1636- the Flight of the Nightingale

by David Carrico

  Johann shrugged. “These two women are decidedly patrons by anyone’s standards or measurements, and we should not lose sight of that fact. And whether or not they act out of patron-like behavior or custom, or whether they are truly delayed by other issues, either way we must simply make allowances for that. And,” he concluded as a cab entered into the curved driveway before the opera house, “it appears they have arrived.”

  This was one of the fancier cabs on the streets, several cuts above the usual wagon or cart with a couple of bench seats on the back. This looked like someone had thought out what a people-moving conveyance should be like if it were to be good but not opulent like some nobleman’s carriage. There was an actual seating compartment, with sides to provide some stability for the passengers and assurance that they wouldn’t just go sliding off the seat. And the seats, although wooden, looked more like formed chairs than flat benches. The driver sat in front of that compartment on a short bench, guiding his pair of horses with ease. The horses were well tended and healthy. The driver was neat and well presented, for all that his clothing had some mending marks on them. Everything about the rig said there was care and forethought in it, which made it obvious why someone like Frau Simpson would use it.

  The driver pulled the team to a halt, set the brake, and jumped down with a small stool that he set below the door, which he opened to the passenger compartment. The cab was relatively low slung, but it was still a bit of a step up or down for someone as short as Frau Simpson. The driver offered a hand, and both Frau Simpson and Frau Haygood took advantage of it as they dismounted from the cab.

  Frau Simpson passed a bill to the driver, who grinned and bobbed his head in thanks. “Can you be here in about an hour, Horst?” she asked.

  “Yes, Frau Simpson. I will do that.”

  “Good. We’ll be waiting.”

  Frau Simpson turned toward the steps as the driver hopped back up onto the driver’s seat. By now Johann was standing at the bottom of the steps, Christoph and Heinrich to either side and slightly behind him. “Herr Bach,” she said in a cool voice.

  “Frau Simpson,” Johann said with a more than perfunctory bow. “Frau Haygood,” he repeated the bow to the other woman. “Thank you for making the time to hear our little presentation.”

  “Given the time that has passed since you began, this is a timely progress report,” Frau Simpson replied. She looked to his brothers. “And these are?”

  “My brothers, Christoph,” who nodded from where he stood at Johann’s right hand, “and Heinrich,” who echoed the nod from the other side. “They have been of great help in preparing the organ and getting it ready so quickly.”

  “Bach brothers,” Frau Simpson said with a bit of a smile. “So, the men who would have begun the Erfurt Bachs are now in Magdeburg, are they?” The smile broadened a bit. “Do you intend to become the Magdeburg Bachs, then?”

  Johann wasn’t surprised by Frau Simpson’s knowledge. He had already decided the woman was scary smart and probably knew more about music and the arts than any one person he knew, not even excepting Marla Linder or Heinrich Schütz.

  He gave a slight bow again. “We do indeed have some aspirations in that direction,” he said. “But that lies in the future.”

  “Maybe,” Frau Simpson replied.

  That caused a bit of an awkward moment, and Johann was afraid he knew exactly what she meant. He took a slow breath, but didn’t respond directly. “Shall we go inside, then?” he said instead.

  Mary inclined her head a bit and headed up the steps. Johann fell in beside her, with the others following behind. When they reached the top he stepped ahead to open the door and usher the two patrons through into the foyer. He repeated the action at the door into the auditorium, then led the way down the aisle. The main seating had not been installed yet, so there was a small grouping of chairs set most of the way down in the middle section of the seating areas.

  Frau Simpson and Frau Haygood took their place in the middle of the first row of four chairs and seated themselves. Christoph stood beside the second row. Johann descended to the organ console, which was now in its permanent place in the orchestra pit. Heinrich followed, carrying the folder of sheet music. They both stopped and faced their very small audience to take a bow, then Johann seated himself and Heinrich set the sheet music for the first piece on the music rack.

  Johann flipped the switch to turn on the blower that put pressure in the wind-chest system, adjusted the necessary stops, placed his hand on the keys, and took a deep breath. Releasing it, he began.

  The first piece he had chosen was the chorale prelude “Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme.” Johann had chosen this one because it was light and had good movement, yet moved over the tonal range well. It wasn’t an extremely lengthy piece, either, usually running between four and five minutes when timed with a good watch.

  Heinrich turned the pages at the right moments, so there were no interruptions or stutters there.

  It almost felt like a dance, with its pulsing beat. And he forced down the thoughts that brought into his mind. It wasn’t time to deal with those.

  That piece wound to its conclusion. Heinrich removed the pages and set the next piece in place. The pages were darker with notes than the first piece had been.

  Johann adjusted the stops, bared his teeth at the piece, again set his hands on the keys, and launched into “Wir glauben all an einen Gott,” another chorale prelude, but with a very different feel to it. It had a faster pace, was louder, and was martial in tone, sounding almost like triumphant fanfares. It was also shorter, taking between three and four minutes using the good watch again to time it.

  That ended with a flourish. Johann adjusted the stops again while Heinrich again replaced the sheet music. And this time the piece was the very favorite “Little” Fugue in G Minor. Of all the pieces he was learning and practicing, this had perhaps become the one that gave comfort to him. Even the dancing nature of the themes no longer disturbed him. It was such a joy to play that he didn’t even nod at Heinrich to turn the pages. He was playing with his eyes closed most of the piece, just reveling in it.

  The fugue came to its inevitable rousing conclusion. Johann held the final chord for a long moment, then released it, opening his eyes as he did so.

  “If you are not going to look at the music,” Heinrich whispered, “why do you have it up there?”

  “Just in case.” Johann reached over and turned off the fan switch.

  “Ah. So I’m a just-in-case page turner,” Heinrich murmured as Johann turned on the bench and stood up.

  Johann didn’t respond to that last comment. He stepped down from the console and mounted the steps at the end of the orchestra pit to return to the seating level.

  “Very nice, Herr Bach,” Frau Simpson offered. “Very nice, indeed. Ignoring the missing registrations and tonal stops, that was as good a performance as I’ve ever heard. And a very nice selection of pieces from the work of your namesake, Johann Sebastian.”

  “Thank you, Frau Simpson,” Johann said, adding a short bow to it. “As you realize, this is not the full capability of the designed instrument, but it is enough to establish that the work we have done so far is sound, and all that needs to be done is to finish the instrumentation.”

  Frau Mary nodded. “I’d say that has been reasonably demonstrated. Congratulations, by the way. Everything had a very nice sound. So how long before you can have enough of it done to perform a full concert of Sebastian’s music?”

  “Heinrich?” Johann looked to his brother.

  Heinrich stepped up beside Johann. “To finish fleshing out the primary registries will require perhaps another five to six hundred pipes. Fortunately our whitesmith, Master Luder, has gotten very good at producing the pipes, so unless there is some kind of problem…”

  “Like someone stealing pipes or ore,” Johann commented.

  Heinrich shot Johann a hard glance, and continued, “…we could have enough pipes on hand in the first week of
December.”

  Christoph picked up the discussion. “It would take another week or so to install the ranks in the pipe lofts, and perhaps a few days to test and possibly adjust tuning.”

  “Tuning,” Frau Mary said. “What temperament are you using?”

  “That,” Johann said, “was undoubtedly the hardest issue of the design. I…we…” he waved his hands to include his brothers, “have broken with the tradition of Johann Sebastian Bach, and decided to strive for equal temperament rather than well temperament.”

  Frau Mary’s eyebrows rose. “Have you, now? How remarkable. But who established the tuning base for you?”

  “Frau Linder tuned the initial set of pipes,” Christoph offered from behind the women. “We have simply matched tones with those as best we could.”

  “Ha,” Frau Mary said with a bit of a smile. “I see you have anticipated me. I was going to offer Marla as a source. She really does have perfect pitch, and she really does understand temperaments, so she can absolutely tell when something is as right as it’s going to get. Of course,” Mary’s smile grew wider at this point, “she is also seriously pregnant at the moment, so it’s probably best that you not be bothering her with tuning questions right now.”

  “Organs by their very nature tend to be approximations of tuning, anyway,” Johann said. “So many separate voices, so many separate throats, that unless Frau Linder goes through and tunes each one individually, there will be differences even between the octaves. And we cannot ask for that commitment of time from her, and even more importantly, we cannot afford to pay her for that service.”

  “Agreed,” Frau Haygood contributed. “I’ve negotiated with her before. The project can’t afford her prices.”

  Frau Mary gave a refined ladylike chuckle. “Oh, I can see that. I know the girl well enough to know that she is just a bit on the strong-willed side.”

  “Yeah,” Frau Haygood said. “That should be carved on a mountain somewhere.”

  That got a surprised laugh out of Frau Mary. She then looked back at Johann. “So when could you do a full concert?”

  He looked at his brothers—first Heinrich, then Christoph. “If we can get the pipes done as Heinrich says, and get the installation done as Christoph says, allowing me a few days to practice with the full voicing and stops, then by perhaps mid-month.”

  “Hmm.” Frau Mary looked to Frau Haygood. “Schedule?”

  Out came an up-time style loose-leaf notebook from Frau Haygood’s portfolio. She rested it on her lap, flipped it to one particular section and turned several pages. “Nothing scheduled yet. And good news, no apparent major church saint days around that date.”

  “What day would the fifteenth be?”

  Frau Haygood’s finger traced across the page.

  “Saturday.”

  “Good.” Frau Mary looked back to Johann. “Put December fifteenth on your calendar, Herr Bach. Do you have a program list firmed up yet?”

  Johann grinned, forgetting for a moment how serious this conversation was and what his additional goals were.

  “In addition to what I just played, I plan to open with the Toccata and Fugue in D Minor…”

  Frau Mary clapped her hands. “Of course,” she said. “What else could you open with but the most bravura of the fugues.” She laughed. “But what would you close with?”

  “The Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor.”

  Now her face got sober. “Oh, my. That…would be stupendous, I believe. So three fugues and two organ chorales. What else would you consider?”

  “I would like two more works like the chorales,” Johann said.

  “One of my favorites is ‘Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele,’” Frau Mary said. Johann pointed to Christoph, who pulled out his notebook and jotted that title down. “But for the other, rather than another chorale, you might consider one of his works entitled ‘Komm, süsser Tod.’”

  “Come, Sweet Death”? Johann wasn’t sure that was a title he was interested in putting in his performance list. Some of his reservation must have shown in his face, as Frau Mary tilted her head in regarding him.

  “I don’t think you’ll find it in the organ literature,” she said. “There might be some arrangements of it for organ, but I doubt if any of them made it to Grantville. It was a vocal work originally, but one of the most well-known instrumental arrangements was made by Leopold Stokowski for orchestra, and that album was pretty popular, so someone like Marcus Wendell might actually have it. If they do, I’m sure the Grantville Music Trust people could notate it for you. It might take you a little work to adapt it for organ, but it’s not complex, and it is a striking piece of music. Shall I send a telegram to inquire about it?”

  “Please,” Johann said. What could he say? The leading patron, the woman who was paying for his project, wanted a particular piece of music. He was going to say no? No. He just prayed he could learn it quickly.

  “I’ve got it,” Frau Haygood said as she pulled a pencil out of her portfolio and made notes in her journal.

  “Good.” Frau Mary stood. “I understand you might have a need for a private conversation, Herr Bach.” He said nothing; simply gave a nod. She returned a small smile. “Shall we draw aside, then?”

  He nodded again, then gestured for her to lead. Frau Mary chose to move to the right rear corner of the main seating floor, so Johann followed behind her.

  “So, you asked for this meeting,” she said as she turned to face him and crossed her arms.

  For just a short moment Johann considered who he was facing. As a music and arts patron, she was without peer in Magdeburg, which meant probably the entire USE, which meant she was in the top five of all of Europe, including the Russias. Her whims, her choices, her decisions could make or break careers and leave men—and now women, Johann reminded himself—either exulting or broken and despondent.

  For all that, she wasn’t particularly beautiful, by either up-time or down-time standards. She was petite, albeit not so much as Staci—short and slender, despite having enough years to be Johann’s mother. Her face was regular, perhaps even handsome, but it was a bit long and her nose was more aquiline than even classic beauty would accept. And he could see the traces of her age in the wrinkles around her eyes, the skin of her neck, the silver filaments in the dark hair that curled under her jawline, the prominence of bones and veins in her hands. But her carriage was strong enough that none doubted that she was what she was called by allies and opponents alike: the Dame of Magdeburg.

  Johann saw her fingertips tap where they were folded along one arm, and he hastened to get to his point.

  “I would not ordinarily ask you to intervene in a personal matter,” he said in a halting tone, “especially one where I dug my own pit, but I need to set something right and I am unable to get the person I wronged to—”

  “You’re talking about the Matowski girl, aren’t you?” Frau Mary interjected. Johann, train of thought derailed, just stared at her mutely for a moment. “No, she didn’t talk to me,” the up-timer continued. “She didn’t need to. Lady Beth is my assistant and right hand, and Marla Linder is my protégé and confidant. How quickly do you think I heard about what happened?”

  Johann shook his head. “I was…harsh.”

  “You were brutal, from what I heard.” Mary’s arms were still crossed, and her face was now cold. “Inexcusably so, I would say.”

  “I cannot argue with that,” Johann managed in a low tone.

  “Indeed.” There was a moment of silence, then she sighed. “Nevertheless, I can’t say that I’m surprised. Oh, not that you specifically were involved, Herr Bach,” she said as Johann stiffened. “It’s just that the collision of Grantville with the Germanies is going to be fraught with these kinds of conflicts of standards, understandings, and cultural assumptions. And it is our women who seem to be on the receiving end of most of it, because for all their complaints about it, their lives were so much freer in the up-time, and there are so few of them now in proportion to
the vastness of down-timers they have been dropped among. The great surprise is that there has been less of it than there could have been.”

  She leaned back against the wall and clasped her hands before her. “It’s one of the reasons I have pushed myself into this position.” She grinned for a moment. “Not that I wouldn’t have done it anyway, just for the fun of it.” The grin dropped. “But because of who and where I am I can offer some protection—a shield or aegis, if you will—for people like Marla and Staci, until they reach their full bloom and maturity and can stand on their own two feet in the midst of the storms of the world.”

  “Except it failed Staci,” Johann said with some bitterness.

  “Because you had connected with her and she had let her shields down.” She directed a strong glance at him. “Make no mistake about it, Herr Bach. You betrayed her.”

  That got through. Johann felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. He hadn’t thought of it that way before, even in his darkest of recriminations. He was robbed of voice, was shaken, and simply stared at Frau Mary.

  “You see it now,” she said. “Good.” There was no note of satisfaction in her voice, though. “At least you’re honest with yourself. We might be able to work with that.” She tilted her head and gazed at Johann for a long moment. He clung to her gaze. “What do you want, Herr Bach? Just to apologize?”

  “That much, at the very least. I would hope for more, but that much I must do, even if she does not accept it. I cannot leave things as they are.” Johann stopped talking.

  Frau Mary continued to look at him, reading him like a book, Johann suspected. “Do you love her, Herr Bach? Do you love Anastasia Matowski, the dancer, the singer, the pixie who enlivens everywhere she goes…or did, before you quenched her light?”

  “What is love?” Johann wasn’t trying to be difficult or sardonic. It was just that his understanding of love wasn’t as secure as it had been.

  Frau Mary pursed her lips for a moment. “Fair enough. So we’re back to what do you want, Herr Bach? What do you want for Staci?”