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Suite For Four Hands

Written by David Carrico

Intrada

Grantville
Late July, 1633

As he turned from closing the door of the Bledsoe and Riebeck workshop, Franz Sylwester found several pairs of eyes focused on him. "Well?" his friend Friedrich Braun asked expectantly. "What did the nurse say?"

Franz struggled to keep his expression solemn as he took his jacket off. He heaved a sigh and turned to hang it on a peg by the door. As he faced the others again, Marla moved closer and placed a hand on his arm.

"Franz," she started softly, obviously ready to comfort. He couldn't hold it in any longer, and broke out in a smile, then laughed.

"Frau Musgrove declares that my hand is good, is healed." He held his left hand up and flexed his fingers. The thumb, index and middle fingers moved easily. The ring and little fingers were still frozen in the same curved shape they had healed in after the knuckles were crushed in Heydrich's assault, but even those fingertips flexed a little. "So, I now have enough of a hand to hold things."

"Franz!" Marla squealed. She grabbed him and swung him around. "That's great news!" Friedrich, Anna and Thomas crowded around to slap him on his back in congratulations.

Ingram Bledsoe came in from a door at the back of the workshop. "What's the occasion?" Marla bounced over to him and gave him a swift hug, leaving him looking a little surprised but smiling nonetheless.

The others stepped back from Franz, who lifted up his hand again and flexed the fingers, smiling. "Nurse Musgrove says I am not to come back, that I am healed."

"Congratulations!" Ingram stepped forward to shake hands. "That's great news!"

Franz held up his good hand for quiet, reached into his pocket and dug out a three-inch rubber ball. "Marla," tossing the ball to her, "please give this instrument of torture back to your niece. Tell her I thank her with all my heart for the loan of it, and that I never want to see it again!" Everyone laughed with him again, but they were all aware of how hard he had worked the last few months with that ball to rehabilitate his hand . . . squeezing it over and over and over again in every unoccupied moment . . . squeezing it until his arm ached to the elbow with the effort. They knew what drove him—the determination that he would not be a cripple, that in some way he would again be able to support himself.

Marla moved up and took his arm in both her hands.

"Franz," she said, "to celebrate this occasion, we've got a gift for you." He looked at her quizzically. "Anna, the first part's yours." Franz looked at his friend, wondering what was going on, while everyone else shifted around like young children trying to stifle exclamations. Anna walked over to a chest against the far wall, a chest that had come with them from Mainz, opened it up and took out a bundle wrapped in burgundy velvet. She handed it to Thomas, who passed it to Friedrich, who unwrapped the cloth to display a violin. As he held it out toward Franz, Marla felt him stiffen.

"That . . . that is . . . my violin," he stuttered.

"Yes," from Friedrich.

"How . . . how . . ." he stopped, swallowed, and forced himself to composure. "How is this possible? I smashed it . . . did I not?"

"No," Anna stepped up, smiling, "no, you did not. You did smash your bow that night, and you endeavored to likewise destroy your violin. You did indeed throw it at the wall that night, in your fever and your anger, but you ran out the door before you could see that although the scroll hit the wall above the bench, the body hit a cushion instead."

"The scroll was scraped," Friedrich added, angling the instrument to show the traces of the mar, "but I was able to smooth it down and apply new finish to it. And so," pressing the violin into his friend's hands, "it returns to you. Both are somewhat older, both are somewhat stressed by your experiences, but you still suit one another very well. We kept it safe until you were ready to hold it again." He stepped back, leaving Franz to clasp the instrument he thought he had destroyed—to hold it gently and pass one hand in a caress over its top.

Still staring at the violin—his violin—Franz said, "Never has a man had friends such as you. When I regained my senses, in my wanderings after I left Mainz, I grieved over this, grieved most sorely. The thought that I had wantonly destroyed my violin, made solely for the creation of beauty in a world that has not enough of it, did try my soul indeed." He looked up, blinking, eyes bright with unshed tears. "And today you have restored it to me. I have not words to thank you as you deserve." He looked back down at it as the tears spilled over, caressed it again, then embraced it for a long moment, his cheek leaning against the scroll.

The room was quiet, everyone respecting Franz's emotions. He finally looked up again, smiled a little, and said, "Thank you. I thank God for you, my friends, who have saved me, and now have saved my violin as well. Now I am free of that guilt, and I am free to find someone who will take it from my hands to love it as I do and to play it as I no longer can."

Marla took his arm again and turned him to face her. "Now for my gift. Franz, you don't have to give it up. You can play."

Franz was shocked that she would say such a thing, and a flash of anger and sorrow went through him. "Do not mock me, Marla." Holding up his left hand, he said, "Even with the healing that has been done, I cannot finger the neck I cannot play."

"Maybe you can't finger the neck with that hand, but I'll bet you can hold a bow with it now! Switch hands! Learn to play with switched hands!" Marla was grinning with delight and bouncing slightly in her excitement. Franz felt stunned. Was it possible? Could he do it? He felt dazed, as if he had been hit in the head. He saw Marla put her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling, so he was sure he looked as amazed as he felt.

"It's true," Ingram said, grinning himself. "I knew a mountain fiddler once who had an accident that left his left hand like yours. He just taught himself how to finger the neck with the right and learned to bow with his left. Last time I saw him, he was just as good that way as he was 'tother."

Franz shuddered, and his jaw snapped shut. He felt an excitement building in him, and his eyebrows climbed to meet his hairline, causing Marla to giggle. He looked at her, and asked, "Do you think I can do this?"

"I know you can."

Taking a deep breath, Franz turned to Friedrich and said, "My friend, how long until you can make me a bow to grace the violin you have restored to me?"

"As it happens," Ingram interrupted, "that's my gift to you." He brought his hand out from behind his back, and presented a bow to Franz. "I always seem to end up with odds and ends of musical stuff. I've had this bow for ten years, never had a fiddle to go with it, never could bring myself to get rid of it. Now I know why. I was savin' it for you. It's made in the up-time style, not like the ones you're used to, but I believe you'll actually find it easier to hold with your hand the way it is."

"So," Marla spoke again, "you have your violin, you have your bow, you have your hand, and you have your friends. What more do you need?"

Franz looked around at the smiling faces, and smiled back. "Nothing."

"Then get started."

"As you wish, Mistress Marla," and he danced away from the jab she aimed at his ribs.

Bouree

Grantville
August, 1633

As he was giving the tuning knob a final twist, Franz heard the door open.

"So, have you decided yet?"

Franz looked up from his violin to see his friend Isaac Fremdling entering the choir room. "Have I decided what?"

"How you will string your violin, of course? Will you string it in the usual manner, or will you reverse the order of the strings?" Isaac pulled one of the chairs around and sat down.

"What do you think I should do?"
Isaac fingered his moustache, and after a moment of contemplation said, "'Twould perhaps be best to keep the usual order of the strings. In that manner you and another could play each other's instruments with no difficulty."

"An advantage, to be sure," Franz replied. "Yet think of this, if you will: it will likely be easier to learn to play again if each right finger will move in the same manner and in the same relationship to the strings as the left does—if to play an 'F' the related finger makes the same motion, only mirror reversed, if you will."

"A point," nodded Isaac.

"And then consider the bow. Would it not be easier to train myself to reproduce the position of the bow as in a mirror, rather than in a totally different angle and position?"

"Aye," Isaac nodded again.

"Well, then, Isaac, you have answered the question, have you not?"

"It seems that I have, at that," his friend laughed. " So you have decided, then?"

Franz chuckled, and held up his violin. "Friedrich has moved the sound post inside and made a new bridge. I just now finished the stringing and tuning. Behold, a mirror violin." He handed the instrument to Isaac, who examined it closely, tested the tuning, then attempted to place it under his chin.

"Pfaugh! It feels most unnatural to try to hold it under the right chin. But if anyone can do this, Franz," he handed the violin back, "'tis you."

"My thanks. I've no choice, you see, for now that I see a glimmering of light in the night, I will pursue it with all my heart."

Isaac looked at his friend, his expression sobered, and he said quietly, "I grieved for you when I heard of the attack."

Franz looked down, uncomfortable as always when offered sympathy. "I thank you, but as you are so fond of saying, 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.' My pride needed curbing, I freely admit. I could wish that the manner of that curbing had not been so severe, and that I had been calmer and wiser and more considerate of my friends afterward. But it took long months of being alone before I began to slowly grow wise, and it was not until I found my way here to Grantville that I could begin to understand how and why you would say that. The Lord gave, the Lord took away, the Lord gave again, and I have learned to bless Him no matter my circumstance."

"Then you are indeed wise, my friend, for there are few enough even of gray-hairs who possess wisdom that equals what you have just shared." Isaac paused for a moment, then chuckled.

Franz raised an eyebrow.

"My initial reaction to your misfortune was grief indeed," Isaac said, "but hard on its heels came indignation in harness with rage. I must admit that the thought of applying the consequences of the Golden Rule to Heydrich did cross my mind more than once or twice."

"Surely you did not . . ."

"No, I could not bring myself to do it in cold blood. But there were others of like mind, and I doubt not that their conversations did find their ways to Rupert's itching ears, there to alarm rather than soothe. In truth, he began to company with various fellows, brutes from low taverns, in fear of what had been rumored. And he found no ease in that none of the rest of us would be alone with him thereafter. All of us found it to be most humorous."

"Well, I am not saintly enough to not find some small pleasure in hearing of his discomfort," Franz smiled.

"Oh, aye, before we left Mainz he had become almost two men, one moment the loudest of braggarts, the next like a nervous hind when the hounds bell out. I have seen the man's head almost swivel completely in a circle as he tried to watch his own back."

"The wicked fleeth when no man pursueth," Franz chuckled. "It is perhaps the best vengeance. He will torment himself more than I could or would, and my hands and heart are clean."

"Indeed." There was another moment of quiet before Isaac continued, "As I said, I grieved when I heard. Of all my friends and fellow musicians, your love of the art is most like my own, and I knew well how I felt when someone attempted to take it from me."

Franz raised an eyebrow again.

Isaac made a hand motion as if brushing off a table top. "You know that I am out of the Jews, but I say nothing of my life before Mainz. I knew, however, what you would feel. I was born Isaac Levin. My father is—I trust he still lives—a rabbi in Aschenhausen, where our forebears settled when the elector expelled the Jews from Saxony. Early in my years I showed promise of music, and he desired me to become a cantor. But other music enticed me, that which I heard from the taverns, through the windows of the merchants' houses and the doorways of the salons. I hungered for more than the Psalms, for more than the music of our traditions. The wealth that was to be heard away from the synagogue filled my heart. I could not see how beauty such as that could not exist in God's presence, but my father rejected it. He forbade me, he lectured me; as I grew older he reasoned with me. He even took a rod to me more than once.

"Finally, in my sixteenth year, he caught me once again slipping away from the door of a salon, and dragged me in front of the elders of our congregation. Right soundly he berated me, and demanded of me a solemn oath by the name of God that I would abandon foolishness and obey him in this. He ended by saying to me that if I would not, then I would no longer be his son. I would be dead to him."

Franz whistled.

"Aye. I was stunned indeed, as were the elders. They argued with him that he was being too harsh, that he should not emulate Saul who drove away David, but to no avail. And all the while I tried to think of life without the music that was so much a part of me. He withstood them all, seeming to grow ever more rigid, and when they were finally silenced he turned to me and demanded my answer.

"I grappled my wits together, and gave the only answer I could give. I still remember every word. 'Papa, I have tried to do as you say, but you were the one who instructed me that the Holy One, blessed be He, created music, that His very spirit guided David when he invented the lyre. Do not now blame me if that music calls me. Some men are called to trading; some men are called to farming; some men are called to the working of metal; some men are called to the study of Torah; and men such as I are called to music. If I do not swear, I am dead to you; yet if I do, I will be dead inside. You force me to judge between two evils, to cause a death either way. But in truth, it seems to me that the greater evil would be to forswear what the Holy One above has placed in me. Papa, it will be as you will it, but I cannot swear.'"

"A grievous choice, indeed, for a youth to have to make." Franz placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"But the tale is not finished. I saw at that moment that my father had never truly understood me, for all his wisdom in Torah and Talmud. I saw that he had fully believed that I would swear, for the shock of my choice well-nigh shattered him. A proud, upright man he was, but he turned away from me gray and old. It was as if a tall and vital oak in the full bloom of summer in an eye-blink turned to a dead and hollow husk. The light in his eyes died, for he had made his command in public in front of the elders of the congregation, and his own pride and authority would not let him recant. His face turned to stone, his very voice turned to gravel as he said, 'Thou art dead to me; Thou art dead to me; Thou art dead to me.' He turned away, and trudged out of the court and into the house. The elders followed him, silently, except that for a moment old Joachim Arst, a man I had never before cared for, came to me. As tears coursed my cheeks, he placed a purse in my hands, saying, 'I believe that I have lost some coins in the streets today.' Then he took my face between his hands, and said, 'Always remember, young Isaac who is now a stranger, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.' And so I am now Isaac Fremdling, Isaac the stranger."

Isaac brushed a hand across his eyes, looked at Isaac and said gently, "And so I know somewhat of how you felt after Heydrich mauled you, for I know how I felt when I thought I would not have the music, and I know how high a price I paid to have it."

"Indeed," Franz said, aching in his heart for his friend, knowing the kind of desolation that had been dealt him. "How is it I never heard this, from you or one of the others?"

"Because I have not shared it these last five years; before now there was none who would understand, none who could know what I felt then."

Two young men—of different heritage, yet brothers in their love of music and the prices they had paid to have it—sat together in silence, contemplating things lost and things gained, and likewise contemplating the ancient wisdom of a man named Job.

Allemande

Grantville
Moments later

The door to the choir room crashed open, startling Franz and Isaac both. They had been wrapped so deeply in their thoughts they had not heard anyone approach. As the door panel bounced off the doorstop, a group of young men of an age with themselves broke into the room, arguing at the top of their lungs. They threw their books down on the tables at the head of the room and carried on with their heated discussion. Two of them in particular stood almost toe-to-toe, arms waving frantically. German epithets were bouncing from the walls and ceiling, the mildest of which were "Fool!" and "Imbecile!" The others quickly turned to egging their champions on, and if the volume did not decrease, at least the mass confusion did. Franz began to chuckle. They were such a sight: faces red, veins bulging on their foreheads, hair dancing wildly. He leaned over to Isaac, who was grinning broadly, and near-shouted in his ear, "I wonder how long Thomas and Hermann have been at it this time?" Isaac shrugged, but didn't try to shout over the din.

For a moment there was quiet, as both men ran out of breath at the same time. Chests heaving, sweat running down their faces, they stood glaring at each other. Nothing was settled, though—this wasn't even a truce. It was more in the way of a pause for breath in a long-fought duel between two very evenly matched opponents. That last thought caused Franz to laugh out loud, for although the two champions might have been evenly matched with their chosen weapons of words, little else about them was.

Thomas Schwarzberg, one of Franz's closest friends, was a very tall man. Even among the giants of Grantville he stood out; among the native down-timers he was more than the Biblical head and shoulders taller. On the other hand, Hermann Katzberg was short, even for a down-timer. Franz doubted if he was five feet tall, especially if he took off his boots with the built-up heels. He was stocky, though not misshapen, and reasonably handsome with dark hair. In Franz's mind, Hermann was more than a bit pugnacious, as he had just been demonstrating—possibly an in-born temperament, but just as likely an attitude adopted to keep the taller world in which he dwelt from overlooking him. It obviously irked Hermann just now that as much as he wanted to be nose-to-nose with Thomas, he was actually more like nose-to-navel.

The two were both excellent musicians, adept at several instruments, although each had one in which he was clearly superior. Hermann was perhaps the best harpsichordist that Franz had ever heard—better even than Thomas, which was praise indeed. Thomas, on the other hand, was far and away the finest flautist it had been his pleasure to hear, although Hermann, in his turn, was more than competent with a flute. Neither man had met the other before they came to Grantville; Thomas at Franz's invitation, Hermann following rumors of new and powerful music. Within hours of their first meeting, they had accurately assessed each other's skill and moved directly to mutual respect. And indeed, on most days and on most subjects they were very amicable and usually in agreement. There was one topic, however, on which both men had very strong opinions, and they were on different sides of the issue.

Just as Hermann opened his mouth to renew the verbal conflict, Marla Linder came walking in the door, books in arms. She stopped dead at the sight of Thomas and Hermann on their feet. "Not again!" She stalked over to the instructor's desk, dropped her books with a loud slam, and glared at Franz and Isaac. "Can't you keep them under control?"

"The battle was well under way ere they arrived, Fraulein Marla," Isaac said, holding up both hands in a placating gesture. "In truth, it were worth our lives to attempt to come between them." His inability to repress a grin garnered another glare from Marla.

"And I suppose that's your story as well." She shifted the adamantine gaze of her icy blue eyes to Franz.

"Well, as they had not progressed to the throwing stage yet, I had hopes that they would run out of energy soon." He twitched his shoulders; Marla was obviously in a testy mood today.

Marla snorted, turned to the other men and pointed at ranked chairs. "Take a seat!" Looking over her shoulder at Franz and Isaac, she added, "You, too!" They all wasted no time in obeying. As they did so, Franz propped his chin on his good hand, looked at them all through half-lowered eyelids, and smiled a little.

He remembered the day these discussions began. He and Thomas and their other close friend Friedrich Braun had met with the musicians that were going to participate in the music "sem-i-nar." In addition to Isaac, another of the newcomers was a man that he and Thomas and Friedrich had known in Mainz—Leopold Gruenwald, a maker of trumpets who was also a player of some skill. Leopold was the last of the musicians that Franz had invited to come to Grantville.

Of the others, there was Hermann, of course, and two brothers, Josef and Rudolf Tuchman. Hermann had come from Magdeburg, and the brothers Tuchman had followed the rumors all the way from Hanover to Grantville.

Leopold and Isaac were willing to accept the unanimous declaration of Franz, Friedrich and Thomas about Marla's knowledge, talent and musicianship. The other three, however, had come seeking the new music that was hinted at in the rumors, seeking with an odd mixture of skepticism and hope. Once they heard what they would have to do to learn it, the skepticism rose to the top and they expressed some serious reservations. The thought of sitting in a school room to learn music was unheard of, by all that was holy. Musicians learned by doing, by sitting with other musicians and copying technique until they made it their own. This sitting in a room and talking about it was nonsense!

Then they found out that the seminar leader was to be a woman, and hackles started rising. By all that was unholy, a woman had no place in music, or at least not in the serious work that they themselves were doing!

Franz remembered shuddering as he looked around to make sure that Marla was not in ear-shot. From the expressions on their faces, Thomas and Friedrich had been thinking much the same thing. Together they faced forward and glared at the Tuchmans, who had been the most outspoken in their opinions. Franz had started to speak, but Thomas held up his hand and Franz swallowed his words.

"I make allowances," Thomas had said sternly, "for the fact that you do not know Fraulein Marla. I also agree that a woman musician is most unusual, although perhaps not strictly unknown. However, I strongly urge you to keep the words you have just said behind your teeth in the future.

"Let me make it clear to you: you will accord to Fraulein Marla the minimum respect you would grant a visiting doyen or master. You will find that she is worthy of it."

"And what if we do not?" Josef had asked, almost sneering.

Three faces had glowered in return, and Josef's face went blank

"You will not be allowed to learn from her," Franz had said finally. "And there is no one else to learn from, for Master Wendell has said that this is to be her work."

"Well, will she go all faint and quivery if I yell," Hermann had demanded, "or, God forbid," going falsetto, "I should be vulgar in her presence?" He had looked very nonplussed as Franz, Friedrich and Thomas had burst into laughter.

"No," Franz had choked, fighting down the mirth, "she is no wilting flower. She will assuredly deal with you as you are." Sobering quickly, he had reiterated, "She is worthy of your respect." Hermann looked at the brothers and shrugged, and they all nodded.

Franz felt Isaac nudge him, and he came back to the present quickly, noticing that the room had gone quiet. Marla's eyes were drilling into him. "Excuse me," he said.

"You with us now?" Marla asked sharply.

"Yes."

"English or German?"

She was asking what language this day's discussion would be held in. They had adopted the practice of alternating between the two to strengthen Marla's command of German and help the others improve their English.

"English," Franz said, and his heart beat faster as she rewarded him with one of her glorious smiles.

"Good," she said. "That's the first thing that's gone my way today." She glanced at the door, then back at the others. "We're going to have guests today. Elizabeth Jordan, one of my former voice teachers, has made contact with a couple of Italians who wish to join us today. One is a musician—a composer, I believe—and the other is a craftsman of some kind. They should be here any . . . ah, and here they are now."

The door to the choir room opened, and a short, slightly plump woman entered, followed by a short man in a black cassock. Franz didn't quite goggle at him, but was taken back a bit. One did not ordinarily expect that mode of dress in Grantville, or at least not in the high school. A Catholic cleric of some kind, obviously.

The third member of the party was somewhat larger, but definitely not of a size to stare Thomas eye to eye. Franz estimated he was about his own height. He moved with some grace, but was obviously not a courtier. He must be the artisan that Marla had mentioned.

"Elizabeth, you're just in time." Marla stepped forward and shook hands with her former teacher. "Please, introduce your guests."

"This is Maestro Giacomo Carissimi and Signor Girolamo Zenti, all the way from Rome." Each man nodded slightly when his name was called; Carissimi stiffly, as if he wasn't comfortable, and Zenti with a slight, crooked smile on his face. "The maestro has come in search of knowledge about our music, and Signor Zenti looks for knowledge about musical instruments. When you told me yesterday what you would be discussing today, I knew they would both find it of interest."

"Thank you for coming," Marla said, offering her hand. Carissimi hesitated, then reached out and shook it quickly, releasing it at once. Zenti in turn took her hand, and instead of shaking it raised it to his lips. Marla was obviously taken off guard, but kept her composure and retrieved her fingers as soon as he released him

Marla turned and had the others introduce themselves. As they did so, Franz decided that the maestro was innocuous, but that he could find himself taking a dislike to Zenti without much effort.

Once the introductions were completed, Marla said, "Please be seated where you please. We were about to get started. And please, feel free to speak up at any time. This bunch certainly does."

With that, she shifted her focus again to Thomas and Hermann, who, despite their verbal combat were sitting next to each other. "You two were arguing about tempering again, weren't you?" They nodded cheerfully. "And the rest of you," sweeping a hand motion to include Josef, Rudolf, Leopold and Friedrich, "were kibitzing and cheering them on from the peanut gallery, right?"

Smiles and nods were mixed with confusion over the figure of speech. "Meanwhile, the grinning gargoyle brothers over here"—she pointed to Isaac, who looked offended, and Franz, who just smiled—"were laughing at all of you. And you probably deserved it."

She sat down at the piano, and placed her hands on top of the cabinet. "I'm tired of all this argument, so I've spent the last couple of days researching this issue, and I'm ready to put a stake in it and bury it for good." The Italians looked very confused, but Elizabeth was whispering to them, explaining Marla's figure of speech.

As always when she started one of their sessions, Franz was a little nervous for her. He knew her heart, her desire: how she desperately wanted to succeed at this work; wanted to bring the glory of the music she knew to the time she was now in; how she wanted to midwife the birth of a glorious age of music. He knew how hard she studied and prepared. He knew how when she first started her stomach had ached before every class; knew, too, how she had castigated herself after each of those early sessions because she felt she had sounded uncertain and timid rather than assured and self-confident. The fact that he had detected nothing of the kind and repeatedly told her so was no comfort to her. But gradually, as she learned that she could teach them, that she could hold her own in discussions with them, that she could find answers to all their questions, she had indeed found assurance and self-confidence, and their sessions had become the joy that she had so wanted them to be.

Today, however, she was tackling head on an issue that she had been dancing around for weeks, the issue of tunings and tempering systems. If she was feeling nervous, there was no evidence of it in her demeanor. She sat there calmly, smiling slightly, looking cool and collected in front of the eight of them.

"Hermann, how many tempering systems are you aware of?"

He sat in thought for a moment, then said, "The Just and the Pyth . . .

Pytha . . ."

"Pythagorean," Thomas prompted.

"Pythagorean systems," he muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?" Marla looked at him with her head tilted to one side.

He squirmed a little, then said, "I have trouble wrapping my tongue around that name when I'm speaking good Deutsche. It is even harder with English."

"Continue."

"Just, Pythagorean, and Mean are the ones I know of, Fraulein Marla."

Franz looked at him out of the corner of his eye, checking his attitude, but he seemed totally serious.

"And of those, which are in common use?"

"Only the Mean."

"Why is that?"

Hermann thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he didn't trip up, then said, "Because the other two are too limited, are too discordant except in a few keys."

"Right. But, can't you say much the same thing for the Mean temperament as well?

Hermann looked stubborn, while Thomas made no attempt to suppress a very wide smile as Marla made his case for him. Franz watched to see how Marla would handle this. He wanted her to do well, to bring Hermann around, because to be the power in music in the USE that he thought she should become, she had to be able to engage the stubborn peers of his musical generation in dialogue, reason with them and eventually bring them to see her positions. Hermann was perhaps her first serious test, as he himself, Friedrich and Thomas had been won over very easily.

"Hermann," she said, "you have to face the fact that the Mean system works okay with voices, strings and horns, all of which the musicians instinctively tune, usually without even being aware they're doing it. But with any kind of keyboard, it is just too limiting. You're basically limited to four or five tonalities, the simpler ones." She set her hands on the piano keys, saying, "Stay with me, Hermann. We're going for a ride."

Marla began playing "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God." Over the simple harmony, she said, "You know this hymn. Even in the time we came from, it's one of Luther's most famous works. It's in our hymnals in the key of C major—no sharps, no flats. Now listen, and listen carefully."

Franz saw an intent expression come over her face, one that he was coming to know very well. He nudged Isaac, and mouthed to him, "Get ready."

There was a brief pause, then Marla's hands began moving swiftly over the piano keyboard. Arpeggios were rolling up from the low end of the keyboard, and over it she began playing the melody and harmony of the old hymn in the traditional 4/4 time. At the end of the verse, she played a transitional phrase which modulated into a sustained chord, then suddenly began playing a light rendition of the song in 3/4 time, almost a dance, in a new key. Again, when she came to the end of the verse she played a transition, this time immediately modulating to a new key where once again she played in 4/4, this time playing the song as a canon of repeating lines over a constant bass note. Another modulation, another style—this time a quiet meditation, almost in the manner of an adagio.

Franz looked at the others, and saw on the faces of the newcomers the stupefaction he had expected. He, Thomas and Friedrich knew Marla's talent, but this was the first time she had unleashed its full potential before Isaac, Leopold, Hermann and the Tuchman brothers, and they were obviously stunned.

Once again she modulated, this time playing the old hymn in a hammering martial style, at once pompous yet regal. She brought it to a rousing close, playing the last line in a slow ritard that allowed her to alternate chords first in the treble keys, then in the bass, using the sustain pedal to let them ring and create an effect that almost rivaled an organ for richness and sonority. She allowed the final chord to resound in the room, then released the pedal and let the piano action damp the strings.

Franz saw a small smile play about the corners of her mouth as she took in the expressions of the others.

"Okay, guys," she said, "how many keys did I play in?"

Hermann shook himself, looked at the others, and said, "Five." They nodded in support.

"And what were they?"

"First was C."

"Right."

"Then the next was . . . G."

Hermann sounded a little reluctant, and Franz thought he knew why. When Marla smiled, he knew he was right.

"And what is G to C?" Marla asked.

"The dominant,"

"And in the Mean system," she said, "can those two keys sound consonant in the same piece of music?"

"Yes."

"Ah, but what about the next keys? Where did I go from G?"

"D?" Hermann sounded a little unsure of himself.

"Yes, D was next. I used an augmented sixth chord for the modulation, so it was a little tricky, but you got it, we landed in D. D is the dominant of G, right?"

Heads nodded all over the room.

"So now we have C, G and D. Is consonance possible in the same piece with those keys? Just possibly," she answered her own question, "just possibly. But where did we go from there?"

No one ventured a guess.

"Thomas, did you follow?" When he shook his head, she smiled again, and said, "Okay, I'll have mercy on you. I went from D to A, and ended in E. See the pattern in the modulations? Each time I modulated to the dominant of the previous key. I've now got five different keys in this piece, ranging from C major with no sharps or flats to E major with four sharps. Hermann," she looked at him seriously, "in the Mean system, can I have all five of those keys sound consonant in the same piece of music?"

Franz heard her emphasis, but was glad to note that her tone of voice and her expression were both serious, that there was no sense of mocking or humor. She was treating both the topic and Hermann with respect.

The room was quiet. No one said anything, no one even stirred until Hermann finally sighed, and said, "No, Fraulein Marla, you cannot. Your point is made."

"But don't you see, Hermann," Marla said, "don't you see that it's not my point? This is not some dictate that I'm trying to force upon you. It's not some up-time invention or standard that I'm trying to shove down your throat. The earliest mention I could find for equal temperament goes all the way back to some guy named Grammateus in 1518—that's over one hundred years before today, for heaven's sake! Equal temperament was something that generations—your predecessors in music, your peers now, and your successors in music—all worked toward. As composers and performers alike desired more tonal complexity and sophistication in their music, as they experimented and argued amongst themselves and with their patrons, they eventually hammered out a consensus for the equal temperament system."

Marla looked around at all of them, then said slowly, "And Hermann, it was the Germans who arrived at it first. By 1800, this was the standard in German music. It took the rest of the world at least another fifty years to catch up to you. So you see, I'm not trying to force the stream of music into an unnatural streambed, I'm not trying to force it to flow uphill. Instead, I'm trying to guide you into the natural bed for your stream, but I'm trying to guide you to it now instead of several generations later."

Hermann muttered again. Franz saw Marla lift an eyebrow, Hermann coughed, and said, "But it still sounds ...