• The Violinist


    Helmut Geringer rubbed his face and sighed. His thinning white hair fell across his forehead. He blinked his rheumy eyes a few times to dispel the burning sensation. Helmut was to perform a concert tonight. But the mere thought of it was a burden.

    Sitting for dinner, he watched the candle flame flickering in the tallow. In the light, the paint on the walls exhaled the blue-green color of the sea. The dining room was empty and cold. Helmut leaned back in his chair.

    He did not look up or say a word as the maid placed a tray in front of him. She laid down a silk napkin and shining cutlery, then lifted the metal dome to reveal a roasted squab, boiled leeks and potatoes, and brown bread. She methodically retired through the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

    Pouring another glass of crimson wine from the bottle that had been on the table, Helmut brooded.

    Since the death of Herr Mozart four years ago, Helmut had been more in demand. It was as if Austrians had not realized the treasure they had let slip through their fingers, and were determined to extract every drop of musical talent left. Well, so be it.

    Many musicians would have killed to be where he was. He had been a starving musician once, frequenting the coffee houses with others in his situation. But that seemed ages past. Now, he traveled to France, Italy, and Switzerland, performing with famous singers and musicians. Yet even going the short distance from his home in Salzburg to Vienna - to the hallowed halls of the Schönbrunn Palace - was a tremendous effort.

    He swirled the wine in his glass and fell deeper into depression. He rang the little brass bell to his right. In a moment, the maid returned. She waited silently for his instructions.

    “Hilde, I have no appetite. Please, enjoy yourself. Do not let this fine food go to waste.”

    “Ja, Herr Geringer.” Hilde whisked away the food.

    Helmut walked to the window and opened it. The autumn evening light bathed the buildings and his window ledge with an unearthly glow. The air was cool. It was a relief to no longer smell the stenches that the humid summer air had amplified. The horse and carriage would be pulling up soon. He retired to his chamber to dress. Hilde had laid out a fine linen waistcoat and breeches of earthen brown, embroidered with gold thread.

    As he dressed, he thought of his mysterious patron. Helmut had never met him. They corresponded entirely in writing. Every month, a servant boy would arrive at his home. Helmut would give him a list of items he required. So far, nothing had ever been refused him. When Helmut was to perform, notice would also arrive via courier.

    Hilde entered the room. “Herr Geringer, you have a visitor.”

    He turned. A young man in spectacles held his hat nervously. He bowed. “Herr Geringer, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. You are a great man, I have heard so much about you.”

    Helmut smiled. “Come, sit. And who might you be, junger herr?

    The man lowered himself into a chair. A delighted look on his face indicated that he scarcely believed his daring had paid off. Helmut could see he was not much more than a boy.

    His guest licked his lips. “Mein Name ist Otto. I want to know if you would teach me the violin – I mean, I own one, and I have already studied some. I have even composed a few melodies! I am no novice who would waste your time.”

    Helmut held up a hand. Otto looked surprised.

    “Mein Junge, I don’t want to lead you on. I have no doubt you are an eager and talented young man. Someday you will be a fine musician. But my heart has not been in my trade lately, and I would be doing you a grave disservice if I tutored you. I can give you the name – “

    Otto flushed red. “Sir, I intend you no disrespect, but I know of other teachers. I wanted you to instruct me. I almost wish I had not come here this evening. If your heart is not in your music, you are not really living.” He put on his hat and left.

    Helmut could only watch Otto depart – and agree.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Once in the carriage, Helmut looked out the window. The street lamps flickered on the cobblestones, giving the illusion of shadowy little goblins darting here and there. The horses’ hooves clopped methodically. Helmut held his violin case in his lap.

    Tonight he was to play for the Grand Duke and Duchess Knobe. It would be a small gathering of princes, dukes, and their hangers-on. Helmut detested such parties: all the face powder, rich food, and endless empty chatter.

    A gentle rain started to fall, so light, he did not notice it at first. Soon he was asleep, dozing as dark visions flitted in and out of his consciousness.

    He was startled awake by the jolt of the carriage. He pushed the curtain back. But instead of marble steps and torchlight, he saw only blackness. Had he slept so long?

    “Treiber! Where have you taken us? Are you lost, Dummer Kopf?” Startled, he swung around as the coach door opened and a voice spoke:

    “Do not be alarmed, Herr Geringer. I only asked your driver to take this route so that I may give you this.” A shadowy figure handed him a waxed paper packet.

    “What madness is this?” Helmut took the packet and opened it.

    “It is a composition I want you to play at the party.” The voice was a curious growl.

    Before Helmut could say anything, the figure signaled and closed the carriage door. The snap of a whip lurched the horses forward.

    Soon, the carriage arrived at the home of the Grand Duke.

    The driver opened the door as if nothing had happened. At once, it seemed as if nothing had. Helmut handed him his violin case and packet. The servant took them with great care. Two footmen hurried down the marble steps to help the musician out of the carriage and up the steps.

    Once inside, Helmut was escorted to a luxurious sitting room. A flock of women in powdered wigs and elegant dresses chattered excitedly amongst themselves. A deep voice rang out. “Herr Geringer ! So glad you could come entertain us. It is an honor to have you in our home.” There stood the tall, handsome Grand Duke and the lovely young Duchess. Helmut bowed; the Duke bowed deeply and elegantly in return. He wore cuffs of fine French lace, ornate yet exquisite. His craveat was of the whitest silk, with a small ruby pinned in the center. The Duke extended his arm. “Come, see my latest acquisitions.” He waved discreetly. A maid approached carrying wine. The two men drank, and spoke of his new paintings, of that nuisance Napoleon, and of the wine.

    As Geringer retired to the washroom, he thought, The Grand Duke Knobe isn’t such a bad sort.

    As he left the facilities, a light, feminine voice spoke. “You must be famished after your trip." He turned to see Duchess Knobe at his left. She held a feather fan. Her eyes were a lovely green, her skin as clear as milk.

    “Ja, Duchess, I am as empty as my violin case." He widened his eyes comically and rubbed his stomach.

    She laughed delightedly. “Come, Herr. Dinner is ready.”

    Helmut occupied the seat of honor. Grand Duke Knobe stood. Instantly, the chatter died.

    Blue eyes sparkling, the host raised his glass. "To our soloist for the evening. May he enjoy health and happiness throughout his whole life. Beifall !"

    "Beifall!" Merriment resumed with the sound of glasses clinking.

    Touched by Knobe's sincerity, Helmut awkwardly rose and adjusted his own craveat. "Thank you, thank you very much." He smiled and sat back down to enjoy the delicious dinner. Helmut found himself laughing and enjoying himself more than he had expected. He looked around at all the guests in their finery, but none so fine as the host and hostess.

    The plates had been cleared and guests were enjoying a cordial when Grand Duke Knobe stood. “The time we have all been waiting for has arrived." He clapped twice. “Come!”

    Everyone stood and cheerfully made their way to the drawing room. One of the noblewomen played a few tunes on the clavier. Then she turned and looked at their special guest.

    Suddenly self-conscious, he rose and made his way to the front of the room. He heard the rustle of taffeta, crinoline and muslin. The women sat like beautiful marsh ferns in shades of willow green and rose. Helmut took out his precious violin. He tuned it, made a few practice strokes. He cleared his throat. He played some arias, some sonatas, and even improvised a duet with the Grand Duke.

    The rain that had stopped had returned. Among the cries of “Encore! Encore!” thunder rumbled like an approaching war. The party seemed oblivious to the worsening weather. Rain pelted the roof, haltingly at first, then with rhythmic chaos. His nervousness had left him completely. He raised his bow obligingly, then froze:

    The shadowy figure stood in the back of the room.

    With a start, Helmut realized that he had been so entertained that he had completely forgotten about the composition, still sitting on a table where the servant placed it. No one else seemed to notice the mysterious man, who watched him silently. Helmut beckoned to a servant boy.

    “Young man, would you fetch me that packet?” The boy obeyed, and at Helmut’s further request arranged the music on a stand in front of the musician.

    The notes danced like inky imps on the paper. Such a strange arrangement, thought Helmut. He shrugged inwardly. The patron must be honored – than hesitated. Was that odd person his patron, or one of his emissaries?

    Helmut cleared his throat and forced a smile. “I am going to play something special for you.” He adjusted his instrument under his chin.

    The first notes were the screeches of mythological harpies. The sound made it seem as though the winged, taloned, hideous she-vultures were about to crash through the sitting-room windows and rend the people to shreds. Helmut knew something was wrong – but somehow he could not stop. He knew some of the notes he was playing were not of the earthly realm. The audience was clearly puzzled, yet remained in their seats as if held by an unseen force. The music lowered in scale: deep, deep to the dark places where the foulest of demons live. Outside, the wind moaned. Rain lashed the windowpanes.

    The song then became a macabre waltz. 'Tis I and the violin; we are dancing. Little by little, Helmut had become entranced with the music, with the grim power that enveloped his fingers. There was something in the composition, a wild thing lurking. Waiting to be released. Helmut began to play with gusto. The waltz built, in a frenzied crescendo of wild darkness, to a triumph of death.

    The people were stunned and in shock. For a minute no one moved. A man's cry of anguish jolted everyone back to reality. The Grand Duke kneeled on the floor, holding his wife’s limp form. “Violetta . . . Violetta,” he sobbed. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Knobe looked at Helmut. “Why have you done this to me? What have I ever done to you? Who put you up to this?”

    Helmut could not answer. He had no words. He fled out through the house, passing anxious servants. No one followed him; no doubt they were attending to the mistress. Running down the wet marble steps, he slipped. His instrument flew out of his case and clattered end over end down the stairs. The carriage was still there, Danken Sie Gott.

    He leapt inside. The carriage lurched forward. He slipped into unconsciousness, the strange strains still ringing in his ears.

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    He was home, locked in his bedroom. Hilde knocked gently but insistently.

    “Herr Geringer, Herr Geringer! There is a man here to see you!”

    Fearing the police – or worse - Helmut slowly made his way to the front room. To his astonishment, his visitor was none other than Otto.

    Helmut blinked. What in the world was he doing here at this time of night?

    Otto came in. “Gute Nacht, Herr Geringer. I trust you have a moment to spare"?

    The men sat down. Hilde lit several candles.

    “Hilde, go to bed. You needn’t trouble yourself. I can see to myself and this gentleman." The frazzled maid gladly excused herself.

    Otto lit a pipe, seeming older than he did earlier that day. “Now, Herr, I come to see if you have changed your mind.”

    “On teaching you?”

    “No.” He settled comfortably in his chair. “Whether or not your heart is in your music.”

    At once, Helmut felt as if a great bell had tolled in his mind. He felt clear-headed and filled with purpose. But –

    “Otto! Do you know what happened at Grand Duke Knobe’s tonight?” A realization dawned on him. “Were you there?”

    The light in his pipe bowl flared orange. “No. But I was told.” The voice was deep and mellifluous.

    Helmut squinted. “Who are you?”

    “I am your patron. I am also the prince of a distant land. A land where all must eventually go. A land where the Grand Duchess is now.”

    Helmut stood up quickly. His voice shook. “Leave my house! Or I’ll call a constable!”

    “Oh, I’m sure. You don’t want the regime’s attention on you right now.” He leaned forward eagerly. “What you want is to be happy. What you want is to get out of here. To fulfill your destiny.”

    Even as his mind tried to discount the words, Helmut’s heart knew they were true. The reason he had fled the Knobe estate, the reason he had barricaded himself in his room, was not because he was guilty or ashamed: he had never felt more alive than when he was playing the strange and terrible music.

    “It was a test. You passed. If you had not successfully called the Duchess’s spirit, you would not have been the man I am looking for.” Otto rose. “Come, we leave now.”

    "Wait. How did you find me?"

    "I needed someone with the talent - no, the ability - to play the Music of the Damned. Your fame is known far and wide, but I sensed who you were. You just needed an opportunity to discover it for yourself."

    Helmut stood. It all seemed a strange dream. He thought of the lavish party with the kind Grand Duke Knobe. But he realized now that his boredom stemmed from that very indulgence, the lack of stimulation which caused his music to suffer - at least to his ear.

    As he left the house, he gaped in shock.

    The carriage had transformed from a regular livery to an ancient chariot pulled by great skeletal steeds. Glittering quartz carvings of ravens and bats seemed to swoop around the sides. The horses wore black leather mail and plumes from some bird of darkness. A three-headed dog waited patiently in the chariot, regarding Helmut with staring yellow eyes. Helmut wheeled round to Otto.

    The unassuming fellow had transformed into a man of regal bearing. He wore a Grecian Spartan war helmet as a crown. A cape as black as his eyes flowed like the night around him.

    He nodded to the canine beast. "That is my faithful servant Cereberus. Do you remember glimpsing him in human form? You may address me as Lord Hades. Helmut, you are to be the Fiddler of the Underworld. Dead souls need to be guided down the River Styx.

    Helmut bowed. “Yes, my Lord. But my violin - ”

    The god reached into his cloak and handed Helmut a lustrous ebony fiddle decorated with wooden carvings of nightshade blooms.

    At last, I am who I was born to be. I have an ability no one else does. At last I will truly enjoy my work. He wondered how he came to be on this mortal plane when he belonged elsewhere. Ah, well - I will have plenty of time to think about this.

    “And now, we must be off.” The skeletal stallions pawed the chilled ground impatiently, approximating a whinny with a horrible dead sound from their throats.

    Helmut thought nothing had ever sounded so beautiful.

    As the driver raised the whip, Hades regarded Helmut. “Perhaps, with your enthusiasm, you can convince my wife Persephone of the beauty of our realm. She only has to stay half the year, yet she wails and laments. Unless she can see as you do, it will only make it harder when she must stay permanently.”

    The ground opened, and the horses sprang into the hole, which silently closed without a trace.

    THE END

    Glossary of German words

    Herr - Sir

    Dummer Kopf! – stupid!

    Treiber! – Driver

    Beifall! - Cheers!

    Junge/junger – young boy

    Danken Sie Gott – Thank God

    Gute Nacht – Good Night/Evening