GREAT Maestro, not only am I flattered by your willingness to take me back, but I am eager to prove myself worthy of your trust.
Is Dr. Bach’s address unchanged?
VIENNA, WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 3, 1827
Esteemed Friend!
Before my death I declare that Karl van Beethoven, my beloved nephew, is the sole heir to all my property, including, chiefly, seven bank shares and whatever cash may be available—Should the laws prescribe alterations pertaining to this bequest, then try to turn them so far as possible to my nephew’s advantage—I appoint you his trustee and ask you together with his guardian, Councilor von Breuning, to be a father to him—May God preserve you—A thousand thanks for the love and friendship you have shown me—
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
Great Maestro, are there no provisos?
Some stipulation which would prohibit the mother from laying her hands on anything.
You would do well to ask Dr. Bach if “sole heir” suffices. As for your nephew, would it not be wise to impose certain limitations?
On his behavior, naturally. Considering his love of gambling and café life, I venture to say he’ll run into debt unless you rein him in.
A mistake about what?
By no means have you made a mistake where I am concerned.
Forgive me, in future I’ll keep my views of your nephew to myself.
I have already said that I’ll keep them to myself, what more do you wish? Come now, do relent.
I beg you to relent.
But if you send me packing, who will you find to take my place? Surely not your worthy brother.
You cannot be in earnest.
But young Breuning is hardly capable of
As you wish, I’ll fetch him for you now. Before I do, however, you may rest assured that in all Vienna, not to mention the whole Imperial State, there is not a single schoolboy, no matter how bright (which this one is certainly not), who has the requisite skills, patience and, I may say, fortitude to take my place.
• • •
Prospero, how are you feeling?
Father, too, is about the same.
He is well enough to read a letter.
I don’t know if he is well enough to reply.
I’ll tell him that you would welcome his opinion, if it’s no trouble.
I left Schindler in the entrance hall.
I’ll send him to you.
• • •
Well, Great Maestro, are you satisfied with your new amanuensis?
Oh? And may I ask the nature of your reservation?
I’m not at all surprised, few children nowadays are able to spell; they think only of dancing and playing billiards. Yet if young Breuning won’t do, who is to take my place?
Thank you, I’m pleased to resume my duties.
The letter is on the bedside table.
In that case I’ll retrieve it from Breuning after dinner and ask if there is a reply.
• • •
Dearest Friend!
I am still too weak to write you at length, but I think that a few candid words from the heart should be spoken. Since through Gerhard you have asked me to read the letter to Dr. Bach, I have done so and return it to you for the time being with the following observations: that you name Karl as heir in the event, which I hope is far off, that you leave this life, is appropriate considering your way of thinking and what you have already done for him. But up until now Karl has shown himself to be very reckless, and one doesn’t yet know how his character will develop. Thus I would recommend that for his own good and for his future security you limit his power to dispose of capital either for life or at least for a few more years, until he turns 24 years, the age of his majority. In any case he would have enough annual income on hand and the limitation would protect him from the consequences of reckless actions before he reaches maturity. Speak of this with Dr. Bach from whom I should think a visit would be helpful. He will arrange everything in the simplest way; I would welcome the opportunity to talk with you or with Dr. Bach about my observations, for I fear that a mere time limitation will not keep Karl from contracting debts which he would only have to pay subsequently from his eventual inheritance.
I embrace you warmly.
STEPHAN
• • •
Worthy Friend, although I agree with Councilor Breuning that Karl’s behavior last year was reckless, I’m not convinced that you should limit his freedom to dispose of the capital. From your letter to me it’s clear that you have no such object in mind. Hence I would advise you to follow your heart and impose no limitations.
The notion of controlling Karl’s behavior from beyond the grave strikes me as harsh. What happened last year was not extraordinary: many young men of Karl’s age are inclined to play billiards, gamble and even to attempt suicide—God be thanked he did not succeed. Besides, I suspect that such behavior is now behind him.
I realize that you had the highest hopes for him, yet he is not without merit—indeed he is altogether intelligent, affable and conscientious. Added to that, he is devoted to you.
I truly doubt that he is more devoted to her.
The only way to prevent his mother from receiving any portion of the capital is to hold it in trust; therewith you could stipulate that the interest will go to Karl for the rest of his life and the principal pass to his legitimate off-spring after his death.
You need not decide the matter now, there will be plenty of opportunity
Do not despair; the grim reaper is still far off.
A trocar and a scythe are hardly equivalent. Has the surgeon said when it will be performed?
Since tomorrow is Friday, it will likely be sometime next week.
No more of that. Not only will you survive the operation, but you will go on to finish your tenth symphony.
It’s no trouble, believe me. If I’m obliged to lecture on the day of the operation, then I’ll come here immediately afterwards.
May God be with you, my friend.
• • •
Brother, I cannot help but agree with Breuning.
I’m surprised that Dr. Bach holds the opposite view—No doubt that is because he has had so few dealings with our nephew.
I’m thinking of neither the gambling debts nor the goings-on at Gneixendorf, but of Karl’s devotion to his mother—Have you considered the possibility that he might predecease her—God forbid!
Nevertheless, now that he is in the military there is no telling what might happen. In my opinion you ought to create a trust.
Well, if Dr. Bach said the same, that should settle it.
What others? You’ve already consulted with everyone worthwhile—everyone, that is to say, but Wolfmayer.
What on earth for? Holz is a connoisseur of wines not of business dealings.
Well and good, if I happen to see him, I’ll mention
But surely it can wait until Monday.
In that case I’ll stop by the Chancellery now and ask him to visit you tomorrow.
• • •
Prospero, how are you this morning?
Has your stomach become smaller?
Then the surgeon shouldn’t delay.
Has your appetite improved?
By now you should be eating meat.
Have you been given an enema?
You should be given more of them.
Have you finished reading Walter Scott?
Would you like to read Schiller?
Perhaps you’d like Sommer’s travel sketches.
Doctor amo amas amat has just arrived; he is taking off his coat.
Don’t speak so loudly or he’ll hear you. Father, too, considers him a bungler.
I must go now. I’ll bring you the Sommer tomorrow.
• • •
Esteemed Patient, be so good as to turn over.
But if you turn your back on me, I cannot examine you.
Unless I examine you, I cannot consult with Dr. Seibert.
Without consultation we cannot determine when next to tap the water.
Tomorrow seems premature; I am still inclined to wait.
Because the moment it is tapped, the water reaccumulates. Besides, this cold rainy weather only aggravates the dropsy. Thus I think it best to delay as long as possible.
Since the tappings are in no wise a cure, you are not incorrect to call them a palliative, albeit a necessary one. Nor can I deny the possibility of future tappings.
Your argument is indisputable. The Romans, as you doubtless know, deemed logic the art of arts. I may, therefore, reverse my judgment and recommend that Dr. Seibert perform the operation this coming week.
• • •
Great Maestro, for weeks and weeks I’ve tried to persuade your know-it-all brother to call in Malfatti for consultation, but to no avail. Yet as much as I value Malfatti, you must not lose faith in Wawruch; after all, he has done a great deal already.
In spite of your antipathy to him, Wawruch is regarded as an able man, esteemed and appreciated by his students. Although I can’t speak from experience, I myself have considerable confidence in him.
Even so he has a thorough understanding of his profession, that is well known.
For him to speak of the possibility of a third operation is quite different from his regarding it as inevitable. Don’t always look on the dark side.
Since there is time before my rehearsal let us deal with the letter to your nephew.
My dear Son!
It is clear now that the two learned gentlemen have a second operation up their sleeve; all that remains to be decided upon is the date.
Great Maestro, excuse me a moment.
Sali says that Holz is here. Oddly enough, I saw your Mr. Holz just yesterday and gave him a good piece of my mind.
Because I heard from someone that he doesn’t like my coming here. I called him to account for that.
Holz insisted that he had said nothing of the kind and felt no jealousy where I am concerned. Further, he told me that he must divide his time between his office, his lessons and his bride; hence he cannot come to see you. Yet lo and behold, here he is! Clearly the man is not to be trusted.
I told him to wait, naturally.
How was I to know that you had sent for him? I’ll fetch him at once.
Maestro, forgive me for neglecting you these last few weeks, but lately I find myself without a moment to spare.
Would that my duties were confined to the bedroom. Unfortunately they take me to the office, the quartet, lessons, etc. Nor do I see any respite in sight.
Great Maestro, far from “lurking about,” I am waiting for you to finish the letter to your nephew.
If you wish me to step out for a moment, you need only say so.
Indeed I have no objection, so long as you understand that if I leave for the day, the letter will not—Or do you plan to have Mr. Holz do the job in my stead?
I take you at your word. Meanwhile I shall wait to hear from you. Good day.
Goodness, Maestro, seldom have I seen such a puffing of the breast, such searching looks and darting glances—Yet you surely didn’t send for me just to goad Schindler.
Although I know there is a secret drawer, I have no idea of its whereabouts.
I can imagine why you might wish to keep your brother in ignorance, but not why you wish to reveal it to me. Seeing that Breuning is your closest friend, wouldn’t
I hadn’t heard he was ill. In that case I’ll bear the burden, albeit reluctantly, providing that you promise to live another twenty years.
• • •
Esteemed Patient, owing to Dr. Seibert’s customary skill the second operation is now successfully behind you.
Do you still feel much pain?
Aurelius himself could not have borne it more stoically.
The water was clearer today, a good sign.
Twice as much as last time, almost six gallons.
If another operation should become necessary, I shall certainly not look for twelve. Now please drink this.
Regardless of how much you hate medicine, it is critically important to take it after an operation. Vincit qui se vincit
But it is for your own good.
Sometimes I wonder which of us is the doctor, which the patient.
Do try to rest quietly.
• • •
Great Maestro, now that it’s over, I must confess that I often feared you would choke before they made up their minds when to operate.
I kept it to myself because I didn’t wish to dampen your spirits.
I praised Wawruch for the same reason.
He had no right to remark on future tappings. Where will it end!
There is only one answer: your brother must call in Malfatti.
Then take it upon yourself. Let us draft a note forthwith.
My dear Malfatti,
As you may have heard I have been confined to bed with dropsy since early December and in this connection have just undergone a second operation. Every day I hope to see an end to this trying illness, yet every day it persists. Unfortunately the doctor in attendance, a certain Professor Wawruch, has no prior knowledge of my constitution. Why, in the last five weeks alone I have been compelled to empty 75 bottles of some witches’ brew and to swallow God only knows how many different powders. He is ruining me with overmuch medicine! Although I have done my best to tolerate his treatment, frankly I have lost all confidence in the man. Thus I beg of you to come to my aid as soon as possible—Believe me, it is a matter of life and death.
Your most devoted
BEETHOVEN
Great Maestro, I’ll take it to him at once.
• • •
Great Maestro, I bring you back a disappointing reply.
He didn’t even condescend to write it. “Say to Beethoven that as a master of harmony he ought to know that I, too, must live in harmony with my colleagues.”
No mention was made of old wounds, only of his colleagues, naturally. Like all members of the medical profession, Malfatti’s first allegiance is to his colleagues.
Apart from his cultivated suavity, I found him quite severe and glacial. Indeed despite his southern heritage, he has every appearance of the Swiss. Perhaps he hails from the Italian side of the Alps.
I understand your bitter disappointment, yet tears are premature.
Because he didn’t close the door completely.
Surely his unwillingness to take Wawruch’s place doesn’t imply an unwillingness to consult with him.
Then let us try again, with fewer words and more flattery.
My dear Malfatti,
As the pre-eminent master of harmony I bow my knee to you, the pre-eminent master of the medical art, and ask only that you introduce an element of counterpoint in consultation with Dr. Wawruch.
With deepest respect I remain ever your most devoted
BEETHOVEN
• • •
Great Maestro, I bring you glad tidings! Malfatti agrees to consult with Wawruch and the others the day after tomorrow.
Goodness, tears when he won’t come and tears when he will.
True enough, there is every reason now to look for real improvement.
• • •
Esteemed Patient, my distinguished colleagues and I have concluded our consultation.
Seeing that Dr. Malfatti is an old friend of yours, he naturally appreciates far better than we your idiosyncrasies, in particular your decided taste for spirits. Thus I shall step aside for the moment while you learn from him the novel course of treatment he has hit upon.
Beethoven, you are more than kind. Still, you must not entertain such lofty expectations. In spite of my reputation for performing miracles, I am not Aesculepius.
No apologies are necessary. Although we have not exchanged a word in ten years, I bear you no ill-will. Do keep in mind that I am from the venerable city of Lucca, not from vengeful Corsica. Besides, ten years ago you had just been appointed your nephew’s guardian and had your hands full—Indeed from what I am told they are still so.
It is Dr. Wawruch’s opinion that much of your illness is due to the mental distress your nephew has inflicted upon you.
Not only at present but from the start; and indeed I thoroughly agree with him.
Seeing that I am pressed for time let me come to the point. Do you still enjoy a good Moselle?
Then let us do away with all those powders and medicine bottles that you so detest. In their place I have arranged for you to be given a very simple recipe: a daily glass of frozen punch.
By no means am I joking.
Nothing whatever, only the punch. Yet note well, you are not to drink more than one glass a day. If you abuse my orders, as is your wont, rest assured that you will come to grief. What is more, you are never to drink it in its liquid form, only frozen. In addition I have given orders for the abdomen to be rubbed with ice-cold water.
The object, in brief, is to tone up your digestive organs; at present they are utterly worn-out.
You will start the regimen today.
No, no, that is out of the question.
Quite simply because I have not the time to take on another patient.
Unfortunately the same is true of my assistants, all of us are overtaxed.
You should have thought of that ten years ago.
I cannot stay another moment, so let it be. If possible I shall look in on you occasionally. Meanwhile you are perfectly safe in Dr. Wawruch’s hands.
• • •
Dear Schindler,
Miracles! Miracles! Miracles! The highly learned professors are both defeated. Only through Malfatti’s practice shall I be saved! It is necessary that you come to me for a moment before noon.
B.
• • •
Great Maestro, the transformation is indeed a miracle. Not only has Malfatti toned up your digestive tract, but he has restored your spirits overnight.
The whole night through, without waking even once?
That in itself is a miracle.
How heartening it is to see the fire in your eyes again, to hear you speak again of your Saul & David oratorio.
Come now, it was Malfatti who prescribed the treatment—is that not enough?
Don’t make so much of his taking you back as a patient; to all intents and purposes you are his patient.
I’ll go to him if you insist, yet would it not be shrewder to wait and let him come to you, as he promised.
Even if he sends one of his assistants, at least the man will offset Wawruch.
Well and good, if Malfatti doesn’t visit within the week, rest assured that I will go to him.
But haven’t you already had your glass for the day?
In that case you cannot have another.
Benefits aside, you simply cannot have a second glass of punch.
I’ll thank you not to say that. The Spirit that Denies indeed! If anything, I am your guardian angel.
• • •
Great Maestro, it seems that the busy cadet found time at last to write.
IGLAU, JANUARY 13, 1827
My dear Father,
I have received your letter written by Schindler; I ask only that in future you include the date so that I can estimate the speed of the post. As for the state of your health, I am so happy to know that you are in good hands; I, too, had some misgivings about the treatment of your former (or perhaps still present?) doctor; I hope that from now on all will go well.
I wrote to Councilor Breuning some days ago and indicated the things that I still need. I would have written you directly, but I wanted not to tire you. No doubt the Councilor will attend to everything in the best way.
You wish to know my circumstances in detail. My captain is a thoroughly cultured man with whom I expect to get along very well. I share a nice room with the company sergeant-major, a very fine young man.—There is no such thing as an officer’s mess here; everyone goes to eat where he pleases. To economize I have already changed my eating place several times, but now a common mess for cadets is to be set up—if it is ever finished. Meanwhile in the evening everyone leaves the barracks to look for a place to eat. I have an orderly who takes care of me and receives 1 gulden a month, not counting small outlays for white lead and chalk to clean the uniforms. Washing also comes to a few gulden, if one wants it really clean. There is a theater here, too, to which I go with the captain’s permission.—These are more or less the ordinary circumstances that I am able to report at present.
Of the things that I requested from Councilor Breuning and still need, the captain cannot supply anything without authorization, naturally; therefore I ask you to mention it to the Councilor. And if you would send me something extra to cover the unavoidable expenses that I have already explained to him, it would be most kind. What is more, I depended upon receiving my pay from the day that I enrolled (Dec. 12, 1826), but this has not happened because the enrollment roster remains in Vienna. Thus I must still watch every penny.
In conclusion one more request. A first lieutenant who loves music and especially your works, plans to perform the Pianoforte Concerto in B flat (Op. 19) at his quarters this week. However, by accident the flute part has been lost, and so he has turned to me. Hence may I ask you to arrange for the part to be sent to me as soon as possible.—Do not worry about my address; I receive letters in care of the regimental adjutant.—Write to me again very soon. I embrace you with all my heart. My regards to the Councilor.
Your loving son
KARL
P.S. Do not think that the little privations to which I am now subjected have made me malcontent. On the contrary, rest assured that I am happy here, and regret only that I am so far away from you. But with time that, too, will change.
As you see, I have treated myself to a seal with my name.
Great Maestro, it is one thing to watch every penny and quite another to treat oneself to theater and a name seal, etc.
That is for you to decide. However, before you send him anything, you ought to review your own accounts.
I am not suggesting that you are in arrears, except where Wawruch and Seibert are concerned, yet neither is the cashbox overstuffed. Besides, you have no way of knowing how much Malfatti will charge you for his services.
He may have come to you as your friend, but don’t assume for a moment that as your doctor he’ll depart without his fee.
I won’t wager with you simply because I don’t wish to take your money.
You stint yourself and yet would send your nephew 20 gulden!
Not even 10, seeing that you have no idea how he plans to spend it.
In that case I have nothing more to say. I’ll do my best to hunt down the flute part this afternoon and post it together with the money in the morning.
• • •
Esteemed Patient, is the neck merely stiff or is there pain?
I am somewhat confused. Are you speaking of Saul and the Witch of Endor, or of Aeneas and the Sybil of Cumae? It would seem that you compound the two.
Confound the two?
Medical practitioners? I don’t follow you.
If one is not to tell it in Gath, then it must be Saul.
Ah! But therein lies the confusion: Samuel is summoned up by the Witch of Endor, whereas Aeneas is directed down to the underworld by the Sybil.
He descends in order to behold his father—ire ad conspectum cari genitoris et ora
Mother? In that case you have confused Aeneas with Odysseus; it is Odysseus who descends in search of his mother.
Plutarch?
Please excuse me for a moment.
Your housekeeper informs me that you took more than one glass of punch yesterday, nay, not only yesterday but the day before.
Do not blame her; the moment you mentioned your neck pain and I heard you wander in your speech, I suspected something of the sort.
I shall put it to you plainly: if you continue to abuse Dr. Malfatti’s orders, I fear that it is Beethoven who will end in the underworld.
• • •
JANUARY 19, 1827
My Great Maestro!
Since I have a rehearsal today at half past eight and cannot possibly afford to miss it, I must report in writing the upshot of my second visit to Malfatti.
He will come to you this morning at half past nine. Knowing perfectly well that Wawruch has a lecture until ten, I told Malfatti that we were also inviting the Professor to come at half past nine. In order that we don’t get into a pickle you need only say to Malf. that you did not learn until today that the Professor’s lecture prevented him from coming before ten. For his part Malf. has a meeting in the city at ten; thus you finally have your opportunity to speak to him alone.
Since, however, the past still rankles him somewhat, I would ask you to patch things up completely; why, only today he gave me to understand that he could not forget your “calculated offense,” as he called it.—Some artful words from you will put everything to rights and restore the status quo.
Around two o’clock I shall have the honor of being with you again. Meanwhile summa cum reverentia
Your obliging
ANT. SCHINDLER
• • •
Beethoven, both the diarrhea and the Kolik are brought on by the cold fomentations—I shall give orders to discontinue them at once. However, the rest of your complaints, namely, the neck pain, the rattle when you breathe, the hoarseness, the stupor etc., those are of your own making. Thus I shall also give orders to cancel the frozen punch.
Because you are abusing the prescription.
On the contrary it is clearly harming you.
Nonsense, you have never done as you were told and never will. Of all the patients I have treated in my lifetime you are the most unruly, to say nothing of the most offensive.
Was it not offensive to represent me, the pre-eminent physician in Vienna, as not only stupid but dishonest?
Rubbish, you retailed it all over town!
The charge of stupidity was easily dismissed. But what of the trumped-up dishonest? People had no idea what you were aiming at, of what I was accused. Nor, God knows, did I. How dared you defame me in that fashion!
Kindly spare me talk of friendship—In what way dishonest?
In what way I ask!
Answer me! Did you suppose that I was after your gold ducats from the Philharmonic Society?
Claptrap! The man came all the way from London to be treated by Malfatti, not to chat with Beethoven. Your name was utterly unknown to him until it passed my lips. Indeed it was only through my good office that he even heard your music played.
So much then for my alleged dishonesty. Yet even that I might have stomached, had you but spared me your final affront.
Is it possible to forget such a filthy epithet?
The word you used was wily— “wily Italian.”
In that case I’ll enlighten you—Turks are wily, Italians are ingenious!
Nettled understates it, I was enraged! I cursed and damned your miserable heart! Had you been near me, I would have cut your throat! In lieu of that, I swore by the Almighty that I would never speak to you again, never tip my hat to you, never acknowledge in any way that you had been born—So, as you see, I have broken my holy vow by coming here.
Never mind how close we once were, on no account do I wish to patch things up.
My object, indeed my sole object in coming here was to settle old scores.
I shall do as I said, stop by from time to time; if you expect more, you will be sorely disappointed.
Very well, the prescription will be maintained, but only so long as you obey my orders. And don’t for a moment assume that Malfatti can be hoodwinked by the likes of you—a crude double-dealing Austrian!
• • •
Esteemed Patient, although the testes are somewhat retracted, there is no cause for alarm. Of more immediate concern is the blood you observed.
And prior to that was there blood in the stool?
Only a trace?
Is your appetite still so poor?
I begin to suspect that the seat of the trouble is the liver.—But the liver aside, it is now clear that another operation is needed.
Naturally, not only have I discussed the matter with your Dr. Malfatti, but also with Dr. Seibert, and both agree that it must be performed.
To the best of my knowledge the prescription is still in force—you will continue to receive one glass per day. However, I should tell you in candor that the frozen punch is not having the desired effect.
On the contrary, if it were, there would be no need for a third operation.
Come now, there is no reason to hang your head. In all the world there could not be a more distinguished group of doctors than those assembled here for you. If any practitioners of the art can bring about a happy result, we can.
Trust in us.
• • •
Great Maestro, Wawruch gave me to understand that Seibert has already reported the results to Malfatti.
Now that the operation is over, one would think that Malfatti himself could find the time to look at the liver and belly.
There has been no word from him. However, Seibert plans to examine you once more today.
Perhaps he wishes to see if the fluid is passing through the liver. Evidently the liver is the key to the whole business.
To be on the safe side Seibert should be sent for at 5 o’clock.
For one thing to inform you of his findings, for another to give Malfatti the most thorough report possible.
Now for a different matter—A note has come from the soprano Schechner; it so happens that her father, too, once had dropsy.
The point is that the man was ultimately cured.
I have no idea. In any case I said that I would stop by and see the mother this afternoon.
If she tells me anything pertinent, I’ll report back to you.
• • •
Great Maestro, I have just come from Madame Schechner’s. Not only was her husband cured, but he was over 70 at the time!
She wanted to make certain that your doctors were familiar with the remedy.
Some sort of steam bath decocted from a head of cabbage, two handfuls of caraway seeds and three handfuls of hayseed.
Granted that it smacks of Macbeth, yet it proved effective in her husband’s case. Besides, the remedy was prescribed by a Royal Physician.
Let us leave no stone unturned. I’ll go to Malfatti at once and sound him out on the matter.
• • •
Great Maestro, Malfatti was quick to recognize the prescription. Apparently it was used by a certain Dr. Harz who was indeed the Royal Physician to the late King of Bavaria.
Seeing that the internal medicine has proved ineffectual, Malfatti is willing to try the prescription. However, he would vary some of the ingredients—or, as he put it, he is “quite ready to perform variations on a theme by Dr. Harz.”
He’ll come to you tomorrow morning.
• • •
Brother, of course the remedy is known to me—why, I have known of it since my apothecary days in Linz.
Who is Harz?
I must confess that I am unfamiliar with his music.
Harz aside, the treatment has been employed for years as a kind of home remedy—the dry hayseed is supposed to make you perspire and have a beneficial effect. My only doubt in your case is whether your system is ready for a steam bath so close on the heels of the operation.
Malfatti’s assistant has already put in place the hayseed and hot water jugs.
At present the man is spreading birch leaves over the jugs. When that is done you will step into the bath-tub, be covered with a bed sheet (but for your head, naturally) sit down on the birch leaves and—voilà the treatment!
The first bath is to last no longer than half an hour.
You have every reason to be hopeful—Malfatti himself is most hopeful.
Naturally, all of us are hopeful and pray for a good result.
That was the assistant to say that everything is now ready.
• • •
Great Maestro, the girl will put a wooden bowl under the bed so that the fluid won’t run all over the floor.
Unfortunately there is no more straw in the house to fill the other mattress; all the straw is fouled. The other one will be filled this evening and you may use it tonight.
The stove could not be hotter. When she comes with the bowl I’ll tell—But here she is.
I told her to bring you another blanket.
In truth Malfatti failed to return. However, the assistant did; also your brother looked in again while you slept. He insists that he forewarned you of the bloating.
As I understand it, the steam bath did not work because you had just been tapped two days ago and were completely drained of fluid. Thus instead of making you perspire, it had the opposite effect: your body soaked up the steam like a block of salt.
No need to fret, the treatment has been cancelled.
Since nothing was said to the contrary, I assume that the frozen punch is still prescribed.
Apropos of the punch, Moselle costs money, especially when visitors such as Holz help themselves freely. Fuel costs money, the more so because of the heavy snowfall; why, even little things such as straw and hayseed cost money. Above all else, doctors cost money.
Unfortunately when the assistant returned he minced no words about Malfatti’s fee. Moreover no opportunity passes without Wawruch mentioning his “honorarium”; and Seibert did the same on Friday.
One moment please while she spreads the blanket.
Is that not better?
I have been thinking that perhaps you should consider selling a bank share, I mean only until such time as you are able to work again.
Needless to say that they will go to your nephew eventually, but for the moment they still belong to you.
In that case how do you propose to pay for your expenses?
Well and good, but who? Have you someone in mind?
Frankly I can’t think of anyone you might approach for funds.
Gerhard just came in—perhaps the boy’s father will be able to suggest someone.
I must take my leave now. I’ll come again tomorrow at the usual time.
Prospero, was the steam bath a success?
I’m sorry to hear that. Still, you mustn’t lose confidence in Malfatti. He is your best doctor.
If they had had the sense to cover the mattress with oil cloth, it wouldn’t be soiled.
I’ll bring you some oil cloth tomorrow.
Don’t concern yourself, I’ll trust you for the money. Meanwhile what can be done to cheer you? Would you like to read Plutarch?
Would you like to study a volume of Handel’s works?
I’m flattered, but what did I say that was smart?
Sir smart?
I thought that the Englishman who sent you the books is named Stumpff.
Then what has Sir Smart to do with Handel?
I don’t see the connection between my being smart and Sir Smart being a member of the Filharmonic Society.
Oh how I hate words that begin with ph!
Well, at least I’ve cheered you. Now I have to leave.
Have you forgotten that today is Sunday? Father is at home.
I’m sure that he’ll find time. I’ll go and ask him.
• • •
Ludwig, it’s hard to believe that you would even entertain such a thought.
To represent yourself as wanting to either Stumpff or Smart—why, it would be a bold-faced lie, to say nothing of immoral.
For the simple reason that you own seven bank shares.
In that case why not approach your brother? Surely he is in a position to assist you.
Frankly I never thought you would stoop so low as to ask for a handout.
Call it what you like, it comes to the same thing.
Vienna may not have always appreciated your music, but she has always supported you and, better still, with no strings attached. For you to turn now to London strikes me as—well, unseemly.
Consult with Dr. Bach or Wolfmayer, consult with your brother or Holz or even Schindler; I doubt that you will find anyone who disagrees with me.
True enough, yet my sole object in being harsh is to persuade you to reconsider.
Do weigh it carefully.
• • •
Great Maestro, seldom have I seen you so gloomy.
Of course your bills must be paid, there is no gainsaying that. And as for your friends, among whom I am proud to count myself, surely this won’t be the first time, nor doubtless the last, that you go against their wishes.
If writing Stumpff will lift your spirits, by all means let us get on with the letter.
VIENNA, FEBRUARY 8, 1827
My very dear Friend!
My pen is quite unable to describe the great pleasure afforded me by the volumes of Handel’s works which you have sent me as a gift—to me, a royal gift!—This present has even been mentioned in the Viennese papers, and I am sending you the notice. Unfortunately since December 3rd I have been confined to bed with dropsy. You can imagine the situation to which this illness has reduced me. Usually I live entirely on the profits of my intellectual work and manage to earn everything for the support of myself and my Karl. But unfortunately for the last two and a half months I have not been able to write a single note.
My income suffices only to pay my half-yearly rent, leaving me a few hundred gulden. Bear in mind too that the end of my illness is not by any means in sight. Nor do I know when it will be possible for me to soar again through the air on Pegasus in full flight! Physician, surgeon, everything has to be paid for—
I well remember that several years ago the Philharmonic Society wanted to give a concert for my benefit. It would be helpful for me if they would decide to do so now. Perhaps I might still be rescued from the poverty with which I am now faced. I am writing to Sir Smart about this. And if you, dear friend, can contribute something to this object, do please come to an agreement with Sir S. A letter about this is being written to my old friend Moscheles as well. And if all my friends combine, I believe it will be possible to do something for me in this matter.
In regard to supplying Handel’s works to His Imperial Highness the Archduke Rudolph, I cannot say anything definite yet. But I will write to him in a few days and draw his attention to this suggestion.
I thank you again for your splendid gift. Please make use of me, and if I can serve you in any way in Vienna I shall be delighted to do so—Once more I appeal to your philanthropic feelings in regard to my situation which I have described to you in this letter. I send you my best and most cordial wishes and my warmest compliments.
With kindest regards, your
BEETHOVEN
Great Maestro, as for the letter to Sir Smart, I’ll simply copy this one and replace the parts about Handel with some niceties about Smart’s visit here the summer before last. That done, I’ll send it to your nephew to translate into English.
If I post the letter today it will reach Iglau by Saturday.
Allowing a week for the job, he should have it back to you by the 20th.
I’ll copy it now.
• • •
Prospero, you seem in better spirits today.
A present from whom?
May I see it?
It’s very nice. But why would an artist bother to make a lithograph of such a humble house?
I don’t assume anything of the kind. You, for instance, are a great man, yet I happen to know that you were not born in a palace.
Is the great man a composer?
Then the house must be Handel’s birthplace.
I didn’t realize that Haydn’s family was so poor.
I’m sure that Father will know of a framer. Shall I take it home with me?
Don’t concern yourself, I’ll be very careful with it.
• • •
Great Maestro, do try to apply your mind to something other than your nephew. As you know, I’m not his staunchest advocate; still, even if he set to work the moment your letter arrived, he could not have returned the translation—today is only the 15th.
You mustn’t assume that you are out of his heart, if for no other reason than that he is still entirely dependent upon your pocketbook.
Don’t fret about it, he surely has not forgotten you.
Nonsense! No one has forgotten you.
That is absurd! You are anything but a forgotten man. Why, just yesterday Diabelli brought you a lithograph, and the previous day Haslinger was here. All sorts of people are eager to visit you; if they hesitate it’s only because they don’t wish to intrude.
Wolfmayer for one, Hüttenbrenner for another. I don’t know how many times Hütten. has asked me if he might bring Schubert.
But I myself have often told you how much Schubert reveres your work and worships you.
Indeed I just happen to have a collection of his songs with me today.
approximately 60
By no means all, thus far he has written well over 500.
Never mind the number, wait until you discover their wonder.
More or less my age, he just turned 30 last month.
Pay no attention to such drivel; you are forgetting that critics of that stamp also knock down your work.
Trust me, you’ll admire the songs. What is more, I’ll wager that they will even take your mind off your nephew.
Gladly, I’ll leave them with you.
There is no rush, keep them as long as you like.
• • •
Prospero, Father will be pleased that you like the frame. It was his idea to use black wood and make it very simple.
I don’t quite know, only that the shop is in the Graben. My piano teacher took it there.
Are you completely satisfied?
You don’t find anything amiss?
Are you absolutely sure?
Even I, who spell like a guttersnipe, was quick to notice: “Jos. Hayden’s Birthplace in Rohrau.”
Unfortunately my piano teacher wrote it.
It’s unfair to judge him by his spelling.
But he is not an ignoramus.
On the contrary he is a very good teacher.
I must object to your calling him that.
Please don’t be so angry. In truth it’s all my fault.
Because I’m the one who wrote the inscription.
I lied a moment ago.
I’m not lying now.
I beg you to believe me.
Very well, I am lying. But it’s still my fault.
Because Father forbade me to mention the mistake.
He thought that you wouldn’t notice it.
For heaven’s sake please don’t turn against Father too.
I can’t take the picture back home until I stop crying.
I should never have disobeyed him. Not only am I now in hot water with Father, but with you and my teacher and the framer and
everyone!
If the mistake is corrected, will you change your mind and not demand that my teacher be discharged?
And will I still be welcome here?
Then I’ll take it back home and swallow my medicine.
• • •
Great Maestro, without knowing what Wegeler said in his letter, I can hardly help you frame a reply.
No, I never saw it. Most likely you received it in December before I came back to look after your affairs.
If the letter was here last week it must still be here. Perhaps it’s in your portable writing desk.
You will not guess where it was: between the pages of Plutarch.
From what Wegeler says I gather that you planned to send him a portrait of yourself but clean forgot.
There is one in the writing desk.
I’ll fetch it as soon as we finish.
VIENNA, FEBRUARY 17, 1827
My worthy old Friend!
It was fortunate that I received from Breuning your second letter at any rate. I am still too weak to reply to it. But you can imagine how welcome and delightful to me are all your remarks. My recovery, if I may call it so, is still very slow. Presumably I must expect a fourth operation, although the doctors have not yet said anything about this. I cultivate patience and think: well, sometimes some good comes from all this evil.—But indeed I was surprised to read in your last letter that you had not yet received anything.
Great Maestro, excuse me but there is someone in the entrance hall.
It’s Wolfmayer, he is taking off his things. He says that the snow is now quite deep.
The letter can wait until I come back tomorrow.
If you wish to sit up let me adjust the pillows.
An armchair would surely be more comfortable, not only for your guests but for you, yet a decent one is costly.
I’ll send him in to you.
Dear Friend, it has been much too long.
By no means bearing gifts, the wine is solely for medicinal purposes; there is but one small trifle.
Allow me to put it around your shoulders.
camel’s hair
Not at all extravagant, it’s a perfectly ordinary shawl. Still, I’m glad that I brought it—your hands are cold.
Don’t say such things. Admittedly you were heavier when I saw you last, but even so you are far from skin and bones, thank God. We must fatten you up.
No appetite even for fish?
Unfortunately there is no way around that, the fluid has to be tapped.
A fourth operation!
But you mustn’t lose heart. Only with patience will you recover and be able to work again.
You still have many works to compose—I trust that you’ve not forgotten my Requiem.
Come now, I was joking. Even if you fail to write a note of it, I don’t expect you to repay the commission.
Doctors are a different matter, naturally.
Supposing that Malfatti refuses to forego his fee, how much is he owed?
And the others?
In short, a goodly sum.
That was smart of you—please disregard the pun. And have you heard from him as yet or from Stumpff?
The Philhar. Soc. will likely stand by its offer; however, it might take a month or more before you hear from them. In the meantime what will you do for funds?
Believe me, I wasn’t thinking of the bank shares. Not only do I understand but thoroughly respect your wish not to touch them.
Please calm yourself, anxiety is harmful.
Rest assured that as long as I live you will not want for wine or fuel or candles, nay, for anything; nor will you have to do without your Sali.
I’m sorry it has that appearance; in no sense am I moved by charity. Indeed let me invert what you said earlier: it is I who will never be able to repay you.
For what! Why, for your music.
Please don’t be so modest. More than anything that I can think of, your music has transformed my life.
But there will be new works—you must not lose hope! As Schubert has it in his Faith in Spring:
The world grows fairer every day,
We cannot know what is still to come,
Unending is the flowering.
It’s from a poem by Uhland.
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 patience.
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.
Although I did not deny the suicide attempt, I did my best to play it down, dismissing the incident as but another example of a lovelorn youth imitating Werther.
I have no idea whether he believed me or, indeed, whether he plans to take further steps.
He might do one of several things—But it’s useless to anticipate his action.
“Influence him” in what way?
I would say that von Stutterheim, not unlike many others, has an amateur’s love of music.
No doubt he would be greatly flattered, nay more, thunderstruck!
Are you sure you wish to make such a princely gesture?
Well and good, but do not act in haste; I urge you to sleep on it.
• • •
Great Maestro, I sincerely hope that your change of heart has nothing to do with my calling Wolfmayer a draper.
I know better than to make the same mistake twice; the letter will of course go to Schotts.
VIENNA, MARCH 10, 1827
Gentlemen!
According to my letter the quartet was to be dedicated to someone whose name I had already sent you. But something has happened which has decided me to make an alteration in this respect. The quartet must now be dedicated to the Lieutenant Field-Marshal Baron von Stutterheim to whom I am indebted for many kindnesses. If you have perhaps already engraved the first dedication, I beg you for Heaven’s sake to alter it, and I will gladly compensate you for the expense of doing so. Do not treat my remarks as empty promises. Indeed this matter is of such importance to me that I will gladly and readily reimburse you to any extent whatever.
I enclose the title.
As for the parcel to my friend, the Royal Prussian Regierungsrat von Wegeler at Coblenz, I am delighted to be able to relieve you entirely of this commission. For an opportunity has been found to dispatch everything to him direct.
My health, which will not be restored for a very long time, requires that you should send me the wines I asked you for. They will certainly bring me refreshment, invigoration and good health.
I remain, Sir, with most sincere regards, your most devoted
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
Great Maestro, in order to make amends you might consider dedicating the quartet in F to Wolfmayer.
I believe that Schlesinger owns it.
I still have time to take it down, unless you are too tired.
Then by all means rest, there is no pressing urgency to write the letter today.
• • •
Dear Tone Poet,
Look for me at about three o’clock this afternoon.
Your faithful
MALFATTI
• • •
Great Maestro, even though he hasn’t been here all week, rest assured that Malfatti is fully aware of your suffering.
I very much doubt that he has hit upon a new prescription. On the other hand, perhaps he has, I mean, hit upon something that may at least alleviate these terrible attacks of pain.
With Malfatti there is always the possibility of miracles.
Since it is now 2:45 you will soon have your answer.
• • •
Beethoven, I am deeply sorry to find you in this grievous state.
I have in fact brought you something which, though in no wise a new prescription, will surely ease your suffering.
Gumpoldskirchner, it’s the best wine available for the frozen punch.
You overstate my generosity, I have brought but two bottles.
I do indeed remember my original prescription; unfortunately it is impossible to obtain a genuine Moselle in Vienna.
I hope you will enjoy it. To that end I am setting aside all restrictions on the quantity: from now on you may have more than one glass a day.
Or even three if you like, as long as you do not overdo it. You yourself must be the judge of that.
Believe me when I say that they are being set aside not because you are dying but because you are suffering. As your doctor, let alone your friend, I will not have you languish in pain.
As soon as you like. You may have a glass forthwith.
I have already rung for her.
Well then, when she comes I will tell her that Schindler is not to touch the Gumpoldskirchner.
• • •
Brother, I am in fact in pleasurable suspension—not unlike yourself.
In my case it has nothing to do with Gumpoldskirchner.
Presumably you mean to tell me now where the bank shares are hidden.
Then why did you send for me?
Well, that at least is something.
Relations between you and our sister-in-law are too delicate for such offhand behavior—you would do better to write her a note.
Because it’s better form.
Clearly you are too inebriated for me to argue the point—I’ll transmit the invitation verbally.
• • •
Great Maestro, since we still have time let us finish the letter to Moscheles.
You had just expressed your conviction that with the help of Smart and Stumpff etc. the Phil. Soc. would come to your aid.
On February 27th I underwent a fourth operation; and already there are visible signs again that I must soon undergo a fifth. What is to be the end of it all? And what is to become of me, if my illness persists for some time?—Truly my lot is a very hard one! However, I am resigned to accept whatever Fate may bring; and I only continue to pray that God in His divine wisdom may so order events that as long as I have to endure this living death, I may be protected from want. This would give me sufficient strength to bear my lot, however difficult and terrible it may prove to be, with a feeling of submission to the will of the Almighty.
So, my dear Moscheles, I again ask you to deal with this matter which concerns me; and I remain with my most cordial regards ever
your friend
L. V. BEETHOVEN
P.S. Hummel is here and has already visited me a few times.
Great Maestro, may I enclose a brief note with the letter?
Nothing more than my greetings.
My dear Moscheles,
Hummel and his wife came here hurriedly in order to see Beethoven while he is still alive, for it is reported in Germany that he is on his deathbed. It was a most touching sight last Thursday to witness the reunion of these two old friends.
In haste, yours
SCHINDLER
• • •
Great Maestro, good news! Mr. Rau of the banking house of Eskeles is here.
He is the major-domo of Baron Eskeles. Indeed, was it not the Baron who originally advised you to purchase the bank shares?
The Almighty works in mysterious ways. Rau, you see, is also a friend of Moscheles, to say nothing of mine; thus I suspect that his visit relates in some way to the Phil. Soc.
I’ll show him in.
• • •
Venerated Composer, I am truly sorry to find you in such poor health.
And to think that I, who live in Vienna, knew nothing of your illness nor of your privation, whereas Mr. Moscheles, who lives in London, knew everything.
His letter just arrived this morning. The moment I finished perusing it, I left the bank and came here straightway.
But there was also mention of a letter to you. Have you not received it?
It will likely be delivered tomorrow.
In short, at a meeting held on February 28th the directors of the Philharmonic Society resolved to send you, through the good offices of Mr. Moscheles, a long overdue benefaction. You are to receive as a loan the sum of 100 pounds sterling (1000 gulden) to provide whatever necessities and comforts you may find wanting.
Shall I step out for a moment?
Rest assured that I am not embarrassed; however, I do not wish to intrude.
Words are unnecessary, your tears acknowledge all.
Excuse me but I do not follow you. What is for your nephew?
I asked only because you mentioned him.
Then let us continue. When I write to Mr. Moscheles I will certainly relate your deep-felt expressions of gratitude. As for the money, you will have it first thing in the morning.
Well and good. On the other hand you might prefer to take only half of it tomorrow and leave the rest with the Baron. It is after all quite a large sum to have lying about the apartment.
If 500 will not suffice, by all means take the 1000; the money is yours to do with as you please. I can only hope that it will bring you swift relief or, better still, an unforeseen recovery.
One can never tell—Dr. Malfatti is a very clever physician.
I shall return in the morning. Meanwhile may heaven be with you.
• • •
Venerated Composer, good morning. Clearly your housekeeper is extremely upset.
Did it burst while you were sleeping?
Has Dr. Malfatti been informed?
Do you not think he ought to be?
After such a mishap, it is a wonder to find you in such good cheer.
Why do you say thanks to me?
Ah, but of course! Then do let us proceed. On behalf of Mr. Moscheles and the Philharmonic Society of London, it gives me great satisfaction to present you with this timely relief.
Further, I must trouble you for your signature on this receipt.
Thank you kindly, but I suspect that the messenger of the gods was a good deal more fleet than I am.
Before departing I urge you, if only for my own peace of mind, to let me apprise Dr. Malfatti of what has happened.
Believe me, it is no trouble; I shall take a cab there and back.
That is most kind of you; however, you are not to spend the money on anyone but yourself. What is more, you may be sure that the Baron will reimburse me for the cab.
• • •
Venerated Composer, I am delighted to report that when I told Dr. Malfatti what had happened, he welcomed the news.
Evidently it spares you for the present the necessity of having another operation. What is more, he said that he will now contrive to keep the wound open so that the fluid can drain freely.
He surmises that the rupture was brought on by your sense of financial relief.
Believe me, it was no trouble. Now, however, I must return to the bank.
Please do not mention it; I am deeply honored to have been of service to you.
• • •
Brother, it goes without saying that I’m pleased as punch to hear of your good fortune; yet to hear of it from a virtual stranger while finishing off a piece of business, however profitable, is downright embarrassing.
May I know how much you received?
A rather tidy sum, to say the least.
Doctors’ fees aside, on what do you plan to spend it?
But since you have difficulty chewing beef it’s idle to speak of it. You’ll just have to settle for a nice piece of fish.
I saw some pike-perch in the market yesterday—they looked delicious; so, too, did the salmon trout.
No, but I did spot a string of plump quail.
Edibles aside, on what else do you plan to spend the funds?
I understand—for a rainy day, so to speak.
Well, I needn’t tell you how much good it does my heart to see you this happy—Perhaps you are more inclined now to reveal the whereabouts of the bank shares.
By God, I’m sick of hearing that! With your newly acquired wealth you ought to buy a parrot and have it trained to say, “There is one who knows.” Adieu!
• • •
Great Maestro, I know without asking that Rau has been here.
Because I haven’t seen you so care-free since Malfatti first prescribed the frozen punch. Besides, I encountered your brother in the entrance hall.
Needless to say he is searching for the bank shares.
Pay no attention. You may not be able to chew beefsteak but you surely can manage ragout, not to mention ox-tongue and sweetbreads and liver, etc.
If they were in the market yesterday, they will likely be found there tomorrow. What could be more appetizing than a couple of quail for Sunday dinner.
In that case I’ll also tell her to keep an eye out for pike-perch and salmon trout. And while we are on the subject let us not forget wine.
It occurs to me that you might want to replenish your store of Gumpoldskirchner.
I beg your pardon but I never even tasted it. I speak of it now simply because you were so enamored of the bottles Malfatti brought. Besides, it would go especially well with the fish.
But I’m content with whatever you serve me.
All joking aside, the most ordinary table wine
Believe me, I would be more than
Do let us drop the subject.—When Schubert was here, and afterwards Hummel, you were greatly embarrassed, and rightly so, by the condition of your easy chair. Frankly, this one is ready for the junk heap.
Hardly an amenity, in my opinion a new one is a necessity. In fact it’s just the sort of comfort that the Phil. Soc. had in mind for you.
By all means have leather. Seeing that you have to sit in it every day while the girl makes up the bed, you should have whatever you fancy. I’ll see what is offered in the flea market.
The money is indeed a godsend, for which Moscheles is mostly to be thanked.
Unfortunately I cannot take down the letter now; I have a performance this afternoon. I’ll do so tomorrow.
Drinking songs! Rest assured that there are none on the program. But speaking of drinking, may I ask how many glasses of punch you have had?
In my view that is one too many.
• • •
VIENNA, MARCH 18, 1827
My dear, kind Moscheles!
I cannot put into words the emotion with which I read your letter of March 1st. The Philharmonic Society’s generosity in almost anticipating my appeal has touched my innermost soul.—I request you, therefore, dear Moscheles, to be the spokesman through whom I send to the Philharmonic Society my warmest and most heartfelt thanks for their special sympathy and support.
I found myself obliged to draw immediately the whole sum of 1000 gulden, for I just happened to be in the unpleasant position of having to borrow money; and this would have caused me fresh embarrassment.
In regard to the concert which the Philharmonic Society has decided to give for my benefit, I do beg the Society not to give up this noble plan but to deduct from the proceeds of this concert the 1000 gulden which they have already advanced me. And if the Society will be so kind as to let me have the remainder, I will undertake to return to the Society my warmest thanks by engaging to compose for it either a new symphony, sketches for which are already in my desk, or a new overture, or something else which the Society might like to have.
May heaven but restore my health very soon and I shall prove to those magnanimous Englishmen how greatly I appreciate their sympathy for me in my sad fate.
But your noble behavior I shall never forget; and I will shortly proceed to express my thanks particularly to Sir Smart and Mr. Stumpff.
I wish you all happiness! With the most friendly sentiments I remain your friend who highly esteems you
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
My heartfelt greetings to your wife.
I am indebted to the Philharmonic Society and yourself for a new friend, namely, Mr. Rau. Please let the Philharmonic Society have the metronome tempi for the symphony. I send you the markings herewith.
Great Maestro, rest assured that I will copy them with care.
• • •
Brother, on my way in I crossed paths with Wawruch; he said you have but little strength today.
I’m sorry to hear that, and sorry, too, for losing my temper with you yesterday—my apologies.
Come now, do you imagine that I’m planning to steal the bank shares?
Then why do you play this childish game with me?
Well and good, but for Karl’s sake—or, better still, simply to facilitate the terms of your will, it would be useful to know where they are hidden.
At least tell me the name—merely that—of this all-knowing one.
I took a turn about the room.
to collect myself
Ludwig, it falls to me—I’m really at a loss to find a way—nay, there is no artful way to tell you the unvarnished truth. Wawruch—Malfatti too—both have given up hope.
I’m surprised myself by my tears—You take it better than I do.
According to Wawruch the end cannot be far off. When we met just now he asked me—you’ll remember that he studied for the priesthood before he took up medicine. Hence he asked me if I thought you would be willing to receive the Holy Sacrament.
I told him that even though you are somewhat careless about attending church, in all likelihood you are more religious than he is—witness your grand solemn Mass.
Of course I didn’t put it in those words. Still, I happen to agree with him in regard to Extreme Unction.
Brother, I cannot urge you strongly enough to make your peace with God.
By no means at this moment—at the appropriate time, naturally.
Again I’m surprised—I didn’t expect you to agree with such alacrity—That leaves unsettled only the disposition of your estate.
As for our sister-in-law, I made a mistake—I should have stayed out of it.
I did indeed extend the invitation—Added to that, I tugged at her heartstrings, but to no avail—She doesn’t wish to see you.
She gave no reason, nor did I press her for one.
Not a word was said about your legal battle.
Even though it ended seven years ago, her wounds may not as yet have healed.
It goes without saying that you were wounded too.
Perhaps she is less forgiving than you are.
Frankly I don’t know what would sway her. Unless—yes! You might frame the request as a deathbed wish.
No need to wait for Schindler; surely I can pen it just as well as Mr. Shitting—better! I’ll wager.
My dear Sister-in-law,
Now that the doctors have given up hope, the possibility that we might never again see each other does not sit well with me. To forestall that event I entreat you to come to Schwarzpanier House tomorrow morning at about ten o’clock. Do find it in your heart to grant me this final wish.
In haste, your devoted brother-in-law
LUDWIG
• • •
Ludwig, clearly you are not ready for me; you should have said 10:30.
She went to fetch a glass of frozen punch.
Yes, she apologized and blamed the disorder on the delivery of a chair.
The one I’m sitting in?
Have you yourself not sat in it?
It’s perfectly comfortable.
If I averted my eyes—Well, you’ll have to excuse me but nothing prepared me for how thin you are.—Here is the punch.
Let me help you, it’s dribbling all over your night shirt.
Whether or not you feel like a baby, rest assured that you don’t resemble one.—Besides, mothers don’t feed babies punch.
It’s not a bib but my handkerchief; she failed to bring you a napkin.
It’s perfumed because—Who knows? Because I like perfume—Do stop interrupting.
No more—it’s finished, I set the glass aside.
gardenia
I’m glad the scent pleases you—you who are so unaccustomed to women’s things, to women at all.
Certainly you may hold the handkerchief for a moment—providing that it doesn’t turn you into Othello.
If I had a kronen for every time you called me a whore—But never mind, that isn’t why you sent for me. Well now, why did you?
I was taught not to answer a question by asking one.
For my part I came here—Duty! pure and simple, I considered it my duty to respect your wishes. Needless to say that you are still the head of the family. But to come back to you, why did
Another? Surely it’s forbidden to have more than one glass.
I don’t care what the doctor says—all those ices cannot be good for your stomach.
No need to make a fuss, I’ll go and fetch another.
Don’t speak with your mouth full—I cannot understand a word you say.
Don’t gulp so. I’ll still be here when it’s finished.
If you expect me to feed you, I’ll thank you to do it at my pace.
There now, so much for the second serving.
Indeed I am surprised; I was sure that your eyes were bigger than your stomach. Still, it’s a good sign—at least you haven’t lost your appetite completely.
Before you go on, do answer my question—Why in fact did you send for me?
Don’t be bashful—out with it.
I know that Karl is your sole heir, if that is your meaning.
Naturally, never for a moment did I assume that you wished to harm him; throughout the whole ordeal I realized that your malevolence was aimed at me.
Come now, was it not malevolent to allege in a court of law that I had poisoned your brother!
That may be, but you believed it at the time. You also believed that I tried to poison my son. And added to that, you asserted that I was depraved, plague-ridden and pestilential—in short, that I was the scum of the earth!
The words are yours, all of them, to say nothing of the aforementioned whore—or, as you minced it in your mendacious Appeal, I was unfit to be a mother because I was “a woman of easy virtue.”
If my councilor asserted that you were unfit to be a father—well, at least his object was not to defame you; he did so for practical reasons.
Not only your deafness, but your utter lack of experience; after all, you hadn’t the slightest idea of how to care for a child. Why, the first time Karl ran away from you his hands and feet were frostbitten, his linen hadn’t been changed in a week.
Let’s not rehearse the charges; admittedly there were faults on both sides. Still, I would have suffered all in silence, had you but permitted me to spend some time with him.
Once a month is hardly adequate for a mother, let alone a child.—You said in your note that the prospect of never seeing me again did not sit well with you. Imagine how it sits with a mother.
Rubbish! On one occasion you made certain that I was barred from seeing him for eight months. You can’t possibly imagine the grievousness, nay, cruelty of such a prohibition.
I don’t mean you alone, no man can imagine it—least of all a woman-hater like yourself.
I beg your pardon but you are a woman-hater. In your eyes a woman is either a madonna or a whore who will give you the clap.
Spare me! When it comes to women your ignorance, indeed the ignorance of all the Beethoven men, is dumfounding—Oh, how I wish your brother had heeded your advice not to marry me! But by then, of course, the whore was carrying his child.
If I took a lover during his final months, your brother brought it on himself—his brutality had long since finished off fidelity.
Come now, surely you remember how vicious he could be; surely you haven’t forgotten, say, the time he drove a knife through the back of my hand.
My object was to show you the scar, not—What prompted you to kiss my hand?
That was kind of you, but I’m no longer the least bit aware of the scar.
You need hardly apologize for kissing my hand, nor for your tears.
At last!
Oh Ludwig, thank you, thank you—I never expected to hear those words pass your lips.
I realize, naturally, how difficult it was to speak them—Well, at least I understand now why you sent for me.
If only you had asked my forgiveness seven years ago—not even my forgiveness, if only you had found a way, I mean had made the smallest gesture—But no matter, it’s water under the bridge.
A gesture of kindness, simply that—if instead of enmity you had found a way to show your heart
Were it in my power, I would gladly forgive you, but only God can forgive our trespasses.
Which of the Gospels?
To be sure, I had forgotten.
No, no, what it says more or less is this: if you don’t forgive others and do so from the heart, you yourself won’t be forgiven by God.
Then let me do so now—I forgive you, Ludwig—for everything—I forgive you.
Rest assured that it comes from my heart.
There now, that’s enough, you have cried enough for one day—indeed we both have. Do let me dry your tears.
I can’t imagine what we would have done without my handkerchief.
Drying your tears is hardly an act of charity.
In what way a turnabout?
Ludwig, the dying woman that you succored was your mother.
But I am Johanna, your sister-in-law.
Listen to me, Ludwig, I am not your mother.
Surely you mean Karl
Don’t be preposterous—I most certainly
Childbearing may be holy but
Let me assure you
In neither this nor any other bed did I give birth to you!
Ludwig, look at me—take a hard look
There now, don’t you see—I am no one but your
Nimbus—what are you saying?
Nonsense! there is no such thing—the curtains are drawn. That may be but there is no light. It is just your fancy. Goddess?
Clearly the punch
Of course I recognize the words, but why
Why are you singing Ode to Joy?
You are utterly confused—the Daughter of Elysium is Mother Nature—I am quite mortal.
Believe me, I am merely mortal.
Well then, if it makes you happy—yes! I am indeed the Daughter of Elysium.
Yes indeed I have descended.
I was not speaking but singing—I, too, am singing!
Joy! Joy!
Praise to joy the God descended—
Now, now, no more for today—you will strain yourself. But I am not ill, whereas you
Very well, but only one more time.
Joy! Joy!
Praise to joy the God descended—
Now that’s enough.
No! Enough is enough—now you must rest!
By all means keep the handkerchief, providing that you rest.
Here’s a joyous kiss for all!
May God preserve you, Ludwig.
• • •
Great Maestro, since Dr. Bach is still indisposed, Councilor Breuning has drafted the codicil.
My nephew Karl shall be my sole legatee, but the capital of my estate shall fall to his legitimate or testamentary heirs.
Vienna, March 23, 1827
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
Great Maestro, it is intentionally brief so that the transcription will not overtax you.
The copy must be in your own hand.
I find nothing to question about legitimate.
With what word would you replace it?
Presumably Breuning is now at the War Department; he will come here midday to witness the signing.
Your brother is already here.
It goes without saying what he is up to.
I’ll fetch him.
• • •
Brother, clearly Breuning’s object is to keep Johanna from acquiring the capital—I must say that for once I agree with His Highness.
But that happens to be your object too—legitimate simply connotes your own wishes.
Have you some other word in mind?
To substitute for legitimate?
If none has yet occurred to you, none most likely will—We had better let it stand. Don’t you agree?
I’m waiting to hear that you agree.
Why, to sign the codicil as it’s written.
D’accord! Now we have only to wait for His Highness—By the by, am I not right in assuming that he is the all-knowing one?
Breuning
A simple yes or no will suffice.
Stubborn to the last!
• • •
Ludwig, have you read the codicil?
Are you in agreement with what is written there?
Have you the strength to copy it?
Dearest friend, forever dauntless! But take your time, there is no hurry.
Do not concern yourself, I shall ink the pen.
My nephew Karl shall be my sole legatee but the capital of my state shall fall to his natural or testamentary heirs.
Vienna, March 23, 1827
LUWIG VAN BEETHOEN
Ludwig, unfortunately there is a mistake.
For “legitimate” you have written “natural.”
On no account do they mean the same thing. If you allow “natural” to stand, your sister-in-law
You need only write
I am not asking you to write more words but only
Kindly restore legitimate
If you cannot, you cannot—So be it then.
• • •
Brother, presumably you haven’t forgotten your willingness to receive the Holy Sacrament.
What is the matter—don’t you recognize me?
But only yesterday you knew me—I am your brother, Nikolaus Johann.
You sometimes called me Cain.
Be so good as to look again!
One moment please—Johanna wishes to have a word with you.
Ludwig, do you remember these lines?
Above the star-filled heavens
A loving Father surely dwells.
Yes exactly, from Ode to Joy! Have you forgotten what follows?
Dost thou sense thy Maker near?
Above the star-filled heavens seek Him!
Granted He has always been near—still, it behooves you
Ludwig, Dr. Wawruch urges us to send for the parish priest.
I’ll let him speak for himself.
Esteemed Patient, it falls to me to repeat once more and, I may say, for the last time the words of the great Hippocrates: ars longa, vita brevis. Since, however, your art is eternal, it is now incumbent upon you to attend to your eternal soul.
In the name of those assembled here, nay, of those everywhere who revere your music, I entreat you to receive the Holy Sacrament.
Added to that, it will show the whole world that Beethoven is a true Christian.
God be thanked, I will send for the priest.
• • •
Great Maestro, do not spend yourself in speech. The priest departed long since; you are now truly reconciled with Heaven.
In spite of untold interruptions the letter to Moscheles is indeed finished. I myself have been trying to write him, but to no avail. Nevertheless, you may rest assured that both letters will be posted this afternoon, visitors permitting, or tomorrow at the latest.
• • •
VIENNA, MARCH 24, 1827
My dear Moscheles,
When you read these lines our friend will no longer be among the living. His death is fast approaching, and all of us have but one wish: to see him released from his terrible suffering. There is nothing else left to hope for. For a week he has lain as though half dead, but has mustered his remaining strength now and then to put a question or to ask for something. His condition is appalling, indeed exactly like the Duke of York’s, about which we read recently. He is in a constant state of dull brooding; his head hangs down onto his chest and he stares at one spot for hours at a time. Seldom does he recognize even his closest acquaintances save when he is told who they are. In short, it is dreadful to see. This state of affairs can last but a few days more, for all bodily functions have ceased since yesterday. So, God willing, he shall soon be released, and us with him. People have begun to come in droves to have a last look, although no one is admitted excepting those brazen enough to torment a dying man in his final hours.
His letter to you, which except for a handful of words at the beginning he dictated verbatim, will probably be his last; on the other hand today he whispered to me albeit brokenly: “Smart—Stumpff—write them!” If he can still write as much as his name, I will make sure that it is done.—He knows the end is near, for yesterday he said to me and Councilor v. Breuning: “Plaudite, amici, comoedia finita est!” Also we were fortunate enough yesterday to put his will in order, even though there is nothing here but a few old pieces of furniture and
• • •
MARCH 26, 1827
Dearest Karli,
Your uncle died this afternoon. If possible, please come at once.
Your loving mother