The tests seem to have revealed the following. In his last, tormented months Beethoven had not sought relief from morphine, in order perhaps to remain alert enough to write snatches of music and correct the score of his Ninth Symphony. Nor had he suffered, as had been suspected at times, from syphilis. Russell Martin's lively account of the investigations into those strands of hair makes for absorbing reading. At times this decently written, lucid narrative, interspersed with a succinct sketch of the great composer's life and tribulations, takes on the characteristics of a tightly constructed whodunnit.
Enough mystery remains to make the tale tantalising.
Yet Martin reveals two even more compelling streams running through this strange story. One is the light the Hiller family's fortunes throw on Germany's decline from a peak of civilisation in the earlier part of the 19th century to the barbarism of the 20th. The other is the touching respect of Germans, whether Jews or Gentiles, for their peerless musical heritage, which made them worship remnants of idolised figures such as Beethoven in the same spirit as their ancestors adored fragments of the true cross or tiny slivers of John the Baptist's tibia. Andrew Riemer is the Herald's chief book reviewer. Privacy Policy Copyright 2001.