City of Dark Magic
Lobkowicz country place on the Vltava River. It was oice>
    Sarah felt like taking a longer run, but her iPod was now playing Beethoven’s Piano Trio in C Minor, op. 1. It was as if LVB were whistling her back to work.
    The Piano Trio in C Minor. Early Beethoven, in which you could hear the heights of Classicism, hints of Haydn, a glimmering foreshadow of the Fifth Symphony, and Luigi’s own stubborn don’t-tell-me-how-it’s-supposed-to-be inclusion of an unusual four-movement format, instead of the traditional three. Even what seemed simple and obvious about Beethoven always turned out to be complicated.
    Like even his birth date. LVB was born in Bonn in 1770, but for some reason he continually denied that birth date all his life, even when copies of his birth certificate were shoved under his nose, insisting that he was born two years later. His father was undoubtedly Johann van Beethoven, but Luigi did little to contradict rumors that he was the unacknowledged son of Frederick the Great. Probably because he hated his father—an alcoholic and only middling musician—so much. Daddy Beethoven had wanted his son to be a child prodigy, another boy Mozart, and drove him relentlessly at the clavier and violin, which should have driven the music out of him but didn’t. LVB became a court musician in Bonn by the age of eleven, and was composing variations, sonatas, and lieder by the age of twelve.
    And then he stopped composing for almost five years. No explanation, although his mother died during this period, and teenage Ludwig was supporting the family. Then, in 1790, a burst of activity. These lapses in work, followed by insane productivity, were to become characteristic of the composer. In 1792, the drunken father died and young Ludwig hightailed it to Vienna, making a name for himself as a keyboard virtuoso. Some thought his playing harsh and disturbing. Almost everyone thought his manners were execrable. Coming from Bonn put Beethoven firmly “from the wrong side of the Rhine” among the snobby Viennese. As a girl from South Boston, Sarah could relate. Still, despite the uncouth manners and independent streak, the musician was courted by the nobility. Prince Joseph Franz Maximilian Lobkowicz was twenty, Ludwig van Beethoven twenty-two when they met. But Prince Lobkowicz was hardly LVB’s only patron. In fact, less was known about the relationship between the two men than was known about other relationships Beethoven had with different benefactors. Which made the letters that had been found and restituted back to the family sort of exciting. Puzzling, too, in some cases.
    Sarah forced herself to leave the sunshine and beauty of the Prague Castle grounds and returned to her monastic cell, shooing away Moritz, who wasn’t allowed in the workrooms. Today’s task involved going through Luigi’s Fourth Symphony orchestrations page by page and determining that each page was there, not a forgery, and in acceptable condition. In his own hand, Beethoven had carefully written out the parts for every single instrument, from flute to timpani. She used a microscope to examine each sheet of paper and the ink, as well as the shape of the letters and musical notes. Like most people’s, Beethoven’s writing shifted with his mood but was still basically consistent.
    Beethoven’s moods. It still blew her away that she was sitting here, touching (with gloves, but still) pieces of paper that Beethoven had touched. When he had written the Fourth in 1806, he was still a black-haired young man, not the white-mopped madman of later years. Looking through the microscope at the way the nib of Beethoven’s pen had dug into the yellowed parchment as he wrote out the viola’s part, Sarah felt a chill up her spine. She stopped for a stcope at moment and listened to make sure no one was coming, then slipped off her left glove and gently put her index fingertip against an emphatically marked quarter note. She was startled to feel a little

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