The Musician's Daughter (26 page)

CHAPTER 29

W
e had to wait some time before Joseph II entered the room and took his place at a large desk. He was dressed like a simple gentleman, in a black cutaway coat trimmed with deep scarlet and gold, perhaps with more decorations on his sash. He certainly did not look very imperial. Rather than a wig, his face was framed by nicely arranged hair, curled at the sides and drawn into a tail at the back. He left it his natural blond color; it was not powdered. And his profile—that long nose—was familiar to me from the coins that changed hands every day.

The advisers who followed him into the chamber were similarly plainly dressed, consisting of a group of three men and a monk. They stood respectfully behind him when he sat. Before he did or said anything, the emperor read a stack of papers in silence for about a quarter of an hour. When he had finished, he looked up at us, pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, then turned his head and nodded to the monk. This fellow whispered in the emperor’s ear, causing him to nod every once in a while and look around at all of us, standing there silently, our eyes all boring into the emperor’s face.

The monk finished whispering and stood back. The emperor swept his gaze over all of us and rested his eyes on my uncle. “Councilor Wolkenstein,” he said, “I understand you have a grievance against the people gathered here. Perhaps you would explain.”

My uncle with a grievance! I wanted to rush forward and start talking, give the emperor the real story. I knew Mirela would have done so if she had been there. I was suddenly disappointed that she was not there to lend her spirited voice.

Joseph II leaned his elbows on the table and cocked his head to one side. My uncle approached in what I can only describe as an advancing bow, never quite straightening up, but never actually achieving the position that would indicate the greatest degree of respect. He stopped only when a guard stepped forward and put his arm out in front of him to block his way.

“I was set upon and severely wounded, Your Imperial Majesty,” my uncle said, “by that disgusting Gypsy!” He gestured toward Danior.

“Yes, I see your arm is bandaged. And where did this attack occur?”

My uncle straightened up and puffed out his large, paunchy body. “Under my own roof.”

“Do you care to explain how this Gypsy managed to enter your home while—I see by these documents before me—you were giving a party?”

“He insinuated himself into the orchestra.”

“He
insinuated
himself?”

I saw Zoltán press his lips together to stifle a laugh. It sounded as if the emperor was toying with my uncle—and enjoying himself. Could it be that this was a ploy to make him incriminate himself before we even presented our evidence?

“Maestro Haydn.” Joseph II turned toward my godfather. “Perhaps you could shed some light on how a criminal managed to
insinuate
himself into your orchestra, so kindly lent by the esteemed Prince Nicholas Esterhazy for the occasion.”

The Kapellmeister walked forward and bowed with natural grace when he reached the distance at which my uncle stood. I thought he looked more imperial than the emperor, in his blue-and-gold uniform. “Your Majesty, this fellow”—he indicated Danior—“is one of the finest violinists in Vienna. He plays with the prince’s orchestra regularly. I can vouch for his character.”
It was only a slight exaggeration,
I thought.

My uncle opened his mouth to speak. The emperor raised his hand to silence him. “You defend a common Gypsy?”

At that moment, Zoltán came forward, not waiting to be summoned. In his hands was Danior’s violin. “With your permission,” he said, “perhaps the accused will prove his ability?”

“I protest!” shouted my uncle. “What has music to do with any of this!”

My uncle’s outburst brought a stiffening of the emperor’s pose. “Well, if he is to die, I would like to hear him first.”

The emperor was known to appreciate music, even play the cello himself. In recent years he had been promoting German over Italian opera in the Burgtheater, my father had told me. I had no idea how he felt about Gypsy music.

The guards let go of Danior. He strode forward proudly, bowed with precision, then took the violin and bow Zoltán presented to him. He brushed the strings with his fingertips and adjusted the tuning, then lifted the instrument to his shoulder and brought the bow down in a quadruple stop that resounded through the room, filling it with a thrilling sound.

I gasped. What had happened to the papers? When I had tried the violin, it would not make a noise worth hearing. And the papers were wedged up so high I didn’t think anything would get them out. Yet here was Danior, executing some brilliant, fiery passages. He stopped abruptly in the middle of a phrase, his bow held high. “Your Majesty,” he said. “This is not my violin.”

To my surprise, he turned to look at me. His eyes were full of pride and sadness. I thought I saw the hint of a smile on his face, somehow glowing through the dirt and scrapes. He nodded to Zoltán, who signaled to a guard. The guard pressed a hidden spring to open a door in the paneling, just like the ones that were apparently to be found in all the grand rooms of the palace. Another guard came in, leading Herr Schnabl. Mirela followed him, carrying a wooden violin case. It was a plain one, made of birch and highly polished, with a brass handle on the top. With a leap of my heart, I knew right away that the case was my father’s.

Herr Schnabl looked at me with deep shame in his eyes. Mirela smiled.

“This instrument belongs to the late father of that young lady over there,” Danior said to the emperor.

Then boldly, with a quick gesture that was half bow, half curtsy, Mirela stepped forward to address the emperor. “I found it in Herr Schnabl’s quarters.”

Herr Schnabl with my father’s violin? He was a cellist!

“It seems,” Zoltán continued, “that professional jealousy was another of the weaknesses Councilor Wolkenstein found it easy to use to his advantage. Herr Schnabl sabotaged Haydn’s contract with Artaria as instructed by Councilor Wolkenstein and spied on Antonius Schurman, whom the councilor suspected was engaging in activities that would undermine his plans. It was Schnabl who led Herr Schurman to the councilor’s house the night of his murder. Herr Schnabl had been told to give Herr Schurman false information about boys locked in the cellar—perhaps not realizing that the information was, in fact, true. The trap was easily laid, and Herr Schurman did not stand a chance against the men hidden in the cellar. They murdered him and took his body to the Gypsy camp through the sewers in a small boat.”

Zoltán turned to me. “We believe the boat you took, Rezia, was the same one used to take your father’s body away from the house in the Graben. Without this, of course.”

He gestured toward Danior, who held the violin out to me. I was hardly capable of thinking. I looked at the emperor. He nodded to me to approach. I just barely remembered to curtsy first before I took the violin. It was truly my father’s Amati. I could see that, now that I held it. I could see the nuances in the grain of the wood. I had not laid eyes on that instrument since before my father’s death. I felt as if in stroking my fingers over its perfect form I touched him, as if I could feel his warm arms again. I struggled against tears. I wasn’t willing to believe that Schnabl could have done all that they said he did, for any reason at all. I forced myself to look at him. There were tears in his eyes.

“You must believe me, Theresa, that I did not know your father would come to any harm. I was supposed to bring the violin to the councilor, but when I heard of Antonius’s death, I pretended that I had not found it.” Schnabl spoke barely above a whisper, but the atmosphere in the chamber was so tense and quiet, everyone could hear him.

I didn’t know what to think, and so I said nothing. Mirela brought the case over to me and stayed close by. She grasped my hand. I squeezed hers in return.

“This, Your Imperial Majesty, is the violin that belongs to the Gypsy,” said Haydn, who produced from behind a chair the velvet-wrapped package Mirela and I had taken such risks to bring to Alida.

We all watched in expectant silence as Danior unwrapped the package. He peered into the F holes. “Yes, this is it,” he said. But instead of starting to play again, he lifted the instrument up high and brought it crashing down to the floor. It splintered into hundreds of pieces. I cried out involuntarily.

There, amid the remains of the loveliest violin I had ever seen or heard, next to the one I now cradled in my arms, were the tattered documents for which my father had sacrificed his life.

I glanced at my uncle, who had already started backing away. He was stopped by a guard. The monk, who had remained standing just behind the emperor through all of this, came forward and collected the papers from the floor, laying them respectfully on the desk before Joseph II.

I watched as the emperor’s face expressed shock.

Haydn cleared his throat. “There is more, Your Imperial Majesty. Theresa, open your father’s fiddle case.”

I exchanged the Amati for the case Mirela held and did as Haydn asked. There, tucked into the velvet that lined the wooden box, I found another sheaf of papers. I took them out. A quick glance revealed General Steinhammer’s name and my uncle’s.

My knees felt weak as I walked forward with the papers and gave them to the monk, who had stepped out again to receive them.

“In addition to these documents, Fräulein Schurman possesses the final proof that all of these items are genuine, and that I am who I claim to be,” Zoltán said.

He approached me and reached his hand out to touch my neck. A shiver went through me as he gently took hold of the gold chain, pulled the medallion out from its hiding place inside my bodice, and lifted it over my head. With even steps, he approached the emperor and placed the gold medallion on the table. “It is decorated with our family’s crest and was worn by the Hungarian general who defended the serfs from their oppressors over a hundred years ago.”

The emperor gazed at all the evidence now spread out on the table before him. I think I was holding my breath. He placed his hands on the scattered papers and pushed himself up to a standing position before lifting his chin and fixing my uncle with a hard, angry stare. “Theobald Wolkenstein, you do not deserve the honor of holding the office of councilor of Vienna.” He shifted his gaze to the guards. “Take him away.”

The terror on my uncle’s face almost made me feel sorry for him. I was afraid that he would start to scream and protest unbecomingly, but the door shut him out before he had recovered his wits enough to utter a sound.

“And this fellow should be brought before the magistrate at the earliest opportunity.” He indicated Schnabl.

Haydn and I looked at each other. I think we both had the same idea at once. “Your Majesty,” I said, curtsying and trying not to let my voice shake. “Herr Schnabl is elderly, and a fine musician. It is clear that he did not know precisely what evils he had become a party to. Although my father was murdered in part because of Herr Schnabl’s treachery, I believe Herr Schnabl did not know that would be the outcome. I have my father’s violin in my possession once again. Could the cellist not be allowed to return to the prince’s service?”

The emperor stared into my eyes. I had never seen an expression that gave away less, even when it was so completely focused on me. I kept my gaze steady. I wanted him to know I was in earnest. If I thought about it the next day, I might want Herr Schnabl punished severely, but right now I was so relieved that things had turned out as they did that I felt I could be forgiving.

“What say you, Kapellmeister Haydn?” the emperor asked my godfather.

“I’d say the injury to this young lady is greater than any I have suffered at Schnabl’s hands. And I could ill afford to lose one of my best cellists at this time of year.”

“Very well. Deliver the man back to his abode. But he is warned never to involve himself in such plots again, or I will not listen to any entreaties on his behalf.”

He turned his attention again to the guards, who had laid hold of Danior after he finished his brief performance. “Please release the other prisoner.”