She continued on her way. I waited until her footsteps were a distant sound, then turned back towards Mozart. His head dipped low for a moment, but then it snapped up in a sudden movement. He had a sad but firm smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye.
“Well, we don’t have to worry about Constance anymore. Let’s prepare for our meeting with the emperor!”
SECOND MOVEMENT
February 1792
Vienna, Austria
I would have been false if I did not admit my nerves regarding our audience with the emperor. I had performed for the man and the royal court in the past, but this was different. In addition, my confidence in Wolfgang’s ability to temper his speech was lacking. As was the case with Constance, I was not even confident in what Mozart did not say. His behavior was becoming more erratic; I would have to stay close to monitor him. It might be my destruction, but I could not leave his side.
While Marie Antoinette was the emperor’s sister, she had been in France for over two decades, leaving Vienna when she was just fifteen years of age. Leopold would surely care about his sister, but how much? Would his possible indifference over Marie’s fate send Mozart over the edge? It was difficult to tell. And with my knowledge of Wolfgang’s own unstable past, it was impossible to know if I was walking into my own trial of sorts.
But while we might have secured an audience with the emperor, it was definitely a clandestine one. We were escorted in a carriage around Vienna and were only brought to the palace after dark.
“I do not believe he intends for our meeting to be known to the public,” I said to Wolfgang as we circled the palace in the carriage.
“Oh. Did I forget to inform you we would be meeting him after dinner?” Mozart said casually.
I sighed.
“I do believe you left that aspect of the meeting out of our initial conversations, yes.”
We finally arrived, sparing me from continuing the conversation. On one hand, the man was a genius, but on the other it was difficult to comprehend how he even made it to adulthood. I had my task cut out for me.
We were quickly escorted to a parlor room inside the palace where Emperor Leopold II stood facing a far window. The doors were shut behind us and I stood silently for a moment. Wolfgang fidgeted next to me, but he also waited for the emperor to make the first move. It was not either of our places to interrupt the emperor, even if one of us was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
“So you wish to enter this land of snakes. You want to save my sister from the mobs of Paris.”
Statements. Not questions.
I deferred to Mozart. This was his idea. His legacy on the line. For better or worse, my musical legacy was tied in with Mozart’s. My own work paled in comparison to his. I hoped that just being near the master would elevate my own. Even with this possibly insane plan, I felt compelled to move forward with him, if for no other reason than to save him from himself.
“I do,” Wolfgang answered.
The emperor turned towards us. Even in the pale light of the candles, the man appeared ghostly white. His bald head was naturally stark, but I was immediately struck at how frail he looked. He was still in the prime of his reign as emperor, yet his appearance was that of a man twenty years his elder. The stress of his position had not been kind. But the concerns of an emperor were not mine. I was here for a specific purpose, and that purpose mirrored Mozart’s.
Leopold gestured to a trio of chairs placed in the middle of the room. He sat, and then we sat. He did not look at us, instead turning back to the window he’d been standing in front of when we’d first entered the parlor.
“The events in France have been disconcerting for many, not only in this palace, but also throughout Europe. It is true that Louis made mistakes, but those follies are no reason to depose him as king. A country without a monarch is much like a she-wolf unable to nurse her pups. While I am grateful for Marie’s safety, her life is not to be taken for granted as long as the members of the Third Estate are running that country,” Leopold said. He turned his gaze to Mozart, and held him with fierce eyes that told a lifetime of stories. “This so-called ‘National Assembly’ is an illegitimate government. Only by returning Louis to power can the balance of power be restored to Europe.”
I was not sure where the emperor was leading with his statements, but the scope of his preamble was definitely beyond our capabilities. “My lord, I beg you: do not misunderstand our intentions here tonight,” I began. “We are merely your humble servants…”
The emperor cut me off with a wave of his hand.
“I am not under any illusion as to your purposes, Masters Mozart and Sussmeyer. You must understand the strain and pressure I am under, however. As much as I desire the safety of my own family members, there are larger forces at work here. The fate of Europe itself is at play. As someone who knew for most of my life that the burden of leadership might one day be mine, I was taught to see the larger picture.”
“A useful skill indeed,” Mozart murmured.
Leopold turned back to Mozart, almost as if he’d forgotten the master composer for a moment. “Ah, yes. Speaking of skills, I imagine you have a use for your particular skill set on this planned journey of yours, or else you would have given up on this fool’s errand long ago.”
My master dug into the satchel he had brought along, thumbing through a variety of papers. He found what he was looking for and pull it out with a flourish. He held it out to the emperor.
“My Requiem.”
The emperor’s eyes grew wide, and I am fairly certain that mine did as well. I had not left Mozart’s side for much time at all for months and he had never mentioned that he had completed his Requiem.
“No…” Leopold whispered. He reached out and Mozart allowed him to grab the composition. He immediately began to flip through the pages.
I leaned over and whispered into Mozart’s ear. “I was not aware you had completed it. You had given it up…”
“Hush,” he whispered back. “All in due time.”
Halfway through the manuscript, Leopold paused. He held the pages up. “What’s this? It isn’t finished?”
Mozart bowed his head for a moment. “No, my lord. However, you, Franz, and I are the only three people in the world aware of this fact. You also know my prowess with music. I can complete the work on my way to Paris.”
Leopold seemed intrigued, and sat back. “Continue.”
Mozart seemed to feed off the emperor’s curiosity, and leapt up before I could stop him. He paced back and forth behind the chairs, explaining his plan as he walked.
“My idea—I apologize—our idea,” he said, motioning towards me, “is to take our newest music on a tour of Europe. However, instead of snubbing Paris and the rest of France due to its unstable government, we embrace it. We claim that the revolution happening in France is the perfect backdrop to our music. The ideal place to debut the long-awaited Requiem by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Perhaps they will even allow the king and queen to witness the rebirth of the French Republic as Requiem is performed.”
“And it is at this concert that you hope to steal away my sister?”
Mozart and I answered simultaneously. “It is.”
Leopold pushed away from his seat and resumed his duty at the window. He was quiet for a few minutes. I closed my eyes momentarily as I waited for the decision that would doom or save us. Frankly, whichever decision the emperor made might be our death; I was not entirely confident in Mozart’s ability to rescue anyone, let alone the queen of France. If this was not our course and Mozart gave up his music, what direction would my life go? I was conflicted, but kept my reservations to myself. When Leopold began to speak again, I had to strain to hear him; his voice was faint at first, but grew as he spoke.
“If there were one man to blame for that accursed rebellion, I would have you go to the heart of France and cut the head off the insidious snake. I would send every man I have at my disposal to keep the divine right of kings intact throughout Europe,
” he said with conviction. He softened his voice and continued, “but I fear that every man I have would be too few in the face of the mob rule in place in France right now.”
Leopold turned towards us and muttered, “And so, I am left with a few options. I must go to war with France to defend the monarchy and the legitimate rule of Louis. But your plan, as fanciful as it may be, offers a spark of hope where none existed before.”
Mozart leapt into the conversation. “So, you are willing…”
Another hand in the air from the emperor. “Say no more. I do not doubt your intentions, although I do doubt your ability to do what you say. Attempt the emancipation of my sister with my funding and blessing. But if you are discovered, I am not your patron. I will disown you and claim to have never had this conversation.”
I was aghast. The words the emperor spoke were almost foreign to my ears. Our foolhardy plan to save Marie Antoinette was being put into motion, and funded, at that, by the emperor of Austria.
* * *
The carriage ride that returned us to my home was quiet. I contemplated what we were embarking upon, and I imagine Mozart was doing the same.
I didn’t mind the silence. In fact, I embraced it. Life imitated music in so many aspects. In any musical composition, a rest tells the audience to wait, to catch their breath. The absence of sound is just as profound as the abundance of them, given the right context and crescendo. I felt as though this might be one of those times.
Then he broke the silence.
“Franz?”
“Yes Wolfgang?”
This time the silence was on his end. Perhaps this was his way of composing—controlling the conversation with his rest before the spoken melody. Finally the rest gave way to his words.
“Forgive my intrusion, but I must know. What do you want?”
“Pardon me?”
Mozart cleared his throat, but kept his gaze toward the opposite window. “If you could be granted one thing before you met our Lord on the other side of this life, what would it be?”
I considered the question longer than I needed. I knew the answer even before he asked the question, but I doubted myself. Could I reveal my inner self to this man? Our relationship had been one of master and journeyman, despite his decision to call me his equal. This question meant we were more than that. It was almost as if he considered me to be a... friend. But I knew Wolfgang, and the man had no friends. In spite of my misgivings, I answered truthfully after a few moments.
“Significance,” I almost whispered.
He turned to me with a quizzical look on his face.
“For you, life has always been a transient thing. You exist here and now, but the name Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart will be immortal. Me? No one will remember my name,” I said with a wave of my hand. He tried to interrupt, but I continued. “I could not have gained an audience with the emperor, but you did. I don’t have the world waiting on my next composition, but when you finally have an orchestra play Requiem for the first time, people may call it the crowning achievement of the 18th century. I could not even fathom trying to free the queen of France from the bloody revolution, but with you, we may just have a chance.”
“Significance.” He said it with a bluntness that didn’t do it justice.
“Significance. My life is nothing. I have a function, true, but no legacy. When people look to Vienna for music, they look to you. I am insignificant in the face of your greatness. It is impossible to achieve. With your mastery as a monument, I am eclipsed by your shadow.”
He didn’t reply and I chose not to continue. I was not convinced his plan was his destiny, but I was willing to follow him. I had convinced myself we were equals, as he desired us to be, but I was mistaken. If he could not comprehend how I felt, it was outside the realm of my abilities to make him see the world through my eyes. I looked away for a few moments, but caught myself. If I was worthy to be in a carriage with the maestro, I was worthy to look upon his face as well.
I glimpsed the look on his face briefly as the moon flashed through the windows of the carriage, and it was a look I had never seen on Mozart’s face before. I was not sure how to classify the expression when I first saw it, but as the night wore on and I thought about it more and more, I realized what I saw.
Understanding.
THIRD MOVEMENT
Late Spring/Summer 1792
Paris, France
Cramped, cluttered, chaotic.
The insanity that had gripped the city for the past few years had not settled. In fact, as we entered the city, we found firsthand that the Bourgeois were in control. It was true that Louis XVI was still king, but the title was merely temporary; the crown sat precariously upon his head waiting for the blade of the guillotine to cut it away.
From many who we encountered on our way into Paris, we came to understand that while the king and his family were still entrenched in the Tuileries Palace, the real power was in the hands of the Legislative Assembly. France was a democracy, but had yet to convince itself to abolish the monarchy.
Yet.
With each passing day another hand ticked by on a clock that held the lives of the royal family. The king was the most coveted prize for bloodthirsty revolutionaries, and Marie Antoinette was not far behind.
Our plan was madness.
I said as much to Wolfgang one our first nights we were in the city. The night we also heard back from Vienna.
“This is impossible. The queen is a dream. The funds from the emperor are not going to last forever, and word just arrived that Leopold is dead,” I told him.
“Dead?”
I ran my hand though my hair and sighed. Of course he didn’t know. Mozart had been obsessed with finishing his Requiem ever since the night we met Leopold. He was probably unaware we’d hired a local boy to run errands and tell us the news. It was Philip who told me of the emperor’s tragic passing.
“Yes. No official reason, but after his appearance when we saw him, I’d attribute it to stress,” I said. “The archduke Francis—Leopold’s son—is now emperor. Francis II they call him. Leopold was unlikely to have told Francis about our mission and it was doubtful that Francis had had much contact with Marie. I think it is safe to say we’re cut off from any more funds from Vienna.”
His face was pale. His fingers trembled as he picked up his glass of wine. He seemed to steady himself with a quick drink. For a moment I believed my news troubled him, but then the maestro paused to consider something, and bent down to resume his work at his manuscript.
It was as if he didn’t care at all. As if I was the only one putting my life on the line for this insane plan. I slammed my hand against the wall.
“Wolfgang Amadeus!”
He snapped his head up to look at me. His eyes were ablaze, which I imagine matched my own.
“We cannot go through with this. We will run out of money. Our support from Vienna is no more and we do not even know if the queen will agree to go with you at all. There is still a king in France, after all,” I pleaded.
“You don’t think I know all of that? I am aware. I know the queen is still half of the royal family. I know she is not truly my Maria Antonia. I know the forces at play are larger than any of us,” Mozart spat out. He grabbed a few of the papers in front of him—his Requiem—and waved it in front of me. “This! This is what this entire plan rests on. We cannot do anything if Requiem is not complete. My entire life has led to this moment and this piece of music. If I do not complete it, then not only will the plan fail, but my life will fail.”
“And what exactly is our plan?” I asked. In all the anticipation towards our arrival in the city, my master had been withdrawn and had barely spoken to me since that night I confessed my hopes and fears for him. The night I’d told him what I most wanted in my life. After all that, I was met with silence most days we were in each other's company.
He ran his fingers through his own sparse hair and sighed with exasperation. The glass of spirits on the table next to him wa
s dry, but it did not stop him from trying to find a drop at the bottom. I sensed a weariness about him. “I will need you for the plan. For now, let us leave it at that. Now please, leave me to finish my work.”
I left him alone that night and for much of the next few weeks.
I took to walking around the streets of Paris, learning how this country had fallen into the throes of such upheaval. The poor were still starving and the country was in dire straits. It was no wonder the people had seized control when the meeting of the Estates General went awry. The First and Second Estates had taken control of the country, but hadn’t managed to do anything with it. The people were ripe for it, drawing on the ideas of their own countrymen like Montesquieu, Voltaire, and Diderot. It was dangerous and exciting, all at the same time.
Yet in the midst of the revolution, King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette still survived. It was a constitutional monarchy, they claimed. But as the days wore on, the “monarchy” part of the government was treated more and more as a joke.
* * *
It was not long before the weight of Europe itself began to press against Paris as well. In Vienna, Emperor Francis II grew weary of the French people and their indecisiveness. He seemed to need to make a bold statement early on in his reign after the death of his father. He provoked the French into declaring war by April. The French revolutionaries were pushing the limits of their king; how far would he go in wars against other monarchies around Europe?
His time as king was becoming volatile at best. Most people I talked to agreed it was simply a matter of time until he was forced out, one way or another.
If Louis was forced out before Mozart had a chance to enact his plan—what would happen to us? What would happen to me? I was unsure. Mozart refused to discuss the possibility. In fact, he refused to discuss much of anything, with a pen in one hand and a drink in the other. I found it difficult to think about a future with his unsteady hand at the helm, but I found it impossible to consider it any other way.
Alt.History 102 (The Future Chronicles) Page 6