Featured Article » Continuing Serials

Sonata, Part One

Written by David Carrico

Movement I - Allegro con brio

From the Grantville News, Monday, January 2, 1634

Linder-Sylwester Wedding

The New Year began with more celebration than usual yesterday as Marla Linder and Franz Sylwester were united in marriage at 3 p.m. in the Methodist church. The bride wore a white gown in the old Grantville tradition, while the groom was dressed in a blue velvet jacket and black velvet trousers. The matron of honor was Anna Riebeck and the best man was Friedrich Braun. Other attendants were the bride's sister Jonni Chieske and Thomas Schwarzberg. The Reverend Simon Jones led the bride and groom in their vows and joined them in holy matrimony. A reception was held in the church's fellowship hall afterward.

When asked why they selected Sunday as their wedding day, Marla replied that they wanted to begin the New Year as husband and wife. Franz added that being united on the Lord's Day made it even more meaningful.

The new family will make their home in Magdeburg, where they will both be involved in music and the arts.

Grantville - Thursday, January 5, 1634

Franz felt as if he were walking on clouds as he walked hand in hand with Marla up the steps to the High Street House. Of course, he had felt that way since Sunday, when he and Marla were wed. It had happened so quickly, he still felt somewhat dizzy. It was hard to remember that it was only three weeks ago that he had proposed to Marla on bended knee before a room full of the most influential people in the USE. She had been patiently waiting for him to do so for months, but in his stubbornness he would not do so until the rehabilitation of his crippled hand had progressed enough to let him play his violin in public again. Once he had determined to propose, he waited for the night of her concert and took advantage of the setting as she responded to the final applause. He had well and truly surprised her, which was part of his delight, but it had not taken her long to overcome that surprise, pull him to his feet and—how did he hear someone describe it . . . oh, yes—"plant a lip lock" on him.

The days after that night had been a whirlwind of activity, as Marla was obligated to return to Grantville as soon as possible after that to sing the premiere of Maestro Carissimi's lament for the death of Hans Richter, Lament for a Fallen Eagle. It was to be performed on December 26^th, the feast day of St. Stephen the Martyr. Somehow Franz was not surprised at the timing. The maestro, quiet though he was, had impressed him as being a man of thought and order. So, Marla, Franz and their friends—including Klaus and Reuel, who had been assigned to bodyguard duty by Gunther Achterhof after the episode in The Green Horse when Marla had been accosted by a drunk—had packed up on December 16^th, the day after the concert, and left for Grantville. Klaus and Reuel were theoretically serving as couriers, and indeed, they did carry a package of papers to the CoC in Grantville. Everyone knew, however, that they were charged with Marla's safety.

The trip, although somewhat more taxing than when they traveled to Magdeburg on a barge, was somewhat more pleasant because of one thing: it was not raining. Marla did not handle being wet and cold very well. Franz sent silent prayers of thanks upwards for every day that dawned sunny and dry.

Once they arrived, the days prior to Christmas were filled with rehearsals at St. Mary's Catholic Church, the venue the maestro had chosen for the performance. Franz had sat on a pew, listening, as Marla, Isaac, Josef, Rudolf and Hermann had practiced with the composer and his chosen pianist, Elizabeth Jordan, one of Marla's former teachers. Frau Jordan had become a mentor to the renowned Italian composer in the ways of the music brought back in Grantville by the Ring of Fire, and it was a natural choice for her to play since Marla had been asked to sing the solo. Franz was still unable to play anything very complex yet, and had chosen to not attempt a part in this, desiring only the best performance for both Marla's sake and that of the maestro he had come to admire.

Christmas happened; a most joyful time in Grantville. The day after Christmas was the performance of the lament, and Marla had done as well as he had expected. Then she sprang her surprise on him. Even now, he remembered feeling as if he had been punched when she turned to him the morning of December 27^th and said, "Let's get married! Now! We're here, my family and friends are here, and so are yours. Let's do it! On New Year's Day!" And he had been helpless to do anything except agree.

Once again, he saw Marla "kick into high gear." Once again all he could do was cling to her train as she, her aunt and her sister huddled together and planned a whirlwind campaign. They divided the tasks and moved out to conquer far faster than any military staff. Aunt Susan retired to the kitchen to do the baking for the reception. Jonni took over the arrangements with the church and the minister, the publication notice and preparation and circulation of invitations. Marla herself dealt with the question of attire.

A phone call to Karen Reading produced a squawk of "What?" Franz had heard it across the room from the phone. Karen had followed it with a stern command for Marla to get her behind to the Bridal Shop with no dilly-dallying around. Marla had obeyed that command. Franz traveled in her wake, to sit in a chair while Karen and Donna Lynn Rogers had fussed and fretted enough for three weddings while Marla tried on several dresses.

There were extended conversations about the suitability of each design, filled with arcane words that Franz had never heard before. For all he knew, they were conjuring up the desired dress. Fortunately, he had with him the book that Marcus Wendell, the band director, had given him, and he spent his time poring over that, looking up from time to time when one of the ladies would ask, "Franz, what do you think?" Each time he would smile and respond, "It looks beautiful to me."

When they (finally) had been allowed to leave toward the end of the day, Marla squeezed his arm as they walked out the door, and said, "Poor Franz, captive all day in a dress shop. You didn't have a clue what was going on, but your being there made me happy. Thank you." She leaned over and kissed him lightly.

The day of the wedding was mostly a blur, but he did have a few very clear memories. Marla smiling at him almost always warmed him to the point of fever, but that day, as he watched her walk down the aisle, the light in her eyes and the aura around her face took him to the point of incandescence. That peaked when she joined her hand to his and they walked up the steps to the platform and faced the minister.

That memory was playing in his mind as they stepped onto the porch of the mansion. Franz moved to one side, gathered Marla in his arms and proceeded to "plant a lip lock" of his own.

A timeless moment later they separated. Marla smiled at him. "Goodness! What was that for?"

Franz reached up to brush her hair back behind her ears as she continued to look at him quizzically. One of the many reasons he loved Marla was that she had never flinched from his crippled left hand. Truth to tell, when they walked hand in hand, she preferred to hold that one. "I love you," he said. Her smile widened, and she flowed back into his arms.

Another timeless moment passed. "You know," Marla murmured, caressing his cheek, "if you keep this up we'll be late for the meeting."

Franz captured her fingers and kissed them. "I know. If it wasn't so important to both of us, I wouldn't mind being very late."

Marla broke away from him and slapped his bicep. "You! Get in there." He sighed, opened the front door, and followed her in.

Every Grantville native called the stately old home that had been taken over by the city for administrative functions the High Street House. It was the closest thing to a mansion in Grantville. Franz and Marla walked into the meeting/event room at the back of the house and were greeted by applause. The ornate mahogany table had been moved from the former dining room. Many of the equally ornate chairs were occupied by friends and acquaintances who were clapping and whistling. Franz grinned, He could see Marla blushing.

Mary Simpson was seated at the head of the table, which didn't surprise Franz at all. She waved them to seats next to hers on the far side of the table as the noise died down. "Thank you all for coming today. I appreciate all of you taking the time for this meeting out of your busy schedules, or in the case of Marla and Franz, out of their honeymoon." Again there was applause from around the table. Marla blushed even more, and Franz's grin just got wider. "Nonetheless," Mary said, "I have to leave for Magdeburg shortly, and I really needed to talk to all of you about something that has got to be developed soon: an orchestra."

Ears perked up all around the table. Franz looked over at Isaac Fremdling, then to Josef Tuchman, to see wide smiles on the faces of his fellow string players. Rudolf Tuchman, Josef's brother, snorted, and said, "Finally."

Mary smiled. "Yes. Finally. But we had to walk first, before we could run. The work that you did all last year . . ." Mary waved her hand to encompass everyone at the table, ". . . all of you, has laid the foundation for the work that will be done this year."

"Umm, excuse me," said the quiet man dressed in a black cassock. "I think, perhaps, it would more correct be to say that the ground has been cleared for laying a foundation." The lilt of his voice made it very clear that not only was English not his first language, neither was German.

"You are right, Maestro Carissimi." Mary nodded, accepting the correction. "I spoke out of enthusiasm, but you are indeed right. What you collectively did last year was assemble the workmen and the tools that are needed to lay the foundation. Now we must begin that work."

Franz looked around the table as Mary spoke. It was quite an assemblage of musicians and craftsmen in this one room . . . perhaps the most impressive collection of adepts that he had ever had the good fortune to be part of. To Mary's left was Marcus Wendell, the Grantville High School band director. He was a man with an incredible mass of up-time musical knowledge in his mind. To his left were the Italian contingent, Maestro Giacomo Carissimi and his musician and crafter friends and associates. Beyond the Italians sat the representatives of Bledsoe and Riebeck, the Grantville/German instrument crafters. At the far end of the table, opposite of Mary, was Bitty Matowski, the ballet mistress, fresh from the triumph of her staging of The Nutcracker. Franz noticed that Bitty was the only person in the room who was smaller than Mary. To Mary's right were Marla, Franz, and all the men who had been part of the study group that had formed around Marla in the spring and summer of 1633.

Mary smiled again. "I am not a musician, but I have worked in supporting musical groups in the past. I can assure you that I have received commitments for financial support for an orchestra for the foreseeable future. However, if we want to realize those commitments, that orchestra must be produced, and soon. I believe that all of you in this room can contribute to that effort in some way. So, let's get started."

The next hour was a revelation to Franz. Mary directed the discussion as surely as Marcus Wendell directed the high school band. They moved smoothly from topic to topic, covering the various issues involved with reproducing the up-time instruments in their current circumstances. Franz watched with interest as Mary stopped incipient arguments, prompted people into revealing information they didn't realize was important, and kept them focused on the goal, all the while making copious notes in a notebook. He found the time educational, to say the least; as much about how to manage a conference as about the information that was being shared.

At the end of the discussion, Mary looked around the room. "Right. To summarize, both Ingram Bledsoe and Marcus Wendell believe that a number of usable instruments can probably be found in basements and attics in Grantville. Ingram will take charge of locating and acquiring those." She waved at the crafters on her left. "You gentlemen will work together to develop the techniques to reproduce uptime strings. Friedrich Braun will also collaborate with Leopold Gruenwald on duplicating the woodwinds. Leopold has already made good progress on duplicating the valves and slides for brass. Marcus believes duplicating the percussion instruments will not be a serious challenge as soon we can locate down-time drum crafters. So, did I leave anything out?"

"The wood," prompted Marcus.

Mary circled a note on the page in front of her. "Sorry, I do have that down. We need to get our merchant connections searching in Central and South America for pernambuco for bows and rosewood for xylophones and marimbas."

Mary turned a page in her notebook. "All right. We can probably locate enough wind instruments to begin an orchestra, and with some time and resources we can produce more. But instruments are useless without musicians to play them." She looked around the room. "We need more musicians. A lot more. And we need them relatively soon. With all due respect, Maestro Carissimi and Signores Abati and Zenti, they will probably have to be Germans. We don't have time to wait for messages to get to Italy and for others to follow your footsteps here."

Carissimi simply nodded. The others looked slightly mutinous but followed their countryman's lead and remained silent. Franz was wondering why Mary kept emphasizing a short time frame, when Marcus asked, "Why the short fuze, Mary?"

"I'll get to that in a moment. So, if we need good musicians, and we need them quickly, where can we find them?"

Franz looked down the table at his friends, and collected several nods. He looked back at Mary. "Some of them, at least, might come from Mainz. When the Prince-Bishop fled the sight of the Swedish army, he left his orchestra behind. That is where Isaac, Leopold, Thomas and I came from. There are others who can be encouraged to come, particularly if appropriate stipends are made available."

"Excellent! How many?"

Franz looked back at his fellows. "Twelve, maybe fifteen?"

Isaac nodded. "Unless they've all fled in the last few months, about that many."

Mary looked pensive. "That's not enough. Where can we find more?"

They all looked at each other, and a moment of silence ensued. Finally, Thomas asked, "Cannot some of your patrons provide some musicians?"

"As a last resort, they can," Mary responded, "but I would really rather not inconvenience them if we don't have to." Suddenly her eyes lit up, and an almost beatific smile appeared on her face. "What about the Elector of Saxony's orchestra? Can we abscond with it like we will with the Prince-Bishop's?"

Shrugs all around the table. "It would be worth a try," said Isaac.

"Where else?"

Marla cleared her throat. "You might try sending circulars throughout Thuringia." Mary looked at her with a questioning expression. Marla continued. "According to the music history books, there should be at least a few Bachs scattered throughout this part of the country . . . ancestors and cousins of ancestors from collateral lines."

Mary grimaced, and made notes. "I knew that," she muttered.

"And according to Ed Piazza, there should be a sizable college of musicians around Stuttgart, as well," Marcus contributed.

Mary made more notes. Finally, she looked up again. "Okay, how do we get the word out?" The down-timers looked at her quizzically. She grinned. "How do we let musicians know that we're hiring, and what we have to offer?"

"I think," Maestro Carissimi offered, "that you will have to send personal representatives to most places. Here in Thuringia, perhaps broadsides would be useful, as most everyone does know of Grantville and what it means. But for places farther away, you must send ambassadors of music."

"Does anyone disagree?" Mary looked around the room. "Okay, we have Mainz, Stuttgart and Saxony. It will have to be you on this side of the table," she said, pointing to Franz. "The craftsmen, including Leopold, cannot leave. Thomas Schwarzberg as well. They must be focused on their work. So, who will go where?"

Franz looked over at Marla, who nodded in return. "We will go to Mainz."

Josef and Rudolf whispered back and forth for a moment. Josef said, "We will go to Stuttgart. We have a cousin there, who should provide us an opening."

Isaac had also been whispering with Hermann. He looked at Mary. "We will go to Saxony."

"Good." Mary wrote a few more notes in the ubiquitous notebook. She set the pen down, clasped her hands together in front of her, and gazed around the table. "Now, to answer Marcus' question from a few minutes ago, the reason I stressed short time lines is because our first concert has to be ready by the first of July."

"What?"

"Gott in himmel!"

Various exclamations echoed off the walls of the conference room, including at least two that Franz recognized as being Italian. From the frown that appeared on Maestro Carissimi's face, they must have been very vulgar.

Mary raised a hand to quiet them as Marcus interjected, "Mary, I don't know who you've made that commitment to, but you'd better try and get out of it, because, bluntly, it's not going to happen."

Mary's head turned and her eyes bored into his. "I beg your pardon? Did you not just tell me that there were plenty of instruments in the garages and attics, and that you could loan those we couldn't find? Did we not establish that the violins today are similar to the violins from up-time? If we can get the musicians quickly, what prevents us from getting the orchestra together and performing in six months?"

"Did you ever play a musical instrument, Mary?"

"I took piano lessons as a child."

Marcus chuckled. "About what I figured. Mary, I'm not concerned about the string players. In fact, I misspoke slightly. You can have a Bach era orchestra ready in six months or less. Bach, Handel, maybe early Haydn and Mozart, they could play. But late Classical era and later would be beyond them."

"Why?" Mary frowned. "Make me understand, Marcus."

"It's the wind players, Mary. All of these instruments we've been talking about—the woodwinds with the Böhm keys, and the brass with the valves and different styled mouthpieces. For these players, it will be almost like learning new instruments, and for clarinet and saxophone players that would be literally true.

"Mary, I've been teaching band for almost as long as Marla has been alive. And I worked with good musicians in college. I've seen musicians pick up a new instrument—one that's different from their primary—and try to learn it, and it takes a lot of time. I'll spare you the lengthy explanation with all the technical musical terms. It boils down to just the sheer physical drill of practicing, over and over and over until your lips are puffy and sore, your fingers are blistered and you are so sick of the instrument you want to throw it in the river, until you build muscle memory and it finally becomes second nature to you."

Marla smiled and nodded. Mary caught the motion, and it obviously added to the weight of what Marcus was saying.

"Okay, then, how long until we have a Beethoven or Rossini era orchestra?"

"From the time you hand them the instruments to the time they might—I say might—be ready to tackle that music, ten to twelve months. Might be more, but it would take a divine miracle for it to be much less. An individual player, maybe less, but a full ensemble, nope."

Mary frowned down at her hands tightly clasped on top of her notebook. She said in a low tone, "If that's what it will take, then that's what it will take. But we will perform a concert of at least some up-time music in early July, even if it's nothing but Bach and Handel. And, yes, Bitty, I still want a season of ballet this year. Some kind of accompaniment will be available." She raised her head and stared each of them in the eyes in turn. When his turn came, Franz felt as if he were staring down the barrels of a pair of matched dueling pistols. He had never seen her gray eyes seem that cold before. Taking a deep breath, he nodded in return, and everyone in the room echoed him.

"Good." Mary closed her notebook. "I will be leaving for Magdeburg in another day or so. I may speak to a few of you before I leave. For now, after I leave you can contact Lady Beth Haygood. You will be able to communicate with me through her, and she will coordinate finances, including traveling expenses for those of you who will be traveling." She stood. "Thank you all for your time today, for the hard work you've already done, and for your commitment to the work yet to be done. I truly do appreciate it." She looked around the room, this time with a warm smile on her face, and everyone's spirits lightened a little before she swept out of the room. The Italians and most of the instrument crafters followed close behind her.

The energy level in the room dropped dramatically after Mary left. Once again Franz was reminded of just how intense Mrs. Simpson could be. Someone at the other end of the table gave a low whistle. Marcus chuckled. "I do believe we've been drafted into the USE Arts League, folks."

"I was reading in the Bible yesterday, in the Book of Judges," Isaac said. "I believe I now know how Barak must have felt when Deborah summoned him." Everyone laughed.

Marla smiled. "Well, that's better than Elijah before Jezebel. All we have to do is raise an orchestra out of the fertile ground of Thuringia." The laughter was louder this time.

"At least your assignment is possible." They all looked at the end of the table where Bitty Matowski had almost huddled in her chair for the entire meeting. "She wants me to stage Swan Lake in six months, and I can't do it, not here, not now!" Franz was a little taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. "The only reason I came to this meeting was to find out if an orchestra will be available in July."

Marcus and Franz both started to speak, but Franz gestured to Marcus to continue. "Bitty, there will be an orchestra then. Will it be able to perform Tchaikovsky? I doubt it, but I'm not going to rule the possibility out. If Franz and his friends can play the music, can you stage the dance?"

"No," Bitty said in a low tone of voice. "At least not anything like what Her Ladyship and her friends would be expecting. The big set pieces she expects for the second and fourth acts require more than two dozen en pointe dancers, and I'm lucky if I have ten. I won't allow any of my students to perform en pointe until I believe they are ready. Not a moment earlier. Not for anyone or anything will I risk ruining their feet. And if Her Ladyship doesn't like that she can . . ."

"Bitty," Marla interrupted. "Calm down." Bitty settled back in her chair, giving a jerky nod in return.

Franz was astounded to hear Mary Simpson spoken of in the tone used by Bitty. Evidently not everyone viewed her intensity and drive as well as he did.

"Now, do you know for sure you can't do Swan Lake?" Marla asked.

"No. She told me last Friday, after the last performance. I've been stewing about it ever since, but I haven't talked to the dancers yet, because I didn't want to ruin their holiday."

"Well, then," Marla said, "get them together. Talk to them. See if together you can think of a way to do it. If you can't, come up with an alternate proposal and present it to Mary."

"But what about music, and lighting, and . . ."

Marla raised a hand, and Bitty stopped in mid-sentence. "How many times while I was taking dance from you did I hear you say that you can't write staging directions and cues until you know what you're going to do and where you're going to do it? Figure out what you're going to do and tell Mary, then find out where it's going to be done. Then you can worry about the other stuff."

Marcus cleared his throat. "When you know what you want to do, Bitty, come talk to me so we can look at music. Whatever you end up using musically, there's a pretty good chance that Thomas will have to transcribe it. That will take some time, so he needs to know as soon as possible. That goes for you, too . . ." Marcus looked across the table at Franz. "Once you decide what will be performed, get the word to Thomas as soon as you can. If she wants a concert in July, you'd best start rehearsing in April. And no, before you ask, I can't help."

Bitty still looked unhappy, but she nodded. "Thanks, Marcus, Marla."

Marcus placed his palms on the table and pushed himself upright. "Well, folks, I believe we've all got work to do." He led the way out of the conference room and down the short hall to the front door.

Outside, Marla gave Bitty a quick hug and some more encouragement, then joined the huddle of friends around Franz. He looked at them all. "Well, what are we going to do?"

They looked at each other. Glances went around the circle several times, and finally Thomas rumbled in his deep voice, "You have the best sense for the music, Franz. You choose the works, and I will make sure they are ready by April."

Franz looked around the circle again. "Is that what you all want?" Nods from them all, including Marla. He sighed. "So be it."

Grantville - Friday morning, January 6, 1634

Marla kissed Franz. "I'm off to the school. I'll meet you in the band room at last hour, right?" Franz nodded, and she turned away to walk down the street, headed for her appointment to play and sing for some of the elementary classes as a treat.

For a moment, Franz was a little disoriented. This was the first time since the wedding that they had been separated for more than a few minutes, but today he had no desire to mingle with a mob of young children. It did feel a little odd, though, not having Marla beside him as he wandered up the street.

The day was sunny and clear, the air was brisk and cold, but not to the point where it hurt to breathe. The joy that had been bubbling inside of him for the last three weeks overflowed, and he flung his arms wide and twirled on the sidewalk, laughing freely. As he came full circle, he was face to face with one of the elderly ladies who lived nearby. She was on her way to do some shopping with the net bag hanging from her arm next to her purse. Her eyes were wide, but she offered him a timorous smile when he stepped off the sidewalk, bowed and, with flamboyance worthy of Signor Abati, gestured that she should continue.

He was still grinning from ear to ear when he entered the workshop of Bledsoe and Riebeck. Not only was his friend, Friedrich and his craft master Hans, present, but also their competitors, Signor Girolamo Zenti and Johannes Fichtold, his associate journeyman. Of the major wood craftsmen at yesterday's meeting, only Ingram Bledsoe was missing. The four were grouped around a work table, looking at the pieces of a violin in the process of assembly and discussing it animatedly. Friedrich looked up and spotted him.

"Franz! What are you doing here, and where is Marla?"

"She is visiting school classrooms this morning to entertain children, so I thought I would do something similar and come see what happens here."

Friedrich laughed, and Master Hans had a smile nestling in his gray beard. Their two visitors were a little taken aback by the banter, but quickly sprouted smiles of their own.

"Ach, Franz, I see that marriage has not stopped your foolishness," Master Hans said.

"And if you thought it would, good master, then you expected too much. I am as great a fool as ever." Franz laughed. "The giddiest of fools, indeed. I rouse with the sun each day in joy, and lay my head down at night in bliss. 'Twixt the two I wander and run in delight. A fool I am indeed." He held a finger up and winked. "But surely the wisest of fools for wedding Marla. Let it be carved on my tombstone at the end of a hopefully long life, that I had wisdom enough to marry the good Marla Linder."

Now they all started laughing, and crowded around Franz to shake his hand and clap his shoulders once more in congratulations. As they started to settle down, Master Hans assumed a serious expression. "You know, young Franz, that it will not always be thus. The first bloom will fade, and only if you have sunk deep roots will you survive."

Franz sobered. "Aye, Master Hans. We know enough of life to know that our roots must run deep and twine together for there to be blooms and fruit throughout our lives. Marla will challenge me to my best, but a burden that will never be, as I want for her nothing but the best. We have each other, and we have God. It will be enough."

The others nodded, with a muttered, "So let it be," from Friedrich.

There was a moment of silence, then Franz gestured to the bench. "Enough of me. What happens here?"

"I had some time ago," Friedrich stepped toward the bench, "begun trying to fashion a violin after the model of one belonging to Master Ingram, one he said belonged to an uncle before it came to him. Maple for the back," pointing to the elements," spruce for the top, somewhat wider than your own, sound holes cut as so. Resonator bar here, sound post ready to join front and back. Longer neck, joined to the body at a steeper angle.

"One innovation that I had not seen before: the finger board on the neck is slanted slightly from side to side. I had to think on it for some while before I realized that it provided an equal distance for each string to be pressed down to the board. You had told me before of the increase of violin art, of the rise of virtuosi, and I heard music last summer. But this brought it home to me, that the virtuoso's technique would be so demanding that a flat neck would produce irregularities in playing rapidly because of the differing widths of the strings. It makes sense, once I understand it, as does the longer neck. The longer the neck, the more notes you can play on it. This is a design with years, even centuries, more breeding behind it than the one I made you. This is a merino, while the one I made in Mainz for you is perhaps not a Brillo, but is not far from it."

"So I am a shepherd now, am I?" Franz laughed along with the others at the reference to the famous—and infamous—ram.

"Aye, a shepherd of music," Friedrich replied, "perhaps one of the great ones."

"Pfaugh! You flatter me."

"No, my friend, no. It is but truth. You found Grantville's music first, even before Maestro Carissimi." Friedrich nodded to Master Girolamo. "You called us here, you drove us to follow Marla, chivvying us along, all the while wondering if you would ever play again. And by the grace of God and your own endurance you have begun to play. The others follow your lead, and well they should. You will lead them to glory, a musical Alexander, and they will be known as your companions. They all sense this, even Hermann of the hard head."

Franz stared at his friend in amazement. Never had he heard such come from Friedrich before. "Are you the modern Delphian Oracle, then?"

Looking a bit abashed, Friedrich replied, "Nay, no prophet or seer, I. The future is hidden from me in fog and clouds of gun smoke, just as it is to everyone. But this much is plain to me."

"Heavy expectations you lay upon me," Franz said.

"No heavier than what you lay upon yourself."

"I will say this," interjected Master Girolamo. "I have heard Maestro Carissimi say that Signora Marla's flame burns bright, but yours burns hotter." Johannes nodded in agreement.

Franz stared at them all, all of them returning his stare with level gazes. "I . . . I do not know what to make of this. I . . . I am not accustomed to thinking of myself as such."

Master Hans stepped to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Think not about it. Just be yourself, the wise fool Franz who loves Frau Marla Linder and loves music. Be true to that, and let whatever else come that will."

Franz looked him in the eye for a moment, then nodded slowly. "That I can do. That I will."

"Good." The master clapped his shoulder again with a blow that staggered him. "Now, let us consider again this merino of violins." They all shook themselves, laughing together, and grouped around the table again.

"So, you have determined the instrument's physique," Franz said. Master Zenti grunted, the others nodded. "And how long to make one, then?"

"I say three months or more," from Friedrich, "but Johannes there says that his kinsmen and fellow craftsmen in Füssen can produce one in two."

"Ah, you are from Füssen, then?" Franz turned to Johannes. "I have heard of their violins, I believe. Are you then a crafter of such?"

Johannes shook his head. "No. I agreed to come with Master Girolamo, and I am assisting in his work with pianos, but my family are luthiers . . . geigenfabrikants. Our specialty is lutes, but I have helped with violins before. Four, maybe five violins."

"Füssen has fine woods, fine timber," Master Girolamo added. "I have ordered woods from there to be sent to me here. But obviously the Füssen craftsmen would get first choice."

"So, two months. Allowing for time to get to Füssen, and time for the violins to return, if we desired to order from everyone in Füssen who could build this 'merino' violin design, including the new bows as well," Franz said slowly, working through an idea, "how many could we have by, say . . . the end of April?"

Johannes pondered that question, lips moving and fingers counting on fingers. Finally he looked up. "If they can be convinced to make these the most important works, put them ahead of their other contracts, I would think twenty, perhaps twenty-five."

Franz looked at the two masters. "If Ingram has any fortune at all in finding sound and playable up-time violins in basements and attics, that would surely equip the violinists of our orchestra soon to be hatched." They accepted his statement as fact, and both looked back at him with identical quizzical expressions on their faces. "So, you send Johannes to Füssen with the 'merino' design, authority to contract and enough silver to bind the contracts. Get them started soon. Neither of you can produce what is required as soon as they can."

"True," Master Hans said sourly, and Master Girolamo grunted in agreement.

"It will cost," warned Johannes. "You will pay for the new design, you will pay for the speed, and you will definitely pay to put your order at the ...