"I would never presume to ignore the great Madame Wranitzsky's views upon the subject of singing." With that reservation, Klara capitulated. She knew quite well that even the brutal criticism she expected would be useful. And, Klara soothed herself, if the lady was to make Milan after Easter to dispose of the unwanted daughter, she would not be in Vienna long….
Madame Wranitzsky reached behind her and found a bell rope among the brocade hangings which decorated the wall. Somewhere, distantly, a ring sounded.
"Take a look at this." She picked some music from the top of the pile stacked by her seat and offered it to Klara. "I recall the Baron Von Sweiten is enamored of this aria, but it lies a trifle high for me these days. Why don't you see if you would like to sing it?"
Klara accepted the music, relieved that talk had turned to business. This was a far more useful subject than Max! Pleased to escape into work, she began to study the piece.
No sooner had she taken in the first two lines, when the far door opened and the handsome Kajatan reappeared.
"I am not familiar with this." Klara looked up.
"I didn't suppose you would be." Madame's smile dripped condescension. "The composer is a hobby-horse of von Sweiten's, Herr Handel, a German, who spent most of his life in England, of all gloomy places! His vocal music is, however, glorious. Unfortunately, much of it is lugubriously Protestant and set in English. This piece, however, is Italian. The Baron was good enough to send it to me when he heard I was back in town. He hasn't heard my voice in some years, and doesn't know how it has deepened. Herewith, I bid farewell to the ingénues of my youth and say hello to the wonderful and wicked villainesses."
She and Max shared a smile, and Max, who had moved during this speech to sit beside her on the sofa, lifted her long fingered hand and kissed it
"Have you ever heard Lully's Medea, Fraulein Singerin Silber?"
"No, Madame, but I shall never forget the marvelous Attys and the even more wonderful Platee I heard you sing when I first arrived in Vienna. As a matter of fact, since you left, there has not been much French opera, unless you call Chevalier Gluck a French composer."
"I do not. But you simply must hear more classic French opera, my dear! Even though it is the stiffest opera seria, there is, nevertheless, a stunning emotional effect. I confess that my own antique hobby-horse is Lully."
"You will make the most alarming of villainesses, dear Madame. I eagerly anticipate your new stage persona. And, dear Klara," the Count said, reaching across the space to fondly pat her knee, "may I say that I'm delighted you will sing for us today. I've had the pleasure all too infrequently since I've been back. So hellishly busy with this damned Silesian business, you know. And this will allow you to safely ignore your usual lesson with Manzoli and keep me company this afternoon. We've barely had any time together since I got back."
Klara didn't like the sound of that at all, but was spared making a reply when Madame Wranitzsky exclaimed, "Ah, cielo! Manzoli still among the living? How do you like having that old monstrosity for a maestro, Fraulein?"
"Excuse me?" Klara feared the lady did not hold her Maestro in proper esteem.
"Ah, Yveta!" the Count said. "He is the perfect maestro for a young singer, especially as his own glorious gift lasted for so many years."
"I always found his ambiguity extremely unsettling."
Into the silence voice which followed, Klara said, "Ah, Herr Count, if it please you both, I will sing, though I cannot promise perfection this early. This afternoon, however, sir, you must please excuse me. 'Tis not a lesson, but a rehearsal of the music for Prince Vehnsky. Unfortunately, professional courtesy to the other performers dictates that I attend."
Although she'd walked the tightrope with all the care she could muster, there followed a long moment of silence. It appeared as if she had offended both of them.
Madame Wranitzsky broke the silence, laughing and turning to Max. "I do believe she has to meet her lover." She leaned forward and placed her hand upon his knee.
"She does. It's extremely galling. However, because I am absent so much and because she is so warm-natured, it is not entirely unexpected." They both gazed at her across the table with cheerful malice.
"I will not stay to be insulted." Klara stood up. Holding her head high, she set off across the room. Here on the Grosse Schulerstrasse, an elegantly dressed woman would have no difficulty in summoning a chair to convey her home.
"Not before you sing for me, Fraulein Silber!" Yveta Wranitzsky stood too, her voice one of queenly command, so forceful that Klara, inadvertently, turned.
"Amusing, if you have deceived Max. I certainly did, my dear, but now, please, my appetite for a song is up. After all this lavish praise, I absolutely must hear what you can do." In that red gown with that long black hair down, she seemed suddenly witchlike.
"I am not accustomed to sing without preparation."
"Life rarely provides ideal conditions, Fraulein."
"Such a show of temperament, Klara! Madame may conclude you are not capable of Herr Handel's sublime art."
"I don't care what either of you think." Klara turned on her heel and headed for the door, but as she arrived, it was pulled open from the other side by Jiri. Ordinarily, Klara would have marched past him, but in this case, she stepped backward, shocked to the core.
"Concertmaster Almassy." The servant was in the act of bowing the elegant black-clad Akos into the room.
Klara thought she saw alarm in his eyes, but he quickly mastered it. He made them all a graceful bow, as if his being here was the most ordinary thing in the world.
"Ladies. Mein Herr Marshall."
"Ah, how fortunate you were still here, Concertmaster." Madame extended a long hand. "Would you be so good as to accompany Singerin Silber through her scales and then in this little aria? That is, if she may be prevailed upon to so favor us."
"Very early in attendance, are you not, Herr Concertmaster? Or is it just that you are slow at getting out of bed? You know, Madame, 'tis not a week since I found him breakfasting with Fraulein Silber."
"If I understand your inference correctly, sir, you do both Fraulein Silber and I a great wrong."
The Count made no reply, but Wranitzsky said, "Ah, yes, Fraulein Silber, Herr Almassy is a wonderful accompanist, isn't he? He always plays for me when I sing at Vehnsky's. I must confess, I was delighted to discover upon arriving in Vienna that I was in the vicinity of those clever fingers…."
Klara stared at Almassy helplessly, at the same time painfully aware of the smiling pair seated on the sofa.
Birds of prey, claws grasping something red and bloody – her heart!
"Some gentlemen have a devouring passion for singers. I confess to being one of them myself, sir." Oettingen played at camaraderie. "Pon my honor, although I believe I have been injured, I must compliment your good taste."
"That I have a good ear, Herr Count, upon that alone will I accept a compliment. Any other meaning and I warn you that although I wear livery, I shall take offense, for the matter concerns the honor of a lady." How calm he looked! His amber eyes flashed scorn. Rage suddenly twisted Madame Yvetta's beautiful features.
"The honor of singers is not something over which two sane gentlemen should ever do each other harm." The Count spoke with an ironic wave of his hand.
"You are a cynic, Herr Count."
"May I suggest that what you call cynicism is simply experience."
"I assure you, sir, I choose my words with care.”
"Basta!" Madame Wranitzsky exclaimed. "Concertmaster Almassy offends you, Count, but he is correct. You are, at the very least, tactless, sir."
"I bow to Madame’s opinion." The Count meekly inclined his head. “I have been ungallant.”
"Now that the stallions are bridled," Madame Wranitzsky said, nodding at the men, "Musician to musician, Fraulein Silber, I still want very much to hear you sing. I am a passionate woman, but in judgment and the advice I stand ready to give, I shall be entirely dispassio
nate. Will you indulge me?"
What followed was the stuff of nightmare. Almassy, absolute calm flowing from his fingers, took Klara's hand and led her to the harpsichord.
"How do you come to be here, Concertmaster?" Klara whispered as she placed the music in front of him.
"The command of my prince. I will explain later."
"Don't bother."
It was all too pat. Almassy shot an anguished look at her, but, heart pounding, she fixed her eyes on the wavering staves of the music.
"Brava, Fraulein Silber!" Max cheered from across the room. "Brava! Show this Doubting Thomas beside me what you're made of."
"Scales, sir." Despising everyone about equally, Klara pulled her focus inward. She had recovered fully now, had come back as fluid as ever, so, as she vocalized, there was a surge of transcendence, of strength.
This refuge of her life, this celestial beauty that poured out of her!
Max closed his eyes, the more perfectly to listen. Whatever else he was, tormenter and jailor, teacher and seducer, he was also, first and foremost, an admirer. Seeing him worshipping always made her feel weak.
The warm stretch of her throat, the supple purity of the sound from the very first note, brought Klara true physical pleasure. With her voice she would defend herself from her rival, this singer she had once looked up to, whose singing had been a joy and standard. As Klara's voice rose, she felt a surge of power. In song she would confront and vanquish them all.
Oh, God! Had Almassy slept with this woman? Had he been her lover before, in Komaron?
"Do you need to try through it, Concertmaster?"
"He's played the piece often," Madame winked.
"Great skill in the hands, these keyboard men."
Wranitzsky turned toward the Count and laughed. Almassy’s eyes flashed anger, but his face, Klara noted, turned red.
"Sir!" He pushed his chair back and got to his feet.
As he swung about, ready to confront them, Klara stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face. Then, picking up her heavy skirts, she fled.
Chapter 18
"Fraulein Silber! Wait. I must speak to you."
"Those two smug monsters! I loathe them! And, as for you! You, sir, are beneath contempt!"
Max's coachmen grinned and bowed low, but Klara, wrapped in the dove gray cloak, skirts in hand, went striding away down the street.
"What, in God's name, are you thinking?"
"Go away. You lied to me, sir."
"Do you think I'm Wrantizsky's lover? Can't you see that's exactly what they wanted you to think?"
White faced, Klara spun to face him. "But you were her lover once, weren't you?"
"Yes, fool that I was."
"God! How could you bring yourself to touch that – that Medusa?"
"They insulted both of us, Klara."
"How did they insult you? It is all true, isn't it?"
"Klara!" Almassy took her arm and spun her around. "Please listen."
"Don’t touch me! It always comes down to tricks of one kind or another with men, doesn't it?"
"Klara, please listen.” He kept pace beside her as she rushed over the cobbles. “When I was younger, she visited Prince Vehnsky and I accompanied her. Just because it was an older woman and a younger man, don't pretend you have no notion of how it might have happened."
"You are going to tell me she seduced you."
"She did. After she left the Elector, she indulged herself with several younger men, and I was one of them."
"Grosse Gott!"
"Is it more horrible than you and Max?"
"Yes! No! What's horrible is that there we were, the four of us in one room, all with such – knowledge! Like … like incest!"
He reached to touch her, but she jerked her arm away.
"You've had plenty of time to tell me. Why didn't you?"
"It was wrong, Klara, but there is nothing to say about Madame Wranitzsky and I that is in the present tense. I was the one to break it off and when I did, she swore I’d be sorry. She and the Count are quite a pair."
Klara, who had been walking fast and paying less and less attention to anything but boiling emotion, certainly not to the pavement beneath her heeled feet, marched across a narrow side street. Here she encountered a patch of broken pavement and ice, slipped, and nearly fell.
"Ow!" Her fall carried her against Akos, who caught her. "Oh, God! Ow!" Pain shot through her, infuriating, sharp. She took another step and nearly fell again.
"Here." Akos firmly caught her at the waist. "Let's sit for a moment."
Feeling as if she would faint, first from rage and now from pain, there was nothing to do but accept. Arm around her, he guided her in at a door where a sign picturing a Moor's head swung in the chilly wind. This was an apothecary's shop, and, as usual, there were several chairs by the door. Two servants were already seated, chatting and waiting for prescriptions. Behind the counter, a gray-haired couple worked, the woman measuring dried herbs into a cone of brown paper, the man using a pestle to grind something.
"This lady has turned her ankle,” Almassy said. “May we rest until she recovers?"
"Do you need salts, Madame?" The old man, noting their fine clothes, came at once around the counter.
"No, but the pain is bad," Klara sniffled. She was dangerously close to weeping.
"Take your lady into the parlor. My wife will brew something for her."
In a moment they were seated in the dim room which lay behind a curtain. The only light from outside came through the opening into the apothecary's shop, so a candle had been lit. There was a stove, so it was warm enough, there in the windowless gut of the building.
"We'll bring something for you in a minute, my lady.”
"Thank you for your help, Madame Apothecary. Now, dear Klara, let me look." Almassy knelt before her. Klara sat still, allowed him to put his hands beneath her skirt, to take her ankle between his hands.
"How does this feel?” His fingers probed.
"Stop!" She felt herself turn white.
"I'll get some ice water from the barrel outside. It's the best we can do."
As he got up, Klara burst into tears.
"Ah, Klara!" He returned to the bench, sat and then drew her close.
Oh, what a welcome refuge, this coming home to the warm, manly scent of him, to hear his heart beating close to her!
"When I heard you sing last winter, I fell in love like a star-struck boy. I had no hope of winning you, but, somehow, everything in the world looked different to me. When I returned to Prague, Madame Wranitzsky summoned me as usual. I played for her, but told her there could be nothing more. I felt shame for what I’d done, because I’d never truly loved her. I told her honestly that while I would always revere her talent, anything else was no longer possible. She's not likely to forgive that, and perhaps she should not, for though she did offer, I was villain enough to take."
Truth and guilt, both naked, appeared in his eyes.
"Oh, dear Akos! If only I could have been stronger, prouder, sung the aria. If only I weren't so ready to doubt you, so terribly afraid."
"The Count is a genuine threat."
"I am afraid of myself, too, my darling. I thought I knew about life, but it seems that I know nothing. And, oh, I have again put you in such danger, such danger!”
"Never mind." He stroked her cheek. "Things would have come to a head sooner or later."
Beyond the curtain, they heard voices and the sound of the door closing as the last customers went out. Klara leaned against him, her cheek upon his black waistcoat, the servant’s livery he wore. He stroked her and whispered, "We must go to Prince Vehnsky, and ask for his protection."
Chapter 19
The old Prince stared at them for a long cold moment. He frowned and slowly shook his large head.
"This is a most unpleasant business, Almassy, and come, as I'm sure you know, at a most awkward juncture."
"We are two musicians who serve different mas
ters, but who wish to take the honorable course and be married, sir. It might be as simple as that."
"And you know it is not, young man! Many have warned me the day would come when the indulgence I have shown you, that willfulness bred in the bone, would discommode me."
"My lord, you had me educated as a gentleman. Allow me the respect I have learned to have for myself. I have come for your permission to marry, as it is my duty to do, both as your servant and in that other relationship we share.""
"Well," the old man sighed, gazing at the erect young man who faced him. "I must think. Right now, as you know, I have company. Young Herr Mozart is waiting upon me, as are my guests. Fraulein Silber, my dear, are you in pain?"
"I fear we have caused you enough trouble, sir, without….”
"I shall have something sent to you. May I suggest that you rest upon the divan in the next room?” The prince picked up a bell on the table beside him and rang it to summon a servant. "Tell Vastag what you need, Almassy, and he will fetch it for you. I must go to my guests now, but when I return, we shall discuss this further."
***
"Oh, God!" Klara shuddered as Almassy helped her to the divan. "The Prince will not help us."
"Don't fret until we hear what he says. My grandfather never makes any decision quickly, or under pressure."
"I have been so busy feeling sorry for myself, thinking of how I was betrayed by Giovanni. I believed Max, who said that I had been deceived, that Giovanni was an opportunist, not a true lover. But now I see how selfish it was to ask that loving me be everything. How could I play the victim while faulting Giovanni for wanting his art, his life, more than me? I'm the one who failed the test of love! I should have pardoned, not judged him! And now it is my selfishness which has betrayed us. I could not see anything there in that woman’s parlor, nothing but that you had slept with her. I believed you had taken me lightly, even more lightly than Giovanni had. And Max! Max knew exactly what I would do!"
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