분야
hwpLudwig 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?!
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--
-Bank shares.
-Give that to me!
The money is mine!
Here is his will.
"l 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.
"All my music and all
the capital of my estate...
...shall go to my sole heir,
my lmmortal Beloved."
Signed, Ludwig van Beethoven.
A letter is enclosed.
This is....
Dont keep me
in suspense! Who is it?
-Nobody.
-Not so!
The letter bears no name.
"To my lmmortal 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!
-lt is not.
It doesnt matter
anymore. He is gone.
We have his music.
Destroy this letter.
It shows his disordered
life to the world.
Its his dying wish.
We owe him at least that.
You have no authority
in this matter.
I have his authority.
Still the faithful dog?
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 where Ill
stay. A worthless waste of time.
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.
Im afraid I dont
have a reservation.
No matter. We have always room
for a gentleman such as yourself.
Is this the address
of this hotel?
One moment.
Yes, of course.
Do you know the name
Ludwig van Beethoven?
The composer?
I knew him.
Did he ever stay here?
Are you a policeman?
No!
Then I will not
answer your questions.
Please. Im trying
to conclude his affairs.
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, Id 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 cant 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 look at her.
I dont 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 Luigis money.
They seemed to think
you would come here.
Why? I told them nothing.
The price for my silence
is that you must tell me everything.
Im afraid thats impossible.
It falls upo
