‘Oh, poor Max,’ said Cristabel. ‘It’s strange how it all comes back, talking about him. Even then, when we were children, he was unhappy about the way things were: the money his father spent, the things he spent it on.’
‘He’s not managed to do much about it,’ said Franz Wengel. ‘But am I not to hear your voice? I have been told that it is something quite extraordinary. I came in the hope that I might have the privilege …’
The words were respectful enough; the tone was not. Cristabel flashed him a challenging glance. ‘And if it pleases you, Monsieur the new Gluck, you will condescend to write an opera for me?’
‘I might.’ And then, ‘Forgive me. For me, the world of music has its own ranks.’
‘There is also the world of manners, Herr Wengel,’ said Lady Helen.
* * *
‘That’s a very self-confident young man,’ Cristabel said to Martha after their last guest had gone.
‘Wengel? Yes.’ It only struck Martha afterwards as odd that she had known at once who Cristabel meant. ‘I wonder if he really is the new Gluck. Are you going to sing for him?’
‘Oh, I think so. A hostile audience is just what I need.’
‘You thought him hostile?’
‘Well …’ Cristabel thought about it. ‘Patronising, maybe?’
‘No proper respect,’ Lady Helen had listened to the exchange with amusement. ‘Very good for you, Belle. A taste of what your future holds. To be patronised by a miner’s son.’
‘An educated one,’ said Martha. ‘We talked a little, he and I. He’s read a great deal. Put me right on a quotation from Rousseau.’ She was surprised by one of her rare blushes. ‘He was right. I looked it up just now.’
‘Maybe all the miners’ sons in Lissenberg go to the University,’ said Lady Helen. ‘You always made it sound like the Kingdom of Heaven, Belle. Except for the tyrant prince.’
‘Who is worse than ever, from what Herr Wengel said. I wonder what I should sing for him.’ She was moving towards her music-room when her aunt put out a restraining hand.
‘I trust you are not thinking of giving that young genius a private audience?’
‘Oh!’ Now it was Cristabel’s turn to blush. ‘I had not thought… But, with Signor Arioso … Just one of my ordinary lessons …’
‘No,’ said Lady Helen. ‘When we get to Venice, and you commence your career, you may be as Bohemian as you please, but so long as we are here in Paris you will behave as Lady Cristabel, a duke’s daughter. I think we owe your father that.’
‘I cannot imagine why,’ began Cristabel mutinously, but Martha intervened.
‘I’ve been thinking that we should give some kind of informal entertainment… A “thank you” to all the friends who have been so good to us. And then, what more natural than that Cristabel should sing for the company?’
‘Herr Wengel among them, because he has been so good to us?’ asked Lady Helen.
‘No, because he might write an opera for Cristabel. I agree with you about the difference between Paris and Venice, so far as our behaviour is concerned, but we must still be taking the long view about Cristabel’s career. If he is really as promising as Arioso says …’
‘And so expert in the modern classics!’ Lady Helen laughed. ‘I thought Herr Wengel well enough, in his brusque way, but I can see there must be a charm to him that passes the elderly by.’
‘You’re not elderly, Aunt Helen,’ protested Cristabel. ‘Why, only yesterday I heard Talleyrand flirting with you in the most outrageous way.’
‘Dear man, he always does. It makes one feel quite young again. So – this entertainment of ours … Tomorrow week, perhaps? Do you think we can organise it by then, Martha? And do you think Signor Arioso will permit it, Belle?’
Arioso was enthusiastic about the plan, only insisting that the actual singing be kept as informal as possible, but another problem presented itself. Too many people wanted to come. The gossip about the unusual trio of women had followed them from England, and they were soon at their wits’ end as to how to accommodate their guests in their small, elegant salon. The problem was solved by Talleyrand, paying an unexpected call before their usual receiving hour. ‘I had hoped to find you alone,’ he told Lady Helen. ‘I am come with a request which I hope, as an old friend, you will feel able to grant.’
‘Yes?’
‘This soirée of yours next week. Lady Cristabel is to sing, I believe. It has aroused a good deal of interest, as no doubt you are aware. It has been suggested to me that you might have difficulty accommodating the numbers in your charming apartments. Would you consider changing the venue to my house? I would be proud and happy to entertain your guests, if you would not mind my adding a few of my own.’ He leaned forward, suddenly confidential. ‘The truth of the matter is that the First Consul has heard the talk about your niece. He was struck with her when she was presented to him the other day. She made him a saucy answer, he says, and there are not many women who dare do that. An unusual young woman, and so is Miss Peabody, who is American, one of our natural allies. I do beg you to oblige me in this, Lady Helen. I am sure it can do your protégées no harm.’
‘It would be … unusual,’ she said.
‘So is your whole situation. And, consider a little. Think what a friendly gesture it would be. I, a Frenchman, to give a reception for your English and American young ladies. I am sure you want this peace to last as much as I do.’
‘I most certainly do. And you think it won’t?’
‘You were always quick.’ He shook his head at her. ‘I most certainly think it would be a pity if my master were to feel himself slighted in any way by you British just now.’
‘And he would take a refusal as a slight?’
‘He’s not an easy man, madame.’
‘I hardly felt I could refuse, when he put it like that,’ Lady Helen told the two girls afterwards.
‘It’s hardly the informal little party we planned,’ said Martha.
‘I hope Herr Wengel doesn’t decide not to come,’ said Cristabel.
‘Oh, he’ll come,’ Martha told her. ‘He thinks the sun rises and sets in Bonaparte. Thinks him a great liberator! I almost lost patience with him.’
‘That’s unlike you,’ said Lady Helen.
In the end, everybody came. ‘For two pins, I’d be nervous.’ Cristabel had found Martha alone for the moment, surveying the crowded rooms.
‘Oh, no, you would not. It’s not in your character.’ Martha smiled at her. ‘Forget the crowd; sing for Herr Wengel. He’s the one who matters.’
‘But is he here?’
‘Not yet, but neither is Bonaparte, and it is his arrival that is your cue to sing. How glad I am that it is Monsieur Talleyrand arranging all this, not I.’ She turned to receive the compliments of one of her devoted suitors, turned back to Cristabel: ‘When the time comes, remind yourself that you never looked better. No need to think about your voice; we know about that.’ The two girls had gone to a dressmaker recommended by Lady Helen’s old friend, Madame Recamier, and the results had more than justified the expense. Cristabel was in clinging high-waisted white with a deep blue sash, that matched the blue of Martha’s dress. The cut of this, combined with the newest thing in Paris corsets, had made Martha laugh, surveying herself in the glass. ‘I look positively elegant. I hope I do not find myself believing my wooers when they speak of my charms.’ But her thoughts now were all for Cristabel. ‘Don’t think about Wengel,’ she was inspired to say. ‘Think you are singing for that poor Prince Max. I like the sound of him.’ And, turning quickly at a stir among the crowd, ‘He’s here, Bonaparte. And Wengel, too,’ she added, seeing that young man in the little crowd around the First Consul. ‘Best get ready, love. You know you can do it.’
‘Thank you. Oh, Martha,’ the unexpected endearment had touched her. ‘I do thank you …’
‘Not now!’ She took her arm and led her through the curious crowd to the ball-room where Talleyrand had had a small platfor
m built. He had offered to obtain any selection of musicians to accompany her that Cristabel had wished, but she had refused, with thanks, preferring the familiar figure of Signor Arioso at the fortepiano.
As he settled himself at it, Bonaparte came briskly in to seat himself in the front row of the gilded chairs and the rest of the party followed, talking and laughing, many still holding glasses of champagne, a volatile, unpredictable audience.
Cristabel turned from the piano, where she had been talking to Arioso, moved quietly across to the centre of the little stage, stood for a moment, looking beyond the audience, then swept a low, slow curtsy to where Bonaparte sat with Talleyrand beside him. It got her a round of applause, which she silenced with a gesture. ‘I am going to sing you an English song,’ she said, and gave them ‘Greensleeves’.
4
Three days later, they were still receiving the congratulations of their friends. Everyone had called except Franz Wengel. Their rooms were so full of flowers that they had started sending them to Madame Campan’s school for girls, since its formidable headmistress was another of Lady Helen’s old friends. They had become fond of two of her pupils, Henriette and Stephanie de Beauharnais, motherless nieces of Josephine, who were being educated there, thanks to Bonaparte. Since they were too young to attend Talleyrand’s party, Cristabel was consoling them with a personal recital in her music-room when Herr Wengel finally called and found Martha alone in the salon.
‘Hush!’ Instead of greeting her, he raised a brusque hand for silence. ‘Just what I needed! A chance to hear her in peace, when she’s relaxed.’ He moved closer to the door and listened with all his attention as Cristabel finished ‘Greensleeves’ and plunged straight into the next thing she had sung, an aria from Gluck’s Alceste. ‘Just as I thought,’ he said when this was over. ‘Amazing that Arioso has not noticed, but I suppose being always with her, and the voice – the range – so extraordinary as it is. Is she going to sing the whole programme over again?’ he went on impatiently. ‘I must speak to her.’ He made to open the door.
‘No, Herr Wengel.’ Martha’s patience snapped. ‘She is singing to two young friends. You will not interrupt her. Your affairs must be pressing indeed, if it has not been possible for you to call before this to congratulate Lady Cristabel on her performance. I know she has been wanting to hear what you thought. I trust you managed to get yourself to Monsieur Talleyrand’s house for the necessary visit? If not, I must remember to apologise to him on your behalf, since you were invited there as our guest.’
He was hardly listening to her. ‘Congratulate? No time for that. I have to return to Lissenberg sooner than I expected. If I am to get her breathing right we must lose no time in going to work.’
‘Her breathing right? What do you mean? Everyone says –’
‘Everyone is a fool. Listen! Can’t you hear the tension in it? The natural voice God gave her ruined by over-training? First she will lose her top notes, then, if she goes on like this, her voice will be gone by the time she’s thirty. Amazing Arioso has not noticed. One can only assume it’s his fault. But I can rectify it; no need to look so anxious.’
‘I’m not looking anxious, Herr Wengel, I’m looking furious. What right have you to come bursting in here, as if you owned the place, criticising, finding fault –’
‘What right? That of a fellow musician. She will recognise it, see if she does not.’ And he pushed open the door and went in as Cristabel finished her Handel aria. After a few moments of confusion, he was established at the piano in Arioso’s place while Arioso and Cristabel listened intently to what he had to say.
‘We had better leave them to it, I think.’ Martha shepherded the two girls into the other room and closed the door behind her with an angry click. ‘No room there for amateurs. What can I give you young ladies to drink? Minette? Stephanie?’
They asked, greatly daring, for ratafia and she indulged them with a thimbleful each, letting them chatter on about life at school and how delightful it was after the country convent where they had been immured until Bonaparte heard of their plight.
‘Just think, he made Father give us up to him,’ said Minette.
‘Well, Father had never done anything about us. It was the English lady who paid our bills. Dreary old convent,’ said Stephanie.
‘All that praying.’ Minette made a face. ‘Too old-fashioned for words. Tell me, Miss Peabody, what did you wear for Monsieur Talleyrand’s party? If we could but have gone to that! Is Madame Grond really such an old fright as they say? Poor man, only think of Uncle Bonaparte trying to make him marry her! Our uncle can do anything, I believe. He’s promised to find us charming husbands, just as soon as we are old enough, hasn’t he, Stephanie?’
‘I’d rather find my own,’ Stephanie shrugged an elegant shoulder.
For once, Martha was glad to see them go. Their cheerful chatter usually entertained her, and was improving her French by leaps and bounds, but today she longed to know what was going on in the next room. Could there really be something wrong with the way Cristabel sang? Might she be in danger of losing the voice on which they counted for their future? Appalling thought. But how could she think of anything else? What would they do? Impossible for Lady Helen and Cristabel to return to England and Sarum House. She was responsible for them, and, for the first time, realised just what she had taken on.
When they emerged from the music-room at last, Cristabel was white, Arioso drawn and pale, Wengel self-confident as always. ‘Do what I say, and you have nothing to fear.’ He took Cristabel’s hand in farewell. ‘Relaxation. Calm. Half an hour’s practice a day, as I have shown you. Not a note else. Not if Bonaparte himself should ask it. I shall come every day, to make sure you are getting it right.’
‘Thank you.’ Cristabel looked up at him, her eyes full of unshed tears. ‘I do thank you, Herr Wengel.’
‘No need.’ Smiling down at her. ‘I have a stake in this too. You are to sing in my opera, remember.’
‘When it is written,’ said Martha, unexpectedly tart. ‘What time shall we expect you tomorrow, Herr Wengel?’
‘That I am afraid I cannot say. I have a mass of business on my hands. But you may count on my coming, Lady Cristabel.’
‘A fine thing!’ Martha exploded after he had left. ‘And you are to stay home all day awaiting his coming! Who does he think he is? Why are you laughing, Lady Helen?’
‘At you, I am afraid, my dear. I thought you were the American democrat; believed in the aristocracy of the intellect. And there you go, just like the rest of us, expecting young Herr Wengel to bow and scrape to Cristabel just because she is a duke’s daughter.’
‘Dear me.’ Martha thought about it. Then: ‘No, Lady Helen. Because she is a singer, a fellow musician, and a woman. Surely we are entitled to a little consideration on that score?’
‘Our frailty? It’s a dangerous argument. And while we are arguing, I wish you would stop calling me “Lady Helen”. It makes me feel a thousand years old.’
For a week, the household revolved around Wengel’s daily visits. By common, if tacit, consent they had suspended their arrangements for the move to Venice, but did not discuss what they would do if Wengel’s verdict, at the end of the trial period, was discouraging. Cristabel was pale and withdrawn, and Lady Helen unusually quiet. As for Martha, she turned down a couple of proposals from eligible young Frenchmen so sharply that they went away vowing never to call again. Only Wengel remained his usual confident self, and Martha had to admit that she was grateful to him. He turned up at the most impossible moments, entirely regardless of the household routine, always cheerful, always ready for a few minutes’ talk before he and Cristabel retired to the music-room. Every day he had a new possible subject for the opera he was to write for her. ‘Joan of Arc’ perhaps? ‘Dido and Aeneas’? Or a subject from Shakespeare? Romeo and Juliet; Antony and Cleopatra?
‘He does us good,’ Martha said to Lady Helen after he and Cristabel had retired to begin work, with Arioso, as alway
s, in attendance.
‘He most certainly does. A remarkable young man, if not entirely a likeable one.’
‘You don’t find him so?’
Lady Helen laughed. ‘I never pretended to be anything but an old-fashioned aristocrat, my dear. I find his manners, or lack of them, deplorable.’
‘Not his fault, I suppose.’ Martha was surprised to find herself defending Wengel.
‘Nor mine, that I don’t enjoy seeing how cavalierly he treats you and Cristabel. Besides, have you not noticed? It is not that he is ignorant of how to behave. It’s something quite different. He’s caught the French infection, I think; believes that Jack is as good as his master.’
‘That’s what we Americans think.’ Martha changed sides suddenly.
‘All very well in your United States. Herr Wengel had better apply himself to learning more conduct if he hopes to succeed as an operatic composer at home in Lissenberg, or anywhere else in the German Principalities. He’ll need an aristocratic patron if he is to get on, and you cannot treat a patron as Wengel does us.’
‘To bow and scrape and wear livery,’ said Martha. ‘Disgusting. At home in America it all goes by talent.’
‘Does it go well?’
‘Not yet, but it will.’ She sounded more confident than she felt. ‘But do you really think it will damage his chances, that he cannot curry favour?’
‘That he does not behave with ordinary courtesy, you mean? Yes, I do.’
‘Then someone should tell him so.’
‘I don’t advise it, my dear, not if you wish to keep him for your friend. I never knew a young man yet who enjoyed being lectured by a young woman. Not even for his own good. Or maybe I should say particularly not when it is for his own good. Ah, the lesson is over.’ A triumphant arpeggio had sounded from the next room and now Cristabel appeared, flushed and smiling, with Arioso and Wengel behind her.
‘He says the worst is over!’ For Cristabel, just now, there was only one ‘he’. ‘It is only to keep practising, when we get to Venice, as I have been doing. And, Martha, Aunt Helen, he thinks I shall be ready for the stage sooner than we thought. Two years from now!’
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