Nightingale

by Juliet Waldron

  "That careless butcher has sent over the wrong cuts again, Fraulein Silber. If you can believe it, I've been all this time trying to make the fool see what he’s done. Ah! Are you still here, Sir?"

  "Just leaving, Frau Liese. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you for so long, Fraulein Silber, but it was quite wonderful to meet the Adambergers." Akos arose and bowed formally to Klara.

  "It's far past tea time, Liese." Klara decided to play capricious mistress as soon as she saw the door close behind her sweetheart. "And I have been longing for broth. Please fetch some straight away."

  "'Tis but an hour ’til supper, mistress," said Liese staring down, a little puzzled. “And you’ve just had tea with the Adambergers.”

  "Go at once and bring me broth! I swear, my throat feels sore."

  "All right, my darling," Liese replied. "As you wish, but you have been talking too much." The suspicious expression lingered, but she did as she was told. Klara sat, listening to the woman’s retreating feet, and heaved a huge sigh of relief. She needed some time to think.

  How could they meet secretly? Perhaps at the Mehlgrube masquerade, she thought, just two weeks away. A not entirely reputable place, of course. She blushed as she thought of the silken booths that lined the walls of corridors like small billowing tents, each equipped with a low table, a sofa, or perhaps, in imitation of the Turks, a pile of carpets and a generous heap of pillows and bolsters. The masked figures that repaired to the cabinets might be anyone, public women and their clients, lovers of every combination and sex, who might engage, under the cover of anonymity, in whatever liberties pleased them.

  To pass through the corridor of cabinets at a public ball was to pass into a shadow world where sound, not light, was omnipresent, especially to someone with ears as sharp as Klara's. All around would be the creaking of a mattress, the sighs of ecstasy and surrender. Always she'd thought it sordid, but now, suddenly, she rejoiced at the license such a ball might supply. Her body throbbed as she imagined what she and Akos might do there.

  Chapter 6

  "Oh, my rash darling! Whatever is this?"

  A high voice exclaimed into the stillness, returning them swiftly to reality. Herr Almassy had his arms around Klara. They were simply embracing, heart-to-heart, not kissing. His high cheek bones, close to her coil of auburn, shone pale in a ray of winter light.

  The interloper quickly closed the door, and then turned. He was a rotund creature with several chins, whose flabby, ivory skin looked as if it seldom saw the light of day. He wore a full length black robe like a judge or a physician, but he also sported an enormous curly brown wig. The plump hands carried grotesquely long finger nails.

  "Signor Manzoli!" Klara's big dark eyes flew open. She leapt to her feet and rushed to give the strange creature's painted, withered-apple cheek a kiss. "Thank God ‘tis you!"

  "And what if it hadn't been?" Manzoli aimed the question at Almassy. "You, Sir, would have placed yourself – and Signorina Silber – in gravest danger."

  "It shall not happen again." Almassy was on his feet at once.

  "Bene!" Manzoli replied in his high voice, emphatically shaking a long curly reddish wig. Tucking Klara's little hand into his arm, he turned and nodded his acceptance to Akos’ bow.

  "Akos Almassy, Concertmaster of Prince Vehnsky's orchestra, at your service, sir."

  "Indiscretion notwithstanding, I am pleased to meet you, young Concertmaster. I never had the opportunity last winter to compliment you on your handling of both violin and cembalo at the Musician’s Charity Concert."

  "I am honored that you should remember, Signor. I was fortunate that my Prince was in Vienna and that he ventured to think that I might, however humbly, replace the services of Herr Haydn."

  The affair had been the annual Widows of Musicians Charity concert, at which only the finest musicians were invited to play. Prince Esterhaza's Kapellmeister had been indisposed and Almassy had been put forward to take his place in a quartet. It had been a sickly season and so before the night was over, Almassy had found himself also stepping in to play cembalo as well.

  "I always notice the particularly capable members of our profession." Manzoli took the wing chair opposite. "Now, my rash children, what is going on?"

  Klara opened her mouth to begin, but Manzoli held up a plump hand. "First, you must absolutely promise me that you will both be more careful. Maximilian von Oettingen is not a man with whom one trifles. Klara, of all people, should know."

  Akos pressed Klara’s fingers. "I have admired Fraulein Silber ever since I first heard her sing during the Christmas season, two years ago. Then last year I had the delight of hearing her Eurydice. This winter I have been sufficiently fortunate to work with her."

  "Rehearsing for Prince Vehnsky's ball.”

  "Concertmaster Novotna was ill, so I was asked to take his place."

  "Yes, but I was coming down with a terrible catarrh, the one that has been keeping me from your lessons. Herr Almassy heard it at rehearsal and came to me that afternoon with medicine. Why, Signor, I don't know how he has done it, but in two weeks he has almost completely lifted a dreadful illness that had settled in my chest."

  Manzoli became more interested in the cure than in their indiscretion. He asked a lot of questions, wanted to know exactly what Akos had done. Then he explained that he had tried the massage cure himself many years ago when he had still been a singer.

  "It didn't work as well for me as it seems to have done for Fraulein Silber, but don't take me wrong, young sir. I believe you have done our opera a great service." His blue eyes turned protectively towards Klara. "Before I leave today, dear, if you feel up to it, I shall hear a note or two. We shall discover how you've weathered the storm, but before we get to that, I think that you, sir, should make something plain. Maria Klara is like a daughter to me….” The sentence was left unfinished but one of his long nailed hands filled in the missing words with a large gesture.

  "I intend to marry this lady, Signore," Almassy replied without hesitation.

  Manzoli raised an eyebrow. "And what about her career? She would have to leave Vienna."

  "If I can gain the support of my Prince, Fraulein Silber could continue to practice her art at the Prague opera. Also, the nobility of Leipzig and Dresden, many of whom have heard her sing in Vienna, will surely welcome her."

  Manzoli's ivory skin seemed to fade another impossible step. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. "A risky business, young Concertmaster. First, tell me just how do you intend to accomplish all that and still keep your very capable fingers attached to your hands?"

  "Signor!" Klara’s hand flew to her throat.

  "He should know the risks. Herr Almassy is not from Vienna, after all."

  "I know enough,” Almassy replied. “Let me say that I have certain advantages, both in my person and in my situation, of which you are unaware. Still, even if I did not, I'd do my best to make this lady my wife and then to honor her and care for her, as she and her talent, deserve."

  Manzoli sniffed. He shifted his gaze to Klara.

  "That is also my dearest wish, Signore Manzoli," Klara said. Then, gently laying one hand atop his, she asked, "Can you think of any way to help us?"

  "Well, let us wait with circumspection for Liese to bring the refreshment. Then, when we feel as if there isn't an ear at the door, we shall talk and see if anything occurs.”

  After tea had been served, Klara found a reason to send Liese out on an errand, to the apothecary for more of Herr Almassy's herbs. When the door closed behind her, Manzoli called in his own servant and instructed him to take a seat at the end of the front hallway corridor. He was instructed to drop the crutch he used in lieu of a missing leg if anyone came that way.

  "The Count will defend what is his, you know." Manzoli began when they were sure they were alone. "Rely upon it. Klara is a precious object, a rarity he's purchased, if you will. He's invested money and time and…." his pale eyes regarded her thoughtfully, "…passion, as well
, no need to deny it, my dear. Frankly, my increasingly gloomy view of life is such that all I can imagine is something terrible happening to one or both of you if you attempt to thwart him. He's a powerful man, a man of action, certainly, but also a man of deep device. He's accustomed to having his way."

  "I understand what the risks are." Almassy took Klara's hand into his, soothing her delicate fingers.

  Klara shuddered. What if Oettingen did some terrible thing to Akos? What if Oettingen removed her by force, as he'd done the summer after Giovanni? What if he carried her to his country estate again, a place where he'd entangled her that all-encompassing web of erotic enchantment?

  "Ah, you have a right to take risks for yourself, Herr Almassy, but not for Fraulein Silber, who is, as I think you understand quite well, a rare bird, a perfect Nightingale. Have either of you considered that her talent may be more important than your love? There's not another city in the empire that can boast such a voice as Klara's. And there's more fame and fortune coming for her, young Concertmaster. That is, if this love you both swear to today doesn't destroy you both."

  "But I do love Herr Almassy," Klara spoke bravely, although her teacher had just touched on her worst fears. "And if I don't try to take hold of my life now, the Count will have it all, every bit. He says I am his nightingale kept in a cage. He has also said that someday he will release me, but that I must never forget who holds the key. The prospect terrifies me, but as I think on it, the more I believe I should simply go to him like a good servant, and beg him to open the door."

  "And how, exactly, do you propose to convince him? To go hand in hand and kneel before him? If you do it privately, heaven knows what his pride and temper will allow. If you do it publicly, the nobility are likely to turn on you both. Even your generous Prince, Herr Almassy, detests what he sees as disloyalty in servants. If you induce Fraulein Silber to run away, you might find yourselves without employment. The Habsburg Empire, from Italy to the North, is not only most of the civilized world, but the only place where a talent such as Klara’s is held in high repute."

  "Yes, we are in a desperate strait." Akos’ strong hand came to rest upon Klara's back. "But I believe that what Fraulein Silver has just suggested is the right and honorable way. We must ask the Count for permission and I agree, we must do it publicly. In fact, I’ve had an idea. Perhaps your visit, which has discovered our secret and forced us to think more than minutes ahead, has been a blessing."

  When Manzoli lifted one of his shaved brows in inquiry, Akos said, "Prince Vehnsky desires a one act opera for his Shrove Tuesday entertainment. He wants Klara to sing. Count Oettingen, as well as other members of the high nobility, will certainly be present. We could devise an opera in which the subject mirrors our dilemma, a story in which an older, and, of course, noble gentleman relinquishes a younger woman to a lover. If the music and poetry were sufficiently moving perhaps, at the finale, the heroine and I could make our request."

  "Oh, God in Heaven! How could I sing? Every time I opened my mouth, I'd feel as if my heart were going to fly right out!"

  "It might lead to Klara’s release, but it also might lead to trouble. What if Count Oettingen feels that you have unfairly set his peers against him? He's won far more battles than you have, young man."

  "We are already in trouble, Signor," said Klara, “exactly as you have said. And the Count himself has said he would someday set me free."

  "Yes, when the time came, a thing which has to do with his pleasure, and not yours." Manzoli frowned and looked away.

  Akos said no more, but he slipped a protective arm around Klara's waist. In the next room, they heard the staff clatter to the floor, the signal that Liese was returning. When she entered a few minutes later, she found her mistress, the young ‘doctor’ and Signor talking about the latest opera.

  ***

  "Let me drop you by Vehnsky's palace, Concertmaster." Manzoli made the offer as he shouldered his cloak.

  "That is a long way out of yours, Signor."

  "My pleasure, Concertmaster."

  Once they were both in his carriage and the horses had moved off, Signor Manzoli said, "Now that we are alone, let us have a man to man talk, sir, that is," he added with a wry smile, "if you will allow me that honor."

  "Certainly, Signor. You made a great sacrifice in order to serve the Muse. In my eyes, that exalts you."

  "A very graceful speech, Herr Almassy." Accepting the compliment to go against Manzoli’s grain, but the poetry had clearly touched him. "Nevertheless, allow that I have seen the world from a rather different perspective than your own." When Almassy courteously nodded, he added, "Most especially in regard to Fraulein Silber."

  For a time, they rocked side by side in the carriage, and listened to the clatter that arose from the surrounding traffic.

  "You think I should relinquish her. Allow her to pursue her art in the imperial city."

  "You have anticipated me."

  "You believe, if I may presume further, that exactly as you have made a supreme sacrifice, so should I."

  "I cannot even say that I remember exactly what the two of you are feeling, for I gave up my manhood the year I was eleven. I know only shadows and echoes of the desire you feel, but I have lived long and have seen ample evidence of the transitory nature of human affection."

  "I have been in love before, Signor, but this is an experience entirely different, a grand passion, if you will. I believe that our love is part of our destiny."

  "Ah, so lovers must say! I repeat: I am inexpressibly worried about what will happen to Fraulein Silber."

  "You are also most unhappy that a future with me removes her from Vienna."

  There was a moment of silence.

  "Acute, Concertmaster. Yes, 'tis true that Fraulein Silber has more than one jealous old man who doesn't want to let her go. Still, try logic for a moment. What can you and the provinces offer her? What a shame to maroon in a backwater a talent like hers, the kind which comes once in a hundred years."

  "She may not, in fact, be exiled to the provinces forever, for neither Count Oettingen nor his spite shall endure forever. As to myself, well, if I didn't think I was man enough to take good care of her, I wouldn't have paid her court.”

  Manzoli cleared his throat and shook his head, indicating that he thought this was arrant nonsense.

  “Well, Signor, let me ask you a question. You've seen her health failing for the last several winters, have you not?"

  "She has had several severe catarrhs. Yes, that I cannot deny." Manzoli looked uncomfortable.

  "And do you know the cause?"

  Manzoli gave an expressive shrug. "These things are Acts of God."

  Almassy's handsome face darkened. "I don't think you believe that, sir."

  "Indeed? I believe you now verge upon presumption, Concertmaster."

  Their eyes locked. Almassy said, "The cause of her illness is exactly what you wish her to go on enduring, the patronage, along with all that entails, of Count Maximilian von Oettingen."

  Manxoli shook his head dismissively. "Comfort and safety, wealth, privilege and large doses of admiration are what an artist needs. Not that dubious and selfish desire which masquerades as love. Childbirth has ruined the career of more great prima donnas than I care to remember. Don't try to tell me that the danger, the uncertainty, into which you wish to carry her will do her health or her voice any good."

  "Do you know of the legend of the vampire, Signor? They do indeed walk the earth and many of them are noblemen."

  "This is not an opera or some Transylvanian tall tale, but the real, cruel world. Maria Klara is a rare being, a nightingale born. It is her destiny – and her doom – to be a great singer. Anything else that may happen in her life is, and should be, incidental. You, sir, are a fine musician. I appeal to you because I know you recognize her sublime gift."

  "I am said to have a good ear, Signor."

  "Yes, well, I want you to consider whether your desire to possess her, your over-conf
idence and the kind of impetuosity I just witnessed this afternoon is truly loving her, or whether all this will simply end in her ruin. After you've taken her away from Countn Oettingen and exiled her from Vienna, will she not simply end like a thousand other women? Her belly full every other year, her voice, that glorious voice, lost in the wilds of Hungary? What can you truly offer?"

  "Oettingen will kill her more surely than I." The reply came with equal force. "If she doesn't escape him, and soon, the grief she feels at what he demands of her, this evil which you call comfort, will cause her to fall ill again. Mark my words, Signor Manzoli, without hope of escape, this caged bird you profess to love will soon take flight into the arms of Death. I may not succeed in saving her, but with my last breath I shall strive to set her free."

  "And it may very well be your last breath, Concertmaster, when the Count finds out."

  "Why? Do you intend to betray us to him, exactly as you doubtless did when she was in love with Giovanni Lugiati?" The sudden accusation, the cold menace, caught the older man by surprise.

  "Yes, well, Lugiati was a vain, selfish fool. I always do what is best for Klara."

  "I shall not tell Klara about Lugiati if you will help us."

  "Outrageous! You know nothing! What are you, sir? Do you think she will make you rich? I warn you, she'll be of no use once you take her from Vienna. A singer needs connections. A wealthy patron is necessary to secure her roles at all the best opera houses."

  "She is a human being, too, a woman, and a sensitive one. Not everyone is capable of sacrificing as much as you have, Signor."

  "She must sing. That alone is her destiny."

  "I am her destiny."

  Then, reaching up, Akos rapped hard on the roof the carriage, bringing the coachman to a halt. Manzoli, stunned, sat speechless while his passenger opened the carriage door and stepped out.

  "Your servant, Signor Manzoli." Door opened, his tone was as even as if they had passed their journey in a discussion of the weather. Then, without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned on his heel. With a sweep of his long black coat, he strode away into thickening snow.