Eroica Page #3

Prince Lichnowsky is prepared to pay me

an annuity of 600 florins.

And last year I got 1800

for a benefit concert.

It's not enough.

It's not enough?

I don't think, my love,

you have the first idea what things cost.

- I don't, really.

- I do.

But my brother Carl's salary at the civil

service is only 250 a year, and he lives on it.

I can get 1800 for a concert.

It's not the money.

- What is it, then?

- I have four children.

- I will be a father.

- It doesn't work like that.

You're not saying no?

- I've been a widow for seven months.

- You're not saying no.

- I love you dearly.

- You're free now to marry whom you wish.

You do like my music, don't you?

It's so loud,

so warlike.

The transitions are so abrupt.

It speaks to me of turbulence.

And I want peace.

Desperately, I want peace.

I admire it. I'm devoted to it.

But it frightens me, to be honest.

It frightens you.

Passion can be a frightening thing.

Sir, excuse me.

They're ready to play the scherzo.

Have you no manners at all?

Can't you see I'm in conversation with a lady?

Yes, sir. Sorry.

You are unforgivably stupid, Ries. Everything

you do is calculated to inflame my temper.

Go and tell Wranitsky

to start without me.

- This bit is done.

- Don't you need to hear it?

- Only the horns. Otherwise, it's done.

- How can you be sure?

The light relief after the funeral, the dance,

the return to life - it's easy. It's done.

Are you angry with me?

- I'm not angry.

- You sound angry.

Are you saying no?

You need to hear your horns.

I need to hear your answer, Countess.

Will you marry me or won't you?

I cannot.

I take it I'm not good enough for you.

Yes, you are. I love you.

But you're frightened of my music.

Obviously, I shouldn't have said that.

- Do you want me to change your mind?

- About the music?

No, about the marriage, damn you.

Forgive me. That was rude. I'm sorry.

Louis, there is no point.

If I could marry you, I would.

But it is forbidden to me.

There is no life without you.

You're my whole world.

My heart is full of all the things

I want to say to you.

Sometimes I think that speaking amounts to

nothing at all. It's a worthless faculty, speech.

The law in Austria is clear.

If I marry a commoner, I not only lose my title

but the custody of my children.

They will be taken away from me.

You cannot be their father.

It has no legality.

We'll travel.

I was thinking of going to France.

I cannot be without my children, Louis.

You cannot marry a man without a title.

No.

I can't.

My horns are coming in now.

Horns!

Yes, that's it. Give it some oomph.

Straight on. Let's get to the end.

Sir?

Sir?

- Ries, you interfering insect! What?

- Sir, Herr Haydn is here.

Master.

Herr Haydn, do come in. We're so pleased

to see you. Let us offer some champagne.

I hope it is an open rehearsal?

- Sir, you are welcome.

- Thank you. Thank you.

Sir, my student, Ries.

He's an idiot.

All students are idiots. It's traditional.

- Shall we sit?

- Your Highness.

He's been capellmeister

to the Esterhzys for more than 30 years.

The old prince is dead,

but his son keeps Haydn on.

But he can write for whoever he wants.

Well, couldn't he before?

No, of course not.

Not for anyone but the Esterhzys.

- And I thought he was highborn.

- Haydn?

His father was a wheelwright.

There's hope for me yet, then.

I doubt it.

Did you do it?

Thank you.

Well, I'm looking forward to it

very much indeed. How's it going?

- Splendidly, splendidly.

- It is a work of quality, Herr Haydn.

- Sad to say, not the highest.

- Oh.

Unlike your own work, sir,

it does not strive for perfection of form.

It's all roaring and grunting.

The only thing

I can remember striving for

is a balance between

the emotions and the intellect.

The key, as ever, is restraint.

I'm not very good at restraint.

And we love you for it, Louis.

None of it is worth anything, finally.

Since my dear wife died,

all I can think about is...

When is the end coming?

Will it be today?

My strength is gone, Your Highness. I...

I suffer dreadful headaches,

dizziness, and...

I can't play the piano any more.

But you have composed The Seasons

A work of brilliance.

No, The Seasons wore me out.

I shouldn't have written it.

It finished me.

He's obsessed with death.

- My master reveres him.

- They're not normal, these people.

You should go to England.

One can earn good money there.

Really?

I'd like to find a publisher

who'd pay me an annual income for life.

In return, they'd have the right

to put out everything I compose.

All I want is financial security so I can work.

I think Goethe has this arrangement.

And, if I'm not mistaken, Handel's

London publisher did the same for him.

But you're not Goethe.

Nor are you Handel.

- And nor will you ever be.

- How do you know?

Because people like that are no longer born.

My dear fellow.

- He doesn't mean to hurt you.

- It's very common, that viewpoint.

They cannot believe a young person

can achieve anything. So reactionary.

I cannot associate with people

who do not believe in me.

- Let's finish.

- I don't feel like it. I want to go home.

- Please, don't go.

- In Heiligenstadt I'm happy.

There are trees and streams and sunsets.

What is there for me here?

My husband has a proposal for you.

Have I? Oh, yes.

I love this piece of music, Ludwig.

It's an extraordinary experiment

upon an unsuspecting world.

I should like to hear it again.

Shall we say 2,000 florins for six months?

Exclusive rights?

This is the finale?

Yes.

Have we a subject?

Heroism.

Excellent.

Please.

Where would you like to go for supper, sir?

Prince Lobkowitz invited us

to dine at the palace.

- You don't want to?

- I'd rather eat with you.

Also, I'm finding

I can't always hear what they're saying.

They think I'm rude,

but really I can't make out the words.

My ears are useless, Ries.

And my guts aren't much better.

- Did you see her, Ries?

- Who, sir?

- The countess.

- Yes, sir.

Beautiful, isn't she?

Well, I think the sister's the prettier.

Ries, you may know something

of counterpoint and harmony.

You know nothing whatsoever about life.

What do you say, Herr Haydn?

Very long. Very tiring.

Unusual, though, wasn't it?

Unusual?

He's done something

no other composer has attempted.

He's placed himself at the centre of his work.

He gives us a glimpse into his soul.

I expect that's why it's so noisy.

But it is quite, quite new -

the artist as hero.

Quite new.

Everything is different from today.

Excuse me, sir.

There's Menzel. I'll just say hello.

What will you have, sir?

- I beg your pardon?

- I said, what will you have, sir?

Menzel's just back from his club.

- There's news from Paris.

- What news?

Bonaparte's just made himself emperor.

- Emperor?

- Yes.

He's had a coronation, and everything.

He's no longer first consul. He's an emperor.

Just like all the others.

Eat your fish, Ries.

Thank you.

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