by Carrie Lofty
And Mathilda. She had stood with him, sharing the alternating moments of terror and ecstasy. Her dedication healed him. Her presence reassured him, helping him tether his soaring emotions and concentrate on his task. His prize.
Clenching the baton with a numb hand, Arie called the orchestra to attention.
They began.
In her opening cadenza, Mathilda sang to him with her violin. She began the first movement and carried the orchestra through difficult paces, through the spring rain and the dark reawakening. Midway through the second movement, as Arie narrated the story of his muse and her crashing arrival into his life, sensation returned to his fingers. He regained confidence in his body’s ability to sustain him through the awaiting rigors, a prospect that had been in doubt when standing before the duke, awaiting his fate.
Only with the third movement did Arie sneak a glance at Mathilda. She stood mere feet from his elevation, swaying with the instrument that seemed a natural extension of her graceful limbs. He had composed the segment during the long, desolate aftermath of their startling winter afternoon. Now, he conducted in the Residenz. With Mathilda at his side, they pulled their tender, passionate episode out of the secluded candlelight of his studio and shared it with an audience of hundreds.
With the finale, the fourth movement, Arie turned his attention to the cellists. They fashioned a seemingly random introduction of dark sixteenth notes, flitting around in hesitant confusion, until the violins sprang forth to create a sparkling, playful theme. The bridge to a second motif, equally dainty and dancing, became a series of descending scales to mirror the celli’s floundering introduction. Bassoons and basses complemented the flirty motifs with sturdy arpeggios, while the brass section added spiky syncopations.
Arie remembered love. He remembered the exploratory and teasing moments he had shared with Mathilda in his bed. Their hesitation was the cello. Her joy was the violin—oh, the joy they gave each other—while the brass beat with shocks of pleasure.
But then he had abandoned her, fleeing to the countryside in a fit of uncertainty and doubt. The orchestra pulled him through those stark, lonely weeks. Vehement strings competed with a rumbling dissonance from the oboes and clarinets, until the entire symphony developed the theme in a series of massive, ascending scales.
Mathilda’s violin returned, assuring a life of love and fidelity. When Arie had penned the final moments of his symphony, their happy ending was a mere vision, a dream written out in inky scrawls. That vision had become a promise strong enough to echo across the Residenz.
Before him, forty-one dedicated musicians animated his dream. Through technical prowess, heart and an irresistible power, they pushed the symphony toward its close. Fanfares of chirping woodwinds echoed over a series of uplifting scales from the brass. The timpani thundered and the strings soared, building and ringing through the hall in an expressive ode to a love Arie had never believed until Mathilda.
With a grand flourish, the symphony concluded.
Applause followed immediately, rivaling the orchestra in its exuberance and volume. Across Carabinierisaal, people joined to celebrate Arie’s triumph. Turning on the platform, head bowed, his body shook from the exertion and release of his accomplishment. He wanted to fall to the ground. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted Mathilda in his arms, the hard pressure of her embrace making the tumultuous moment real.
Repentance. Vindication. Freedom.
Raising his head, Arie witnessed the crowd standing in a spontaneous ovation. He turned, bringing Stüderl forward for his well-earned regards. And then he took Mathilda’s hand. For the first time since assuming his place on the conductor’s platform, he met her eyes. The approval and pride he saw there was all he had hoped, all he had expected to find. He kissed the back of her hand and presented her to the cheering assembly.
For her alone he said, “I believe you have found your calling.”
“You too.”
After an endless balm of heady applause, the audience began to stand, mill and adjourn. Duke Ferdinand found the pair and offered his congratulations. From all sides, Arie received words of admiration and acclaim, all of which served to erase the anxiety and misery of too many long years. He had given Sándor Bolyai his due, while rightfully claiming his own place in the world of music.
The Venners approached. Lady Venner beamed and embraced them both.
Arie forced himself to look at the stern nobleman. “My lord, I apologize. I understand—”
“De Voss, we’ve already established that I know very little about your profession.” A disparaging grin swiped across his hard face. “Congratulations.”
Arie gladly shook his proffered hand, inordinately pleased. He had not realized how much the aristocrat’s hard-earned approval would mean to him.
Michael Haydn joined the group, affectionately clapping Arie on the shoulder. “Well done, my boy. Excellent work.”
The air in Arie’s lungs left in a quick rush. “Sir, what happened here? I feel as if Herr Beethoven pulled me from under a guillotine’s blade.”
The aged Kapellmeister smiled tightly and shook his head. “Not just Beethoven, my friend. Napoleon.”
Arie raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me?”
“Bonaparte has declared himself Emperor of France. Our good prince fears the resumption of hostilities.”
Beside Arie, the women exchanged hasty looks before pinning Venner beneath the might of their combined stare. Lady Venner dragged her husband away, with Mathilda close behind.
Haydn nodded toward Duke Ferdinand where he milled with two other noblemen. “His interest in the workings of our profession is at a low ebb, which makes you a lucky man.”
A buzz of questions and fears swarmed in Arie’s brain, slowly circling, slowly quieting. His reprieve seemed a miracle, a dream—a dream he very much wanted to be true. “This is astonishing.”
“No, your symphony is astonishing.” He stepped back and bowed deeply. “I finally feel that I know something of who you are.”
“Thank you, sir. I cannot—”
“Enough now, Arie.”
The use of his given name stopped him.
“You have a second chance,” Haydn said. “Find Frau Heidel and make the most of these days.”
Eager for their turn at offering congratulations, an endless crush of well-wishers and admirers spun the pair apart. Arie remained gracious and calm, but he wanted nothing more than to have his fiancée beside him.
An exhausting half-hour later, he found his love. She stood outside the hall, pressing her back to the wall of an alcove. Holding the violin case in front of her with both hands, she appeared youthful and far too innocent. The look in her eyes, however, told tales of homecoming and anticipation. They embraced with the fierce happiness he had imagined only an hour earlier.
“Arie, I’m so proud of you.”
“And I of you, Tilda. You were—”
He sagged against her. His knees weakened as the rush of accomplishment dropped away. Once, he had believed being in love meant living in a state of turmoil, the very antithesis of calm. But in that alcove, together, he understood love to be a complex harmony of peace and need, growing together with such strength until he could not discern one element from the other.
“Very good, De Voss,” said a gruff voice.
Arie and Mathilda separated with less haste than they should have managed, but Beethoven did not seem to mind. He sneered in what appeared to be good-natured congratulations—about the symphony and their embrace.
“Thank you, sir.” Arie offered the composer a curt bow, but Beethoven did not return the gesture. “You did me a great service, and I am obliged.”
The strange, stout man grinned and spat toward Carabinierisaal. “They will have forgotten all of this in a week. They care not at all for the music—just the talk. We shut them up for a moment, though!”
“Yes, sir.”
Once, Arie would have agreed with Beethoven whole-heartedly, convinced that aud
iences filled with preening sycophants cared nothing for the music he adored. Mathilda had proven him wrong.
“And you, Frau Heidel, very impressive.” Beethoven’s dark glower flicked across her face. He leaned close. “If your maestro ever disappoints you, come find me.”
“Sir, if that is the requirement for our future acquaintance, I am afraid I’ll never see you again.”
Beethoven threw back his head and cackled. His robust laughter drew considerable stares from patrons exiting the music hall, but he would not abate. Mathilda and Arie glanced at each other, offering mirrored shrugs.
At last Beethoven calmed. “Vienna, then. I will premiere my new symphony. Consider yourselves invited.” He offered Arie’s most captivating student a last, assessing look. “And you should audition.”
HISTORICAL NOTE
Although Arie De Voss is fictional, his musical achievements are based on the innovations and style of Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827). Beethoven, through his compositions, became an object of radical speculation during his lifetime. One of the first composers to work freelance, as opposed to earning a living through a permanent position, his music bridged the structured, regular musical patterns of the Classical Era and the deeply emotional, experimental forms of the Romantic Era. Already losing his hearing when this story is set, he would become completely deaf over the subsequent two decades.
Johann Michael Haydn (1737-1806) died in his residence, having served as Salzburg’s Kapellmeister for almost forty-four years. He produced over 360 compositions during his lifetime. Along with the body of Mozart’s sister, Nannerl, Haydn’s torso is interred in communal crypt LIV in the Cemetery of St. Peter, while the brothers of the Benedictine monastery retain his head in an urn within their cathedral. Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809), sickly and bedridden for the last seven years of his life, outlived his younger brother.
Regina Schlick née Strinasacchi (1761-1829) was a renowned violin and guitar virtuoso and one of the first noted female soloists. In 1785, she married Johann Conrad Schlick, a cellist and Konzertmeister in the duchy of Gotha. She continued to tour Europe throughout her life, even after the birth of her children. She may have performed in Salzburg, but the concert detailed here is fictional.
Joseph Wölfl (1773-1812) was a moderately successful Salzburg pianist, composer and student of Michael Haydn. For this story, however, elements of his fictional personality were combined with those of another musician, Daniel Steibelt (1765-1823). Beethoven soundly defeated both men in piano duels during their careers, once by sight-reading his sheet music upside-down.
By an order deemed the senatus consultum, Napoleon declared himself emperor on May 18, 1804. Shortly thereafter, hostilities erupted between the French Empire and the Third Coalition nations.
Salzburg’s long history of independence ended on October 5, 1805, when French troops reoccupied the city. The following December, the Peace of Pressburg awarded the principality to Austria. Grand Duke Ferdinand III (1769-1824) and his surviving three children fled to Vienna, then to Florence. The 1809 Peace of Schönbrunn restored Ferdinand as the Grand Duke of Tuscany, where he ruled until his death. Those same accords ceded Salzburg to Bavaria. The territory finally became part of Austria in 1815 at the Congress of Vienna.
About the Author
Born in California, raised in the Midwest, Carrie Lofty met her husband in England—the best souvenir! After earning her masters degree from Ohio State University with a thesis on Old West legends, she was excited to learn that other parts of the world have history too…and then set about researching it all. Two precocious daughters and a half dozen moves later, she and her husband have settled just north of Chicago.
Aside from maintaining an active presence with the Chicago North and Wisconsin chapters of the Romance Writers of America, Carrie enjoys science fiction movies and TV programs, jogging along Lake Michigan, Shakespeare, time spent with friends, and any opportunity to belly dance.
RT Book Reviews declared of Carrie’s 2008 debut novel: “Lofty writes adventure romance like a born bard of old.” She also wrangles the talented authors of Unusual Historicals, a blog she founded in 2006 to celebrate historical romances set in unusual times and places. With Ann Aguirre, she co-writes hot’n’dirty apocalyptic paranormal romances as Ellen Connor.
CarrieLofty.com | EllenConnor.com
http://www.twitter.com/carrielofty
http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9002-4
Copyright © 2010 by Carrie Lofty
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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Table of Contents
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Contents
COPYRIGHT
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PART TWO
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
HISTORICAL NOTE
About the Author