The Tyrol! Rise in rebellion, General of Tyrol!’ exclaimed Saber. Thousands of mountain folk, furious that treaties between the powers had placed them under the control of Bavaria, had taken up arms. Their leader, Andreas Hofer, an innkeeper, had had some success in leading ambushes, attacking isolated posts, storming Innsbruck and even harassing the left flank of the army in Italy under Prince Eugene, Napoleon’s stepson. In the German states Major von Schill and the Duke of Brunswick were also agitating. The Austrians prayed for a generalised uprising but they still feared Napoleon’s might too much. Saber seized his cup and noisily crushed the Tyrolean sugar.
‘Insurrection repressed.’
In Luise’s opinion Saber was undoubtedly a bloodthirsty madman. She had also heard that the Tyrolean rebellion had not yet been beaten. The ‘sugar’ had certainly been dealt a severe blow, but that blow had only succeeded in fragmenting it and its ‘grains’ continued to pose problems for the French. Saber continued his demonstration - French officers and some Austrians had joined them, forming an attentive audience, and now he was talking more to them than to his friends. Saber was admirably well informed. Normally officers of his rank only knew about the state of their own company and any other titbits they overheard over supper. But Saber was convinced that he would be promoted to marshal one day and he behaved as if he already was one. His map began to make sense to Margont.
The Austrian plan was clever. It combined great sweeping manoeuvres to attack the French and their allies everywhere, at the same time. In the north, in Poland, and in the south, in Italy, with forty thousand men under the orders of Archduke John; in the
centre with Archduke Charles and round the edges using the partisans. This strategy forced Napoleon to disperse his force and gave notice that the Austrians were determined to open the conflict out. This was not a Franco-Austrian war, but a European war, with France and its Italian and German allies on one side, and on the other Austria and all its allies: England, Prussia, certain German states ... And what about Russia? Austria wanted to spearhead a vast coalition.
However, as is often the case in situations like this, the potential allies were hesitating. England had promised to dispatch an army to Holland, but constantly delayed doing so. On the other hand, in Spain and Portugal, the Spanish resistance and Anglo-Portuguese troops continued to recruit numerous French soldiers. When Napoleon recalled his contingents stationed in Spain to strengthen his position against the Austrians, he weakened his position against the English. He counterbalanced this by winning a victory against the Spanish, but he learnt immediately afterwards that an insurrection had erupted in Austurias and he feared that the Royal
Navy was behind it. Each conflict now took on monumental proportions because everything was linked. If Austria fought Napoleon again, Prussia would join in, guerrilla warfare would ravage Spain once again, and the English would this time send an army to Holland. Russia would probably join Austria. One error, one defeat, a single false step and the Empire could collapse completely, neighbour by neighbour, country after country. Margont lived in an extraordinarily precarious world. If the Empire collapsed would the ideals of the Revolution founder with it?
Saber’s finger tapped northern Italy and moved south-east to the gigantic Austrian Empire in Hungary.
The Italian army has pushed back Archduke John’s Austrians. The Emperor is scoring points in all the secondary theatres of operations and he is calling for reinforcements to prevent Archduke Charles from joining up with his own reinforcements. The more Napoleon destabilises his adversaries, the more the rebels’ ardour will cool.’
The principal armies resembled two queens face to face in the
middle of the chessboard, both immobilised, while elsewhere the pieces were ceaselessly manoeuvring and annihilating each other. At the end of all these moves, one of the two queens would feel sufficiently protected by its pawns to take action.
‘He should be made a general!’ decreed an enthusiastic captain. ‘Well, not really ...’ murmured Saber with false modesty.
Luise came closer to the table, the prelude to a brutal storm. ‘There’s no blood in your game. I’ll add some.’
As she spoke she tipped the coffee pot over the map. The puddle of coffee spread in a lake, soaking up the crumbs of bread and dissolving the sugar. Saber was too polite to reproach her; he merely withdrew his documents precipitately. Relmyer burst out laughing like a child, which made Luise relax. Saber, furious, was preparing to leave when suddenly he froze.
‘He’s here ...’ he murmured.
His anger had evaporated. Margont wondered who could have produced such a miracle. Normally his friend would not forgive such a humiliation; he endlessly rehashed past slights that
everyone else had forgotten. Margont looked round at the customers. It couldn’t be Napoleon - the walls and ceiling would have been reverberating to the cries of‘Long live the Emperor!’ ‘Maestro Beethoven is here,’ repeated Saber.
Margont leant towards Luise. ‘Who’s Beethoven?’
She shrugged. ‘A composer. He was very successful in the past and his sonatas have earned him some followers. But he hasn’t managed to win the heart of the public and his detractors are legion. He’s no Mozart—’
Saber reacted violently. ‘It’s Mozart who’s no Beethoven and not the other way round!’
He made more sense when he was talking about the war.
‘So who is he, this Beethoven?’ Margont asked impatiently.
Luise pointed out a strange-looking man of about forty. Red hair was escaping here and there from a badly brushed grey wig. Thin and husk-like, he resembled a solitary insect forced by hunger to go out foraging. Absorbed in his thoughts, he lived entirely in another world exclusively woven from music.
‘He hasn’t had the best of luck,’ added Luise. They were on the point of showing Fidelio here, in Vienna. That was at the beginning of May. But when people learnt that your army was on the way, no one wanted to go to the opera any more. The notices are still up on the walls ... Add to that the fifty million contribution demanded by Napoleon to punish Vienna, which led to a host of exceptional taxes, and the high cost of living thanks to the presence of your soldiers who devour everything ... Beethoven can’t have an easy life, that’s for sure. In times of war, in order to survive, most musicians are forced to eat their scores.’
No one was paying any attention to this regular customer. Beethoven did not have to place an order; since he was a habitue, the waiter knew to bring him coffee and cream. Saber was visibly excited.
‘Have you never heard his Third Symphony? It’s fantastic. He dedicated it to Napoleon!’
At these words, Luise stifled a laugh but said no more. She wore the joyous impatient expression of someone who knew what little catastrophe was about to take place and was keen not to ruin it. Saber would not stop talking about the maestro’s melodies. For his part, Margont, who was incapable of reading a score, understood little of what was going on. Saber had chosen to quench his absolute thirst with the great wins and the disasters of military life, but it seemed his thirst also extended to music. Without wars, would he start to churn out musical scores? Saber grew breathless.
‘It’s the fifth time I’ve seen him. He always just slips in.’
‘Have you spoken to him?’
Saber groaned. ‘No ...’
Margont had seen his friend’s bravery at first hand on the battlefield and here was Saber speechless in front of a man he admired. ‘Herr Beethoven, I am Lieutenant Irenee Saber. Allow me to say that I find your work absolutely sublime.’