Damaging Winds
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Damaging Winds Rumours That Salieri Murdered Mozart Swirl in the Vienna of Beethoven and Schubert C. Ian Kyer Damaging RWindsumours That Salieri Murdered Mozart Swirl in the Vienna of Beethoven and Schubert C. Ian Kyer Venticelli (The Little Winds): “purveyors of fact, rumour and gossip” Peter Shaffer, Amadeus © 2013 C. Ian Kyer ii This Book is Dedicated with Heartfelt Thanks and Much Respect to the Two People Who Taught me about Classical Music and Opera Hugh Laurence and Bruce Salvatore in the hope that someday I may be forgiven for burdening luncheon conversation after luncheon conversation with Salieri. “Are we to be spared nothing?” iii A Word on Supplementary Materials t the end of this volume I have included some materials to enhance Ayour reading experience. They consist of: 1. An historical note that seeks to put Salieri into context. Here I ex- plain how I came to write the novel and my approach in doing so. I also outline what is true and what fiction. 2. Brief biographies of the many historical figures mentioned in passing in the novel. 3. Some suggested readily accessible books that you might wish to read to better understand the history of the period and the places and his- torical characters in the novel. 4. Music that you might want to listen to while or after reading each chapter. v Prologue Berlin, Autumn 1862 he reception for the musical community filled the large hall. DancingT couples swirled about the middle of the floor, while those who wished to see and be seen bustled about at the edges. Above the dance floor a crystal chandelier glittered, sending rays of candlelight about the room. But the magical twinkling of that light barely reached into a far corner where a stately woman sat alone, a solitary spectator to the event. The woman’s gaze swept the room. She knew this community well. Here she noted a leading conductor. There a famous pianist. Further away a wonderful composer and friend. Not long before she would have been out on that dance floor, a happy, vibrant member of that talented assemblage. But now it seemed life was dancing on, while she was cast into that dimly lit corner. Her husband’s death had changed everything. She gazed down crest- fallen at her plain, black satin dress, catching glimpses of the vibrant fab- rics that waltzed around the dance floor. She so envied these women, but knew she owed it to her late husband’s memory to disavow fashionable attire. Their gowns were not all she envied. She could not help but look longingly at their male companions, and think of the man who had doted on her for so many years. Just then she noticed a handsome middle aged man making his way through the crowd. To her surprise, his eyes caught hers and he ap- proached her. She immediately looked down, not wanting to appear overtly interested. She did not know what to make of him. He was a total stranger. What could he want of me, she asked herself? He must know that I cannot accept an invitation to dance. On reaching her, the 1 Damaging Winds handsome gentleman gave a brief bow. In heavily accented German, he apologized for bothering her and said “I am hoping that you might be A. Rochlitz, the noted music critic.” The woman looked up and smiled. “I am, although I am not accus- tomed to being addressed as such. My married name is Anna Klempner.” He looked puzzled and she added, “I use my initial and maiden name when writing so as not to attract attention to my gender or to my late husband, who was a composer.” “Your husband was Herr Klempner, the musician and composer?” “He was.” “I had not realized. You must allow me to convey my sincere condol- ences. I was sorry to hear of his passing. I have long been familiar with his works.” She nodded in acknowledgement. “But to be candid it is your work that I most admire. Not that I do not think highly of your husband’s music. It is just that I have long been an avid reader of your musical criticism. Your reviews are so well informed — so well founded in theory.” She smiled and he added, “Surely you your- self must be a musician and composer.” She paused, considering how to respond, “Not really. I did of course study music and naturally I learned much from my husband, Herr …” A look of shame and embarrassment came to his face and he quickly said, “Oh, dear! Please forgive me. In my enthusiasm I have failed to properly introduce myself. I am so sorry. You must think me totally lack- ing in social graces. I am Edmond Michotte, a businessman …and an amateur musician.” She offered her gloved hand and he bent and kissed it. Smiling she said, “I am pleased to meet you Herr Michotte. It is always a pleasure to encounter one of my readers, especially one who so appreciates my work.” Removing her hand from Michotte’s, she clapped as the dance ended and watched as the milling crowds found new partners. The next dance began, an exuberant polka, and still Michotte remained at her side, shuf- fling his feet awkwardly. She looked up encouragingly and said, “I have always loved this music.” Michotte nodded in agreement, “I am so pleased that you are enjoying it.” She smiled at him and, emboldened, he continued, “I must confess that as wonderful as your company is, I do indeed have another motive — an honourable one I assure you. I am hoping that you might give me 2 Prologue the benefit of your knowledge — on a musical matter. As it happens I am a friend of another noted composer, Signor Rossini. As such, I was privileged to be in attendance in Paris two years ago when Herr Richard Wagner met Rossini.” “My goodness,” she exclaimed, “our German firebrand met the old Ital- ian?” “Yes, indeed he did. Many people are sceptical when I tell them of the meeting. They find it hard to accept. How could it be, they say, that Signor Rossini, the first of the great Italian Romantic opera composers, would welcome into his home Herr Wagner, a German composer who has been turning opera on its head? But I assure them, as I now assure you, that he did just that. I was there. I transcribed the conversation.” The older woman’s face lit up. “Really, so you could tell me what the two of them said to each other? I would be most interested to know.” “Yes, yes I can. That is in fact what I wished to discuss with you. I would be very happy to do so. As it happens,” he said digging in the inner pocket of his jacket, “I have some of the transcript with me. I had hoped to be able to show it to you and to seek your opinion on whether it might be publishable.” He then withdrew several sheets of folder paper. Study- ing the pages for a few moments, he asked, “Might I be so bold as to sit beside you as we look through it?” “By all means, I am most anxious to see what you have.” After settling himself in a chair that he drew close to hers, Michotte turned to her and explained. “The visit took place in March, 1860. Herr Wagner would have been in his mid-forties I would think.’ “Forty seven to be precise. I know his age only too well,” she said and smiled demurely. “Like me he was born and raised in Leipzig — only he was born some years after I was. A few years ago I would never have admitted this to a man, but when you get to a certain stage in life it seems to matter less. Please, do continue, forgive me, I have interrupted your story.” The Belgian picked up his narrative without hesitation as if he had told the tale many times before. “Herr Wagner was then living in Paris in exile, as you probably know. He is very sensitive about his music, as you may also know.” The woman nodded. “And as it happens several critical articles had appeared in the local Parisian papers. These articles purported to set out Signor Rossini’s reaction to Wagner’s music. The remarks attributed to Signor Rossini were unflattering to Herr Wagner 3 Damaging Winds to say the least. Wagner was offended and wanted to determine if they really reflected Rossini’s opinion of his work. That is where I come in. You see I am acquainted with some people who are in Wagner’s circle. They knew of my relationship with Signor Rossini. I was asked to play the role of intermediary. I, of course, was only too happy to oblige. And, as I have already told you, was able to arrange a meeting at Signor Rossini’s home.” Turning his attention to the pages of paper he held in his hands he said, “What I have here is but one part of the conversation, but I hope it gives you an idea of its worth as a piece of musical history. It begins with a dis- cussion of cabals.” The older woman smiled knowingly. “I am not surprised.” Michotte then began to read the transcribed conversation to her. “Signor Rossini told Herr Wagner ‘What composer has not experi- enced cabals, even the great Gluck himself...’ ” Michotte paused. “It goes on for some time about how to deal with cabals.