The Fox of France - Chapter 360: Commotion

Beethoven had just returned to Vienna from Heiligenstadt, and in recent times, his hearing problems had worsened to the point where he could barely understand anything even if someone shouted into his ears.

For a musician, there couldn’t be anything more dreadful. Amidst this anxiety, Beethoven suffered severe diarrhea. Consulting a doctor, he decided to leave Vienna for the countryside of Heiligenstadt to recuperate.

In Heiligenstadt, his digestive issues resolved, but his hearing deteriorated even further. Eventually, he reached the point of near-total deafness. This plunged the resilient Beethoven into deep despair. He contemplated suicide and even penned a famous testament for his brother.

However, Beethoven, with a courage that could make humanity proud, overcame his despair and returned to the focal point of his life—music in Vienna.

In Vienna, Beethoven continued his habit formed in Heiligenstadt. Every morning, accompanied by his student Carl Czerny, he ventured to a nearby park for a walk.

Perhaps due to successfully composing a melody the previous night, Beethoven was in high spirits. He strode forward like a legendary beast parting the seas. Carl Czerny, still somewhat of a child, followed anxiously, darting glances around, afraid his teacher might get run over by a sudden carriage—Beethoven, being unable to hear the sounds of hooves or bells.

As Beethoven walked, he hummed the melody he had written the night before. Yet, Beethoven couldn’t hear his own voice while humming, rendering the tune completely off-key—similar to some people in later times, listening to music through headphones and singing along, oblivious to being off-key. Except for Czerny, who was trailing behind, keeping records, no one could decipher the original melody.

As they reached the park’s entrance, a loud exclamation echoed. It was so loud that even Beethoven, almost completely deaf, heard it.

Beethoven raised his head in surprise and asked, “carl, what’s happening?” But his surprise faded when he realized he hadn’t heard his own voice.

A student, visibly excited, hurried towards them holding a newspaper. He mumbled incessantly, occasionally waving his clenched fist in the air. Czerny faintly caught words like “effort… Paris… Long live!… Paris!”

Czerny quickly intercepted the student, asking, “Sir, what’s happening? Is there a war?”

“A war?” The student paused. “Yes, a war, a call to venture into the unknown realms of this world has been sounded, and I can’t wait to join this glorious holy war!”

“What exactly are we at war with?” Czerny couldn’t comprehend.

“With the unknown, with everything unknown! Buy a newspaper and see for yourself! I must rush to the library… I’ve never felt so full of determination!” With this, the student dashed off.

“A newspaper? Right, a newspaper.” Czerny scanned the surroundings, spotting a newsboy carrying freshly printed papers. He squeezed through the crowd, grabbed a copy, and hurried back to a smiling Beethoven.

“Carl, your clothes are wrinkled,” Beethoven spoke haltingly.

Since Beethoven couldn’t hear himself, controlling the tone and pitch of his speech was challenging, making it difficult for others to understand him. This added to his isolation, but Czerny was among the few who comprehended Beethoven’s words.

“Sir, look at this newspaper,” Czerny handed it to Beethoven. “I couldn’t get ‘The Gazette of Scientific Truth,’ but I got ‘The Businessman Gazette,’ and the headline is the same.”

Czerny knew Beethoven wasn’t fond of papers like ‘The Businessman Gazette.’ However, given the scarcity of papers and the multitude of people, securing even this copy was commendable.

Beethoven took the paper, and a line caught his eye: “The French Academy of Sciences establishes ‘Prometheus’ prize, with a whopping one million francs prize!”

“One million francs,” written in Arabic numerals, almost made his eyes blur with all the zeros. In terms of gold, the value of the franc was significantly lower compared to the pound. But a million francs amounted to a staggering 290 kilograms of gold, enough to drive most people crazy. Even Beethoven, who considered money trivial, was momentarily awed.

“The French truly value science,” Beethoven sighed.

“Absolutely! One million francs, it’s unimaginable, don’t you think?” Czerny also sighed.

“Carl, do you regret pursuing music?” Beethoven hadn’t heard Czerny’s sigh, but the French’s reverence for science aligned with his values. For Beethoven, talent and effort in science mattered as much as in music, irrespective of one’s background. So, his question was laced with humor, and his face beamed with a smile.

“Absolutely not, sir! I get a headache just looking at numbers… Maestro, I don’t think this is something for us. Let’s focus on completing the Overture for the Olympiad.”

However, in Britain, when Watt and others saw this news, they didn’t react as calmly as Beethoven.

“Good Lord! So generous! A million francs! Such wealth, one becomes a millionaire in an instant. William, are you tempted?” Watt asked his assistant Murdoch.

Murdoch chuckled, “Sir, you mentioned this a few months ago. I recall this award targets fundamental science, not technology. Except for medicine, almost anything patentable in technology isn’t eligible. Well, sir, I think, at my age, I don’t have time to switch to studying medicine, and neither does my son. Now, I can only hope for my yet-to-be-located grandson.”

“When President Bonaparte initially discussed this, he emphasized the difficulty in fundamental science, arguably surpassing that of technology. I, for one, can barely understand those blasted mathematics. But researching fundamental science doesn’t lead to patents. You can’t invent a solution for an equation and demand royalties from everyone using that method, can you?

So, he suggested this prize to encourage those committed to fundamental science and provide them some financial compensation. After all, those achieving great strides in fundamental science are exceptionally bright. If they applied their intellect elsewhere, they’d probably earn even more.

I wholeheartedly agreed with his proposal. The only surprise was the French being so generous. Initially, I thought a prize of ten thousand francs would be ample. Oh, he also invited me to be on the award committee. As a member, I can nominate a candidate and cast a vote during the selection.”

“Sir, whom do you plan to nominate?” Although knowing it didn’t concern him, Murdoch remained interested in who would be the lucky one with a chance to win a million francs. Yes, being shortlisted was luck itself because even if they didn’t secure the grand prize, the recognition alone was immense.

“Oh, that’s the thing. This year’s awards are for mathematics and medicine. In medicine, to be honest, there’s no suspense; it’s undoubtedly the Irishman, Carroll. In England, many might not want him to win due to his political views… But considering his groundbreaking research on bacteria, his importance in medicine is undeniable. I reckon this award is uncontested.”

“What about mathematics?” Murdoch inquired.

“In mathematics, the competition is fierce. I intend to support Gauss, an assistant to President Bonaparte. Though Laplace and Fourier are highly regarded too, I prefer leaning toward Gauss. Though he probably doesn’t need my endorsement. Unfortunately, in these two fields this year, us Brits are essentially spectators. I’d like to bring this up at the Royal Society meeting this year.”

….

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