“He says he yearns for a new life, and I believe him, Hermann. He is keenly aware that in certain musical circles he merits very little respect, especially in regard to his compositions. Let me tell you what happened to him last year in Weimar. Liszt generously opened his mansion there for Sunday matinées…chamber music, student recitals, introductions of new music, all very stimulating, as you can imagine. Well, on one of those Sunday afternoons, one of Liszt's guests was Johannes Brahms-”
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, “but I was under the impression that Liszt and Brahms met for the very first time just the other evening at the Schumanns’.”
“It did seem as though they'd never before met, but it is more likely that both men preferred to forget their earlier encounter with one another. You see, what occurred at the Weimar matinée a year ago was this: young Brahms shows up with a recently completed first draft of his Scherzo. But when Liszt invites Brahms to play it for the small group of friends present, Brahms is too shy or too nervous. So Liszt sits down and sight-reads the piece from beginning to end. A flawless performance, for which Brahms warmly thanks him. The audience too is enthusiastic. Then it's Liszt's turn to play one of his own pieces. And during one of the more dramatic moments, Franz happens to glance over at Brahms. Do you know what Johannes Brahms was doing, Hermann? He was slouched in his chair…dozing!”
“So what? How does this qualify Liszt to speak with authority about Brahms's sexual relationship with Clara Schumann?”
“The piano tuner.”
“Pardon me?”
“The piano tuner,” Helena said. “Wilhelm Hupfer. You remember, his name came up when-”
“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently, “Of course I remember. What's he got to do with anything? The man's a mechanic. He works with hammers and wrenches.”
“Yes, Hermann,” Helena said, “but because he's the best there is in these parts, he was hired to tune Liszt's practice piano in his suite at the hotel. Naturally the two men-Liszt and Hupfer-got around to the subject of the Schumanns and their protégé. Well, it appears that our master technician not only has keen ears as befits a man in his trade, but keen eyesight as well. Hupfer was working at the Schumanns’ the afternoon of the musicale. And Maestro Schumann was absent at the time. She…I mean his wife…said he'd been out, presumably trying to drink his anxieties away at some tavern or other while she-poor downtrodden woman- was left to attend to…how did she put it?…‘a thousand-and-one last minute details’.”
“I think those were her exact words, yes.”
“Well, Hermann, she miscounted. There were a thousand-and-two last minute details.”
I raised a hand to stop Helena. “Don't tell me. Brahms was, shall we say, on her list of things to do. What did Hupfer say to Liszt, and what did Liszt pass on to you?”
“There are two grand pianos in the Schumann drawing room, remember?”
“Yes.” Then I recalled what Hupfer had told me when I visited him at his shop. “Apparently one was fairly new…the Klems, made here in Düsseldorf, not a great instrument but, being new, it didn't require a lot of work. The older piano required much more attention, of course. Hupfer spent two hours working on the older instrument getting it into proper shape.”
“But in fact, Clara performed on the Klems instrument,” Helena continued. “And before her, when they introduced Brahms, which piano did he play?”
I took a moment to recollect. “He played on the same, the Klems.”
“Correct,” said Helena. “So a question arises here.”
“Yes? What question?”
She picked up a butter knife-one I had been fidgeting with earlier-and began brandishing it as though it was a pointer and she was giving instruction. “Hupfer arrives at the Schumanns’ and is prepared to commence his work after being admitted to the house by one of the servants. Madam Schumann is nowhere to be seen at this point, and the servant explains that the Maestro has gone off somewhere and is not expected to return until later in the afternoon. Fine. So Hupfer moves off into the drawing-room. And there, of course, sit the two grand pianos-”
“Yes, yes, Helena, for God's sake get to the point-”
“And just as Hupfer is removing his jacket and about to roll up his sleeves to get down to work, he hears a furtive whispering that comes from the stairs in the hallway just outside the drawing-room, the voices of a man and a woman. Next thing, guess what?”
“What?”
“In rushes Brahms. Coatless. No neckwear. Shirtfront partly unbuttoned. And that head of hair…those long blond-”
“Never mind. I gather his hair was unkempt, and he looked dishevelled. What then?”
“‘Pardon the intrusion,’ Brahms says to Willi Hupfer, ‘but it seems I've forgotten something.’ And Brahms seizes a small leather bag that's sitting atop the Klems. And in his haste to retrieve it, he spills the contents of the bag on the floor, then begins to scoop them up, muttering things like, ‘How stupid of me, how clumsy!’ Then, after Hupfer notices that the bag contains tools very much like his own, Brahms feels called upon to explain.”
“Helena,” I pleaded, “please put down the butter knife.” She was waving it uncomfortably close to my face now. “Just tell me what Brahms said.”
Not heeding my request, but grasping the knife as though it was a javelin about to be hurled, Helena went on. “Brahms snaps the bag shut and says to Hupfer, ‘I'm very particular, you understand, about the piano I'm to perform on being adjusted exactly to my taste, so I prefer to make the adjustments myself beforehand. I therefore took time to regulate the Klems, because I'll be using it this evening.’ And then he says to Hupfer, ‘Please don't let me interrupt you; I will return later for some last-minute regulating on the Klems.’ Why is this so significant? Because, according to Liszt, there isn't another pianist in Europe these days who does his own tuning and regulating. That job is always left to trained technicians, experts like Hupfer. One reason is that most pianos are located in public concert halls, and their proprietors do not take kindly to keyboard prima donnas marching in and messing about with the house instruments. And even when a performance is scheduled to take place in a private salon, the same unwritten rule applies. Technical work is for technicians. Period!”
Helena sat back, put down the butter knife with a resolute smack on the tabletop, and said, “Well now, Inspector Preiss, have I earned the schnitzel and Riesling?”
I was too lost in thought to respond. What were piling up, one on top of another, were questions, not answers.
Sounding annoyed, Helena said, “Really, Hermann, you are the essence of ingratitude. I fill your cup to overflowing, and what do I receive in return? An empty stare. And, by the way, an empty plate.”
I took an anxious look at the café clock just in time to hear its chimes announce eight o'clock, which meant that behind the swinging doors at the rear of the place, the chef would be shedding his white cap and apron for the night.
Our waiter, without uttering a word, began subtracting our cutlery, glassware, basket of rolls and tray of condiments, leaving our table naked.
We stood on the sidewalk outside the café now, Helena and I, exiled by a disgruntled waiter.
She said, “Hermann, it so happens I haven't had a shred to eat since breakfast early this morning. Is the fact that I'm starving to death of even the remotest interest to you?”
I'm afraid my answer was entirely out of context.
“Hupfer tells these things to Franz Liszt,” I said. My eyes wandered along the street, its stores and offices dark now, its pavement deserted. “Hupfer tells these things to Franz Liszt,” I repeated, once again lost in my own thoughts. “But for some reason he chooses not to tell me-”