word with you before going back to the War Department.
In that case I’ll tell him to come now.
• • •
Ludwig, this morning the Lieutenant Field-Marshal sent word that he wished to see me this afternoon. When I questioned his adjutant about the object of the meeting, the man would only say that it pertained to your nephew.
I have no idea. Was there any mention of trouble in his recent letter?
It’s useless to speculate on the matter until we learn more.
Do try not to be too anxious; I’ll give you a full report this evening.
• • •
Ludwig, it seems that von Stutterheim has heard some gossip about your nephew’s suicide attempt.
He did not mention the source, nor did I inquire.
I held fast to what I said last summer: that he was recuperating from a hernia operation.
Conversations with Beethoven Page 18
