Read Online Murder in A-Major by Morley Torgov - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Morley Torgov
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one another's backs. Detaching himself, Liszt said, âI am chilled to my very bones, Schumann. A hot cup of tea or better still coffeeââ
âBut of course,â Schumann said, then called across the room, âClara, my darling, would you fetch our dear Franz a cup of coffee, a slice of cake. The poor man looks starved.â
âI would be happy to, Robert dear,â Clara replied, giving her effusive husband a look that could have turned him into a pillar of salt had he glanced back at her.
As Schumann led Liszt to a front row seat that had been set aside, I had an opportunity for the first time to study the man at close range and in a setting other than a concert hall stage.
Everything about himâhis outgoing charm and extreme handsomeness, his easy sophistication, the smoothness of his voice, his impeccably tailored eveningwearâeverything bespoke a man of the world, a man of grace and civility.
At Liszt's insistence, the program resumed without another moment's delay. With Clara Schumann performing the piano part, Robert's Quintet would occupy the second half. In his brief introduction before the players commenced, Schumann, standing close to his wife at the keyboard, one hand laid tenderly on her shoulder, repeated what was already well-known, that he'd written the piece for Clara and dedicated it to her some ten years earlier as a kind of small concerto for the piano, one capable of being performed without all the fuss and bother of a large orchestra and concert hall.
âIf the Quintet overflows with love,â said Schumann, his voice growing hoarse, âI make no apology.â At this, I expected Clara to make some equal and loving response, no matter how slight, to reciprocate. Instead, she sat at the piano with head bowed, hands folded in her lap, her expression frozen in what looked like profound embarrassment. She seemed to desire nothing more at the moment than that her husband should shut up.
A quick look across the front of the room to where Brahms was seated revealed an expression on his face that was remarkably similar to Clara's.
I was struck, too, by another odd fact: having introduced Johannes Brahms with such fanfare this evening, surely Schumann would have gone out of his way to introduce the promising young man to the titan who had just taken his seat nearby. Why did he fail to do so? Was it oversight? Was it deliberate? And granted that Brahms appeared a rather shy fellow, wouldn't he nevertheless have taken the trouble to introduce himself to Liszt? One could dine out for months afterward on such an event. Yes, I swear before God, Liszt said he'd heard of me and insisted I look him up next time I visit Weimar â¦
I had heard the Schumann Quintet played on several occasions in the past, but never with such energy and passion and sparkle as the performance at the Schumann house on this February night.
Once again my attention was drawn throughout, as if by a magnet, to Clara Schumann at the keyboard. Whether displaying her nimble technical skills in solo passages or blending with the other players in more sombre sections of the quintet, it was she who set the tone and the pace. It was she who gave the entire performance its soul.
And it was her name, shouted with admiration, that filled the room the moment the final chord sounded. â Clara!â¦Clara!â¦Bravo Clara!â¦Magnificent Clara! â¦â
People shot to their feet applauding, calling for an encore, in an ovation that focused on the slight figure in the emerald green gown. Behind her in the shadows stood her husband, his eyes watery, joining in the applause, looking somehow as if he'd had little to do with all of this.
In the front row stood Johannes Brahms, a soft smile on his smooth face. I have some acquaintance with that kind of smile and knew where it had its origin. If Brahms was not hopelessly in love, then my powers of perception were hopelessly failing.
I cast my eyes to
âBut of course,â Schumann said, then called across the room, âClara, my darling, would you fetch our dear Franz a cup of coffee, a slice of cake. The poor man looks starved.â
âI would be happy to, Robert dear,â Clara replied, giving her effusive husband a look that could have turned him into a pillar of salt had he glanced back at her.
As Schumann led Liszt to a front row seat that had been set aside, I had an opportunity for the first time to study the man at close range and in a setting other than a concert hall stage.
Everything about himâhis outgoing charm and extreme handsomeness, his easy sophistication, the smoothness of his voice, his impeccably tailored eveningwearâeverything bespoke a man of the world, a man of grace and civility.
At Liszt's insistence, the program resumed without another moment's delay. With Clara Schumann performing the piano part, Robert's Quintet would occupy the second half. In his brief introduction before the players commenced, Schumann, standing close to his wife at the keyboard, one hand laid tenderly on her shoulder, repeated what was already well-known, that he'd written the piece for Clara and dedicated it to her some ten years earlier as a kind of small concerto for the piano, one capable of being performed without all the fuss and bother of a large orchestra and concert hall.
âIf the Quintet overflows with love,â said Schumann, his voice growing hoarse, âI make no apology.â At this, I expected Clara to make some equal and loving response, no matter how slight, to reciprocate. Instead, she sat at the piano with head bowed, hands folded in her lap, her expression frozen in what looked like profound embarrassment. She seemed to desire nothing more at the moment than that her husband should shut up.
A quick look across the front of the room to where Brahms was seated revealed an expression on his face that was remarkably similar to Clara's.
I was struck, too, by another odd fact: having introduced Johannes Brahms with such fanfare this evening, surely Schumann would have gone out of his way to introduce the promising young man to the titan who had just taken his seat nearby. Why did he fail to do so? Was it oversight? Was it deliberate? And granted that Brahms appeared a rather shy fellow, wouldn't he nevertheless have taken the trouble to introduce himself to Liszt? One could dine out for months afterward on such an event. Yes, I swear before God, Liszt said he'd heard of me and insisted I look him up next time I visit Weimar â¦
I had heard the Schumann Quintet played on several occasions in the past, but never with such energy and passion and sparkle as the performance at the Schumann house on this February night.
Once again my attention was drawn throughout, as if by a magnet, to Clara Schumann at the keyboard. Whether displaying her nimble technical skills in solo passages or blending with the other players in more sombre sections of the quintet, it was she who set the tone and the pace. It was she who gave the entire performance its soul.
And it was her name, shouted with admiration, that filled the room the moment the final chord sounded. â Clara!â¦Clara!â¦Bravo Clara!â¦Magnificent Clara! â¦â
People shot to their feet applauding, calling for an encore, in an ovation that focused on the slight figure in the emerald green gown. Behind her in the shadows stood her husband, his eyes watery, joining in the applause, looking somehow as if he'd had little to do with all of this.
In the front row stood Johannes Brahms, a soft smile on his smooth face. I have some acquaintance with that kind of smile and knew where it had its origin. If Brahms was not hopelessly in love, then my powers of perception were hopelessly failing.
I cast my eyes to
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