Beethoven's Tenth

by Richard Kluger

  “Yes, more or less. And Herr Neugebaur seemed a bit offended by the very idea of—”

  “But that was before our ministry had any substantial reason to believe the manuscript is authentic. I believe Herr Neugebaur’s principal objection then was that German experts ought to be the ones to make that decision.”

  “Our owners considered his request but decided the issue went well beyond any concern over national pride. All of civilization has an equal stake in the outcome here.”

  “Our officials see it differently—especially now when there is reason to view the work as genuine. I think they would be quite amenable to—”

  “Why would your officials suddenly think the manuscript is genuine?” Mitch got his first full whiff of intrigue. “Your panel hasn’t even voted—we haven’t made any announcement.”

  There was a densely pregnant pause, then another quick intake of breath on the other end. The man smoked like an active volcano. “They asked me to keep in touch.”

  Son of a bitch. “Professor, you were engaged under a pledge of strict confidentiality, not as an agent of the German Ministry of Culture.”

  “Don’t misunderstand, Mitchell, I am not their creature. But I share their pride in German cultural attainments. I want to do my best for all parties concerned. They’ve assured me that if our panel votes unanimously to authenticate the work, Herr Neugebaur would then act at once to open negotiations with your executives—and offer very liberal terms.”

  “If your panel is unanimously in favor,” Mitch disabused him, “then I suspect our owners would be most unlikely to cancel the auction—interest in the work will soar, and so might the bidding. So I’m afraid the time has passed when a preemptive bid by your government or anyone else can be considered.”

  “But Jacob Hassler informed me last Sunday—on our bus tour of your revolutionary battlefields—that his arrangement with your firm permits a sale without recourse to an auction.”

  “Nevertheless, I doubt Mr. Cubbage would consider that now, not with your panel on the verge of—” Suddenly Mitch saw the hand Reinsdorf was playing. “What is it you’re telling me, Professor? Is this a negotiation for your vote?”

  “Please, Mitchell, do you take me for both an imbecile and an intellectual prostitute?”

  “I hadn’t. But I find this entire conversation greatly troubling, to be blunt. What is it you want me to convey to my firm’s management?”

  “That they accept a luncheon invitation for tomorrow that Neugebaur is about to extend to Mr. Cubbage—as a courtesy to my country—to civilization—to Beethoven himself.”

  Within the hour, Harry phoned to confirm the arrangement—“They’re a sovereign country where we conduct business, so it’s a command performance, pal”—and invited Mitch along to the meeting, to be held in a private dining room at the Pierre. On their walk down Fifth to the hotel, Gordy lamented their having yielded to what he called the Germans’ extortionate tactics. “Now you watch how the nasty Niebelungen try to escalate the game.” But Harry held fast to his conviction that they had nothing to lose by hearing Neugebaur out.

  The German attaché was far more ingratiating than he had been at their initial meeting. “I am most appreciative for your again giving me your valuable time,” he said and then advised that he had come as an unofficial emissary for a group of firms and institutions, including Deutsche Gramaphon, Volkswagen, Siemens, and the Berlin Philharmonic, which collectively wished to purchase the Tell manuscript for a fair price. His ministry had held preliminary talks as well with officials of the Swiss and Austrian cultural bureaus, and there was a distinct possibility that the three national governments might facilitate such a transaction with loans against the eventual revenues that worldwide performances of the symphony would produce. “Our hope is that before you schedule the work for auction once your panel has certified its authenticity—assuming it does—but prior to your disclosing as much to the public, you will set a price acceptable to you and your client that our group can quickly raise through commitments from the participating parties.”

  “Mmmm,” said Harry and then downed the first swallow of his Bloody Mary. “That’s all splendid, but it would be much cleaner if you just made us an outright preemptive offer by midnight tonight. Under our arrangement with Mr. Hassler, my firm is allowed to consider such a transaction at any time, even before our panel of experts concludes its deliberations—which, as you know, will be tomorrow—and keep the manuscript off the auction block. If your terms are acceptable, fine, we have a deal, assuming the Swiss approve of the arrangement and will promptly probate Otto Hassler’s will. If your offer is unsatisfactory to us, your group would of course still be free to participate in our auction—or not, as you choose.”

  “The problem with that,” Neugebaur said after a moment’s reflection, “is nobody in our group seems to have a very good sense of what the work is worth in cold, hard cash—and especially in advance of knowing what your panel of experts will decide.”

  “Yes—well, that’s why we undertake the authentication process first,” Harry said, “and then hold our auctions—to find the limits of what a work of art is worth on the open market. If you care to snatch away the prize without competing against others, you’d have to absorb the risk of trafficking in possibly tainted merchandise.”

  “To be sure,” said the diplomat. “But, to be candid, we have some sense that your experts may not come to a unanimous verdict—and if not, the market value of the work is likely to suffer—considerably.” He offered a sly smile. “Therefore, I think there is sentiment among our group to respond to your asking price—if you have one and can tell us now or later today, conditioned, of course, on your panel’s final findings—”

  “There is no asking price, Mr. Neugebaur. You need to understand that we’re not an art gallery in that sense—we’re an auction gallery. The bidders set the price—we merely state an opening figure and let the public—”

  “But suppose,” the German cut in, “you did set a preemptive asking price because of the extraordinary nature of this work of art, and even if our group couldn’t meet it, they could respond with the best offer they can—and if that still failed to satisfy you, their figure might serve as the starting point for your auction. Then, at the end, our group would hold the right to top the leading bid by ten percent, so that Mr. Hassler and your firm would have nothing whatever to lose by awarding us the inside track.”

  Harry glanced at his house counsel, who looked lost in thought for a long moment while he framed a response.

  “The problem arises,” Gordy intervened, “with your accurate use of the term ‘inside track.’ I’m afraid it smacks of collusion. In our business, we would have to disclose publicly, before the auction, any such preferential arrangement—which would almost certainly have a chilling effect on the subsequent bidding.”

  The urbane diplomat radiated nonchalance. “I don’t pretend to know the subtle dynamics of your business. Nevertheless, we thought you might welcome our initiative. Apparently not—leaving us very little in the way of a choice.”

  Harry, allergic to threats, scanned the menu before escalating the stakes. “I wonder if hotel crab cakes are trustworthy,” he mused before turning to Neugebaur. “Are you implying, my friend, that our firm may suffer consequences if it declines to deal separately with your group and proceeds with our auction as planned?”

  Neugebaur tried to look helpless. “It’s not that my government has any recourse,” he said. “I think your problem is with Dr. Reinsdorf. I can’t say for certain, of course, but my impression is that he’s inclined to abstain from the vote by your panel of so-called experts. I hear he feels there are still questions and issues that remain unanswered—and are likely to remain unanswerable.” The attaché took on a mournful cast. “Unfortunately, without his full endorsement, the legitimacy of the work would be fatally undermined in Germany—and probably through
out the scholarly world. Your auction, I suspect, would then turn into a fiasco.”

  “Which would be very sad,” Harry added, flexing his sarcasm.

  “Very,” said Neugebaur.

  “It would be even sadder,” Gordy countered, “if our firm had to disclose before the auction is held that Dr. Reinsdorf, along with his government, had tried to coerce us into a private transaction that we were unwilling to make in exchange for his highly valued—and presumably objective—vote.”

  “And sadder still,” said the unwavering German, “if our government then had to explain that, on the contrary, your firm attempted to purchase Dr. Reindorf’s vote to authenticate a work that he believes to be uncertifiable. Perhaps you’ll want to confer among yourselves before the Beethoven panel gathers tomorrow.” Neugebaur turned aside. “And now, gentlemen, let’s speak of pleasanter things—I think the oysters rather than the crab cakes.”

  .

  the c&w war council convened at five that afternoon. At Mitch’s insistence, Mac Quarles was informed of the Reinsdorf/Neugebaur tandem ploy and invited to be on hand. Sedge, detectably in his cups, was hooked in by phone from the Wakeham family seat in Surrey. He spoke first, briefly and to the point: “Don’t want us to knuckle under to Jerry, come fire, pestilence, or le deluge—pardon my French, chaps.” And fell silent.

  Gordy led off their strategizing.

  “Whatever we elect to do or not do about dealing separately with the Germans,” he counseled, “Reinsdorf has to declare his position before he knows our decision. Otherwise, we’re vulnerable to a charge of conspiring to sway his vote, if not buying it outright.”

  Harry saw the point. “Suppose, before the panel votes tomorrow, we ask the Germans for an unrealistically high price, even an astronomical one, on a take-it-or-leave-it basis—say, fifty million, off the top of my head. If they take it, we’re done, so the issue of Reinsdorf’s vote doesn’t arise—because we haven’t offered any consideration for it, and the whole question of authentication is off the table, at least off our table. Then they can make Emil the captain of their own authentication team if they’d like.”

  Gordy pondered. “That helps, but it doesn’t make the problem go away. Any deal we’d strike—with the German group or anyone else—would have to be predicated on Emil’s assumed agreement to join the other panelists in favor of authentication—because, otherwise, why would anybody pay multi-moola to buy an uncertified Beethoven symphony? So, C&W would have colluded with the German buyers since both we and they would know in advance how Reinsdorf would vote.”

  “But they’d be paying us for the manuscript,” Harry objected, “we wouldn’t be paying them for Reinsdorf’s vote—if there is no vote.”

  “Then how do we explain to the public why we disbanded the panel?” Gordy reached for his notepad and began to doodle. “We simply can’t risk opening a negotiation with the Germans without compromising our precious rectitude. They’re counting on us to fear—justifiably—that Reinsdorf will fuck us over if we don’t play along with them. So we’d be buying into their coercion if we open ourselves to being bribed by a stupendous offer to sell out—which would make us complicit in a corrupted authentication process.”

  Harry looked glum. “But we’ve already got Reinsdorf on tape acknowledging to the other panelists a lot of positive things about Tell having a definite Beethoven sound, et cetera,” he argued. “It seems obvious that his objections amount to hokey nitpicking—the bastard was leaving himself an out so he could claim, as he did to Mitch on the phone last night, that he has serious doubts, and then we’d believe he could very well vote against or abstain from the majority in good conscience—effectively nuking the authentication process and costing us a bundle.”

  “What do you say, Mac?” Mitch asked. “If C&W holds tight and as a result Emil abstains or dissents, has he said enough on the record in your discussions to make him look like a raging hypocrite? I hate to ask—and you can decline to answer—but could you and would you use his own words against him in your summary report if he won’t go along with authentication—knowing all you now know about the situation?”

  Mac’s large frame had seemed to shrink by degrees as the revelations and speculations chased one another around the table. “Gentlemen,” he said, slowly righting himself, “I’m appalled—and it’s not just on accounta these German slickers.” He turned his gaze on Harry. “You sound to me, sir, as if you’re readyin’ to junk this whole legitimizing process that we’ve been slogging through for months now just so long as your firm can hit the jackpot behind closed doors. Or am I not followin’ you?”

  Rebuked, Harry lowered his head and waved Mac on.

  “The answer to Mitchell’s questions are yes and yes,” the Kentucky native rumbled ahead now. “If Emil votes against authentication, he can’t retract what he’s already said on tape—no matter how he tries to weasel-word his way around it. And yes, my summary would certainly call attention to his self-contradictions—and knowin’ what I do, I wouldn’t lose a whole lot of sleep over it. Not having him on board with the rest of the panel might cost you a pretty penny, I suppose, particularly if they start beatin’ the patriotic war drums over there and try to scare off your bidders. But defying the Germans and Herr Doktor Emil Reinsdorf, who’s just tryin’ to curry favor with the powers that be in der fatherland, would be the right thing for your respected firm to do—the only thing to do, as I see it. Either this authentication business is aboveboard, or it isn’t—there can’t be any shilly-shallyin’ with its integrity by using the back door to buy the vote of one of the experts who we told the world we went out and enlisted in good faith.” He sat forward now and hunched his shoulders, asserting his bulky presence. “I’m gonna stand up in about thirty seconds and leave the room, so you fellas can kick around your options, but if you ask me, you have only one.”

  Once Mac had left, Harry turned to Mitch. “Well, Quarles is your man—do you buy it?”

  Mitch narrowed his eyes and looked at his boss. “I fully appreciate the financial stakes here, but I think Mac is doing us a favor by stating the issue in moral absolutes. He and Gordy are right—Cubbage & Wakeham’s reputation is worth a lot more than any short-term profit the firm might realize from the transaction by ditching the authentication process after we’ve already set it in motion. It would amount to surrendering our position as the ethical leaders of the high-art auction business—and I personally would head for the hills. As for Reinsdorf, I have a feeling about the man—maybe badly misplaced, I’ll be the first to concede. I think he sees himself as some kind of cultural warrior, trying to exploit the power position we’ve handed to him, and if he can come out of this as a hero, bringing Beethoven back alive from the big bad jungle filled with greedy American predators, his life will be complete. So he’s trying to wheel and deal with us to the utmost. But if we won’t play, I don’t think in the end Emil will do the wrong thing. I don’t think he’s basically corrupt—just badly misguided in his attempt to put himself up on Olympus next to Beethoven—or wherever the hell the gods of music hang out.”

  “Mmmm,” said Harry. “And what if you’re wrong, Mitchell, and we refuse to deal with the Germans preemptively, and then not only does Reinsdorf vote against us but, to spite us, they try to kill the auction by claiming we tried to buy Emil’s vote—and he nobly refused?”

  “We’d have to spill the beans on Neugebaur’s attempted power play over lunch with us,” Mitch answered, “though I grant you that would come down to our word against theirs.”

  The heavy silence that followed was broken by a muffled directive from the loudspeaker: “Tell the blighters you tape-recorded Jerry at your luncheon.” All eyes turned to the squawk box. “Sedge?” asked Harry. “I wasn’t sure if you were—”

  “Tell Jerry you’ve got it all down on tape,” Sedge repeated, more clearly this time, “and say that Mitchell was—what do they call it?—wearing a wire a
t your luncheon, and if they try any more funny business, you’ll send a transcript of the tape to every newspaper and broadcast station on the bloofy planet.”

  Harry looked over at Gordy with raised brows.

  “Could we bluff them out of it like that?”

  “Maybe,” Gordy said, “but I’d want to look into the legality of it.” The lawyer wrote himself a note on his scratch pad. “I’m pretty sure you can’t tape someone on the phone without his permission.” Gordy turned to Mitch. “You worked in a DA’s office—the cops use a wire all the time—do they always need a judge to okay it in advance?”

  “Supposedly—only we’re not the cops,” Mitch said. “And I doubt it’s a crime to tell someone who’s made you an incriminating proposition that you’ve secretly taped the conversation when in fact you haven’t. You could call it lying to scoundrels or maybe just fighting fire with fire—but it would certainly give Neugebaur, Emil, and their buddies pause.”

  “Filthy swine,” growled the firm’s London partner.

  “Thank you, Sedgwick, for your excellent suggestion,” said Harry. “Let me ponder all this over a tall Scotch. Are you drinking your mother’s good stuff down there, old top?”

  “The forty-year-old,” came the cheerful reply. “She kept the pure gold locked away from me—couldn’t blame the dear gal. ’Night, all.”

  .

  clara had decided to try her hand at risotto with shrimp and saffron as a special dinner treat for her parents, who were in New York for the week. Half an hour into the task and weary of all the stirring, she welcomed Mitch’s return and was enthralled by his account of the escalating Tell intrigue. It pained her, though, to hear how the manuscript was being fought over like the prize at the bottom of a rugby scrum. “What’s Harry going to do?” she asked, administering her fifth ladle of chicken stock to the creamy porridge.

  “The right thing, I hope.” Mitch dipped a spoon into the simmering pot and had a taste. “Divine,” he announced. “I think you may have missed your true calling, angel.”