Immortal Beloved Page #3

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Excuse me. I'm looking for

the Countess Erddy.

Erddy?

I'm looking for the Countess Erddy.

Zoltan!

Schindler.

You do not recognize me?

Oh.

Please, sit.

Join me for dinner.

- Countess.

- Anna Marie.

These are my people I'm home now.

I don't have to play the countess.

I'm free!

Poor Louis.

I miss him so much.

His death has left a void.

The way they treated him...

disgusted me.

He was too good for them.

His fire...

offended their small brains.

But not you.

I could match his temperament.

You gave him rooms at your palace?

I wanted him near me.

Was he your lover?

Horns!

Clarinets!

From the beginning.

From the beginning.

That was how I met Louis...

and how the world

learned of his deafness.

I was separated from my husband.

I lived an independent life in Vienna

with my three children.

I will arrange a housekeeper.

Please.

Oh, I had one.

She cheated me.

We had thought of Napoleon

as a liberator...

a force for change.

Now we saw the truth.

Bonaparte

had declared himself emperor...

and set out to conquer the world.

He said he brought freedom

from the tyranny of kings.

But he was Saturn,

gobbling up his children.

His cannon fired night and day...

on the city of Vienna.

Leave her alone!

Mimi!

Fire!

Madam.

There is a gentleman

here to see you.

I cannot receive anybody.

I think he is deaf.

He will not go away.

The countess will see you now.

Your son...

We will speak in music.

Napoleon was victorious.

The whole of Europe was at his feet.

He took a Hapsburg princess

as his bride...

and set up court at Schoenbrun Palace.

He proved himself no different

than any aristocrat.

Everybody was betrayed.

This was the way

of the modern world.

The year Louis lived with us...

was the happiest of my life.

And, I think, of his too.

He opened his heart to me.

He called me

his father confessor.

He told me everything.

You must have loved him

very, very much.

With all my heart.

And he you.

I don't think so. No.

Then he was a fool!

I like you better drunk.

- It's good to talk about him.

- Yeah.

But is this why

you came all this way?

No, not only.

You said there was

some unfinished business.

There is.

But how can I help you, Anton?

Perhaps it's nothing.

And perhaps it's the key to him.

Perhaps they're right

and I should let it go, but I cannot.

- It's impossible for me.

- But why?

It was that damned sonata...

the "Kreutzer".

At the time I entertained

ambitions of a musical career.

I'd gone to Vienna to study

and was fortunate enough...

to be taken by Schuppanzigh

as a pupil.

He and George Bridgetower,

the famous virtuoso from Africa...

were about to premiere

this new Beethoven sonata...

at Count Razumovsky's that evening...

and I was allowed

to attend the rehearsal.

It was there that the seed

of a mystery was planted...

that haunts me to this day.

Do you like it?

I cannot hear them.

But I know they are

making a hash of it.

What do you think?

Music is a dreadful thing.

What is it?

I don't understand it.

What does it do?

It exalts the soul.

Utter nonsense If you hear

a marching band, is your soul exalted?

No, you march.

If you hear a waltz, you dance.

If you hear a mass,

you take communion.

It is the power of music...

to carry one directly

into the mental state...

of the composer.

The listener has no choice.

It is like hypnotism.

So, now...

what was in my mind

when I wrote this?

A man is trying

to reach his lover.

His carriage has broken down

in the rain.

The wheels stuck in the mud.

She will only wait so long.

This...

is the sound of his agitation.

"This is how it is..."

the music is saying.

"Not how you are used to being.

Not how you are used to thinking.

But like this".

Who was the woman?

He never told me.

I knew better than to ask.

He made me see the world

in an entirely new light.

I abandoned my petty ambitions.

I fetched and carried for him.

I wrote his letters and smoothed over

his domestic disputes.

I became his secretary.

Oh, the hag has sold it in the market

for a souvenir.

Oh, no.

It's lost.

Gone forever.

Here.

Maybe not.

Ludwig was convinced he had left

the sketch for his new symphony...

in the safekeeping

of his brother Caspar.

- My God. Here.

- Uncle!

The brothers had barely spoken

for eight years.

This is Herr Schindler.

This is my brother Caspar...

and my nephew, young Karl.

Had I realized this,

I would have stopped him.

It is good to see you.

I need the papers

I entrusted to you.

They were all returned to you.

I said, your papers

are not here.

You.

Where are my notes?

I would rather he not cause a scene

in front of the boy.

- What did the whore say?

- Get out of my house!

You've thrown away my music.

You and this foul slut

you call a wife.

- You have betrayed me!

- Maestro!

Maestro, please!

Stop it!

He's sick!

Leave!

Never return to this house!

He has consumption.

Caspar died

before the year was out...

but there was no relief

in his death.

Rather, it sent Ludwig

on a path of action...

that would lead to his destruction.

That man.

He rooms with her.

My brother's bed is not yet cold...

and he is climbing in.

If he says nasty things about me,

don't listen. None of it is true.

- Promise?

- I promise.

I will come and see you

every day.

Come in.

Is this the lad?

Yes.

"By order of the Landrechte...

Ludwig van Beethoven has been appointed

the legal guardian of his nephew Karl...

owing to the low moral character

of his mother, Johanna van Beethoven.

Rights of visitation for the mother will

be at the discretion and convenience...

of the legal guardian".

Too watery.

Write.

Then we shall have to find

someone who can cook.

She has a swinish face anyway.

- Were you taught music?

- Yes.

I have a gift for you.

Come.

- Can you read?

- Yes.

Here.

Let me show you.

You shall be a musician.

I want to be a soldier.

A composer?

No. A soldier.

Oh.

I gave my first concert

when I was your age.

I was terrible.

Your grandfather thought that he was

going to make a fortune out of me...

as a child prodigy.

Like Mozart's old man.

But I was pigheaded.

I wouldn't play that tinkly,

pretty stuff that was in vogue then.

But the keyboards of the day

were not up to it.

The first time I played at court,

I broke four strings.

Herr Beethoven!

The boy is hardly a Mozart,

is he?

I was 12...

but Father told them I was nine.

Mother died of consumption...

and I became

the head of the family.

Your papa...

I loved most of all.

As I love you...

my dear Karl.

His eyes shone with joy...

when he looked at the boy.

All the love in his rich and deep nature

seemed to concentrate...

on this boy.

There was no more tender father.

You should hear him play.

He is going to be a great virtuoso.

You spoil him.

Schindler tells me

you've written nothing.

Well, I have no time.

And besides...

all the servants that Schindler sends me

are scoundrels.

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