1635: Music and Murder (25 page)
Read 1635: Music and Murder Online
Authors: David Carrico
"Yes, sir." Isaac's mind was spinning like a dreidel, slower now, settling, only to be sent flying again by his companion's next statement.
"Your family is doing well, in Aschenhausen." Isaac's jaw dropped. He stopped dead in the street and turned toward his companion.
"How . . . how . . . " Both his tongue and his mind were stuttering.
"Oh, come now," Don Francisco—he was so well known by that name that Isaac had trouble thinking of him by any other—smiled as he resumed walking, towing Isaac along beside him. "What kind of spy master would I be, Isaac Fremdling, Yitzhak ben Shlomo haLevi, if I could not find your name and your roots?" Isaac shook his head in bewilderment. "Your father is still rabbi of the congregation there. Your mother's hands hurt from the rheumatism more, but your sisters Devorah and Rachel are taking over more of the housework from her. Your younger brother Reuven is becoming quite a scholar, able to quote lengthy passages from
Torah
and
Nevi'im
by heart, and beginning to read the
Talmud
. There is talk of sending him someplace to study . . . perhaps to Rabbi Mordechai in Prague."
Isaac's heart sang within him. This was the first word he had had of his family since he had been disowned by his father over five years ago. They were all still alive! The girls must be big enough to be dreaming of marriage, and Reuven . . . why, Reuven must be almost thirteen now, preparing for his
bar mitzvah
! The old ache suddenly was made fresh again, stabbing to his core, eliciting a choked sob that he tried to muffle with his other hand. He was grateful when Don Francisco effected not to notice.
"I . . . thank you," he said finally. "That is . . . good news . . . indeed."
They walked together for a long moment. Finally Don Francisco spoke. "I know that the . . . manner . . . in which you left Aschenhausen left you feeling neither fish nor fowl, and that during your entire time at Mainz you did not seek a congregation because of your hurt and your uncertainty. I am glad that you are finally finding your way back to us. I will say to you that while your father may have named you dead to his family, and even his congregation, he did not do so to all of us. There is a place for Isaac Fremdling—for Yitzhak ben Shlomo—among the Sephardim, and we would welcome you to do more than just stand in the back like an unbelieving visitor . . . or worse, the shade of Shmuel. When you return to Magdeburg, they will make you welcome, help you to feel comfortable wearing the
talit katan
again." The absolute certainty in his voice reassured Isaac. In some faint corner of his mind, he wondered just why this greatest of his race was interested in his affairs.
"Thank you, sir. I will try to be . . . worthy of your kind support."
They turned a corner, and Don Francisco said, "As it happens, I am acquainted with someone in Aschenhausen."
Isaac managed a small laugh, little more than a hiccup. "As it happens, sir, that does not surprise me."
"Yes." Don Francisco laughed. "Well, as I said, I am a spy master. So, as you pass by Eisenach," after the other revelations of the evening, it was no surprise to Isaac that his planned journey was seemingly common knowledge, "you might go by way of Aschenhausen."
"And is there some small task or errand I may perform for you while I am there?"
"If it's not too much trouble," the other said drolly. "I would greatly appreciate your delivering a few pounds of coffee beans to the merchant, Joachim Arst."
Isaac laughed. "Willingly, sir, willingly. For, as you probably know, I owe a debt to Master Arst."
"Indeed. Someone will deliver the package of beans to you tomorrow. Simply carry them in your baggage until that time. And do be careful." Isaac nodded. They turned another corner. Isaac looked up to see the Thuringen Gardens in front of him.
"And so," his companion said, "having enjoyed our time together, I deliver you to the arms of your companions, for if I mistake me not, you are due to begin making music in a few moments."
Grantville
Saturday evening, January 7, 1634
"Finally!" Franz hissed. "Where have you been?"
"Sorry," Isaac whispered, taking the violin that Franz shoved at him. "Don Francisco wanted to talk with me."
"Don Francisco Nasi?" Franz was incredulous.
"Do you know another one?"
Franz opened his mouth to answer, then closed it as the Gardens' manager stepped up on the platform. He pushed Isaac over to where Marla and the rest of their friends waited—Marla with studied patience, and their friends with smiles. "Remember the program."
"And now," the manager boomed, "put your hands together for Marla and her friends." He jumped down off the platform, Hermann plucked a note on his harp, Franz snapped his fingers four times and they broke into song.
Now I've often heard it said from my father and my mother
That going to a wedding was the makings of another.
Well, if this be so, then I'll go without a bidding.
Oh kind providence, won't you send me to a wedding?
And it's oh, dear me, how would it be
If I died an old maid in the garrett?
This was one of the light-hearted Irish songs they had learned from Marla's mother's album collection. Marla was having fun with it. Already fingers and toes were tapping all over the Gardens.
Well, now there's my sister Jean, she's not handsome or good-looking,
Scarcely sixteen and a fellow she was courting.
Now, she's twenty-four with a son and a daughter.
Here am I at thirty-five and I've never had an offer.
And it's oh, dear me, how would it be
If I died an old maid in the garrett?
Although he had made great strides in rehabilitating his crippled left hand, Franz was still not up to the fast pace of many of the Irish songs. For this one he had found a tambourine and was just providing a steady beat behind the music.
I can cook and I can sew, I can keep the house right tidy,
And wake up in the morning to get the breakfast ready.
There's nothing in this wide world would make me half so cheery
As a wee, fat man who would call me his own deary.
And it's oh, dear me, how would it be
If I died an old maid in the garrett?
When Marla started the third verse, Franz moved up behind her and began to mug at her, bowing his legs, pooching out his stomach and holding air in his mouth to distend his cheeks. As she got to the wee, fat man line he waddled up next to her and offered her his left hand, to the laughter of the audience, all the while keeping the rhythm of the tambourine in his right hand going against his leg. Marla slapped at him, and he pretended to duck in fear.
So come landsman or come kingsman, come tinker or come tailor,
Come fiddler or come dancer, come ploughboy or come sailor,
Come rich man, come poor man, come bore or come witty,
Come any man at all who will marry me for pity.
And it's oh, dear me, how would it be
If I died an old maid in the garrett?
All through the fourth verse, Franz continued to mug at Marla, changing his posture and expression throughout the roll call, to constant laughter from the audience.
Well, now I'm away home, for nobody's heeding.
Oh, nobody's heeding to poor Annie's bleeding.
So, I'm away home to my own wee bit garret.
If I can't have a man, then I'll have to get a parrot.
And it's oh, dear me, how would it be
If I died an old maid in the garrett?
And it's oh, dear me, how would it be
If I died an old maid in the garrett?
They finished the song with a flourish. Marla joined hands with Franz to take a bow to loud applause. They stepped back, Marla picked up her flute from a stool behind her. Isaac laid his violin down on the same stool, then stepped forward. Franz snapped his fingers again.
It was another fast, funny song. Isaac led out in
Finnegan's Wake
. As he beat the tambourine Franz could see the audience just drinking this one in as well. Most everyone in the room could relate to everything in the song: workmates who loved their drink; the dangers of working on a construction site; sudden death; the wake being held in the home and the missus wanting to do her husband's memory proud with a feast; the free flowing beer and booze and the drunken brawl erupting (lots of laughter there, and several people pointing at others). Wild cheers erupted when the whisky spilled on Tim Finnegan's corpse and he revived.
Isaac picked up his violin, Marla stepped back out front, and they moved on to other songs. As the evening progressed, the Gardens got more and more crowded. Soon every chair and bench was occupied and people were standing around the perimeter of the room, elbow to elbow. There was scarcely room for the barmaids to squeeze through to pick up and deliver mugs. The Committees of Correspondence were well represented, their people having arrived early and claimed three tables near the front. Finally, the evening neared its end.
They finished an instrumental piece, and Marla stepped out front and held her hand up. The room quieted quickly.
"Thanks for coming tonight, everyone. I hope you've enjoyed yourselves." The room erupted into a roar of applause. She held her hand up again, and again the quiet descended quickly. "This will be our last performance in Grantville for a while. We leave Monday. I wish I could say we're taking this show on the road." The up-timers in the audience laughed. "But we're going to be doing some business, and when we get back we'll be in Magdeburg. But, if you get up that way, we sing sometimes at the Green Horse tavern. Stop in if you get a chance.
"We're going to do one more song for you, another old traditional song from the country we came from.
Franz reached down and picked up his violin. He was conscious of everyone looking at him as he stepped forward, which gave him a faint chill . . . playing in public was still a bit of a challenge for him. Raising his bow, he began the introduction to the final song. At the appropriate place the others joined in, and Marla began to sing.
The water is wide, I cannot cross o'er.
And neither have I the wings to fly.
Build me a boat that can carry two,
And both shall row, my true love and I.
A ship there is and she sails the seas.
She's laden deep as deep can be;
But not so deep as the love I'm in,
And I know not if I sink or swim.
The joy of playing with Marla, of making music with his wife, filled Franz. He abandoned himself to the music while she sang, seeking to meld his violin with her golden voice.
I leaned my back against a young oak,
Thinking he were a trusty tree;
But first he bended and then he broke;
Thus did my love prove false to me.
O love is handsome and love is fine,
Bright as a jewel when first it's new;
But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew.
All the others dropped out. Franz and Marla did the last line together.
And fades away like the morning dew.
They stood together for a moment, then relaxed their posture as the patrons began applauding. They joined hands and—one mind, one heart—bowed in acknowledgement.
Movement II - Andante espressivo
Grantville
Monday, January 9, 1634
Franz looked at his traveling companions, and Maestro Carissimi. They were standing outside the office of Lady Beth Haygood, talking and waiting for Hermann. As Marla turned to ask
il maestro
a question, Franz smiled to himself. He remembered Marcus Wendell's reaction last Friday when he mentioned that he found it odd that an English noblewoman was serving as Frau Simpson's aide.
"Who are you talking about?" Marcus' brow had furrowed, indicating his perplexity.
"This Lady Beth Haygood," Franz had replied. His brow furrowed in turn, as Marcus had burst into laughter.
"Lady," Marcus had finally said, after his hilarity had died down, "is her name, not a title." Franz had looked very confused, he was sure. "Oh, yes, it really is. Americans sometimes name their kids the strangest things. I had a friend in college, a boy from Alabama, whose name was Colonel A. Johnson. He caught a lot of flack from the ROTC guys. Go slip Tom Stone a few beers some night, and see if he'll tell you what his sons' given names originally were." Marcus chuckled again. "Just say her name—ladybeth—really fast like it's one word."
Just as Franz was remembering his friends' reaction when Marla had shared the story of his confusion, Hermann arrived. Shaking off his reverie, Franz said, "Hermann is here, and he was the last. Let us discover what Frau Haygood has in store for us." Opening the door, he led the way into the small room. The woman at the desk, presumably Lady Beth herself, looked up as they trooped in. She was an older woman—older than Marla, anyway. Franz refused to try and guess at her actual age; most of the Grantville women wore their ages well, and he had embarrassed himself more than once when age had entered into conversations.
"Hi, Lady Beth," Marla sang out as she entered and closed the door behind her.
"Hey, Marla." Franz continued to study Lady Beth. He had probably been introduced to her at some point—if at no other time, then during their wedding reception, he was sure—but she was not familiar to him. He saw an oblong face, like so many of the Grantvillers, framed in shoulder length wavy dark blonde hair. She wasn't a pretty woman—with a strong jaw and a strong nose, perhaps the best that could be said was she was attractive—but her blue eyes and warm smile were welcoming on this cold Monday morning.
"So, what's up?" Marla asked. "We're supposed to be on the road pretty quick."
"Well, I think you're going to have to change your plans somewhat." Lady Beth looked around at the group. "Mrs. Simpson told me to work with you to set up some musician recruiting trips to Mainz, Stuttgart and Saxony. However, according to some information that Don Francisco provided to me this weekend, the Elector of Saxony's orchestra is not in Saxony right now."
Not in Saxony? Franz looked at the others, knowing that he probably looked as confused as they did. "If they are not in Saxony, then where are they?"
"According to Don Francisco . . . " Lady Beth picked up a piece of paper and read from it, " . . . the Elector's musicians, including
Kappellmeister
Heinrich Schütz, appear to all be in Copenhagen, involved in the upcoming wedding celebrations for Prince Christian of Denmark and Princess Magdalene Sybille, the Elector's daughter."
"Oh," was all that Franz could say. Nonplussed, he looked at his friends. They looked back, equally at a loss for words. They all knew of Heinrich Schütz, who was perhaps the preeminent musician in the German territories, but none of them had ever had any contact with him. If he himself had traveled from Dresden to Copenhagen, then it was certain that no musician of any capability had been left behind.
Surprisingly, it was Maestro Carissimi who broke the silence. "Meister Schütz, you say? But I know this man. Oh, do not mistake me," he hurried on, as the others looked at him. "We have sent letters only. He came to Venice some years ago and spent time with Maestro Monteverdi, who was kind enough to give him my name. He sent letters asking questions, I responded, but never we did meet. A gracious man, a gifted man, but so lonely in Dresden he was, with no one sharing his vision."
An idea flared in Franz's mind like a star shell bursting in the night sky. "Josef! Rudolf! You are from Hannover. Could you make your way to Copenhagen?"
The two brothers looked at each other. Rudolf shrugged. They looked back to Franz. Josef said, "We have never been there, but in Hannover or in Hamburg are plenty of men who have. No doubt we could find our way."
Franz spun to face the Italian. "Maestro, could you write a letter to Herr Schütz, inviting him and anyone else in his company to visit Magdeburg?"
"
Si.
"
Franz felt a very large smile spreading across his face. "Josef, Rudolf, you will take the maestro's letter to Copenhagen."
"But what of Stuttgart?"
"It is not far from Mainz to Stuttgart; we will go to Stuttgart after we visit Mainz, which will free you to go north. So, while the maestro writes his letter, you shall write one for us to carry to introduce us to your cousin."
Franz saw a bemused expression on Lady Beth's face as she handed pens and paper to various hands. He chuckled a little. "Frau Haygood, we will take our leave soon and let your domain resume its calm."
"Oh, that's okay, Franz. This is a school . . . turmoil happens frequently. I just didn't expect you to find a solution so quickly, is all."
Marla laughed. "Best get used to it if you're going to work with us much, Lady Beth. These guys don't let grass grow under their feet much."
While the others were writing, Lady Beth beckoned. Franz, Marla, Isaac and Hermann grouped in front of her desk. She handed envelopes to Marla. "There are some vouchers for you to stop at the bank and get some traveling funds. There's also some authorization letters from the Abrabanels that will let you draw on any of their associates if there are any emergencies. Keep track of how much you spend, and be sure that both Mary and I will review the expenses."
Her no-nonsense tone sobered everyone immediately. Marla said, "Yes, ma'am."
Franz looked around. Josef and Rudolf were done with their letter, but the maestro was still writing. A thought occurred to him, and he turned back to Lady Beth. "Ah, Frau Haygood, Johannes Fichtold will probably be traveling to Füssen soon, on business for Frau Simpson."
Lady Beth's raised hand stopped him before he could continue. "Masters Zenti and Riebeck have already been to see me. It's all arranged." She smiled at Franz's surprise. "I don't let the grass grow under my feet, either."
Maestro Carissimi straightened. "It is completed." He handed the letter to Josef. "Another thought occurs to me. If we need musicians, perhaps I should send letters to the Jesuit
collegia
north of the Alps. My name might capture some interest."
"Please do, Maestro," Franz said. "At this point, I think we might even accept an Englishman, if he could play well." As Marla passed out the envelopes, he said to them all, "Well, my friends, we must be off. Take great care, and in no event be back to Magdeburg later than April 1."
"Last ones back buy a round at The Green Horse," Hermann called out. They trooped out the door in laughter.
Grantville
Late January, 1634
"Well," Thomas started, studying yet another list, "Frau Matowski . . . "
"Just call her Bitty," Marcus Wendell said. "That's what everyone calls her."
"Very well . . . Frau Bitty, then . . . has an ambitious turn of mind, has she not?"
Marcus chuckled. Lady Beth Haygood snorted. "That's our Bitty."
"Oh, come now, Lady Beth," Marcus said. "I'll grant you she's a perfectionist when it comes to the dancing, but aside from that, she's just fine."
"Uh-huh . . . except that right now she's eating, drinking, breathing and sleeping dance. Between convincing Mary that
Swan Lake's
not in the cards for 1634 and trying to review every ballet program she has recorded or has ever done or even has notes on so she can cobble some kind of program together, her nerves are worn down so far she's on her last one, and heaven help whoever gets on it."
Marcus grinned. "Speaking of Mary, how did Bitty take the news that you're in charge right now?"
"All things considered, I guess okay," Lady Beth said. "Mary met with both of us, and laid out the ground rules, which didn't take very long. Then she left, and Bitty and I came to an understanding." There was a hint of a grin on her face. "I also told her she'd best be careful about who's around when she refers to Mary as 'Her Ladyship' in that tone she gets."
Marcus looked at her. "There are those who would take offense?"
"Mary definitely has supporters here in Grantville now."
"What kind of trouble could they cause? Could they cut off her funding?"
"Well, I doubt that Mary would be that petty," Lady Beth said, "particularly since she does want the ballet to succeed. But no doubt someone like Laurie Haggerty would try to make trouble."
"Her." Marcus made a face. "She and I had a whole series of 'discussions' about my lack of perception when I didn't make her son Duane the first part first chair horn player in the junior high band. She couldn't believe that I would let little things like whether he practiced or not—not to mention his attitude—outweigh his 'obvious superior talent,' and she didn't have any trouble telling me about it—several times. Yeah, I'd believe most anything you'd tell me about her. But what's Bitty got to worry about with her?"
"Well, apparently they really locked horns during the rehearsals for Nutcracker, to the point that Bitty was muttering about the 'Ballet Mother from Hell.' Problem is, Laurie somehow managed to get an introduction to Mary, and made a slightly favorable impression. So, if I ever decide to leave, Laurie's name just might be on the short list to take over the arts management for Mary in Grantville."
"You're kidding!" Marcus looked aghast. "Aren't you?"
"Nope."
"I hope Mary's got more sense than that." Marcus turned back to Thomas. "Enough about Laurie Haggerty. Let's talk about something important. That's a pretty long list Bitty worked out with me for the ballet."
"That it is," Thomas agreed fervently, as he examined his copy of Bitty's list.
"The bad news is that she doesn't want just straight transcriptions on some of them . . . she wants some arranging done. The good news is the only things you should have to transcribe from recordings are
Intermezzo, Lemminkäinen's Return, The Swan of Tuonela,
and the first half of
Lemminkäinen in Tuonela
, all by Sibelius. A lot of it is already available to us in sheet music form." In response to Thomas' raised eyebrows, Marcus continued, "I kept all my college text books, including the study scores we used in music history, form and analysis, and orchestration. Because of that, I have miniature full conductor's scores for Borodin's
Polovtsian Dances
and
In the Steppes of Central Asia
, Offenbach's
Orpheus in the Underworld
, and the Ravel transcription for Mussorgsky's
Pictures at an Exhibition
, which contains the
Promenade
and
The Great Gate of Kiev
that she wants to use. They just need to be copied out in full size.
"Then for the
Light Cavalry Overture
by Suppé and
Finlandia
by Sibelius, the high school music library has transcriptions of those for band. That means we've already got the music, we just need to reverse-engineer the transcribing to take it back to the original orchestration. A couple of my sharper band kids could probably do that."
He looked to Lady Beth. "That is, if Mary's funds will extend to paying them to do it. In fact, they could be a big help in general, even for the stuff that Thomas is doing for Franz, because they could take the full scores he produces and write out the original parts for the players, maybe even copy duplicate scores."
"Sure," Lady Beth said. "I don't see why not. But since they're not doing work at the same level as Thomas, I'm not going to pay them what he's getting, either."
"Sure. That's fair." Marcus stopped, deep in thought for a moment. His eyebrows raised. "You know, it just dawned on me that for this music to be possible this year, she's going to have to raid the band for wind players, and maybe percussionists, too. If she does, those kids are going to have to be paid, and I will expect them to be paid something approaching a union scale."
Lady Beth made some notes. "How many?"
Marcus counted on his fingers for a moment. "Probably about twenty, plus or minus."
She looked at Thomas. "And how many string players was Franz hoping to recruit?"
"He said he would settle for forty-five, but he wants sixty."
Lady Beth made some more notes. She set her pen down, and looked up with a serious expression. "I'd best get a message off to Mary. That amounts to more than she planned on, especially since Johannes Fichtold left several days ago for Füssen to dicker up some violin contracts."
Marcus shrugged. "Well, it may not be that bad. Bitty said one of her kids knew someone who still had their computer, with some kind of software that might allow them to take recordings and massage them into a soundtrack for her purposes, and then dump it to cassette tapes. If that's true, then she can do it with recorded music, which would be cheaper and a whole lot easier."
"I don't know." Lady Beth shook her head. "Mary was dead set on a live orchestra."
"Well, no reason to bring it up until we know if it can be done. It does mean, though . . . " Marcus turned to Thomas again, " . . . that those four Sibelius pieces can go to the bottom of your list." He grinned at Thomas' sigh of relief. "I almost hope they can't make the recording, though. Those pieces as the backdrop for Bitty's ballet would be an outstanding concert in its own right. I'd like to hear that, wouldn't you?"
"I might get to," Lady Beth said. Both men looked at her. "Jere's been wanting me to move to Magdeburg, but I didn't want to take the kids out of school here. Well, someone's working on the idea of starting a school for girls in Magdeburg, and it looks like they want me to head it up."
