Immortal Beloved

---

"Ludwig van Beethoven,

the man who inherited...

and increased the immortal fame

of Handel and Bach...

of Haydn and Mozart,

is now no more.

He was an artist,

and who will stand beside him?

He was an artist...

and what he was,

he was only through music.

The thorns of life

had wounded him deeply...

so he held fast to his art...

even when the gate through which

it entered was shut.

Music spoke through a deafened ear

to he who could no longer hear it.

He carried the music

in his heart.

Because he shut himself off

from the world, they called him hostile.

They said he was unfeeling...

and called him callous.

But he was not hard of heart.

It is the finest blades

that are most easily blunted...

bent or broken.

He withdrew from his fellow man

after he had given them everything...

and had received nothing in return.

He lived alone...

because he found no second self.

Thus he was, thus he died.

Thus he will live for all time".

Which one of you is the thief?

Huh?

Produce the money,

or I will have you arrested!

Then arrest me!

I took him in when nobody

could bear his company!

And now you want to get paid, eh?

- Bank shares.

- Give them to me!

The money is mine!

Here. Here is his will.

"I declare that my brothers

Caspar and Johann...

are the heirs to my fortune,

if so it can be called".

As Caspar is long dead,

that leaves me! Just me!

Well, give me my money!

Answer!

This is his final testament.

What?

"All my music

and all the capital of my estate..

shall go to my sole heir,

my immortal beloved".

Signed, "Ludwig van Beethoven".

A letter is enclosed.

- This is...

- Come on, now.

Don't keep me in suspense.

Who is it?

- Nobody.

- Oh, not so.

The letter bears no name.

"To my immortal beloved".

"My angel, my all,

my other self".

The maestro was nursing

a secret passion.

I never heard such words from his lips.

Who could this be?

The only love he held

was for himself.

I suffered his insults, his temper.

I suffered in silence when he spat

the food I made back in my face.

That money is ours!

It is not.

It doesn't matter anymore.

He is gone.

We have his music.

Destroy this letter.

It would only show

his disordered life to the world.

It's his dying wish.

We owe him at least that.

You have no authority in this matter.

I have his authority.

Still the faithful dog, eh?

He was my friend.

What friend would be so cruel?

What brother so uncaring?

You know nothing of my brother!

Take me to Karlsbad.

"My angel, my all, my other self.

Just a few words today

and that in pencil, yours.

Only tomorrow will I know for certain

where I am to stay.

A worthless waste of time

and such.

Why this deep sorrow?

If we could be united,

we would feel this pain no longer".

- Good afternoon, sir.

- Good afternoon, Frau...

Streicher.

- Herr Schindler.

- Let me find your reservation.

I'm afraid I don't have

a reservation.

Oh, no matter. We have always room

for a gentleman such as yourself.

Is this the address for this hotel?

One moment.

Ja, of course.

Do you know the name

Ludwig van Beethoven?

- The composer?

- Yes.

I knew him.

- Did he ever stay here?

- Are you a policeman?

Then I will not answer your questions.

Oh, please, I'm trying

to conclude his affairs.

Ah, van Beethoven is dead.

Alas, yes.

Best thing for him.

He was a terrible man.

Then he stayed here?

A long time ago.

Too long to remember.

I can remember only the damage.

The damage?

I was never paid for the damage.

He smashed it all up, everything.

There was a chair, three florins.

Window, five.

- I had to paint everything.

- Frau Streicher.

Would this be sufficient?

There was a woman.

We had been expecting

Herr van Beethoven for days.

She came instead.

She said he was to join her.

She registered in his room.

Under what name?

illegible. Then...

there was this terrible storm,

a deluge.

The woman hid in her room...

waiting.

Ashamed to show her face,

I'd say.

And then, the letter arrived.

You opened the letter.

I had to. How else would I know

who it was for?

I only read his signature.

"My angel, my all, my other self.

Just a few words...

and that in pencil..."

I sent it to her room at once.

She can't have liked what she read.

She left at once, right away.

Left without a word to anybody.

And then, of course,

Herr van Beethoven arrives.

When he found she was gone,

he went mad.

He was like a madman.

Threw a chair out of the window.

I called the police.

I was frightened of him.

Herr van Beethoven!

Open up!

Here is her signature.

Is that a "J" or a "G"?

It looks more like an "A" to me.

She was haughty like a countess.

What did she look like?

Never got a proper look at her.

I don't think she wanted

to be recognized.

Herr Schindler.

Lock the door.

But, Countess...

Lock the door.

We must not be disturbed.

Not everything they say

about me is true.

Holz was here

with the other one, the weasel.

Johann.

How could Luigi

have such a vile brother?

I hope they were in good health.

They say you have

stolen Luigi's money.

They thought you would come here.

Why?

I told them nothing.

The price for my silence

is that you must tell me everything.

I'm afraid that's impossible.

It falls upon me to interrogate you.

Why should I submit to that?

That is what he wanted.

Who?

The maestro.

What I shall tell you

will never leave this room?

On my word of honor, Contessa.

There is substance to the rumors.

I was the great love of Luigi's life.

I first heard the name

Beethoven when I was 17.

I had heard that his music

aroused such passion as to be dangerous.

Some thought it obscene

and unsuitable for the young.

I wrote to my cousins,

Theresa and Josephine.

They lived in Vienna,

the great music capital of the world.

Surely they would know more.

Indeed they did.

They knew him intimately.

More intimately than

they admitted at the time.

Most nights I dreamt of him.

And then,

Father was posted to Vienna.

We were invited to Prince Lichnowsky's

palace for a musical evening.

Beethoven was going to be there.

I knew he must be so noble...

so refined in feeling,

so cultured.

I could hardly wait.

I was going to hear him play.

That music affected me like

none I had ever heard before.

And as for Beethoven...

I was soon overcome.

I feared I might faint.

Hello.

Oh. I didn't see you.

I have to go back.

Oh, you are leaving me

to listen to that ass...

who plays like a kitchen maid,

all clipped and staccato.

This music is beautiful.

I was told that the Viennese

had superior taste.

Clearly in your case,

it is not true.

You must be Julia Guicciardi.

I hear there's quite a contest

for your charms.

Sir, you're rude and offensive.

I'm leaving.

- Do you play the piano?

- What?

I intend to be your teacher.

I shall call for you

tomorrow at 10:
00.

You shall be barred from the house.

I could not believe the outrage.

This ugly man, surely a servant,

had called at the front door.

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