Manual Locksmith at the End of the World: A Dead Silence Novella (Part One Book 1)

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She talked of his apartment Unter den Linden, of his garden and cottage, and of the sites of his creative activity and of the Court, where he had to accompany the queen on the piano; all that became lively reality through her narration. Entire conversations, the most beautiful anecdotes, came out of her mouth. On top of that she was mischievous and clever enough to endow our hero with a number of new domestic qualities that had developed on the sober soil of his new Prussian existence and amongst which the said Volkstett had noticed as the most outstanding phenomenon and as proof of the fact how opposites sometimes attract each other, a little bit of healthy greed which suited him most admirably.

For conducting a chamber concert once, and operas twice a week.


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I sat with Frau Mozart in her box, just across from the highest nobility! And what was on the program, I ask you — just look at it, here it is written in big letters!

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Tarar 4! Two years ago, when Mozart wrote the 'Don Juan' and when the cursed venomous, jealous Salieri silently set about to repeat the triumph he had with his piece in Paris, in the near future, on his own turf and let our good, dove-loving audience that loves to indulge in 'Cosa rara's, for once also see such a rare falcon, and when he and his cohorts stuck their heads together and plotted that they did not want to put the 'Don Juan', as nicely plucked as 'Figaro' before, neither dead nor alive, on any stage — well, you must know, I swore an oath then, if his infamous piece will be staged here, I will not go to see it — for no money in the world!

And she kept her word. Everyone ran to see it — also our Madam Colonel — I stayed by my hearth, took my cat on my lap and ate my 'Kaldausche 5 , and repeated this as often as the work was staged. But now, just imagine, Tarar on the stage of the Berlin opera house, the work of his deadly enemy, conducted by Mozart! I wish he would be here himself, the notoriously jealous fool could see that I do not have to resort to botching someone else's work in order to remain who I have always been!

By now they had arrived in the valley and were approaching a village which they had already spotted from the hilltop, and beyond which one could see in the charming valley a small palace of modern build, the residence of Count von Schinzberg. It was planned to stop in the village for their midday meal and some rest. The inn at which they stopped stood somewhat apart, at the end of the village by the road from which a poplar tree alley of a length of not more than six hundred feet led towards the park of the Count's property.

After they had alighted from the carriage, Mozart left, as usual, the ordering of their meal to his wife. In the meantime, he ordered a glass of wine for himself, to be brought to the lower guest room, while she first asked for a glass of fresh water and after that only for a quiet area in which she could nap for an hour. She was led up a staircase, with her husband following, merrily singing and whistling to himself. In a room that was painted white and that had quickly been aired out, there was to be found, among other old-fashioned furniture of distinguished quality — no doubt all of it must have found its way here from the Count's palace — a clean, light bed with painted canopy, standing on a slim, lacquered frame of columns, the silken drapes of which had long been replaced by more ordinary fabric drapes.

Konstanze made herself comfortable, he promised to wake her on time, she locked the door behind him, and after that he sought entertainment in the common guest room. There was no soul in it beside the innkeeper, and since the latter's conversation was as little to the guest's liking as his wine, he expressed his desire to go for a walk towards the park of the Count's palace before mealtime. As he heard, decent visitors were allowed access to this park. Moreover, the family had gone out today. He left and soon had made his way to the open park gate, and walked along an alley of old, high linden trees at the end of which, at its left side, he saw before him, not too far away, the Count's palace.

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It was built in the Italian style, painted bright, with a widely protruding outside double stairway; the shingled roof was decorated with a few statues of the usual kind, namely deities, and had a balustrade. From the centre of two large flower beds that were filled with still lively blooming flowers, our master went towards the bushy part of the park, reached a group of beautiful dark stone- pines and led his steps along winding paths through the maze and eventually returned to the lighter part of it where he was attracted by a water fountain.

The fountain's wide, oval-shaped basin was surrounded by an orangery of potted trees, which was again skirted by laurel and oleander trees; a soft, sandy path ran around it which faced a slender, latticed arboretum. The arboretum provided a most delightful resting place; a small table stood in front of a bench, and Mozart sat down at it near the entrance.. His ear restfully listening to the sound of the water in the fountain, his eyes fixed on a bitter orange tree of medium size, which did not stand in a row but by itself close by his side and which bore a multitude of beautiful fruits, our friend was soon, on account of this nearly Southern-European scene, led back to a memory of his youth.

Locksmith at the End of the World: A Dead Silence Novella: Dead Silence, Part One (Paperback)

Smiling, engrossed in his thoughts, he reached for the fruit next to him so as to feel in the hollow of his hands its beautiful roundness and its marvellous freshness. In connection with his boyhood memory that had again appeared before his mind he also encountered a somewhat hazy musical reminiscence, along the uncertain traces of which he dreamily travelled for a while. His eyes were glowing with excitement and they were searching here and there, a thought had him in its grip, which he immediately and eagerly followed.

Absentmindedly, he touched the bitter orange for the second time, inadvertently loosened it from the tree, and held it in his hand. He saw this and yet did also not see it; his artistic absentmindedness even went so far that he, bouncing the fruit to and fro in his hands right beneath his nose, with sometimes the beginning or the middle of a melody on his lips, at last instinctively retrieved an enamelled case from the side pocket of his coat, took out a small knife with a silver handle and slowly cut up the round mass from top to bottom.

He might have been guided along by a dim feeling of thirst, yet his stimulated senses were satisfied by breathing in the delicious smell of the fruit. For a few minutes, he stared at the two halves of the fruit, gently put them together, very gently, took them apart again and put them together again. He could hear steps close by all of a sudden, was rattled awake, and an awareness of where he was and of what he had done suddenly overwhelmed him. Almost in the process of hiding the bitter orange, he halted, maybe out of pride, maybe because it was too late to hide it now.

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A tall, broad-shouldered man in servant's uniform, obviously the grounds keeper of the palace, stood before him. The latter had obviously seen Mozart's last, suspicious movement and remained painfully silent for a few seconds. Mozart, also speechless, literally nailed to his seat, looked at him half-smiling, visibly blushing, but also fresh and forward with his blue eyes; then he put the fruit — for a third party this would have been most comical to observe — apparently unharmed, down on the middle of the table with some stubborn emphasis..

Is the Count in his palace? By the devil, do you believe that I wanted to steal and eat this thing? The fruits have been counted, and I am responsible for them. The tree has been selected by the Count for a festivity, and it is supposed to be transported there immediately. I will not let you go before this incident is reported and before you tell me how it happened.

I will wait here in the meantime. You can rely on it! Two workers actually came by, loaded the tree up and carried it away. In the meantime, our master had taken out his notebook, removed a white sheet from it and, while the grounds keeper never left his side, he started to write with pencil:. Here I sit, an unfortunate fellow in your paradise, like Adam at the beginning of time, after he had eaten from the apple.

The unfortunate incident has happened, and I cannot even blame Eve for it, who at present is surrounded by the graces and amorettes of a canopy bed in the village inn and is innocently sleeping there. Command me, and I will deliver to Your Grace in person an account of my — to me inexplicable — misdeed. With the sincerest remorse,. Your most obedient servant, W. Mozart, on his way to Prague. He handed the note, which he had folded up rather clumsily, over to the waiting servant, providing him with the required instructions.

The Holy Inquisitor had barely left when a carriage could be heard rolling into the courtyard of the palace. Since the mother of the latter had not been able to leave her home for years, the engagement festivities had been held there today; now the festivities were to continue here in the company of a few relatives where Eugenie had found a second home and where she was treated like a daughter. The Countess had returned somewhat earlier with her son Max, the Lieutenant, to see to things and to give her orders.

Now one could see that everyone in the palace was moving about in the corridors and on the staircases, and the grounds keeper was only able to hand over his note to the Countess with great difficulty; the Countess did not open the note immediately, but rather hurried on with her business without paying much attention to the grounds keeper's words.

He waited and waited, but she did not return. One after another of the servants, the butler, the chambermaid, the valet, hurried by him; he asked for the young Count — the latter was supposed to be changing at the moment; he looked for him and found Count Max in his room, talking to the Baron. In order to prevent the grounds keeper from saying anything about the upcoming festivities which should still remain a secret, Count Max cut him off with, "I'm coming right away, go on ahead!

A Viennese musician, you say? Probably one of those scoundrels who, in order to finance his travelling, steals whatever comes in handy? I think he is not quite right in his head; he is also very haughty. He calls himself Moser. He is waiting downstairs for a reply; I told Franz to keep an eye on him. Even if I have him locked up now, the damage cannot be repaired, anymore! I have told you a thousand times, the front gate should remain locked at all times.

The prank could have been prevented had you only taken the necessary precautions in time! For God's sake, read the note — Mozart from Vienna, the composer! We have to go down right away and ask him upstairs! You, Velten, I hope, treated him with courtesy? What has happened, anyway? Our planned fun has all been for nothing now, and Max can forget about his poem!

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Go, the both of you, relax, and receive the good man, as friendly and as graciously as you possibly can! I want him to stay tonight if that can be somehow arranged. If you cannot find him in the park anymore, look for him at the inn and bring him here with his wife. Coincidence could not have brought a better present, a bigger surprise, for Eugenie's day! Come quick, Papa!