“It’s a string quartet by Schubert in E-flat. It’s quite new.”
Mona took it eagerly and studied it. “I can copy it easily, Mama.”
“Have you found us a patron?” Theo sat down at the table and peeled the skin off one of the burnt potatoes.
Lena shook her head. “No. Therewere too many people waiting outside the palais. The queue was so long, it went around the building. It was impossible to get inside. Then the rumour spread that Metternich’s parties have been planned months in advance and that everything has already been decided down to the last detail. All the musicians have already been hired, and pieces they are to play have been already chosen. I’m afraid this is it, Theo.” She shrugged. “I’ve reached the end of my wisdom.”
“I went to the inn in the Seilergasse,” Theo said. “You know, where all the musicians meet. To talk to Herr Beethoven and ask him for a letter of recommendation.” He rubbed his neck.
Lena looked up. “Was he there?”
“Yes, but he was in a terrible temper. He was spooning his soup when I went up to introduce myself, saying I studied under one of his former pupils, Adam Klein. He claimed he didn’t remember him, but judging by the way he was cursing, I suspect he remembered him all too well. I thought he was about to throw the soup bowl at me. When I asked if we could perform for him in order to receive a letter of recommendation, he said it would be pointless because he could no longer hear well enough to judge the quality of our performance.” Theo frowned. “Yet he has a big performance of his newest symphony coming up soon. I wonder how he will fare then.”
“You mean Beethoven can no longer hear his own music? Poor man. What a terrible fate.” Mona’s eyes softened in pity.
“He could barely hear what I was telling him. He waslip-reading most of the time and lifting a ridiculous ear trumpet to his ear.” Theo tugged at his right ear. “I wonder whether it is animpedita canalis auditiva—a blockage in the ear—or some sort of nerve damage. I don’t think it’s an imbalance of humours, as some doctors claim. I wonder what Papa would have diagnosed.” A shadow of sadness flitted over his narrow face.
Lena reached out and rubbed his hand.
Mona tapped on the table. “Back to the issue at hand, Doctor Arenheim. We were discussing our performance opportunities, which are non-existent.”
Theo shook his head as if to clear out his thoughts. “You are right. You know what I think, Mama? We are probably going about this the wrong way. If only we had someone of influence to guide us and make the right introductions…”
Lena rubbed her forehead. “Yes. Adam Klein is doing his best, you know.”
“Bah. He knows nothing.” Theo banged his fist on the table in frustration. “They play music everywhere, but nobody wants us. It’s not fair. Klein thinks he's helping, but the truth is, his only claim to fame is that he was once Beethoven's student—hardly his best, either.”
Lena sighed. She knew there was some truth in what Theo was saying—Klein did not hold much influence in the Viennese music scene. Nevertheless, she was grateful for his support. Their relationship was friendly, but she knew it could develop into something more if she encouraged him. Yet, she did not, always ensuring to keep a friendly distance between them. As a schoolteacher, he was well read and enjoyed reading as much as Lena did.However, he seemed to live in a world much smaller, narrower than the one the Arenheims inhabited. Simon Arenheim had been a visionary, a giant, a towering intellect. He had been a talented doctor, fluent in six languages, hungry for travel and adventure, and one of the most interesting men Lena had ever known. By comparison, Adam Klein seemed bland and somewhat dull.
“If he ever develops a romantic tendre for you, he will have to deal with me first.” Theo pulled himself up and puffed out his chest. “As the head of the Arenheim family, it is my duty to protect you.” Lena was only eight years older than Theo, but he had always been precocious and liked to pretend like it was the other way round.
A smile tugged at the corners of Lena’s mouth. “What nonsense, Theo. We are merely good friends, Adam and I, and there is nothing more to our relationship.” She ruffled his hair. “And what about your flame? Any progress?”
He had been smitten with the blacksmith’s daughter for two years. It was only recently that she seemed to be responding to his advances. Theo was in high spirits. His face brightened. “I have decided to ask Rosalie to go for a walk with me next Sunday after church.”
Lena nodded and watched with a smile as Theo left the room with a cheerful whistle on his lips. Now, as for cooking. She pulled up the sleeves of her dress and stared at the empty shelf in the kitchen.
A cabbage, an onion, flour, raspberryjam, and dried bread.
Cabbage soup it would be. And for dessert, some plain sugar biscuits with the homemade raspberry jam.
‘Twould do.
The next morning,Lena had planned to stay at home and make jam preserves. There was much work about the house with Marie absent. It bothered her that they had not been able to secure a single performance. She slapped her hand on the wooden table. “Ach! This can’t be such an impossibility, can it?”
She put on her bonnet and draped her shawl across her shoulders. She would try one more time to secure an introduction to one of the noble families. Count Razumovsky, a Russian nobleman and music lover, was a patron of Beethoven. Perhaps, if she could manage to get an introduction to him...
But, as on previous days, she was turned away at the gates of the vast palatial complex.
“The count is not at home,” was the lackadaisical answer.
Discouraged, she turned away.
As she turned to leave, a man in a nondescript brown suit approached her.
“Frau Helena Arenheim?” His eyes were shaded by the hat he wore low over his face.
“Yes?”
