Read Online In the Claws of the Eagle by Aubrey Flegg - Free Book Online
Authors: Aubrey Flegg
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stranger was young Izaac, and he was struck dumb.
Izaac gaped, his hands freezing on his violin. He had heard the great Fritz Kreisler, who was certainly Vienna’s, and possibly the world’s, greatest violinist, play only a month before,when Nathan had taken him to the Great Hall of the Musikverein. What could he be doing here? He could feel the audience becoming uneasy, but didn’t they know who was sitting behind them? Suddenly he heard Louise calling him.
‘Izaac, Izaac…listen to me!’ She was pleading. ‘Don’t worry about him; he’s just a man come in off the street. Remember Madame Helena’s instructions: your feet, relax your shoulders, breath deeply.’ But his violin felt like lead, how could he ever lift it? Then he realised that the great man was looking at him sympathetically, with an amused smile hovering over his face. As if reading Izaac’s mind, he raised an imaginary violin to his shoulder and rested an invisible bow on the strings, as if about to play. It was all so relaxed, so confident, so full of music that a great weight seemed to fall from Izaac’s shoulders. His violin responded and rose like a feather to his chin.
Over the next two years the list of composers and pieces Izaac mastered grew and grew: Bloch’s ‘Abodah’, Wieniawski’s ‘Scherzo-Tarantelle’, and Schubert’s gorgeous ‘Ave Maria’. To begin with, these were just names to Louise, but now it was dawning on her that when people talked of Izaac as a prodigy, they really meant it. Though Izaac would fret that Madame Helena was holding him back, he seemed gloriously unaware of his genius. Finally he was ready for his proper debut concert.
When Izaac had played in the music room to his family and their friends, the applause had sounded like a sudden shower of rain. As if it had caught them all by surprise. How could this seven year old, in short pants and a floppy bow tie, produce sounds that wrenched forgotten emotions from their hearts? Today, however, the applause was of a different magnitude; it swept over Izaac like a wave, crashing about his ears as hestared, bewildered, at the audience from which this amazing sound was coming. The uniform black of the men’s suits was enlivened by a speckle of colour from the ladies’ dresses. Their faces merged, hands blurring, clapping as if their lives depended on it. A rumble began that seemed to rise through the boards at Izaac’s feet, like rocks churning in the backwash of a wave. The audience were stamping their feet in an ecstasy of delight.
The nine-year-old glanced towards the safety of the door at the side of the platform. There was Madame Helena, signalling urgently, bending almost double to get her message across. Of course … he should bow! His paralysis passed and he bowed and then bowed again. He let his eyes sweep the audience, as Madame Helena had told him to do. ‘You won’t see a thing, Izaac, but they will love it,’ she had said, but he was looking for someone special. There, beyond the blur, a spot of colour stood out sharp and clear. There was only one green like that in the world: Louise was there, just as she had promised. He could see her standing at the back, clapping like everyone else. A broad smile lit his face, and the crowd loved it. Those generous Viennese hearts that love music and musicians above all else opened to him as one. A final bow, and he turned to leave the stage.
Once through the door he was engulfed by his dear Madame Helena, simultaneously cuffing him for having forgotten to bow, hugging him, and trying not to cry. Having held him as long as she dared, she turned him around and sent him out to play his one short encore.
Once again he scanned the audience, looking for Louise, and there wasn’t a mother in the crowd who wasn’t convinced that his look was for her alone. He found Louise on a second pass, at the back in a seat just vacated by an early leaver. He could feel her laughter and delight running through him. As
Izaac gaped, his hands freezing on his violin. He had heard the great Fritz Kreisler, who was certainly Vienna’s, and possibly the world’s, greatest violinist, play only a month before,when Nathan had taken him to the Great Hall of the Musikverein. What could he be doing here? He could feel the audience becoming uneasy, but didn’t they know who was sitting behind them? Suddenly he heard Louise calling him.
‘Izaac, Izaac…listen to me!’ She was pleading. ‘Don’t worry about him; he’s just a man come in off the street. Remember Madame Helena’s instructions: your feet, relax your shoulders, breath deeply.’ But his violin felt like lead, how could he ever lift it? Then he realised that the great man was looking at him sympathetically, with an amused smile hovering over his face. As if reading Izaac’s mind, he raised an imaginary violin to his shoulder and rested an invisible bow on the strings, as if about to play. It was all so relaxed, so confident, so full of music that a great weight seemed to fall from Izaac’s shoulders. His violin responded and rose like a feather to his chin.
Over the next two years the list of composers and pieces Izaac mastered grew and grew: Bloch’s ‘Abodah’, Wieniawski’s ‘Scherzo-Tarantelle’, and Schubert’s gorgeous ‘Ave Maria’. To begin with, these were just names to Louise, but now it was dawning on her that when people talked of Izaac as a prodigy, they really meant it. Though Izaac would fret that Madame Helena was holding him back, he seemed gloriously unaware of his genius. Finally he was ready for his proper debut concert.
When Izaac had played in the music room to his family and their friends, the applause had sounded like a sudden shower of rain. As if it had caught them all by surprise. How could this seven year old, in short pants and a floppy bow tie, produce sounds that wrenched forgotten emotions from their hearts? Today, however, the applause was of a different magnitude; it swept over Izaac like a wave, crashing about his ears as hestared, bewildered, at the audience from which this amazing sound was coming. The uniform black of the men’s suits was enlivened by a speckle of colour from the ladies’ dresses. Their faces merged, hands blurring, clapping as if their lives depended on it. A rumble began that seemed to rise through the boards at Izaac’s feet, like rocks churning in the backwash of a wave. The audience were stamping their feet in an ecstasy of delight.
The nine-year-old glanced towards the safety of the door at the side of the platform. There was Madame Helena, signalling urgently, bending almost double to get her message across. Of course … he should bow! His paralysis passed and he bowed and then bowed again. He let his eyes sweep the audience, as Madame Helena had told him to do. ‘You won’t see a thing, Izaac, but they will love it,’ she had said, but he was looking for someone special. There, beyond the blur, a spot of colour stood out sharp and clear. There was only one green like that in the world: Louise was there, just as she had promised. He could see her standing at the back, clapping like everyone else. A broad smile lit his face, and the crowd loved it. Those generous Viennese hearts that love music and musicians above all else opened to him as one. A final bow, and he turned to leave the stage.
Once through the door he was engulfed by his dear Madame Helena, simultaneously cuffing him for having forgotten to bow, hugging him, and trying not to cry. Having held him as long as she dared, she turned him around and sent him out to play his one short encore.
Once again he scanned the audience, looking for Louise, and there wasn’t a mother in the crowd who wasn’t convinced that his look was for her alone. He found Louise on a second pass, at the back in a seat just vacated by an early leaver. He could feel her laughter and delight running through him. As
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