The Grantville Gazette Vol 5 Part 19

The bas.e.m.e.nt of the house and a roofed s.p.a.ce called "the garage" are big enough to let Girolamo set his temporary shop there. On a day in early September, escorted by a small group of apprentices who work for Johannes' father, the timbers we ordered in Fussen on our way here finally arrived. The quant.i.ty was big enough to fill the bas.e.m.e.nt. Since that moment, the shop has been working almost around the clock. The house is always full of noise, and we all look as busy as bees in summertime.

We aren't the only Italians in town. The trades here employ mostly Germans and Americans, but there are a few merchants coming from Milan, Venice and Genoa. One of them is particularly envied. He managed to sell a huge quant.i.ty of a blue fabric that is made in Genoa with Egyptian cotton. The Americans are particularly fond of it.

I believe that in the weeks we have spent here we have managed to create quite a comfortable life for ourselves. We have made a few acquaintances, built a trade and found many interests to pursue. I don't want to sound vain, but I am quite proud of our accomplishments.

What about the music? You may wonder. Well, this is the part of the letter I have more problems with. It's very hard to describe the things, the sensations and the problems we have had, especially in a foreign language. But I presume this is all part of the game so I will try nonetheless in the following lines.

In my first letter I told you I felt like destiny wanted me to meet Euterpe, the muse, in Grantville. When I wrote those words I thought I was using a metaphor. But now, I believe instead that my muse is incarnated in a real woman.

It happened during our first visit to the auditorium. I remember it as if it is printed in my mind.

Imagine a large hall, the size of a medium church, the floor filled with seats. Imagine this hall empty, but for one woman playing on the stage at the other end of the hall. Imagine a beautiful, black, large harpsichordlike instrument emitting a simple, but very expressive music. Imagine notes rich in timbre and tonality, powerful and delicate at the same time and all linked together in a way I find hard to describe. Forget monody and ba.s.so continuo, surround yourself in strange dissonant harmonies, in an exotic perfume for the listening.

If you can do that, you will not be surprised then that, when Mr. Saluzzo began to say something, both Girolamo and I dared to show him the apparently universal sign to make silence. He understood.

The music lasted for just a few minutes. The woman on the stage seemed so engrossed in it that she did not notice us until the very moment the last note faded away and we exploded in a sincere and enthusiastic applause whose sound made her turn toward us. She giggled and blushed like a child caught in something that is very personal and, at the same time, something she was also very proud of.

She made a little bow, left the stage and came toward us. We were still completely enthralled by her performance.

Usually Americans tower over us down-timers; instead this woman was considerably shorter than me, her figure pleasantly full. The well-defined oval of her face is framed by long chestnut hair and underlined by beautiful, s.h.i.+ny, amber eyes. She moves with a natural grace that is very different from the affected grace of Italian ladies. That grace, especially when combined with her outstanding self-confidence, is equally impressive.

One of the first things I learned here is that outer looks are not so strictly an indicator of social status and morality as it is among us. This notwithstanding, it will take time to become used to the way women dress here. I am still uncomfortable when they wear pants or skirts short as the one Elizabeth was wearing that day. The whole lower part of her legs was visible. In Rome a view like that would at least cause a scandal. Here it is normal during warm days.

"What were you playing, Elizabeth?" asked Mr. Saluzzo "Two of Satie's "Gymnopedies." I found the sheets a month ago at Mom's and I always wanted to play these pieces. They seem so simple and yet they are so incredibly expressive and touching. But why don't you introduce me to these gentlemen, Victor? I'm glad they appreciated the music."

"Gentlemen, may introduce you to Mrs. Elizabeth Jordan, our music teacher?" said the princ.i.p.al, while Elizabeth made a small, very gracious bow.

When addressed Girolamo answered with a very gallant bow enriched by a killer smile that he had probably used many times before. I made a fool of myself.

I have spent all my adult life in the bosom of the Holy Mother Church. I am without doubt very shy and not accustomed to talk to women, but I should have done better.

When Elizabeth stepped toward me saying "Nice to meet you, Maestro Carissimi," I answered something like "grfzgrrrrrrr," feebly and looking for cracks in the floor.

I never felt so awkward in my entire life.

Girolamo's eagerness saved me from worse shame.

"So that is a piano," he said, speaking slowly and trying to find the right words. "The sound is . . . magnifico. Can we please listen to more music?"

"Please, milady," I added, finally able to speak. "Forgive my clumsiness. Your performance left me completely dumbfounded, and I'm eager for more as well."

Once we arrived closer to the piano Girolamo could not help but touch and caress its smooth lines with an intensity probably reserved only for the best of his mistresses. He was staring intently at the actions inside the lid and, I think, mentally checking the differences between this instrument and spinets and harpsichords. He suddenly stopped looking the jolly fellow I knew. I've never seen him looking so serious. His gaze was saying "Whatever the costs, I have to learn!"

"This is what we call a grand piano," said Elizabeth. "It is five feet long. A full concert piano is longer, usually around nine feet. In our timeline, the first piano was built in Italy in 1709, I think. But it took many years and many other innovations before it became the instrument you see right now. The main difference between a harpsichord and a piano is in the actions. Instead of plucking the strings, pressing a key makes a hammer strike them. The instrument makes possible a broader melody. A phrase can grow louder and then softer and accentuation is possible. Nevertheless it took almost a century before pieces were composed with the piano and not the harpsichord in mind. Almost a century pa.s.sed from Cristofori's piano to the introduction of pedals."

Looking around, she saw how carefully we were listening to her words.

"Oh, I wish all my students were like you!" she said, smiling deliciously.

"I think you will find plenty of theory in our books in the library, so let's be done with it. I'm going to play a cla.s.sic piece. The very one almost any beginner learns how to slaughter in the first year of his studies. It's called "Fur Elise" and was composed by a German named Beethoven. If you really want to learn about our music, Maestro Carissimi, you will have to deal with him. If you like it I will then play another piece by the same author, the "Moonlight Sonata."

"I am eager to begin, Milady," I managed to say.

And so, after a short pause needed to reach the opportune concentration (a gesture that apparently is common among artists of any time and place), she began playing again. I couldn't stop watching the way her hands moved skillfully on the keyboard. The sound was so strong and clear that Girolamo had to restrain himself from putting his head into the soundboard.

I had the impression that learning how to play a piano would not be too hard. In a few months, I felt, I should be able to play it as well as any other instrument I mastered. After all, I'm quite a virtuoso with organs and harpsichords. The biggest obstacles will be learning how to use the pedals, getting familiar with a seven octaves keyboard and learning how to control my touch, as in a piano the way one uses the keys affects the sound much more than in any instrument I played before.

The more I listened to the music, the more I began to understand how much this instrument could impact the way music is composed.

When using harpsichords, one has to be true to certain forms. Creation is limited by well-defined boundaries. Using a piano instead gives the composer the opportunity to use many more combinations and harmonies. The richness of those legati and arpeggi! The ways chords escaped from the instrument and seemed to fill the hall reminded me of the flocks of starlings that pa.s.s trough the sky of Rome every autumn. The power of this music is outstanding. Mastering this instrument will give any musician a creative freedom I thought impossible before.

Someone aware of my prejudices against female musicians may laugh when he discovers how much Mrs. Jordan helped me. But probably one cannot have a good learning experience without having to set aside many of the ideas they were considering a given.

Mrs. Jordan, Elizabeth, has surprised me almost every day since the first time we met. She is a good natured, intelligent, ironic woman; a woman of profound faith, even if not Catholic, a talented musician and a very good teacher. Once the initial embarra.s.sment was gone, music brought us together and I am proud to say we have become very good friends, as close as decorum permits.

Her husband, a high ranking constable in the city guard, works as liaison with the constables of the other United States towns. So he spends most of his time out of Grantville. I don't know how much this bothers Elizabeth, because up to this moment I never felt comfortable and close enough to ask and she doesn't talk much about it. But, sometimes, I had momentary glimpses of how much she misses her husband.

They have two young children, Daniel and Leah. They are very lively, spirited and curious as any child should be. They are clearly a big part of her life and the sound of their games has been a pleasant background in the many afternoons I spent at Elizabeth's studying.

As you may have guessed already, Elizabeth has become my guide, my mentor, my teacher. I am not sure what I would have done without her.

I am not the only musician who is trying to learn something about the new music. Nothing truly surprising considering what treasure up-time music is. One of Mrs. Jordan's previous students, Miss Marla Linder, is teaching a group of German musicians, all very skilled I must add, and she let us borrow some very useful notes.

If the Germans are very good, Miss Linder is simply surprising. She has the flame, and I believe she will become famous very soon. She is still a little rough in some pa.s.sages, but her talent is unmistakable and, being so young, she has huge room for improvement. With the right exercise and care, her voice will s.h.i.+ne like gold.

We met the first time during an August afternoon in the school choir room. Elizabeth invited me to partic.i.p.ate in a discussion that Miss Marla was having with her German friends. The topic was mainly "tempering." You see, temperament of keyboard instruments has changed a great deal in the course of history.

Many methods have been used in the attempt to produce pure octaves and pieces of music written in different eras have a different intonation. So, knowing the differences between the mean intonation we use now and the others is crucial for us.

Most of the music from the middle of the nineteenth century until the Ring of Fire, was written with equal tempering in mind and most of the music written in the eighteenth century was written using "well tempering." If one changes the original intonation, they necessarily change also the composition's harmonic organization, thus producing something different from the original music.

I appreciated how clearly Miss Linder touched such fine points in music theory. I believe she will make a fine teacher in the future, a rarity among great performers.

I didn't say much at the meeting. I just pointed out that as things are now, there are no standards in music, not in pitch. The pitch I am used to is higher than the pitch of the twentieth-century instruments and much higher than the pitch mainly used here in Germany.

I tried to explain that, for the moment, we cannot expect standards and we should do as we down-timers are already used to: a lot of transcribing when our music is played in a place whose habits are different from the ones of the place where the music was originally written.

In the following weeks I went to other meetings, and, with time, the ice was broken. Music helped to create a true camaraderie of musicians. Sometimes we simply escaped the many stresses of modern music and spent many evenings playing the notes we knew better, exercising in what our teachers call "Baroque jam sessions."

Even though Marla Linder played the first note, it was Elizabeth Jordan who took the brunt of my musical education. She set a very strict program of studies. From Monday to Friday after school we study piano for two hours, then I have my cla.s.s of music theory and history. On the weekends I have to spend hours doing my "homework," exercising, studying and listening. Any Monday I have to be well prepared and pa.s.s a test on what I have done the previous week.

Since I began I've read plenty of books and I have been listening to hundreds of recordings. We decided that the better way to understand the evolution of music without being overwhelmed by so many authors and styles was to follow a strict chronologic path: late Baroque, Cla.s.sic, Early Romantic, late Romantic and Modern periods.

The names of the many giants that should have lived after me are printed in my memory just like my daily rosary: Albinoni, Corelli, Geminiani, Johann Sebastian Bach, Lully, Scarlatti, Vivaldi, Handel, Pachelbel, Beethoven, Haydn, Mozart, Brahms, Debussy, Liszt, Mendelssohn, Schubert, Faure, Mahler, Smetana, the Strauss family, Tchaikovsky, Bellini, Bizet, Cherubini, Leoncavallo, Rossini, Puccini, Verdi, Wagner.

For each one of them I have to learn the different styles of their compositions: fugues, concerti grossi, sonate, symphonies, symphonic poems, waltzes, overtures and so on.

Some nights I dream I am in the center of a storm with music sheets twirling in my mind like leaves blown by a gale. I can only hope that when the wind stops blowing the leaves will fall in a pattern I can understand.

Three weeks ago, after an afternoon spent trying to make sense of Chopin's Opus 64, when I was feeling more frustrated than the dog chasing his tail the Polish composer was trying to depict, I asked Elizabeth why she was sharing this gargantuan task with me.

"See, Giacomo, when I first met you, I am ashamed to say I didn't know who you were. After you left I had to go look for your name in my college schoolbooks and in the library."

After a short pause she smiled and said "I know you don't want to read of what your future would have been in the timeline I come from, but I can at least tell you had an important role. Without you the music I know and have loved since I was child would have been different. I felt like I owed you a great deal. I also realized that, with you, I had to set the bar high, very high, so high I was afraid I could not even reach it. It was a challenge I could not resist."

Looking me straight in the eyes, she kept on, "I am new in this profession, Giacomo. I became a full-time teacher only after the Ring of Fire. I had to know what I was capable of and you were, are, the perfect challenge for me. Like your friend, Girolamo," she smiled again with that subtle smile that warms my heart, "I never leave a challenge go untouched. And believe me, no matter how hard it is trying to teach something to that stubborn head of yours, working with you has always been a pleasure."

I believe I became as red as Father Mazzare's tomatoes in August. But her resolve gave me another reason to not give up. I want her to be proud of me more every day.

After the invention of those devices that make it possible to listen to somebody play or sing even if they are long-time dead, one can listen to music in two ways: recorded music and live music.

Even if I had my share of the first kind, I've always preferred the second, because seeing who is playing with my own eyes makes my down-timer mind much more comfortable. Luckily, I found plenty of live music in the town of Grantville.

One may think that together with all the things they are busy producing, with the reorganizing of the German political structure, and with a war about to be declared, these Americans would barely find the time to sleep. Instead, they love to make music. And they do it plenty and well.

Music of all kinds, from the sacred hymns they play in their churches to the ballads sung by the common people. They have many genres: rock, blues, jazz, folk, country, soul and many others. Honestly, I am not able to describe my reactions the first time I heard that awful music called hard rock. But after that concert at the Thuringen Gardens, I understood perfectly how the hardened Spanish soldiers at the Wartburg could have been terrified by it.

Put a hard rock band behind me and even I, Giacomo Carissimi, your most peaceful musician, would gladly march to battle against any enemy just to put that noise far behind me. Some of the oldest Americans are sure that rock musicians adore the devil. I am p.r.o.ne to agree with them.

One of my favorite activities is listening to the high school band, what I call Mr. Wendell's kingdom. This is for the skill that this teacher has in dealing with his young students.

Their existence is a proof that the Jesuits were right in making the study of music such an important subject! They are simply spectacular. They use mostly wind instruments that are very different from what we are used to. These instruments use a device called a "valve" that regulates the flow of air in the instruments. This permits the players to play in all keys and produce richer sounds compared to what we are used to. I do believe, though, that the sounds are more apt for a battlefield than for a church. Nevertheless, seeing so many boys and girls learning how to play, and making so many efforts to be able to play together in harmony makes the teacher in me feel very happy.

Not many of them will become professional musicians, but, whatever the path they will take, the study of music will enrich their lives and will give them a key to see the world with.

Since the moment of my arrival, I have come to enjoy the relative peace of any moment I spend in St. Mary. Any time my busy days permit it, I try to find refuge and consolation inside its holy walls. When not in prayer or meditation I have long and useful conversations with Father Kircher SJ, whose reputation in the Company I found very well deserved. I recommend to you this man of rare insight, logic, savvy, wisdom and compa.s.sion.

I found a subtle pleasure in using my experience as master of chapel for the people of St. Mary, and I deeply regret not to be able to spend more time helping with the sacred music during the different services.

When I began partic.i.p.ating in the choir rehearsals I was afraid that my arrival could have caused some jealousies, but I was proven wrong. Both Mrs. Linda Bartolli, the organ player, and Mr. Brian Grady, the director of the choir, did their best to make me feel at ease and part of the community.

At the end I think that, when working with them, I am receiving as much as I am able to give. I treasure the opportunity to learn more about the sacred music written in times and places that weren't my own. I have also learned to appreciate the mechanical wonders that are up-time organs whose mechanical and pneumatic parts are all powered by electricity. It's incredible the kind of tonal flexibility one can achieve with such a small case.

Many of the people who believe that after Pretorius' Syntagma Music.u.m the organ cannot be improved will be seriously disappointed. Linda once told me that the greatest honor for an organist is to play on an instrument built by an artisan named Silbermann whose organs will maybe be built more than fifty years from now. I am sure it is true, but I am well satisfied to play the one they have here in St. Mary.

Just recently, we decided to stage a concert for Saint Stephen's day with a program of down-time and up-time music. I look forward to the event.

While I was busy with my music studies, Girolamo and Johannes didn't remain idle. Their plan was first to learn all they could about pianos, then to restore a few of them and only at that point, once they had learned where they could get all the materials they needed, to start building new ones.

Pianos come in different dimensions and shape: there are the upright pianos, whose soundboard and strings are in a vertical position, made to be used in normal or small places. There are the baby grands, similar in shape and dimensions to an harpsichord, that require, for a perfect sound, a larger room, and then there is non plus ultra of instruments, the concert grand, whose sonority makes them perfect for concert halls.

Girolamo bought a few upright pianos, some of them in very bad shape, and two baby grands. People had begun to realize the value of those unique instruments and even if buying them was a true bleeding I never saw my artisan friend pay such a sum so gladly.

Quite unexpectedly, he managed to find a grand piano in a place called the Bowers Mansion. This villa, that used to belong to a rich family here in Grantville, is the closest thing to a palazzo the Americans have and it's now used as the administrative center for the region. The piano was left abandoned just before the Ring of Fire when the last member of the Bowers family died.

Buying the pianoforte has not been as easy as Girolamo believed. Some of our German friends have decided to start making modern instruments and the grand piano was a terrific a.s.set for them as well. The purchase became a ferocious bidding between the two parties. I was afraid Girolamo was about to have an apoplexy when he paid the final sum, but, thanks to the glory of Venetian ducats, still the best coin in Europe, he managed to bring the piano home.

The piano must weigh at least eight hundred pounds and is made by an American craftsman called Steinway. It is totally black, made in walnut, spruce, birch and poplar. The harp is made of iron and the strings are of the finest steel and bra.s.s.

The piano had been visibly neglected in the last years The frame was scratched and dented, one of the legs broken and clumsily patched, some of the actions were broken and some other (together with a few of the precious strings) were missing. Despite this, the instrument was a st.u.r.dy one and Girolamo is still very optimistic about giving it a second life.

The night the piano arrived at the shop Girolamo seemed very concerned. He was worried about an inevitable rise in costs brought by a compet.i.tion on all fronts with Hans Riebeck. So, the same night, he invited all the partners of Bledsoe and Riebeck to the Gardens and he tried to convince them to form a commercial alliance or, at least, to "divide the cake" to use a very colorful American phrase. Girolamo's offer was to cooperate to get together all the materials they might need instead of fighting for them. He was adamant about the rightness of his idea and he spent all night trying to talk his compet.i.tors into it. The Germans did not agree right away, but they looked very thoughtful when we left. I am sure that they will see the sense of it.

Since then Girolamo has been working frantically. I've seen him disembowel uprights and lay all their components on the huge table in the large garage. I've seen him taking parts from one piano and working on them until they fit on another. I've seen him studying manuals until late night, manuals in a language he still has problems to master. He was grateful, he said, to have been able to purchase a set of up-time tools. They are so much better to work with than his old ones, and in some cases absolutely necessary.

Surprisingly, Johannes was the first to produce a profit, and with the simplest idea.

Up-time cellos have a pin at the bottom of the instrument that permits the players to keep them upright without holding them tight between their knees. This simple innovation saves a sensible amount of the musician's energy and permits him to focus his attention completely on his performance, improving it drastically. Johannes sold the whole idea to the guild in Fussen, and, at basically no costs, was able to earn the first hard money for the company. I would not be surprised if they will start making cellos with the long pin very soon.

Ten days ago, when I was about to come home after a long day of musical studies, I heard Girolamo calling me from the garage. I hurried up, and, as soon as I entered the room, he invited me to sit in front of one of the uprights; the one that was in the best shape when acquired. I could hear the excitement that was barely contained in Girolamo's voice.

Even if the frame didn't have the rich ornaments and paintings that are Girolamo's signature; I could proudly read "Pianoforti Zenti" beautifully carved on a small silver plate just above the keyboard.

"So you fixed it," I said, in Italian.

"Si, I think it's done. Tuning it was a pain in the a.s.s, and I would never have done it without the kind a.s.sistance of Hermann Katzberg, but I really think you should try it. It is my special present to the man who will change the musical world. This way some of your future glory will ooze back to me."

I stood still for a while, speechless and sincerely moved by such a present. Then my hands almost moved by themselves and started playing a composition I had written for organ a few years before and I just recently transcribed and enriched for piano with Mrs. Jordan's help.

While the notes where flowing from my hands to the wooden keys I felt something grandiose growing in me. All my fears and doubts of the months before were vanis.h.i.+ng from my soul and a sense of strength and determination were digging their way into the deepest part of my heart.

I think that was the first time I played the piano without committing any mistakes.

In all this turmoil of events I had completely forgotten about my patron, Stefano Landi. Well, he didn't forget me because he recently sent me an irate letter asking me if I had found something about him and his works. It's not very Christian of me, but I can say with a certain satisfaction that I haven't found much. In the universe where the Americans came from Maestro Landi was probably too busy fighting with his sickness or enjoying his glory to compose anything worth being archived here in Grantville.

For a few days I wasn't sure if I should have written him the truth, but then I've had another moment of luck that gave me the idea for a small ruse. Apparently, just before the Ring of Fire, in a part of the USA called Michigan, there had been a revival of French Baroque Opera. The artists of this century will be known as barocchi by our posterity, even if I would much rather be called contemporary or stil novista. After all, as my American friends would say, I am a plain guy and I hardly believe someone may consider me bizarre. Too bad we cannot control the opinion history will have of us.

Anyway, the music and the libretto of an opera named Les fetes de l'ete written by a composer called Monteclair made it here to Grantville before the Ring of Fire, somehow. I bought them, together with other music sheets. I plan to have it copied it and to send it to Rome.

Even if the style is different from Landi's, I can always explain that this opera was considered to be a revolutionary piece, a true advancement in composition and style. Considering the vastness of Landi's ego, that should soothe any of his doubts. Besides, I suspect the Barberini will appreciate having an opera in French played in their theater and Landi loves whatever makes the Barberini happy.

I know it's not very honest of me and, I confess, it gnaws at my conscience. I can only hope that this Monteclair, somewhere in another universe's heaven, would be glad to know that his opera will be staged again.

In the last days people here have been very nervous. We see more movements of troops and everybody is waiting for a move from one of the many forces that are putting Gustavus Adolphus' lands under siege. Just yesterday, Girolamo was almost caught in a brawl at the Gardens with some of the Scottish soldiers stationed here. I am glad he managed to remain calm and simply walk out unscathed. He is saying he wants to go to Magdeburg to scout the place. I hope he does it soon; being on the road again should calm him down.

I am worried, Father. Today there is something in the air that doesn't smell good. A few minutes ago, the town became silent. There is no trace of the strong background noise that fills our lives night and day. I need to interrupt my writing and ask what is happening. Is it another raid on the town?

I am just back with the direst of news. What everyone dreaded has just happened. The League of Ostend has attacked Wismar and war is upon us. It seems that the attack has been repelled, but some young soldiers, loved by the people of this town, have been killed.

Pray for me, for us, Father, because we need it more than ever. I look forward to receiving another of your letters should they make it here.

Your humble servant and student