The Black Spaniard Read online

  Not only was Luis’s playing transcendental: the music itself was like nothing that had ever been heard before in Vienna. At the conclusion, Luis took a theme from each movement, and wove a number of virtuosic variations on each. Again, the audience went mad, and the Prince for a moment feared that all propriety would be lost with the storming of the stage, so he and a number of his colleagues rose to protect the performer from the onslaught of good wishes.

  “Well,” beamed the Prince, again. “Another impressive performance! Do we have enough stamina left for Round Three?”

  At this, the Abbé, as discreetly as possible, withdrew from the stage, taking a round-about route to the rear of the music hall.

  “It does look as though Mr. van Beethoven is going to indulge us in yet another extemporaneous performance!” The Prince actually drew back at the volume and intensity of cheers. This time Beethoven asked the audience for themes, and as they were called out, he selected the ones that best showcased his superhuman abilities, weaving legatos, fugues, and complex variations that glistened in the air like the musical equivalent of spun gold.

  At the conclusion, the hundred or so guests had been joined by late-comers, servants, neighbors, and even the occasional passer-by in an almost riot of excitement and emotion. Luis was nearly lifted off his feet, and it was only the quick thinking and nimble actions of some footmen and a stable hand who had wandered in that whisked Luis possibly out of harm’s way, into the safety of the palace, where he was able at last to laugh long and loud, at nothing in particular.

  The next day Gelinek, shaking his head, told a close associate, “I will never forget yesterday! The devil is in that young person. I have never heard such playing! He improvises on a theme I gave him as I have never heard even Mozart improvise.”

  That was all that was needed. The word was out.

  Chapter 7

  “Well,” said the Prince one fine day in the New Year, “it looks as though you may be getting a secret invitation!” Luis was at the piano in the rear salon, making corrections to a manuscript. “Oh?” he said, not looking up, with his usual disregard to royalty or his employers. Probably another pianistic “duel.” They were sort of fun, but a little went a long way.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said the Prince, who seemed to have little better to do than to dote on his increasingly notorious charge. “You’re thinking that I want you to exert yourself like an athlete bringing down all the grand pianists of Vienna, while you want to just stay here and touch up old manuscripts! Am I right?”

  This was annoying, and he wasn’t going to get any work done, so Luis pushed the pad and pencil to the side and turned to face the Prince. “What is it?” he asked directly.

  “Hmm, hmm,” hummed the Prince. “Should I tell? Well, it is secret, but word is out among my former lodge brothers that the True Harmony lodge may be having a little reunion. You know about the True Harmony, I trust.”

  Indeed he did. Neefe had mentioned it in his final letter to him, urging him to find and associate with its former members, although for the most part, they had been mere Masons, not Illuminati. “You’ll never find wiser and more helpful men,” Neefe had written, “and you may be surprised to find some great thinkers and artists who are women in their midst.”

  As instructed, Luis had destroyed the letter, since Joseph II had banned secret societies of all stripes in 1785. While there was some tolerance to Freemasonry, since certain lodges were composed of none other than lords and other aristocrats, membership in the Illuminati, with its radical revolutionary cast, was punishable by death. If only Professor Adam Weishaupt of Ingolstadt could have foreseen what the future held when he created the Bavarian Illuminati in 1776!

  “I have heard of True Harmony,” answered Luis noncommittally.

  “Did you know I was a Freemason when it was still legal?” the Prince asked. Luis was surprised.

  “Really, sir!”

  “Shhh!” said the Prince with a wink, “don’t tell anyone. Yes, we had an entire lodge in Vienna composed of Princes and such. A fine group it was, too, but for talent, my boy, there was nothing like True Harmony! Haydn, Mozart, the geologists de Born, Sonnerfels, and Forster…”

  “Forster, sir? Would that be George Forster?”

  “One and the same! I see you know your science as well as philosophy. You must have had some fine teachers at the University of Bonn!” More like the University of von Breuning, thought Luis.

  “Yes, and glorious writers and poets, some of Austria’s finest: Blumauer, Alxinger, well, you may not yet have heard of them all, coming as you do from the Land of Goethe!” The Prince smiled. “Well, what does all this mean? It means,” he said lowering his voice conspiratorially, “that the True Harmony is staging a reunion! As a pupil of Haydn and, if memory serves me correctly, of Neefe, you should be able to wrangle an invitation. In fact,” he produced a little note on princely parchment, and rotated it among his long white fingers, “I have here a secret pass to ensure your participation! But really, see if you can go with old Haydn, it will ease your entry into this gathering of giants!” he winked again, and placed the note between two leaves of music paper.

  After the Prince left, Luis looked at the note, and a thousand thoughts flooded his mind. What a great opportunity to meet the intellectual leaders of the Austrian Enlightenment! And Forster…yes, the name triggered an immediate recollection. There was a family connection there he was not likely to forget. Luis was also quite certain this was the same Forster who translated the works of Egyptian and Indian mystics, which nourished his soul on many a cold winter’s night. He had, in fact, copied a phrase from that book and kept it under glass in his room, to remind him that the Divine was not the province of one ancient nation in the Middle East, but belonged to and was celebrated by people of spirit in all parts of the world.

  All of the names the Prince had rattled off were linked not only with art, ideas, and science, but also with revolution. How odd, yet reassuring, that a Prince in these times would support the notion of liberty! Especially considering the news earlier in the year that the King of France had been beheaded by the people he had served. Perhaps the presence of great musicians like Haydn among these leaders affirmed that music could play a role in the liberation of humankind and in the perfectibility of man. For the first time, Luis could hardly wait to get to his lesson with Haydn the next day.

  Haydn was waiting patiently as Luis arrived, threw off his overcoat and dashed into the practice room. “You certainly seem eager today,” mused Haydn, “what has inspired this enthusiasm for augmentation and diminution?”

  “Sir, will you be attending the True Harmony reunion? The Prince asked me to represent him, and thought it would be kind to welcome you as well,” said Luis, molding the facts to his own advantage.

  “While I have you in an enthusiastic mood, let’s proceed with the lesson, then we’ll talk later.” This irritated Luis, but he complied, since it would only work to his advantage to arrive with Austria’s premier musician, whether or not he actually deserved to be so regarded. And if any raids and arrests should follow, he would no doubt be safer in the company of Papa Haydn than in the proximity of any radical revolutionaries.

  There was someone in Vienna whom Luis had not met, but needed to. This patron of the arts—a composer of note in his own right—had been an active Freemason in the heyday of True Harmony. Luis soon learned it was at this notable’s home that the reunion would be held. And so, at last, he would meet Baron van Swieten.

  Unlike other titled aristocrats whom Luis had met, the Baron was a working man. His father had been physician to the Empress, and, after a Jesuit education, the son became a diplomat with many successes in Western Europe. Following a brilliant career in civil service, he was appointed Imperial Librarian, a position of great status and influence, and one he maintained for his entire life. Among his many accomplishments, he invented the world’s first card catalog system for libraries.

  As he travel
ed through the German provinces, Poland, and other nations and principalities, the Baron indulged his passion for music, studying with some of the finest teachers, and cultivating an enthusiasm for the works of Bach and Handel. Soon he was commissioning works from Mozart and Haydn, who enjoyed the support of this well-to-do and singularly knowledgeable patron.

  Unbeknownst to Luis, the Baron had been present during his duel with Gelinek. The Librarian was looking for new musical talent to nourish and cultivate, and that is exactly what he found.

  Although secret societies had been banned, there was a fairly liberal attitude among Viennese officials regarding the Freemasons. After all, many of them had been active members, and benefited from the social and intellectual stimulation it provided. So no one felt particularly on edge about arriving at the Baron’s home for what may have appeared to outsiders to be a grand party (though somewhat lacking in female participants). Former Masons, and those who considered themselves Brothers for life, or members of “Reading Societies,” arrived openly at the Baron’s door and were admitted without subterfuge. Singly and in pairs, the gentlemen (and, yes, a couple of women) ascended the steps leading to the bachelor’s well-appointed home, and soon a carriage discharged old Haydn and his protégée into the night.

  The Baron’s home was not as lavish or extensive as a Prince’s palace, but held its own as a bastion of civilization and cultured values. There were beautiful paintings on the walls (including a Vermeer), tasteful furniture, and endless shelves of books and manuscripts of musical scores.

  Luis sized up the room, then the other guests, trying to imagine who were the scientists, who the philosophers, and so forth, since small groups immediately broke out. As to the Baron’s identity in this mass of intellects, there was no doubt: he was the tall, commanding figure in the center of the room greeting guests and making sure everything was going smoothly. He was around Haydn’s age, a bit more portly, but nimble, with large expressive eyes and quick, bird-like movements. There were rumors he seldom slept, and it was not hard to imagine him up all night regaling guests, playing music, or devising schemes to change the course of music history.

  As for attire, it had been decided that forgoing Masonic aprons, chains, and symbols would be a good idea. Although most of the Masons present did not wear wigs, the Baron did, and a powdered one at that; his overall dress was about 20 years behind the times, but sumptuous and of the highest quality. And the heels of his boots were just a bit too high for fashion or comfort.

  As a trio played something by Cimarosa, the sharp-eyed Baron spotted Haydn, and his glance and breaking smile immediately turned to the small slender man beside him, the young man with the restless black eyes and Spanish appearance.

  “Aha!” cried the Baron, striding in their direction, leaving a pair of geologists to fend for themselves. “The destroyer of Gelinek! The successor to Mozart!” Haydn did not particularly like to hear this, but smiled politely and bowed to his patron. “Yes, yes, I was there, you know, at the ‘duel,’ yes, and quite an unforgettable impression you made, young man!” he effused, putting both hands on Luis’s shoulders and steering him around the room. Haydn resignedly joined a group of poets, who welcomed him warmly.

  “Yes, yes, the man of the hour!” trumpeted the Baron, so all could hear over the trio and general buzz of conversation, “the next great musician to grace our great musical capital!” Luis nodded regally, though he hoped silently that he would not have to play just yet, or maybe not at all, since he was hungry to meet the Brotherhood, network, and to have something to eat. “So, young man,” he continued, pulling Luis over to the side, “I need to see you in private, to hear you play. I can tell you’ve studied Bach, am I not correct?”

  Luis nodded, “Yes, Your Excellency, I was brought up on the Well Tempered Clavier.”

  “Excellent, excellent!” exclaimed van Swieten. “And what about Handel?”

  Luis shrugged. “A bit here and there, mostly religious pieces I was required to play.”

  “No no no no!” exclaimed the Baron, in mock horror, while he attempted to disguise a chuckle.. “We’ll see what we can do about that,” he said jollily. “What do you do on Wednesday evenings?” Luis could think of no steady occupation. “Then you must come visit me, every Wednesday, is that a deal?”

  “I suppose so,” said Luis, who actually was warming to this Dutch aristocrat, “except for a trip with Haydn to Eisenstadt this summer, and unless the Prince has other plans.”

  “Prince, Prince,” pooh-poohed the Baron. “Say, we are nobility on our own, aren’t we, van Beethoven?” he whispered, then laughed. Luis smiled awkwardly, and rather hoped that subject wouldn’t come up. “Well,” said the Baron, “I won’t tell if you don’t! We Dutchmen must stick together. Now, young man, suppose you get yourself something to eat and drink and then I personally will introduce you to some of the guests. What you do with that knowledge is totally up to you!”

  The affair was extremely informal for that era, and Luis was relieved not to have to sit at yet another long table and wonder which fork to use on the mussels, and try not to knock over the red wine (it was always the red that was spilled). For a few minutes, he enjoyed hanging back from the crowd, and wandering about with a plate of dumplings, nodding to one of the musicians whom he had seen several times in town. The Baron was continuing to greet a stream of visitors, though Luis never left the corner of his eye, not for a moment. At one point, however, Luis wandered into the folds of a burgundy velvet curtain and was shocked to discover he had stumbled upon a seated lady.

  Chapter 8

  “Oh, ma’am, I am so sorry,” said Luis, blushing, and straightening out the drapery folds. Please, God, do not let me pull them down on her, he silently begged.

  “Hello,” said the woman, “that’s all right. Thank you for stopping by and talking to me. It’s been rather lonely here for the past 20 minutes!”

  There was a chair beside her, so Luis sat down, and put his plate on the floor. “You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked. Luis was still getting settled.

  “No, no, I’m from the north, from Bonn. Say, don’t tell me you are a Mason!”

  The woman laughed. “Hardly,” she said in a low voice, “though close to it. There are only a handful of composers in this group, and I think the Baron invited me to swell the number of musical representatives. ‘Too many miners (meaning geologists)!’ he’s often said about True Harmony.” The woman smiled a small, stiff smile, as though it was not something that came easily to her.

  As usual, Luis was preoccupied with his own agenda, but began to relax into the moment, and looked more closely at the woman. She was obviously a gentlewoman of high status to judge by her elegant dress and elaborate hair style; and he had learned to look at people’s feet to learn much about their lifestyle and social rank. But when his eyes drew up to her face, he paused. She had a porcelain-pale complexion, and deep-set blue eyes, but they seemed unfocused, did not blink, and there were dark circles, unusual for someone who appeared to be in her thirties.

  Then it hit him: she was blind.

  “I can tell you are staring at me now,” she said, as though this was often the case when she met people. “It’s all right, I’m quite used to it, but do continue your conversation. Unless it’s about the manufacture of odoriferous sulphur compounds or some other scientific nonsense!” She ventured another stiff smile.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I was just looking for Haydn. Do you know Haydn?”

  She uttered another vague laugh. “Yes, but not as well as Mozart,” she said, “God rest his soul.”

  Beethoven actually was getting a little tired of hearing about Mozart, but wanted to know more about this woman. “I met Mozart,” he said. “How do you know him?”

  “Why,” she said, “he dedicated his B-flat major piano concerto to me!”

  Then the lantern flame went off in Luis’s head. “Don’t tell me!” he fairly gasped, “you’re not…Maria Paradis?”

 
Maria was enjoying the reaction. “Yes, my dear man, I am one and the same. I have committed just over sixty piano concertos to memory and performed throughout Europe. I have commissioned works by Salieri, Mozart, and others, though now I devote most of my time to composition: cantatas, operas. Are you a musician and composer by any chance?”

  Luis could hardly believe his luck. Here he was having a private conversation with one of the most celebrated composers and pianists in Austria, and a woman to boot. And blind! And he thought he was different! “Composer…yes! In fact, I’ve written two cantatas…”

  “And where were they performed?”

  Luis sighed. “They were my most ambitious work,” he said, “but never performed. The musicians, the singers, they could not handle the difficulties, and so it was that the day of the Emperor’s coronation came, and other works were substituted.”

  Maria nodded. “A familiar enough scenario,” she said. “Don’t take it too hard. But I heard the Baron allude to your duel with Gelinek. I do not duel,” she said, with a note of irony in her voice, shifting one pale hand on top of the other, “but can appreciate what a remarkable achievement that must have been! I hope you will play later.”

  “I hope not!” said Luis, and they both laughed. “I hope to write opera,” Luis said.

  “Well,” his new friend confided, “you’ll want to seek out Salieri as your master. Haydn is fine with sonatas, symphonies, and religious works, but you need an Italian soul to compose opera in Vienna!”

  Luis filed this information in the back of his brain. Hidden by the folds of the curtain, the two musicians talked and talked, and time flew by. Luis talked about his love of the newly developed, larger pianoforte, and his aspirations to compose more complex works. Maria told him about her affection for her doctor and how she was forced to end treatments.