Nightingale Read Free

voice. I'm sure my Maestro, Signor Manzoli, would criticize. And he always says that praise is like a feast of sugarplums, liable to sicken if one devours every piece that is offered. Still," she ended with a delighted smile, "I cannot resist accepting a compliment from such a talented fellow musician."
    Herr Almassy made a depreciating gesture. "To accompany you was my inspiration, but I'm afraid that exactly as my grandfather often says, I'm one of those people who are Jack-of-all-Trades-and-Master-of-None."
    "Don't be humble. You were excellent." Klara felt easier now, with the strain of performance and the mysterious high drama of their musical collaboration now safely behind her. "Tell your Grandpapa that I, Singerin Maria Klara Silber, have declared that the Genius of Music most certainly guides you."
    "Oh, but that is what he most fears." Her companion’s smile developed a rueful edge.
    "How can he not value your gift?"
    "My Grandfather Almassy is apothecary to Prince Vehnsky. As a child, I helped in his garden and went with him into the woods to gather simples. He believes the life of a healer is a far more important calling than that of a mere musician."
    "If you are not a musician born," Klara asked, now a little puzzled, "how did you acquire such skill?"
    "The high nobility of Hungary adhere to the old practice of teaching all their servants music so that they may summon a well-trained orchestra whenever they wish."
    "And it early became apparent to your teachers that you were especially gifted." Klara found herself relishing their similarity. The talent she'd witnessed him display had earned this grandson of a herbalist a better station in life, just as it had done for an orphan convent girl.
    "Well," Almassy replied softly, "music transports me from our less than perfect world. I have studied and I have a certain skill in my hands, but really that's all. Composers are the ones who carry fire from the gods."
    Admiring his assurance, his musicianship and his sentiments about equally, Klara wondered what Akos' other ‘trades’ might be. "I believe as you do about composers. Without them, what would there be for those of us who can only perform? Nevertheless, I take pride in being a good instrument, in giving my best to what some genius has composed."
    The conversation was what Maximilian condescendingly called ‘musician’s babble’, but Klara didn't care. Max was not here, thank the Blessed Mother! She was perfectly happy to go on talking about anything with this striking gentleman.
    "But where is old Concertmaster Novotna, who used to travel with your Prince? Has he passed away?"
    "He is ill. My Grandfather says the apoplexy stalks him, for his color is high and his wind is short. Sometimes now he faints and then awakens confused and lethargic."
    "Ah, poor man! Still, his passage to heaven will mean a promotion for you."
    "Yes, but it's not pleasant to know that my fortune comes by his death. Herr Novotna has always been kind to me."
    "Merit alone, as I am frequently reminded, is not a completely reliable support." Klara spoke with feeling. "In this world, extraordinary luck or patronage decides the fate of people like us. Rarely does talent alone tip the scales."
    She was, of course, thinking of her own situation. Her powerful patron had spared her many of the rebuffs and delays the careers of other less well-protected singers suffered. Whenever Max wanted to humble her, he’d point this out.
    "But to anyone with half an ear, your talent is supreme, Fraulein Silber. Why, your range, your tone… ."
    “Is perfection itself." A commanding voice interrupted them.
    Klara and Akos started, then lowered their heads, puppets on the same string. They had been so engaged that they hadn't noticed the approach of Prince Vehnsky.
    "We have been intending an entertainment to celebrate the opening of our winter residence in Vienna, Fraulein Silber." Herr Almassy’s master was an old man, well over sixty, and apparently