The Fugue

By Angela J. Nascimento

Mariane is a young teenager who sees herself in New York City, kidnapped by her mother's ex-husband. She knows she will not be released for money because the kidnapper's goal is to keep her family silent about the crimes he leads. Being the bandit's conduct safe, she dives into a plan to escape and at the same time put him in jail. By putting the plan in motion she realizes that everything is much more complicated than she expected, so she uses all creativity inherited through classical artists from Europe, whose story serves as a counterpoint to this adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479755417

Angela J. Nascimento

Angela Jesuina Nascimento was born in Ponta Grossa, Parana, Brazil on February 24th 1953. During early childhood, Angela was influenced by her grandfather and uncles, who were professional musicians. Everybody would talk in verses and rhymes. Angela learned how to read at early age, leaving breakeble objects alone in the house. By the age of 8, she was reading staks of magazines and books per month and won literary contests in school. Angela went to school for Psychology and IT. Angela wrote The Fugue while recovering from transplants in both corneas. She intends to devote herself more entirely to literature from 2013 on.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Angela J. Nascimento.

Translated By: Nathalie Ando

Cover Illustration by: Nathalie Ando

Library of Congress Control Number:  2012922457

ISBN:

Hardcover  978-1-4797-5540-0

Softcover   978-1-4797-5539-4

Ebook        978-1-4797-5541-7

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

April 30th 1858

New York, Central Park, May 11th 1994, Wednesday

Weimar, March 20th 1860

New York, Central Park, May 12th 1994, Thursday

Paris, December 25th 1864

New York, May 13th 1994, Friday

Rome, September 1st 1867

New York, May 14th 1994, Saturday

Bayreuth, May 14th 1886

New York, May 15th 1994, Sunday

Bayreuth, July 31st 1886

New York, May 16th 1994, Monday

Paris, June 25th 1890

New York, May 17th 1994, Tuesday

London, May 15th 1898

New York, May 18th 1994, Wednesday

London, January 1st 1900, Sunday

New York, May 19th 1994, Thursday

London, July 31st 1901, Wednesday

New York, May 20th 1994, Friday

Florence, July 10⁰th 1923

New York, May 21st 1994, Saturday

London, January 26th 1930, Sunday

New York, May 22nd 1994, Sunday

London, March 23rd 1935, Saturday

New York, May 24rd 1994, Monday

London, April 2nd 1936

New York, May 24th 1994, Tuesday

London, May 1⁴th 1938

New York, May 2⁵th 1994, Wednesday

São Paulo, May ⁴th 1946, Saturday

New York, May 26th 1994, Thursday

Las Vegas, February 24th 1950

New York, May 27th, Friday

Uberaba, October 25th 1954, Monday

New York, May 28th 1998, Saturday

Uberaba, April 5th 1964, Monday

New York, May 29th 1994, Sunday

Belo Horizonte, February 3rd 1984, Saturday

São Paulo

New York, May 30th 1994, Monday

Foz do Iguaçu, October 12th 1987, Monday

New York, May 31st 1994, Tuesday

Rio Quente Lodging, June 1st 1988

New York, June 3rd, Friday

Chicago, June 5th 1994, Sunday

São Paulo, December 3rd 1989, Sunday

New York, June 15th 1994, Wednesday

São Paulo, June 20th 1994, Monday

New York, July 25th 1994, Monday

London, July 31st 1994, Sunday

São Paulo, December 22nd 1996, Saturday

. . . you look at a sheet of paper made from a tree, as you are doing at this moment, and the author’s voice starts talking in your head. (Hello) . . .

CARL SAGAN

History is a sculpture and Time its chisel. Studying them is nothing else but verifying detail by detail how today has been carved.

Anje

One day, the scientists will be on global network TV and will announce a big discovery: The devotion, the talent and the love of art, as well as the threshold of sensitivity to the beauty, are all genetic and hereditary factors with dominant gene and identified locus. We will already know it for a long time, by simple empirical investigation, a tendency perhaps also

hereditary, thank God.

Anje

DEDICATION

This is dedicated to my grandfather and yours.

WEIMAR

April 30th 1858

3:00 PM

Only the piano is heard, everything else in the castle is silent. Carolyne (De Saint-Cricq) goes out with some friends who have already arrived to raise the coral’s voices for Wagner’s Lohengrin season practice.

Weimar is located between hills. Some flowers intend to live intensely this spring. They contrast with the snow which insists in not melting its winter. It looks like flowery ice-cream where the sun lazily licks the landscape.

This city is more of an oasis of music in Europe. All types of musicians have been drawn here since Liszt assumed Regent and Master of Chapel post. Among others already here, Cosima (Liszt’s daughter), Louise and Isabelle (Chopin’s sisters and music teachers), Anna Jensen with three other choir voices, Jane Stirling and Johan Strauss Jr. who specially came from Vienna to esteem the season dedicated to Wagner and invigorate the open moments of the official schedule, mostly in private.

Franz is supposed to review the Prelude Act III but he has been distracted composing until now. It seems Wagner will have to review it by itself. The work with Prelude & Fugue on the name Bach is put aside and he decides to dig through his trunk of scores until he finds an original manuscript from Fredéric. He settles himself at the piano and Impromptu Fantasy interrupts the silence again. So many memories invested in this composition. He predicts an erasure in a following rhythm. It is always there as a living memory of him. Perhaps he might be there too, he can feel it. He is always interrupted at the same rhythm and almost hears Fredéric whining, You humiliate me playing my compositions better than myself! Do you enjoy doing this to me? How dare you? You are my best friend…

I’m your best friend and the worst composer. You know it… What are you complaining about?

This… You are a better pianist than myself you utterly play better. Be fair… pretend… and then those who have never heard the Hungarian Rhapsody will agree that you are not a good composer.

His soul is immersed in the past and his body is abandoned facing the piano in the present. Franz laughs to himself. He feels his hand on his arm, shaking it. Franz hears their laugh twisting together… and that cough… All the mess they had done would inexorably end up in cough and despair…

He has a deep breath and plays again. The notes come out wandering along the halls. They come inside the rooms and meander through each thing. The emancipator fingers are upon the piano keys, eyes not even reading. The brain knows by heart each note forwards and backwards. The score is there, in that he feels closer to the author, his real and only soul mate, Fredéric. Converting a French-polish and a Hungarian into incredibly identified twins is a miracle that could only possibly occur through the art. Obviously Franz has many friends, nevertheless Fredéric was special. His shy atmosphere and the capacity to turn all his presence and light into musical notes could seduce anybody. Besides, he had a patriotic feeling, so rare in alone beings (it is easier to hide behind a group than being the only one responsible for a feeling). That feeling would push him to compose in foreign places, to make up themes that rock his people and taking the chance of not being understood by the ones around him.

Franz’ hands perambulate the keys and he keeps in mind the connecting being between Apollo and nymph: an illustrious, ethereal and fleeting visitor coming from Olympus. Who could resist? Not even Marie (d’Agoult), Franz’ wife when Impromptu Fantasy was composed and dedicated to her. She wanted to seduce him in all possible ways, admired him as a man and composer. She would even tell him Franz doesn’t devote to composition like you. Just imagine the scene where a married woman exposes her feelings to her husband’s best friend, thinking she does it unnoticed while all of Paris glares at her as soon as Franz travels. They would inquire, What is that crazy Marie up to now?

Franz does not compose as well as Chopin did or in the same proportion because of classes and concerts for a living. Marie and her oblivious mind could not realize her idol’s time spent with composing was always stolen by sickness and not having a wife and family render him an easier way to be James Rottschild’s godson. It has always been impossible to hold a grudge though. Fredéric was harassed by her as well as the rest of the world. In the end, she was only one more victim of the irresistible…

A curtain of tears prevents him from seeing anything else but inside himself. Why? Why? Crap… I wish I could see him only once again. Neither sick in Nohant nor in Paris suburb, not beside Sand nor on its last legs in that apartment at Place Vendôme, neither motionless, pale or definitely absent when surrounded by Delacroix, Jenny Lind, Jane Stirling, Emilie, Isabelle, Louise, Berlioz, Mendelssohn, Smetana, Barodin, Saint-Saëns, Joseph Michalizen… NO! NO! NO! I wish I could see him at Hall de la Salle Pleyel, or in the Baroness of Rottschild’s castle, to be a target of ‘that spiritual look more than a dreamy one, that thin and never bitter smile, those graceful gestures upon the prince walk’, playing a nice Scherzo, just once again… and maybe a beautiful revelry by four-hands like old times, before Sand… When? 1835?

Dates… Dates hold events in time. They are just like those pins used to hold dead butterflies in a showcase, or the ones used in practical anatomy tests. The events, held in time, are also lifeless, they are not able to be reactivated and take place the way they did before. So what are dates for? ‘Before Sand’ sounds much better… even though it is when Marie desired him.

Now, the living imprint in time, now, without any date playing the pin, the only thing left from him is the music. No smiles, speculation, conversation about literature or history, no articles by four-hands to Gazette Musicale, no walking, no coughing, no Sand on the rampage…

George Sand (Amandine-Aurore-Lucile Dupin). In Franz perspective, she is an activist and novelist very well dignified for this period. She first met Chopin in 1836 at a musical event and then during an aristocratic meeting which included Dudevant (her loyal ex-husband). She popped up causing a ruckus in his way. It was like a mix of Hercules and Ulysses (not Penelope at all) and she seized the unwary. First, her siege broke his guard; she appeared from behind the curtains, underneath the piano, up the stairs, friend’s houses and concert halls. Second, as a good attacker, she had taken care of almost everything related to him since 1839. What about him? He bought it. In the beginning he was scared to death of her. Franz used to imitate him among closest friends Have you ever noticed Sand? She seems like a man… Have you seen how rude? Again, there she is… No way, I’m not coming. What if Sand shows up? She embarrasses me… After a while he would die without her. Most of his best compositions were made up beside her, without minding with shocked looks from Palma de Mallorca habitants or from Marseilles peasants who found it strange and remarked a ‘strong man’ (she) and a fragile one (he) walking and living together. She truly devoted to the genius, to the point where she forgot herself and satisfied him even when his will was separation (1847), which is in her favor now.

. . . Today, here, no Chopin just the music, just the immortal music. It seems that he disintegrated in Preludes, studies, Mazurkas, Waltzes, Polonaises, Ballades, everything with essence of Apollo-nymph merged with musical notes… All the quintessence of a unique being solidified in rhythm might be considered a lot if seen by the artistic angle. However it represents only a little bit when compared to how much one misses him. The nostalgia is far greater than his creation.

It is debatable, after the entire world has just lost Chatteaubriand’s words; from music, Schumann, Johan Strauss (father) and Fredéric in the same year, Beethoven and Schubert in the years before. But a friend, so close a buddy, with whom shared so much and lived in duet, only Chopin… Liszt is not able to conform.

Franz Liszt was in great depression after his friend’s death, wanting to die, never to miss. He could never admit losing the best part of himself. Ultimately, after a long period almost inert, he ceased his mourning and was able to read and compose once again. He shared with Dante, Voltaire, Chatteaubriand, Senancour, Kant, Victor Hugo, Petrarca, Lamennais and Lamartine the pain of being amputated from a friend. In fact, the death of a loved one is equivalent to an amputation: it hurts deeply but the focus of pain is no longer there. The void hurts. When he finally got back to composition he was inspired by what he read. Lizt used the readings as a source to generate the Preludes (poems by Lamartine), Years of Pilgrimage, Dante Symphony and Faust Symphony. However, today, after all these years, while missing his friend hurts, he performs Chopin’s music. Franz is not capable to memorize his own compositions, but he would never forget his. There is no one, not even one song Franz does not know by heart, though the bastard complained. He would complain if he were here. They would argue and roll on the carpet punching each other like kids… He wishes he could be here for a final blow…

He appreciates to be seen as a strong, brave and playful person, but now, he cries. He has enough freedom to cry only when he is alone. Being unaccompanied is so rare that it might be the real reason why he still holds the ‘having not cried enough’ feeling and does not believe time has passed. Nine years without Fredéric is too much. His favorite friend spent eight years with Sand and that had already been an eternity. Even though, whenever he wanted to see him so bad, he did. Today the barrier is not the presence of such a vigorous writer. It is a matter of dimension: the insurmountable and inexorable extent called dimension.

The Hungarian looks for a handkerchief and does not even notice Joseph standing by the doorway… He clears his throat trying to be noticed.

Franz looks at him and mutters, Joseph, are you spying on me?

Joseph does not get embarrassed so easily. He is used to these situations.

Joseph has Polish parents, who ran away to London in the 30’s. He is physically much like Fredéric Chopin: average height, fragile looks, expressive eyes, slight but happy smile. He was barely eight years old when his father sent him to study piano with Louise. Then she sent the boy to her brother Chopin in 1843 with a letter saying, . . . there is nothing left for me to teach him… . He is much like you and never satisfied… . Five years later, Chopin sent the student to Liszt with a letter, just like Louise’s, . . . this young man must learn with you, I do not feel healthy or as capable… . Joseph came and stayed for good. While in Weimar he is Liszt’s primary assistant, replacing him in activities like training the choir’s matches, teaching when commitments get busy in the summer, conducting small orchestras and making arrangements, even writing up articles for Gazette Musicale, music newsletter founded in 1834 in Paris by Liszt, Berlioz and Chopin. While in Paris he gives concerts in the best theaters, while in London he gives beneficent concerts to support the Polish Refugees. He is another star in the great European musical constellation in full Romanticism. In fact, he is also another victim of violence from people against people, as if the world were not just a village and if our house were not just a hostel in the universe. Joseph is a star in exile without seeing his parents’ homeland. Anyhow, difficulties have the ability to awaken creative geniuses. Being born in London, where the family managed to refuge in, did not make him less Polish, less homesick or less nationalist. The money Chopin’s family did not have plus the money left in Joseph Michalizen’s family could not secure a home in Warsaw. This was the dream of those who hid from Russian oppression. It did not prevent him from being seen as a foreigner in his native country, although it facilitated the rise of a 25 year old man who shines in a reverent world for Strauss, Beethoven, Barodin, Saint-Saëns, Berlioz, Wagner, Mendelssohn, Schumann, Schubert, Bramhs, Liszt himself and other contemporaries and/or those recently gone to the great heavenly orchestra, interpreted or present, all, so many, constituting a mile long list.

The young man seriously looks at his master and affirms, No. For God sake! No! Of course not! I’ve followed the music… You know how enthusiastic I am about… sighs I miss him too… still wanna cry too….

Crying? Don’t be tragic. Never tragic… or don’t you remember? Neither tragic, nor morbid, just as melancholic as a fall afternoon… sniffs the handkerchief that he finally finds. Crying? Don’t exaggerate…

Joseph smiles, as if he did not know his friend…

Franz dissembles and makes fun of him, Were you listening the whole time? I am a terrible piano player, right? he crosses fingers, cracks them turning his hands out and stretches his arms, pretending to be distracted…

Joseph gets a little closer and picks up the fallen sheet from the floor, reviews it. He knows Liszt keeps some originals from Fredéric, but he almost never sees them. The bastard is jealous of everything related to Chopin in this castle.

Franz invites him and they sit at the piano. Again a duet… The music is released by making itself the castle, echoing around the hill outside… The excitement, the enthusiasm, the effort and capacity are almost like old times, with the exception of the components of the duet…

The servant’s voice ceases the musical clatter, Excuse me Sir, tea has been served…

Franz does not raise his head, The ladies, are they back yet? Frowning, an emphasis often referred to his wife, Carolyne?

The servant mentions he is about to leave and answers, They are back. They are waiting for tea and class… He frowns back, mimicking him while affirms, Including…, and gestures with his head so Franz knows he refers to Carolyne.

Franz ignores the irony and answers, We will be right out. They can wait a little bit. He faces the pupil, You haven’t come here, knowing I was by myself, just because of the music, have you?

In fact I have an announcement to make before the gossip spreads…

What, about you and Anna Jensen? Everybody knows you walk on a bed of coals for her. There are so many women in the world. Even though I’ve given you so many bad examples, you still get tied down…

But Franz, she is good girl…

Exactly Joseph, it’s gonna ruin your career as a conquistador. A career that has not yet started… But for sure I’m speaking to a deaf man, am I wrong? So tell me, when do you intend to get married?

In the end of the season, he replied

And…

Franz knows the wedding is not the only news. This guy is more transparent then his former master. Look at him! He changes color and looks at the floor and looks at the ceiling searching for words hidden behind the hill (the most difficult hill to overcome: repression of the brain). Joseph decides not to beat around the bush while Franz glares at his face. The more difficult it is to reveal the news, the more Franz makes fun of him, pretending he cannot read the signs of difficulty.

We will go to London. My father gave up making me marry a noble English lady, but he will never give up the idea of seeing me in front of the orchestra at the court. He says it’s time to take my place.

No. No. First you cultivate my best promise of soprano and then you decide to get married. But moving? What have I done wrong? Tell me please, ungrateful one. What?

Franz, you’re being jealous, as if you were to be abandoned. Speaking like Chopin. Speaking like Franz Liszt…

But I am Franz Liszt. Or am I mistaken?

Joseph smiles, No, you’re not wrong, yet…

Ungrateful! How will I survive without you? Aren’t you happy here?

Yes I am. Not even your kids enjoy your presence or live in the castle with you and Carolyne the way I do. I am grateful. But I am sure that I must marry Anna. Can you tell me you have never fallen in love?

Oh yeah. Some beautiful crazy women in the past! But Franz is really upset. He had prepared a successor and now sees everything going by land. Oh, how such destiny is so capricious taking away or simply not giving in full what is expensive. Crap. But think about it, what kind of life is the one far away from family? Clinging to friends who go away and not having their shoulder to cry on. On second thought, the boy is entitled to his own choices. Who is that French who said life is cut in accordance with our choices? Never mind… don’t remember it.

Franz turns his head over his shoulder and sees Joseph watching him and waiting for a word. Oh, what about a play? So Joseph, should we announce your wedding during the tea or the practice?

Joseph blushes and mumbles, Oh! No Franz! It’s not good. It would not be courteous. Her parents and mine should arrive in June and only then I will propose… We should not…

What? Should not what? . . . Come on… Will you take this pleasure away from me too?

No. But waiting for our family is more appropriate.

Franz nods his head and they walk towards the tea room. In the distance they can hear the feminine jabbering. He holds Joseph’s arm and, I have two requests to make. Can I? Do I have this right?

Joseph prays for him to be reasonable. But even if not, how is it possible to negate something to the one who has been his master, friend, father (the real father is used to saying you are more the child of Liszt than mine), brother and mate? Joseph knows more about Franz’s sufferings than Carolyne. Fine, ask. He gestures with reverence to confirm.

The other one smiles and poses like something very important is coming up, Well… Request number one: you will get married here in the castle and I will pay for the wedding.

Joseph is thrilled. The question is rather Anna has made plans. But Franz does not want to hear. Fair enough. After all, Joseph lives here. In fact he could live somewhere else. His family has a house in the vicinity and it would not hurt to keep servants during months their activities are concentrated here in court. But Franz and Carolyne have always made a point in keeping him under the same roof. Either here in Weimar or in Paris, anyone looking for Joseph Michalizen should go to Liszt’s residence.

Franz envisions the young’s answer simply by the way his mischievous smile dances on his face. Then he quickly launches the second desire, And when you have a son, I… Are you listening? I will be his master and nobody else… After all, to continue planting seeds for the future is necessary.

Hey! What? Joseph was outraged. How so, do you really intend to steal my son who isn’t born yet?

Liszt dances like a winner, smiling and powerful, answering, I have stolen you from your family and there are no big complaints. Didn’t we make you a gentleman? Don’t you have, by chance, the same knight’s air as Chopin did? Do you not compose so wonderfully? Do you not make stupendous arrangements? Who has taught you? I am a good teacher, don’t you think?

Fine, Joseph replies. Only a boy, not a girl though.

Franz makes an expression of the innocent victim and complains, What? Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’m a conquistador?

Joseph exaggeratedly nods. Besides, who was the one who just complained about leaving the bohemian life? A pervert refined and master…

They laugh and get close to the hall’s door, where each one is held by a female figure. After being kissed, Liszt pulls his pair towards a brighter spot and blatantly says, Let’s see if we don’t have women switched…

Joseph punches the air towards him. He enters the room with a big smile on his face, inviting everyone to enjoy the tea, which is carefully put on the table with elegance with true delusions, for instance, Apfelstrudel, Viennese Schmarrn and Sachertorte, Russe Charlotte (it should be French but was created for a tsar in St. Petersburg), cut rolls and various types of pâté (applause). This is also a proof test for the cook, who is choosing the recipes for future parties, since Carolyne does not accept the idea of serving dishes that could possibly be rejected. The main inspiration for the delicacies is the visit of Johan