Nightingale (30 page)

"And Mariandel," Madame Wranitzsky called to her daughter, now slipping away with the growling dachshund tucked under her arm, "Tell Kajetan to bring us chocolate and tell Jiri that I am seeing not another person this morning. Unless they have a greater title than the Marshall here, of course."

"Yes, Madame Mama.” The girl continued on her way, herding the protesting dogs with a series of not-too-gentle kicks.

"Which means she'll forget," said Madame Wranitzsky, sighing. "But at least, my dear Count, my dear Singerin Silber, we shall have a few moments of peace and quiet. Shall we sit?"

With a gracious gesture, she waved them toward the far side of the room, where there was a sofa and several wing chairs in proximity to a fat, gilded corner stove. Beside the sofa on the floor was a stack of music. To Klara, there was comfort in such a familiar sight.

"Here we may converse in a more relaxed manner." Madame Wranitzsky followed them.

There was a small break in which coffee and cakes were carried in by a handsome young servant.

"Thank you, Kajatan," the lady said politely. "You are astonishingly prompt, as always. Did Mariandel come to you?"

"Well, she did,
m'lady, but when I heard of the arrival of Herr Count Oettingen and Fraulein Silber, I set to work at once."

"Ah, Kajatan! You are a jewel! What would I do without you?"

As the servant withdrew, Madame Wranitzsky poured coffee. "He is quite wonderful."

"In all sorts of ways, I am tempted to imagine
," the Count murmured.

"What? Oh, Oettingen!" To Klara's surprise, Madame Wranitzsky began to laugh at the insinuation, the same exuberant, deep laugh she'd heard earlier. "You, sir, are quite shameless. Honestly, if this were any other man in the world, Fraulein Silber, I should box his ears and drive him hence. Such liberties he takes, but you know that, don't you, my dear?"

Klara, who had been thinking that this visit was rather routine, abruptly came to attention.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he does." She flashed a furious look at Max. If this woman began to insult her, she would walk straight out, with or without him.

"Oh, come now, Fraulein Silber. Do let's have a real talk. No French fencing, no silly games." The surreal eyes fixed themselves upon her. "Anything less is such a dreadful waste of time. Of course, I know Max has told you about us."

"Nothing much, nor in particular, except praise of your talent."

"Madame Wranitzsky," Max said, "I may be a rogue, but I assure you, I am always discreet."

"I must say, Max darling, I do miss you sometimes, but what had you left for me to do but fly to the welcoming arms of the worthy Elector?"

When Max bowed his handsome silver head, gallantly accepting her interpretation of events, she turned to Klara. "As for you, Fraulein Silber, I am told you are a real artist. If you are, truly, then you know quite well what ladies of talent must do for the sake of their art."

Wranitzsky, tossing back her shining black locks and darted a piercing, humorous look at Max. "All great singers
– and I hear from Max, whose opinion I implicitly trust – that you are already among their number – all great singers are nothing less than the slaves of their talent. Yet, while we obey the commands of our Muse, even a mighty military man like our dear Count finds that he must bend a proud knee to us."

"Yveta, dear, please don’t patronize Fraulein Silber. I've come to see you for the sake of our old friendship and have brought along my protégé, just as I promised."

"And I shall be nice, you wicked heart-breaker, yes, I shall, but only, Fraulein Silber, because Max has promised that you shall sing for me. Oh, I know it's early, that you haven't practiced today, but we can easily remedy that."

"Madame…
." Klara set the cup down, alarmed.

"Oh, this will be more fun than going to Manzoli this afternoon, won't it?" Max winked. "After all, Madame will speak candidly and privately. Her opinion is not one any singer, even a gifted one, should spurn."

"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 dispassionate. 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!