Original subtitles

What he means for the violin, I'm going to mean for the piano.

I shall be the Paganini of the piano.

A bloodthirsty parlor game. - Not a great test of courage?

Courage? It's a test of terror!

What is the German's fatherland

Is it Pomerania or Westphalia

Where the sands of the dunes blow

Believe me, the old boys can be very useful to young men.

Oh, no! His fatherland must be bigger than that!

Believe me, this fraternity is just the ticket for you fellows.

His fatherland must be bigger! - You don't know what fatherland means...

homeland.

Art can be a homeland too.

The language of music is common to French and Pole.

This fraternity is homeland and future, especially for lawyers.

If I were a lawyer, I'd shoot myself out of boredom.

Cut a good scar! You need that to become a real man!

What I need is a piano...

or a girl.

How come you have no piano? - How come I have no girl?

I'm Robert Schumann. What's your name?

May I help you? Are you looking for something special?

An instrument?

No, no... Someone would like me to recommend a grand piano.

Trying out is the best strategy! Please, sir.

Is the instrument for yourself, sir?

No, as I already said... I am to recommend one.

Very interesting. Please, try them out.

All instruments satisfy the most exacting requirements.

I've sold instruments not only to top nobility...

I also supply orchestras, societies and established pianists.

But go ahead, play them, try them out. Take your time.

Without the three "ents," life makes no sense.

Schlesinger...

what are they? - Obedient, efficient, competent.

Very good.

Once again, the keys!

Now, the Italian word for C major?

"Do" is correct. Clara?

Astonishing.

Wait a minute.

And no talking!

Sir!

Of us four brothers, you alone were able to go and study.

So, I'm to spend my life behind a desk?

I wasn't born for that!

You suddenly realize that now! Three years' study for nothing!

I stand at the crossroads...

and can only follow the road to art.

Robert, sit down with us.

None of us wants to force you.

I wrote to you about Wieck, Leipzig's best piano teacher?

Let him decide! - What will be the end of it all?

I could never become a great lawyer!

You know the prospects for someone not of noble birth...

without patronage or wealth.

You spend your life bowing and scraping.

Crawling forever! I can accomplish great things in music.

Then you should have started ten years ago!

But think of all the great artist before you.

A little faster, please!

It is an honor, but if you'll forgive my saying so, no surprise.

Goethe's enthusiasm for Clara's playing is common knowledge by now.

Once more from the beginning.

Our homeland is rather late...

and rather stingy.

Nevertheless, we shall not decline the offer. My hand is forced.

Clara's tuition means the rest suffer.

I can only allow it if it brings in at least...

three to four hundred thalers for the winter season...

and still offers me the freedom...

to select the date of the Gewandhaus concert myself.

We could agree on that point.

And what about free tickets?

Yourself, your wife and your daughter will, of course, receive tickets.

For concerts not including Clara?

That can be arranged.

Please, excuse me.

Let us go and sit in the parlor, Mrs. Schumann.

Your desire to entrust your destiny to my care is an honor, Schumann...

which I shall regard as an obligation.

Yes, I believe I can make your son, with his...

talent and imagination, into a great pianist.

Robert spent three years studying law.

Three expensive years.

And now, when I thought...

he had almost reached his goal...

he wants to begin all over again, and we haven't much money left.

I'm staying with music.

I want to, I can and I must.

My success as a teacher may best be observed in my 11-year-old daughter.

I've just begun presenting her to the world.

Recently, we performed for Goethe in Weimar.

What did he tell you? - I have more power than six boys.

Ah, money.

We can help Robert save during his studies.

He can lunch here with us...

and take the younger pupils for me now and then.

Arrangements can be made.

Sometimes I am so full of music...

that I could write a hundred symphonies.

Go practice! Curtsy!

First of all, dear friend...

you must completely accept my instruction...

and conquer the mechanics through calm, steady practice.

You must silence your imagination almost totally...

and, like Clara, do three- and four-part exercises...

on the blackboard every day.

A bucket or two of cold theory probably wouldn't harm me.

Your mother's calling.

She's not my mother. She's Father's second wife.

Come along, children. Dinner's ready!

Here. This is mine.

Your first work? - My Opus One.

Ah, it's a polonaise!

I'd start the run right here!

No, this is the way I want it, and Father thinks it's right.

Ungrateful creature!

Is this your idea of making your father happy?

Are these human beings?

Yes, Schumann, I wish you could join us...

but pecunia causa...

I'm afraid I can't afford to just now.

It has its good side. You can take the afternoon class, as arranged.

Wittig, Grutner and the others.

And keep your eye on Alwin. He has more days of house arrest.

Too bad you're not coming with us.

Farewell, Miss Virtuosa.

Poor thing! They say he makes her practice 12 hours a day.

And they say she still can't read or write.

Magnificent, Mr. Wieck!

Do you have other children who are as musical?

They have equal talent but have learnt nothing.

Why not?

Because I have only one life to give away.

Wouldn't she be a happier child...

if she played a little less?

Maestro Wieck...

you should thank heaven every day for giving you such a daughter.

Yes, once it snowed...

and an undisciplined snowflake fell right on my hand...

and it was Clara...

just as she stands before you.

A slight muscle strain.

You must rest your hand. This dressing will keep the hand quiet.

You'll do well to wear a sling for a few days.

There's only one remedy.

Freshly slaughtered beef muscle tissue. If possible, still warm.

Leave it on for 24 hours. Next time you can do it yourself.

A simple natural remedy, but you'll see it works.

This is for you.

You're making lots of money with your daughter.

I'm making music!

One more thing.

How many hours a day does Clara practice?

At night, not at all, and during the day, very little.

You're very gifted, my daughter, but don't ever forget...

the greatest art of all is virtue.

A present for the artist from Countess Stauffenberg.

Permanent stiffening of the joints could set in.

We must stimulate the nerves.

Only one thing can help.

Electricity.

A completely new method.

Go to sleep now.

Incurable?

Who told you that?

Nevertheless, the previous cure-alls did more harm than good.

We'll need half a year for sure.

Bathe your hand in this herbal extract, as often and as hot as you can.

But there's something even better, an old natural remedy.

Place your hand inside a warm meat carcass.

How will I manage that?

You'll have to get up early and go to the slaughterhouse.

Or put your hand and arm in an herbal dressing.

And in the meantime, of course, hands off the piano.

Look at those big ducks!

Haven't you ever seen a swan before? - Those are ducks.

Ducks don't have such long necks!

Those are swans and there's a goose! - That is a goose!

Don't act so stupid.

How am I to know, if no one tells me?

Careful with my hand.

I'm being very gentle.

I'm so thirsty and Clara is treating us all.

You two as well! - Have you got money?

Can you imagine such a famous pianist without money?

We gratefully accept the offer. - I'll take this arm.

I don't want to hurt you.

Will you tell me a story?

Which one? - "The Frog Prince. "

Very good. Quite expressive and, above all, original.

Yes, perhaps a bit too original.

The changes are too rapid, the colors too bright.

Maestro...

the rehearsal. - We have some time yet.

Have them wait outside.

Forgive me. You're welcome to stay for the rehearsal.

Yes, these rapid modulations.

Don't forget, the title is "Papillons. " They're butterflies.

Yes, certainly.

But there's something artificial, hothouse...

in these scraps of music you call "butterflies. "

And the butterfly flies away.

I like your "Papillons," but you must not let flightiness be the style...

for it enhances neither the beauty...

the comprehension nor the clarity of a well carried-out composition.

Well carried-out!

If you have a lovely idea, you mustn't suck and beat all the juice out...

till it is common and debased, like many composers do.

Well carried-out!

Poetry springs from dark fantasy, the unconscious!

Schumann, you'll never be at a loss for poetry.

How shall I put it? The gods have placed sweat before poetry.

Now, why don't you make me a tidy choral setting of this melody?

Great music begins with the little one" times one," the ABC of the thoroughbass.

Now then, gentlemen!

Rossini reigns in Germany...

and every piano has its Czerny and Co., the little masters of the pedal.

And Beethoven, Weber and Schubert are not long dead.

We must help the youth and those with a future.

Poetry must regain its honor!

Schumann's right!

But our agreeing is not enough. The public must support our ideas...

which is why we need a publication...

a new music magazine, as I've told you a dozen times.

May we count on you, Mr. Wieck? You are our ally.

Yes, my young friends...

you have a long, hard road before you.

The only way to reach the goal is with all your energy and endurance.

He trained a talented daughter.

I have kissed a Danish princess.

I hear you've stopped going to Maestro Dorn?

We could never agree. To him, music is one long fugue!

Are you dropping theory altogether?

No, theory is a good thing, but first, I have no money, and second...

music isn't just technique.

From Hartel, the publisher.

You too, Mr. Wieck?

No, I'm afraid I have to go!

May I join you, sir?

With pleasure.

Clara was received tumultuously all over the map.

No point bothering with the little towns anymore.

We're getting ready to conquer Prague and Vienna.

I'd like to have you along. Plenty of work...

almost too much for one person.

A great honor. A dream come true.

Careful!

We're taking the instrument with us to Zwickau.

Nothing too good for your compositions.

Your family will be delighted!

Is that your music, my son?

Yes, Mother, my "Butterflies. "

So lovely... I must cry.

Did I overdo my description of this marvelous instrument?

Certainly not.

The sounds dying away, fading gradually...

It's like old age. Every year another sound dies away.

That's why we always take a concert piano along with us...

in a specially built wagon.

Amazing!

When I think I tried to make you give up music.

Keep the instrument. I can offer it to you for... let's say...

I'll have to discuss it with the committee. Perhaps tomorrow.

And I only hope your imagination will stay with you forever.

Splendid, Mr. Wieck. You know my daughter...

soon to be your pupil. - The charming Ernestine. I know.

My house is ready, whenever you are ready to learn.

Obedient, efficient, competent.

Splendid!

I so look forward to Leipzig.

I'll learn the most from you...

and I'm sure we'll be friends.

Yes, perhaps.

Of course.

Clara, you play divinely.

You must marry my Robert one day.

My pupil Schumann and his mother.

Our distinguished guests come from Asch.

I know Asch. It isn't far from Zwickau.

A stately country home.

You must come visit us, Mr. Composer. Asch is also a musical country home.

Now, madam...

Wasn't Clara a good stand-in for Robert?

Clara is much more than a good stand-in.

Her hands awaken my butterflies and make them fly.

My God, is that lovely!

Give it to me!

May I try this on? - If you'd like to.

I liked that concert piece you played.

"The Butterflies," by Schumann.

Do you like him?

He's my best friend.

Your only friend?

Be careful!

Yes, dear Schumann...

top of the list is a first-class instrument.

I alone arrange for there to be one in the remotest backwater.

A pricey sacrifice when you can't sell anything.

Study hard, miss.

That shouldn't be a problem with Robert helping you.

Hope your hand is healing well! Have courage!

Clara, it's time. Say good-bye to your mother!

Good luck, Clara. Don't let success go to your head...

and be grateful to your father for all he's doing.

I am.

Good-bye, Mr. Schumann.

Good luck, Clara. I'll miss you. I'll send you a letter by balloon.

What do these notes spell?

As... C... H.

What does that spell?

I don't know.

Asch?

The name of your hometown.

Invert them, and they're the only musical notes in my name.

Not much you can do with Schumann.

Except for non-musical letters like "M."

Now, let's see what we can do with them.

What did you think the first time you saw me?

What did I think? I thought, "She'll save you. "

From what?

From myself. What else? Ernestine, Ernestina, Estrella, Stella... my star!

No, my dear baron, no cause for alarm.

A cordial musical friendship, nothing more.

Your Ernestine plays duets and goes for walks with Schumann.

But I swear to you there has not been so much as a kiss.

I'm glad you're so sure of it.

That's not at all what I heard.

What does Ernestine do...

apart from playing the piano?

Nothing untoward. - I still don't like it.

You can understand that.

I hardly know Schumann, and Ernestine is no real judge.

Judge, Schumann?

I'd need to talk for hours to describe this rather moody...

but noble, rapturous...

and highly gifted writer and composer.

Ernestine's interest in him is quite understandable...

and it should please her father...

to see his daughter becoming attached... yes, attached...

to such a brilliant man.

Do you know my wife?

I've become a father again!

By the way, if it's all right with you...

I thought I would ask Ernestine and Schumann...

to be my little Marie's godparents.

Please, say yes!

I'm grateful you came along.

Ernestine's family moves in circles where etiquette still counts.

I'm counting on you to do the speaking. I'll be quiet as a mouse.

Courage, Robert. You speak for yourself.

Ernestine is my inspiration. She's devoted to me...

and with her background she will benefit my art.

We've come to ask for your father's consent.

That's impossible! You mustn't!

Really, Schumann, we're all pleased...

to have such a master of the keyboard...

here at Asch.

I've dedicated a work to you, a gift to my host.

I'm honored, but I'm afraid you'll have to play it yourself.

Don't expect too much. I'm no virtuoso.

I primarily write for the piano.

You know, a piano is just as versatile as an orchestra.

Then let's hear something you've written.

I'd like a word with you.

What a lovely couple.

You might say ideal.

Don't say that.

Sometimes what seems ideal doesn't bear up to reality.

I trust your son has no serious hopes.

I'm afraid so.

I feared as much. Which is why I must tell you something...

I'd rather have kept quiet.

If it concerns Robert, shouldn't he be told directly?

You'll soon see why I'd rather tell you.

Ernestine is not my daughter.

Is not? - Is not.

The baron adopted her for reasons I may not disclose.

Ernestine is not a Fricken by birth.

On leaving the family...

she will be penniless, a fact Robert may wish to consider.

Sometimes I wish...

But never mind.

I'm sorry to have shocked you...

but perhaps this way we can stop something worse from happening.

The honor of your company is certainly the nicest present...

Clara's received on her 16th birthday.

What honor?

Clara inspires another word in me...

and probably for anyone who has ever heard her play.

The word is devotion.

You described her best yourself...

"Clara by the grace of God. "

Well, that's quite accurate.

We are all pilgrims.

Many will have to make a pilgrimage...

to hear you in Leipzig.

The Gewandhaus can be proud of its new conductor.

You roused Leipzig with your first concert.

People are like cows.

They look up when lightning flashes, then go on grazing contentedly.

But people occasionally need some lightning.

Chopin, Mendelssohn, and Clara.

And Schumann!

What shall we drink to?

To you, Mr. Mendelssohn?

No. Today we shall drink only to your happiness, Clara.

Yes, let us drink to the birthday child...

and her high-minded father...

our beloved teacher, Friedrich Wieck.

And to his house, this shrine of music...

and hospitality!

Play something for me from your new composition.

I'll play you a little "Song Without Words. "

I have something for you. - What is it?

A present for your 16th birthday.

Thank you.

"The world's all agony and woe. Our Lord's dead above us.

The devil's just as dead below.

And everything is grim and dreary...

perplexed and cold and gone to seed.

And were this bit of love not here...

We would be destitute indeed. "

"This bit of love?" Nice. Did you write that?

Unfortunately not. Heinrich Heine wrote it.

Do you think there might be something like humans on the stars?

That wouldn't bother me.

I envision highly developed beings on the stars...

watching us through a giant telescope.

And what do they see?

Nothing but tiny bugs on a huge cheese.

Here's a thaler, Robert.

Thank you. I can let you have it back in a week.

Take your time.

If I wanted to kill myself, I wouldn't even have the price of a gun.

Very funny.

But seriously, what's to become of you?

Look at me, this house. I had to work hard for it.

Nothing falls in your lap, you know...

though you seem to expect it to.

Money doesn't grow on trees.

I don't think I'm making things easy on myself.

I'm often dissatisfied with myself...

and I'd like to be someone else or run away forever.

You brood too much!

Four o'clock, Father. Time for the Gewandhaus.

Four o'clock already?

I'm afraid I must go.

More self-confidence!

Good-bye, my child.

Shall we play?

I wrote this piece.

You look so serious.

I'd like it to be the way it was...

but that's not possible.

You've changed.

You're no longer a child.

And your eyes!

What ever became of Ernestine?

She no longer exists. - But she did once.

That was a long time ago. It was a mistake.

I blacked out when you kissed me.

It's all so new.

Your eyes!

Care for something to eat?

No, thanks. Just a beer.

Innkeeper, two more beers, please.

You're an intelligent man, and I'm in business.

I have to sell the music I print.

Write something more appealing, for voice with piano accompaniment...

or an easy duet. People like that. It sells.

I'd rather hear the gratitude of the great artists...

than reach the general public.

That makes me uneasy.

Think it over again. Write something the people will understand.

They'll buy what they understand.

Not everybody needs to understand me.

I think Father suspects something.

So much the better. I was always his favorite pupil.

At times he treated me like a son.

Times have changed. He scoffs any time I mention your name.

He compares you with Mendelssohn.

"The great conductor and the eternal student," as he called you...

"a strange combination. "

Mendelssohn is an extraordinary person...

but had I grown up in his surroundings...

destined for music from the start, I'd have outflown you.

Father's sending me to Dresden to study singing.

We leave tomorrow.

So soon?

Just for a couple of weeks.

You said yourself...

"For two people in love...

distance is simply closeness drawn a little apart. "

Wait!

There's someone here who refuses to go away.

He says he comes from Leipzig and insists on seeing you.

You know this gentleman? Does your father know?

Of course! Schumann is a dear friend of the family.

The family? I see.

Please leave us alone.

I brought you something.

"Sonata in F-sharp Minor. " - The most passionate thing I've written.

One long cry of my heart for you.

My mother died.

All I have left is you.

Who does he think he is...

this semi-genius?

He dogs my daughter's steps. Hardly has he broken off with one...

Father, please!

Than he starts up with you!

You think I haven't noticed?

Why did I take you out of Leipzig? I thought you were in good care.

I'll shoot the fellow if he ever crosses my path again!

I don't ever want to hear his name again!

I've made some lemonade...

a little refreshment after the journey.

Thank you.

You're an artist.

You cannot afford a single attachment.

Back in Leipzig, I've finished the score of your A-minor concerto.

You could become a female Beethoven.

And what is he? A handicapped piano player...

a debt-ridden woman chaser!

But my Clara just adores him.

Robert has talent, you yourself said so. You encouraged him.

Yes, I put my faith in him. Then.

I encouraged him. I took him into my very own house!

And these are the thanks I get.

Character, not talent, makes a man!

Leaving his mother's burial to others...

he comes to you for shelter. - He more than loved his mother.

It's over, once and for all. Schumann has ceased to exist!

I will not see him again...

nor will you. Our trip to Prague will get your mind off him.

But I will say this!

There will be no second mistakes!

"Young, modest Clara Wieck...

ambassadress of the neo-romantic school...

has now conquered Prague as well.

Her A-minor piano concerto...

entitles her to a place alongside Liszt and Chopin. "

Compare that with the review in Schumann's magazine.

He ranted on that this was a lady whose work...

couldn't be taken seriously.

But that wasn't Schumann!

One really might have expected him to review Clara's concert...

as he writes half the magazine.

The audience is the best critic, and we... that is you, Clara...

have always had them on your side.

Tell me...

is that a goose or a duck?

I think it's a goose!

High time you got to bed!

The wine stays here. - But I paid for it.

You paid for the wine, not the bottle. That costs another two kreuzers.

I don't plan on swallowing the bottle!

Beloved Clara, you stand so close before me...

that I can almost touch you.

Fate has destined us for one another. I've always known that.

Maybe your father will relent if I ask him for his blessing.

I shall hide in a corner and think of nothing but you.

You live the same way you compose.

You know I favor music with moderated effects...

and oppose feverish visions of demons.

Yes, even if a man is the Mozart of this century.

But many of us feel differently.

By the way, I've had great pleasure...

reading your music magazine.

I sometimes have the feeling you write it all yourself.

Those reviews...

signed by Eusebius and Florestan were certainly from Schumann's pen.

Eusebius and Florestan are two sides of me.

Eusebius, the level-headed gourmet who longs for beauty...

seeks to fully savor a mood.

Florestan breaks the mood, destroys beauty.

Not necessarily. Florestan is uncontrollable.

He's enthusiastic about everything new, futuristic, extraordinary.

I wish there were more of Florestan in you.

The fashion today is Paris' addiction to despondency.

Write something greater. - That's what Clara's always saying.

Composition is your true calling. Others can write reviews.

When do you find time...

to be creative?

The magazine's something I can hold on to.

It's still my living.

To compose more, I'd have to live in other circumstances.

I can only dream of them.

What's holding us up?

You can see I can't get past him.

We've got to be in Leipzig tonight.

Leave me alone. It's over. She sent my letters back.

Only because her father made her. - But she did it!

And yet, despite her father, she's to perform your new piece tomorrow.

Clara? She can't play that!

Is she Franz Liszt?

Then it's to make fun of me. - You don't believe that.

I was with her yesterday. She sent me to you.

You should have seen her eyes.

Her eyes. - She's waiting for a sign.

Return her letters. I'll take them to her.

She can't have the old letters, but as many new ones as she wants.

That won't do. You must see her, fight for her.

Our Leipzig has the best concert audiences.

Their devotion to Clara is really very moving.

And they say a prophet is unheeded in his native land.

Actually, you're the prophet, Maestro Wieck.

If only half the people hadn't received free tickets.

Tomorrow night at 10:00, out at the little black house.

Clara said you'd know where that is.

You're a dear girl.

Maybe the day will come...

when man will achieve his greatest goals...

and will get to the stars as we now go to America.

Maybe one day we'll fly from star to star and see how small the Earth is.

Dreamer! Come back to Earth!

What's left beside dreams...

when they separate us for months, and reality for you is Carl Banck?

Do you really believe that?

Perhaps I did until last night. I had to believe it.

But then I heard you play...

and all my despair was blown away.

My love for you made me feel what I played.

When I heard you play...

I realized how profoundly I love you.

"What's this compared to the pain of separation...

from the one to whom all striving is dedicated and who loves me?"

What gives him the idea?

"You've tested me for 18 months. How could I be angry with you?"

Isn't that nice? He is not angry with me!

"Now test me twice as long. Perhaps I may regain your confidence. "

That'll be the day.

"If you find me deserving, loyal and manly, then bless this union of souls...

which lacks nothing other than a parent's consecration. "

Outrageous! What do you think? - But he writes so pretty.

What the... Get out!

Disgraceful!

I don't know what's more surprising: The man's stupidity or his nerve!

He says I should "prevent the misfortune. "

The misfortune.

"To you above all, madam, I appeal in the interest of our future destiny...

not as a stepmother. "

Not as a stepmother. Cheeky. - Tactless.

"Prevent the misfortune... "

"Prevent the great misfortune which threatens us all.

Your obedient servant, Schumann. "

I'll prevent the misfortune. He can count on that! He'll soon hear from me.

Union of souls, indeed!

How have you tried to gain my confidence?

Behind my back you've turned the child's head.

Our love blossomed before your eyes. - You deceived me!

And you dare to write me this letter...

and babble about the consecration of a parent's blessing?

Who do you think you are to lay claim to a girl like Clara?

The claim of love! - Silence! You demi-genius!

You demi-semi-Faust!

Of course, Clara's fame is convenient for you.

You want to use her to get where you could never get alone.

Nicely calculated, but wrong!

I refuse to be insulted!

You insult us with your wooing! Silence!

I've been silent too long. Who's been exploiting Clara?

Is she to be bled dry merely for short-lived success?

Concert after concert, merely for money!

Or are you waiting to hand her over to some Croesus with moneybags?

Who gives you the right?

The art that brought us together.

And you are artist enough to feel that.

You loved me once, and you love Clara.

Our union must gladden you. - Gladden me!

What a thing to say!

First and foremost are my obligations.

My obligation as a father is to give Clara the kind of future...

which you couldn't begin to give her.

I've written a lot lately. - Go, Schumann.

Leave Clara out of your high-flying plans.

Make something of yourself.

Work, or for all I care...

have your fun. Clara will forget you.

We're leaving for Vienna tomorrow.

Our talk was a horror. - Father's afraid of losing me.

He said you'd forget me. - Forget you?

You must write me secretly.

Send your letters to Johanna Melber, Vienna.

Have someone else address them.

We're being separated again.

But whenever the evening star rises, I'll be with you.

Sixty gold ducats from the empress.

One hundred twenty-five guilders from our last concert.

Deducting all our expenses, that leaves 1,530 guilders profit.

And the presents and the jewelry?

What are those spots?

Probably the punch.

Be more careful next time. What a pity!

Things are expensive enough.

What did Grillparzer say in that poem about you?

"She dips her white fingers beneath the wave...

and touches it, and raises it and it is hers. "

We must thank him. We'll write him a letter tomorrow.

I must ask Father if I may accept such a gift.

But, mademoiselle, what is this trinket...

compared to the glow you radiate?

Princess Starnitz wants to speak to you.

We have a date tomorrow. - Yes, I think so.

Your attention, please.

Her Highness, Princess Starnitz...

our charming hostess...

deems it fitting and proper that you here assembled...

who have just listened to my daughter Clara play the pianoforte...

be the first to know of the great honor...

His Majesty the Emperor has seen fit to confer...

upon our young artist.

Minister Count Kolowrat told me this afternoon that His Majesty...

has appointed Clara Wieck Royal Imperial Chamber Virtuosa.

A Protestant foreigner...

and only 18 years old.

Incredible!

The emperor is simply following the example...

set by all the cake bakers in Vienna.

Who else is a chamber virtuoso?

Paganini, Thalberg, Liszt.

Have you never tasted a Clara Wieck cake? It melts in your mouth.

Where do they have those? - They're sold in every caf, in Vienna.

Would you oblige us...

and play a little more in celebration of this high imperial honor?

And here...

is a little present for a great artist.

Now then, after that kind request, I think...

I'd be happy to play for you.

I shall play from the "Sonata in G Minor" by Robert Schumann.

Who is this Robert Schumann? - Don't you know him?

Probably the greatest of the younger German composers, after Mendelssohn.

Interesting.

A miracle girl.

An undisciplined creature!

How can she let herself go like that?

Bach had the heaviness, Mozart... the lightness...

Beethoven... the warmth, Schubert... the darkness.

And you? What do you have?

I'm left with nothingness.

But the infinity of nothingness is greater than all things taken together.

"It is 1:00 a. m. And I'm writing heart a-tremble in our room.

We spoke of you again today. "

What are you doing? Why aren't you asleep yet?

I'm writing in my diary.

"I told Father he could say what he pleases...

and I tell you again...

my love for you is boundless.

If you want my life, it is yours for the asking. "

If you knew the joys and sorrows which lie hidden beneath this pile of notes.

Why do you do it at all?

How does someone like you come to invent music?

For immortality. Or if the piano lid happens to be open.

Because a couple of friends praise you...

or to win the smile of a pretty girl...

or for no reason at all.

Someone to see you.

Don't worry about me. I know I'm just a stopgap.

And I enjoy it, Mr. Composer.

A visitor for you, Mr. Schumann.

I happened to be passing. Forgive my intruding, please.

We returned from Vienna only yesterday.

One triumph after another.

Clara was received with such enthusiasm.

Indescribable. Thunderous applause from the first concert on.

Connoisseurs think Clara is even better than Vienna's current favorite...

Thalberg, because she plays with such enthusiasm, such involvement.

Can you imagine?

I never doubted Clara could be the first among pianists.

Nice of you to say so. I haven't come up these stairs without a reason.

We... that is to say, Clara and myself... occasionally spoke of you.

By the way, now and again, we played one of your pieces...

and the people always asked...

"Who is this Schumann?"

Don't get me wrong.

Clara is a name to reckon with in the music world, a star.

Nobody's ever heard of you.

They'll hear of me.

With Clara at my side, my art would thrive.

Yes, that's just what I thought.

Clara Wieck, a traveling saleswoman for your music.

I love Clara...

not because she's a great artist, but because of what she is...

because I love her.

If you love Clara, then renounce her, Robert!

Leave my daughter alone.

You said she could be the first among pianists, and so she could...

if given the chance to concentrate on her art...

and not dragged into the pool of vulgar passion.

Dragged down by me?

I have absolutely nothing against you...

but you are poison for Clara.

You poison our love!

I'm sorry for you, Robert.

I never thought I could loathe a man...

as much as that.

You couldn't loathe anybody.

He's torturing me, destroying me...

when I'm struggling to create beauty.

Am I nothing next to her?

You must compose a great symphony, like Beethoven's Ninth.

I'm writing small pieces at present...

miniatures, something for children.

You mustn't hate him. Pity him, yes!

I sometimes wish she'd play less well so they wouldn't go so wild.

With each thunderous applause, Wieck pushes her further from me.

He'll lose. You'll win.

I'm not so sure.

Please, Mr. Banck!

I wanted to ask you if you'll be in Leipzig Wednesday.

I'd love to exchange a few words with you alone.

Why Wednesday? - Yes, why Wednesday?

Wednesday's my lucky day. But you know already what I want to say.

I asked your father for your hand two years ago...

and he said to ask him again in two or three years.

And, well, two years have passed. I was wondering...

I'm afraid it is my duty to tell you that you hope in vain.

Don't say that! I'd rather you left me in the dark.

In two or three or four... - Not in five and not in ten!

And if I were to ask your father again?

Can you give me no hope?

I had to see you before going to Paris.

So it's final? - Has been for a long time.

I'm traveling alone.

I must show Father he doesn't always need to be there.

You have to know...

it's hard for me to hurt my father.

It's worse that I can't go with you.

But what good would I be? If only we were married!

One day, you'll have to decide.

This piece is called "Traumerei. "

It's for children!

You must forget you're a virtuosa.

This is so simple...

just like Eusebius, so melodic.

This will please the publishers and the public!

I've written lots of others like this.

Everything I now write...

is happier, softer, more melodic.

Where do you take it from?

It is you.

I want to dissolve into your music.

Remember...

you first showed me heaven and hell.

I want you completely, Clara.

Completely.

I'd love to come along. - Father doesn't want you to.

Everything packed?

It can get very cold in Paris at this time of year. Colder than you think!

Take some warm clothes along. - We've thought of everything, Mr. Wieck.

It's all on this list. Take a look.

That stays here!

My beloved bride, how longingly I have thought of you!

How long must we still live apart?

Did it ever occur to you our love is one long series of painful departures?

We must put an end to this terrible situation.

If necessary, we will take your father to court and force his consent.

I'm no longer afraid for you.

The next time I see you, I'll never let you go again.

When next I see you, I'll scream, I'll weep, I'll never let you go.

You demi-genius! You demi-semi-Faust!

You want to use Clara to get where you want.

Think of how many great artists have gone before you.

Listen, we're not children!

And certainly not your pupils!

We don't criticize your piano playing.

We admire your talent...

but we're not about to let a young girl order us around.

"Young girl. " "Young talent. " Conceited dilettantes!

What does age have to do with it? I've played concerts for ten years!

How are we going to do all this...

the rehearsals, the invitations, the programs?

I don't know how to begin!

If only I could help you.

And these conceited Parisian dilettantes!

Tomorrow evening you can play alone.

These people don't like your music.

They don't understand it.

"We bring our case before the Royal Court of Appeals...

to demand that Friedrich Wieck give his paternal consent to our marriage...

or that the court permit this on the basis of its own inquiry.

Robert Schumann, Clara Wieck, Leipzig, 8 June 1839."

Clara Wieck's signature was notarized...

at the Saxon embassy in Paris.

Is that all? Is that why you came here?

I have come to ask you to put aside your personal aversion to Mr. Schumann...

and to grant the consent requested.

That would be irresponsible.

If I could just make you see reason.

See reason? Me?

Make the people who sent you see reason!

You've taken the case of a deluded runaway and her repugnant seducer!

A charming business, that!

I've nothing more to say to you...

but I shall speak before the court.

I rode out to meet you.

Father wrote me. I'm no longer welcome at home.

Your father! Now I'm your...

What if we spoke to him again? For all this, he still loves me.

Only for his purpose.

I don't want you two to be reconciled. There are laws of honor.

And you think I really must appear in court?

The court will demand it. We must be strong.

That it had to come to this!

Perhaps I'm asking too much of you.

There's no doubt we'll win.

I'm not so sure.

Maybe we should go away...

escape from the influence of this wild man.

To Berlin or Vienna.

No. We mustn't keep running away!

Good evening, Father.

I didn't expect your visit.

We're just closing.

I didn't know what to do.

You told me never to come home.

You gave up this home yourself.

But Father!

You have turned away from your father.

I haven't turned away.

For you...

I sacrificed the days and nights of the best years of my life.

And I'll never forget it.

But I have to start going my own way some time.

I hear a bird fallen from the nest.

In Paris I realized how hard it is...

without you.

It needn't be too late!

Not yet! I say that emphatically.

Let's do another tour together.

I'll open the world to you again.

I can't.

Weren't we good companions? - I can't turn back now.

We'd be sure of 6,000 thalers profit.

Music was always a matter of the heart for me...

and my heart is Robert's.

If I lose him, I know I won't be able to play anymore.

So you're to hang up the rest of your life on this pathetic artist.

He'll only hinder you. The man's sick.

He needs me like I need him.

Let's stop playing at arguing.

It only makes us all unhappy.

Give Robert and me your permission before the court decides.

Do you think the court will favor a fly-by-night musician...

whose only "brilliant" inspiration was knowing when to seduce my daughter?

He's accomplished nothing on his own.

He can prove an annual income of 1,000 thalers...

and, to start with, there's my savings from the concert tours.

Your savings?

Do you think I'd drop our hard-earned money in that debtor's lap?

So I must begin my marriage empty-handed?

You'll be grateful for the nest egg...

I've set aside for you.

Would you please send my grand piano over?

You know the address.

You have no piano in this house!

No, Clara. Nothing here belongs to you anymore.

It is my moral obligation...

to prevent this union...

a union which would simply be the source of family misfortune.

The plaintiff has not only seduced my daughter...

but also made advances to another of my pupils...

whom I had expressly warned about him.

Yes, he even entered into an engagement with her.

The court has taken action on your written deposition...

and called the father of this pupil as a witness.

Are you Baron von Fricken from Asch in Bohemia?

You know the parties present...

from the time your daughter was a pupil...

of the defendant Friedrich Wieck? - I do.

However, Ernestine is not my natural daughter. I merely gave her my name.

An adopted daughter, something like that.

Mr. Wieck has testified that your adopted daughter...

had an intimate relationship...

indeed, was engaged to the plaintiff, Robert Schumann.

A claim, my lord...

which amazes me. Ernestine was never engaged to Schumann!

What was their relationship? Did he ever propose to her?

At the time, Mr. Wieck assured me that it was...

a purely musical friendship. Nothing more!

Quiet! - Your statement will be recorded.

Thank you, Baron. You may go.

May I be permitted a personal observation?

I don't understand what the argument's about.

I always had the feeling you raised your daughter...

for Robert Schumann and his music, Mr. Wieck.

Do you wish to press your petition despite this?

I refuse to make rebuttal to the words of the girl's adoptive father.

My inexperienced child has been blinded...

by Mr. Schumann's alleged mystical, dreamy quality.

In actual fact, he's suffering from a bad attack of imbecility.

This man can only plunge my daughter into misfortune...

because he is in bondage to the night, the shadow side of life and art.

My "fallen from the moon" life.

The man who wishes to wed my daughter...

required medical care for an emotional disturbance.

And I have the sad duty of placing on record...

that the plaintiff's father...

died of a neurological disorder, and that his sister succumbed...

early in life to a mental illness.

I object! - Silence in the court!

Would you entrust your daughter...

to a compulsive debtor and a habitual drunkard?

How can you prove he's an alcoholic, Mr. Wieck?

Ask Maestro Banck.

He's right here.

Passau's "dwarf of song. " It's getting even better.

Is the witness present?

Approach the bench. Your name?

Can you tell us anything of Mr. Schumann's habits?

Open your mouth, Banck!

I know Mr. Schumann. I've known him for years.

During that time...

I've participated in a few of his so-called "attic nights" in which...

huge quantities of Bavarian beer and champagne were consumed.

It doesn't shed a very good light on the plaintiff.

Thank you. You may go.

I kindly request that my colleague Becker be heard.

I have known Dr. Schumann since I was a student.

Like Mr. Banck, I also took part in a couple of enjoyable parties...

as is customary among students, sons of good families.

Perhaps your Lordship may have similar memories?

It is simply absurd...

to hurl accusations of evil excesses at a man...

who has established a reputation as composer and author...

outside this city.

Only a few days ago, the University of Jena...

recognized this reputation by awarding him a doctorate...

for an "inventive artist and articulate critic. "

A doctorate made to order in the nick of time!

We all know how to get one of those!

Inventive artist, indeed! Where are his symphonies?

His great compositions performed on the world's concert stages?

A few hasty piano improvisations...

nothing whole, just scraps!

The writer? A non-person...

hiding behind infantile pseudonyms. Florestan! Eusebius!

A shabby, hush-hush operation...

nothing whatsoever to do with true, noble art.

A charlatan who wants to hide his inabilities...

behind the fame and art of a Clara Wieck!

Just a scheme. What else?

Those are not very concrete remarks.

The court cannot make any artistic judgments.

You are my peace, my consolation

You are kind heaven's presentation

My wedding gift are my songs.

Your love has made my value rise

I stand transfigured by your eyes

You raise me from within myself

My kind spirit, my better self

No. I'd leave it the way it is, like a lark. Keep it simple.

And then the winds with the theme.

The opening theme. - With the strings accompanying?

Strings accompanying and winds out front. That's better!

This isn't my kind of music, but I'm delighted to be conducting it.

We have a name for my symphony, Clara.

"Spring Symphony. "

Nice.

Just wanted to say I'm going out for a little walk.

As Robert's working, may I accompany you?

No. Please, stay.

Robert needs you more than I today.

It's a pity your father's leaving town.

It is a loss for the musical life of Leipzig.

He sent me my grand piano.

I only hope our place is not too small or thin-walled for two instruments.

Pardon?

Excuse me.

thx [rarelust]