Illumined by Candle Light: a narrative of Beethoven and his nephew Karl

1815, the year that began two decades of stress, sorrow, and hopelessness for one of the most beloved composers of the classical era in music; Ludwig Van Beethoven. Two tormenting decades struggling with the entire loss of his hearing, and the heart wrenching struggle for custody of his nephew Karl. A grueling fight that ultimately left  Karl despaired to the point of suicide, and his uncle dead. It all began like this: 

The rain was pelting hard over Vienna, yet a single horse with it’s cloaked rider made it up a steep, narrow road which was drenched with mud and gravel.

A man was watching from inside his window, holding a single quill, watching with interest the lightning flashing high above the black clouds, scribbling down a few notes on his parchment. He espied the horse and it’s rider, and removed himself from his seat and to the front door. The rider stopped before this man’s house, just as the man opened the door. The rider was drenched beneath his over coat, he removed from his sleeve a small piece of parchment sealed with black wax.

“ Herr Beethoven?” Asked the rider, trembling from head to foot.

The man, Beethoven removed the letter from the shaking carrier, and slammed the door in his face.

Inside Beethoven lit an oil lamp, and pulled his chair under him. He scraped  away the wax and read the letter slowly:

Dear Ludwig Van Beethoven,

How it grieves me ever so to have to say that your brother Carl has died, of consumption. Words cannot describe the horrendous feelings you must have. Your brother, as you know has a son Karl, and he as asked upon his death bed that his wife and brother may forgive their past differences, and share custody of the boy of nine years. -

Beethoven having read only part of the letter crumpled it, and tossed it into the empty fire place.

A few days later, when the rain had cleared, and the industrial Vienna had returned to it’s clamor of tumult. A rather short man with very sturdy, and compact features was hurrying down the road accompanied by a young child; no more then nine years of age:

“ Uncle please!!” The boy begged, “I want to see my mother, please!”

The man eyed the boy very impatiently, he sighed. “No, Karl.”

Karl looked at his uncle with pleading, and watery eyes, “Please uncle, I want to go home.”

Beethoven said no more, and pulled his nephew aside the road. Several horses cantered by. Innocent children ran, and played in the streets, Karl longed to join them. There were also adults; ladies, laughing and joyfully conversing before an emporium of several shops. Gentlemen laughing, and jostling. 

A long week had stretched before Beethoven told Karl that it was the date of the hearing, Karl pleaded his uncle that he may accompany him. Beethoven refused.

The Count peered disdainfully at Beethoven, then at Joanna, who was weeping continuously. He had reached what he had felt was his dutiful verdict, what he saw fitting as for all three of people before the court. He took one last glance at Joanna, who still hadn’t ceased her weeping, then at Beethoven, who was staring powerfully into his eyes. He contemplated for a few moments, of which of the two prospecting guardians would do for eternity. He deliberated on Beethoven’s case; he had certainly been most convincing. He agreed equally as Beethoven that it would be morally wrong to raise such a young child in the environment of a woman that had been unfaithful to her husband, and the powerful assert that Beethoven had made that Carl was poisoned. ( Even though Beethoven had no evidence)

“ I hereby grant Herr-”

Joanna hopelessly raised her head, her eyes so red, she shrieked and gasped as the count finished.

“ - Ludwig Van Beethoven entire custody of Karl Van Beethoven. The court is adjourned.”

Hence, Beethoven haughtily left the court, as Joanna collapsed from her weeping. Karl, much like his mother was left entirely in despair. The last thing they had to love, to cherish, and hold close was gone. Good fate seemed abysmal, hope, nevertheless seemed far off, the thought of even grasping it was implausible.

Beethoven had asked a dear old friend of his Frau Nanette Streicher, to help tidy his home, which was so soiled, and arrayed with papers he knew not what to do. Beethoven sought to become the greatest guardian too Karl. He saw before him sublime child that would follow in his foot steps, become a musician, a composer follow in the path of glory that he himself trekked. 

One day, Karl was bleakly sitting on the stool of the piano forte, his uncle beaming, sat next to him pointing out each if the keys on the board. Striking each one describing the divine sound that emitted from the each of them.

“ Very well Karl, yes, yes.” Beethoven said with true, and immerse satisfaction on Karl’s memorization. He caressed the boy on his shoulder. “Now play a note.”

Karl sighed, he didn’t want to play the piano, he did not want to play on any instrument, he could learn and memorize music, but it seemed to himself, and certainly not to his uncle that he just did not have the talent in him.

“ No Karl!” Beethoven bellowed, he reached before the boy to the sheet music and flipped frantically through the pages, “ My boy, have you not learned a single thing I have taught you!?”

It had been several months since Joanna had seen her beloved son. She grieved constantly for him “ He is deaf, he will not hear you.” It was during the night that she espied upon Beethoven’s servants. 

“ I have done nothing to deceive my son, I love him more then any mother could..” she stopped and reached into her dress, the servant ladies watching closely, saying nothing as Joanna pulled out several coins, “ Bring my child to seem me, after the deaf man has fallen asleep, then come and fetch him before the deaf man awakens.   Place him back into his bead, go on as nothing has happened.”  The servants nodded solemnly, and received the coins.

The next morning the lady servant whom had received the coins, finished brushing lint off of Karl’s new pantaloons. He simply looked dashing, but he didn’t know why his uncle insisted, suddenly on such fancies. 

“ Where is your uncle?” Asked the servant looking over Karl outfit to make sure it was proper.

“ I believe he left to see Herr- well, something with his new mass, he’s working on.”

“ I believe you may be able to see your mother tonight.”

Karl jumped, “ Mother!?! My Mother!? Has uncle changed his mind? They have reconciled?”

The servant gently seized ahold of the rambunctious child. “ Calm yourself Karl. No this isn’t your uncles doing, but if you wish to see your Mother you must lie to your uncle if he were to ask.”

“ Lie?” Karl said with a despair in his voice. He was older know, he understood that his Mother and uncle hated one another terribly. His uncle wasn’t always the nicest to him, but Karl realized that his uncle must have some compassion, and he couldn’t see lying to him.

The servant nodded.

“ If I shall see my mother..” Said Karl, “ Then very well.”

In the dusk of night, when the old composer and much of Vienna was asleep the servants were then able to reunite Karl with his mother. What a marvelous reunion it was!

Karl’s eyes were welded with tears, as were his mother’s. She laid her loving arms wide, as her son dashed into her arms.

Both Karl and Joanna alike knew Beethoven was not stupid, though he be deaf. It was not long before the composer had climbed from his chamber to see how his nephew was sleeping and found him gone. It was in panic, that when the boy and servant arrived home, that he fired the servant, and whipped Karl.

Joanna tried to appeal in court again but lost. Karl had found why his uncle had dressed him so nicely that day. He was to go to a pristine boarding school.

“ Uncle please!” Karl begged.

“ No! That widow is an intolerable, unfit parent, I will not have her raise my son. Music has failed you, but there are other suitable prospects. You will go to school.”

Karl, although dressed in his best, appeared to be as sad and worn as the poorest peasant. His crisp doublet, and pantaloons with gold trimmings, cufflinks,  only seemed like faded rags. Washed by a river of endless tears.

1826, Many years have passed since Beethoven enrolled Karl into school, and he done so poorly that he returned to his uncle, who was now entirely deaf. Since the time that had passed Karl had become very good at lying.

Like the night that had changed the fate of the boy forever, Vienna was in a tyrant of a storm. Karl was sitting in a room, desolate, all by his lonesome. He knew his uncle was no where near him, and whether if he was, or not. Karl cared not. He sat in the dark room. Not a single ray of light penetrated from anywhere, and thats the way it had seemingly always been. He rotated a revolver in his hand. His hand trembled, and sweated, he brought it forth to his head...

Beethoven bursted into the hospital room. The thunder rocked the window, the rain falling like bullets.. Beethoven looked, his ‘son’ was lying on the bed, the top of his head entirely bandaged, but he was awake, though he seemed very dazed.

Beethoven pulled a chair to the bedside, he was weeping, as he gently streaked Karl’s cheek.

“ My son why? Why have you done this? there must be reason? Why you be playing with pistols like a musical instrument? Look.” Beethoven was trembling, sweat rolling down his round face, looking much like how Karl had appeared early that night.

The doctor came in, and told Beethoven what had happened. Karl would recover fully, the bullet barely scathed his head.

Beethoven began to weep tears of joy. With the doctor taking his leave, Beethoven thanked the heavens that his son was safe. No harm had come to him, he may rest peacefully, embrace the next day, “ We will go to Johann’s, we may make reconcile there.”

As soon as Karl was well enough Beethoven packed their bags, and they were heading to Johann’s. Johann was Beethoven’s other younger brother. Karl was upset, he hoped that he had disgraced his uncle enough that he may abandon him, maybe to his awful widow mother, or know as he referred to her as, ‘the queen of the night’. But Beethoven didn’t abandon him.

Johann lived on a large four hundred acre estate. Karl was very surprised that Johann didn’t look a thing like Beethoven. Johann had a square broad face, with a sharp long nose, and thin lips, the exact opposite of his uncle. Johann was also an apothecary.

“ Ahh yes!” Said Johann, “ This is Karl?”

Beethoven proudly shoved Karl before his brother beaming, “ Yes, Karl this is your uncle Johann, marvelous boy !” Beethoven couldn't praise Karl enough.

Johann smiled politely, “ You must be very proud.”

Karl had found that even in a short amount of time, his uncle whom had praised him dearly seemed the least bit interested in reconcile. He often kept to himself more then anything. It was a few months after there stay that Beethoven had asked his brother something, and Karl wished he could have crawled into a hole.

“ Karl does have a lot of predisposition, he would make something grand of himself.” Beethoven said while he, Johann, and Karl were dining. 

Karl smiled only just to appease his uncle, and the same with Johann.

“ Of course Johann.” Beethoven continued. “ A boy with such esteem like himself will need finances.”

Johann smirked, “ Are you suggesting that I lone him money? Take him as an apprentice?”

“ No, no!” Beethoven said, “I only think that you should leave everything in your will to him.”

“ What!?!” Johann screamed, slamming his fork on the table, “ How could I do such a thing? Leave my wife penniless?”

Karl covered his face up, he was almost in tears, “Uncle what a mess you make of things! Can’t you leave things as they be?”

Beethoven, and Johann ignored him as he left the table. Beethoven yelled back, “ Why wouldn’t you? You say you would leave an entire 400 hundred acre estate to that woman?”

Several years earlier when Beethoven had heard of his brothers he tried his hardest to prevent it, claiming the woman was an unfit wife.  Upstairs Karl despaired, in tears thought only if he may escape into the army. That was his true calling. He heard his two uncles yelling, and once he swore he could hear the food, and furniture being flown about. The next day Beethoven came to tell his nephew they were leaving. Karl felt terribly at what his uncle had caused Johann.

A writing from Karl,

‘We have returned several weeks ago, and since then I have noticed a change in uncle. His stomach is grotesquely swollen. I called for the doctor, and he is ordered that his stomach is  to be bandaged. The doctor had also told me the causes of this occurrence  is due to dropsy and jaundice. He thrives on punch. It disdains me, sometimes I question myself, is he dying? Because I feel no remorse for the uncle who has provided for me, tried earnestly to love me. Yet when I angered him he beat me, and forced me to learn music in the hopes that I may become a composer like him. Is this peculiar feeling I have felicity that the man may be on his death bed? Am I happy that I may be free of his bind? That I may be able to fly into the free world, embrace as did he, yet, upon my own accomplishments and doings?’

Karl had a sack tossed upon his shoulder. He looked outside where dawn was beginning to awaken over Vienna. For a few moments he impassively watched his dying, sleeping uncle. He had no feelings of remorse. Slowly, clicked the hands on the clock the memories of being separate from his mother flooded back like a torment of that like a flood. He walked out the door not looking back once.

That was exactly what Karl Van Beethoven did. His uncle was not left alone, his neighbors son often visited him, and since the old composer could hear no longer, the two would often converse back and forth in a conversation book. The young child sometimes asking if he would recover. Other times the two would laugh joyfully, and on some other occasions the old composer would grieve that his only nephew, his ‘son’ had left him. 

Karl Van Beethoven would never see his uncle again. His uncle would die, though surrounded by friends, on a stormy night, shaking his fists at the heavens. 

Author's Note

I wrote this as a narrative essay for school a few years ago.
Does anyone else besides myself think that Karl may have been Beethoven, and Joanna's son? Because they constantly feuded, fought over Karl like mad, and Beethoven had quite a few bad nicknames for Joanna. It just seems rather odd. Beethoven even referred to Karl as "Son"

Reviews

[DeevaMarx]

Interesting writing, snippets like this always make me want to learn more about the lives of past 'celebrities.' It's possible he was his son, but then again different times call for different life views and values. It is very possible that the courts may have not found Joanna fit to be a mother, women had less rights and it would have definitely been more proper to have the boy raised by a man and a woman, or a single male relative over a woman.