Concerto

By Keith Stonier

Concerto is a human story with a musical context. The first part is based on the historical facts surrounding the contrasting arrivals in New York, over a century ago, of two of the finest performers of their day (Mahler as conductor and Rachmaninov as concert pianist and composer) and a celebrated performance of a Concerto. This is a fictional account of what might have occurred, based upon the known historical facts.
A century later, we are introduced to Kenneth Evanson and his marathon journey as an aspiring conductor. His trials and tribulations are intertwined with those of other people and an encounter with the woman who may be destined to become a part of his life. The climax is the centenary performance of the Concerto. What happens? How are the people in his life involved in the aftermath? Who are the two, shadowy figures providing commentary on the unfolding events of this epic tale?

Read, discover and enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524663360

Keith Stonier

Dr. Keith Stonier taught in UK schools for thirty-three years, including eighteen-and-a-half years as a head teacher. This was followed by twelve years in departments attached to Derby University with the honorary title, principal university lecturer. He continues to teach and work with students online. He has written twelve academic articles for journals and edited an adult readability book (for students with learning difficulties). His first published book, Inspirational Ideas (Authorhouse 2009, second edition), received critical praise in the journal Education Today, vol. sixty-one, no. four. He is a regular reviewer for the British Journal of Learning Disabilities.

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© 2016 Keith Stonier. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/09/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-6337-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-6335-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-6336-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

First Movement

(Introductions)

Chapter

One Arrivals

Chapter Two

Prelude

Chapter Three

Performance

Second Movement

(Excursions)

Chapter Four

Rehearsal

Chapter Five

Overture

Chapter Six

Dissonance

Chapter Seven

Diversions

Chapter Eight

Ritornello

Third Movement

(Ensembles)

Chapter Nine

Solo

Chapter Ten

Counterpoint

Chapter Eleven

Duet

Chapter Twelve

Rallentando

Chapter Thirteen

Romanza

Fourth Movement

(Finale)

Chapter Fourteen

Unison

Chapter Fifteen

Harmony

Chapter Sixteen

Encore

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dr. Keith Stonier taught in UK schools for thirty-three years, including eighteen-and-a-half years as a headteacher. This was followed by twelve years in departments attached to Derby University with the honorary title, Principal University Lecturer. He continues to teach and work with students online. He has written twelve academic articles for journals and edited an ‘adult readability’ book (for students with learning difficulties). His first, published book, Inspirational Ideas (Authorhouse 2009, second edition), received critical praise in the journal, Education Today, Vol. 61, no. 4. He is a regular reviewer for the British Journal of Learning Disabilities.

FIRST MOVEMENT

(Introductions)

CHAPTER ONE

Arrivals

October 1909

The Kaiser Wilhelm II had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean from Cherbourg and was close to arrival in New York Harbour. There was a sense of urgency, liveliness and interest on board the ocean liner as everyone was aware that this was the final day of the journey. Passengers arose early, ate quickly, donned warm coats, went on deck and leaned on the railings – peering into the early morning mist. Suitcases had been placed into large stacks on deck. Mixed voices shouted across the first class deck.

Hurry up!

Stand on this side.

Why?

You’ll have a better view of the coastline.

Ooh! It’s cold out here. I wish this mist would clear.

Keep an eye on our suitcases. They’re together on that side of the pile.

Four passengers stood some distance from the others. Gustav and his wife Alma were on board with their daughter Anna, known as ‘Gucki’, and nanny, Lizzie Turner. This was the third of four visits for Gustav and Alma, but the second for Gucki and Lizzie.

The first class deck befitted the world famous conductor, who stood with a persistent frown on his face as the travel arrangements and early morning rising continued their wholescale interference with his deeper thoughts. Gustav wore an overcoat, black homburg hat with a broad, black silk band around the base of the crown, matching scarf, leather gloves and held a cigarette holder and cigarette in one hand. Alma, taller than her husband, wore a long-sleeved, dark blue ‘day dress’, brushing the deck at its hem, with high pleated shoulders and a flared, pleated back. The skirt had a draped front, a flared back and deep pleats. The matching bonnet was worn to one side of the head and had a long rear-trailing veil. This fashionable outfit was nullified somewhat by a thick shawl around the shoulders, to protect her from the cold air. Alma shivered as she spoke.

Wie lange, bis wir ankommen? (How long before we arrive?)

Try to speak in English, dear, said Gustav, as he wiped mist from his spectacles. We should see land very soon.

Gucki was dressed in long white stockings, a pink dress, a long red coat buttoned up to the neck to keep out the cold and shiny black shoes. Lizzie wore the typical dark, demure clothing of a nanny. Her black dress, coat and scarf were topped by a plain, black, short-brimmed hat. She held Gucki’s hand as the pair moved away from Gustav and Alma, closer to the ship’s white railings, and peered into the mist.

Ooh! Ich kann nicht viel zu sehen! Warum läuten die Glocken?

(Ooh! I cannot see much! Why are those bells ringing?)

Lizzie looked at Gustav and Alma, then turned to her young charge and gave a slow explanation in English, with much pointing to and fro.

The bells are to tell other boats, nearby, where we are and about the left and right sides of the liner.

How?

Well, Gucki, one bell rings for port, which means left, and two bells ring for starboard, which means right.

Gucki nodded her understanding as the bells repeated their monotonous message again and again.

Eventually, a third bell signalled the arrival of the first of two tug boats. Then, as people peered into the mist, the outline of land speckled with lights became visible, dead ahead, through the mist. The sound of bells was joined by fog horns from the tug boats, which proceeded to guide the liner from the Atlantic Ocean, through the vast Lower Bay, past the edge of Raritan Bay with its two, conjoining rivers and long piers stretching out into the sea and onwards towards the Upper Bay, with Staten Island to port and Brooklyn to starboard.

Gucki jumped up and down with excitement as Lizzie pointed to the emerging features of the landscape. The artistic five-year-old was transfixed, in particular, by the Statue of Liberty’s enormous, hand-held beacon.

Sieh dir das an! (Look at that!)

Gucki, called Gustav gently. Versuchen Sie, in Englischer Sprache zu sprechen. (Try to speak in English.)

The Mahlers were among the first to disembark and were processed quickly through customs. They were to travel by horse-drawn carriage on the journey into New York City – a special treat laid on by Gustav.

Gucki was entranced by the sight of the two, white horses – one an inch or so taller than the other, both with black leather harnesses across their chests and steam blowing from their nostrils in the cold morning air.

Ich werde sie anrufen und Gunter Pauli (I shall call them Gunter and Pauli), she said, but then added in broken English, Gunter – a – and – Pauli. Lizzie Turner patted her on the hand, Good girl!

The carriage was enclosed fully for passengers, while the driver sat in the open except for an overhanging roof – holding the reins of both horses loosely in one hand and calling to them sharply with occasional commands. On the journey through the outskirts and into the streets they compared the noises and smells disfavourably with quiet, sedate Vienna and the rural bliss of Toblach with cries of Uurgh!, not good! and Was ist das? (What is that?).

They arrived at the Savoy Hotel on Fifth Avenue, where their usual suite had been booked. This was their home during their long stays in New York. From their high vantage point on the eleventh floor, the Mahlers could see parts of Fifth Avenue, Fiftieth Street and Central Park in the distance. This was a sumptuous setting.

1st November, 1909

The arrival of Sergei Rachmaninov in New York could hardly have been more different from that of the Mahlers. Sergei had left his beloved Ivanovka with a mixture of feelings. He had kissed Natalia, his wife and cousin, and daughters Irina and Tatyana - waving cheerfully to them as he mounted the small passenger seat at the back of the horse and cart. He had turned away and only then allowed the tears to flow down his long cheeks.

As a second class passenger he stood on the middle deck of the liner, longing for home and family and waiting nervously for his first view of America through the murky dampness and mist.

Chto ya zdes’ delayu? (What am I doing here?), he muttered to himself.

Eto kak idti na ostrov mertvykh. (This is like going to the Isle of the Dead.)

Sergei was tall and gaunt, with enormous hands, a wedge-shaped head and close-cut hair. His shoulders hunched a little and he smoked heavily. He was dressed elegantly, in a three-piece suit, white shirt and dark tie. He wore a long, tailored overcoat, but no hat on this occasion. His voice was deep, when he spoke in halting English.

His sombre mood contrasted sharply with that of the other passengers on his deck, where briskness and excitement prevailed. After early rising and quick breakfasts they had gazed expectantly into the early morning gloom and darkness for several hours, listening to the distant sounds of foghorns and occasional bells. Then, came excited voices and a loud cheer.

Look!

Where?

Over there! It’s land!

Land emerged slowly, almost imperceptibly through the mist. All of these passengers were transfixed and silenced by the single, awesome image of the Statue of Liberty, before they progressed towards Staten Island to disembark. Sergei longed to hold up seven-year-old Irina in his enormous hands and point out to her the viewing area on the forehead of the statue and the huge beacon held aloft in one hand. He yearned to speak to Natalia in Russian about this immense symbol of democracy, which was a revelation of the freedom of this land from the disturbances and oppression gripping his beloved Russia.

The liner came to rest eventually at the docks. Passengers went ashore in strict hierarchical order, regimented carefully and politely by the crew. First class passengers, many of whom had been glimpsed only briefly during the ocean crossing, were invited to walk ashore in advance of everyone else. Sergei left the ship one hour later. He was to be met at the dockside by Modest Altschuler, a fellow student during their days at the Academy and a much valued friend. Modest, a cellist and conductor, had been born in a part of the Russian Empire known as Mogilev to a Jewish family. He had emigrated to the United States in 1893 and had exchanged letters with Sergei for sixteen years.

As he released his grip of the handrail, stepped from the gangplank and made his first footfall on American soil Sergei noticed the figure of Modest waving excitedly to him from the dockside. He was surprised to see that Modest appeared to have aged noticeably. The mere one-year difference in their ages seemed much bigger. Sergei wondered, as he approached his old friend, what it was about him which gave this impression? The broad, wide-eyed distinctive face was a little puffier, but otherwise much as he remembered it from years gone by. The dark eyebrows still curved down elegantly to the side of each eye. The large nose and somewhat thin lips, curled now into a welcoming smile at the sight of his old friend, had not changed. What was different? Ah yes! Modest’s hair had receded noticeably at the front, but was long and curly at the back.

YA zdes’, Sergey! Zdes’! (I’m here, Sergei! Over here!)

The two men shook hands, then Modest held Sergei by the shoulders – a difficult task as he was over a foot shorter – and tried to hug him.

Oy! Priyatno videt’ vas snova! (Oh! It’s good to see you again!)

Sergei laughed and lied:

Vy ne pokhozhi na den’ starshe, chem kogda my byli v Akademii!

(You don’t look a day older than when we were at the Academy!)

Now, it was Modest’s turn to laugh. Vy staryy l’stets! (You old flatterer!). He wagged a finger at Sergie. Teper’ (Now). My dolzhny starat’sya govorit’ na yazyke etoy strany. (We must try to speak in the language of this country.)

They nodded in agreement and, from that moment, began a dialogue dominated by Modest’s fluent English-American voice. This contrasted sharply with Sergei’s broken, halting English – used now to express his pleasure at meeting his old friend and his relief at the prospect of receiving help with translation difficulties.

Cigarettes were lit as they followed a signpost and walked towards a large, shed-like building, where they were ushered into a room of dingy appearance. They sat at a table facing a customs official for half-an-hour while papers were examined and questions asked. Then, they left New York Harbour, the busiest port in the world in 1909, to travel by Stearns taxi into New York City.

The taxi was a tall, black vehicle with enormous pneumatic wheels. The driver sat inside a front cabin with a small side window to his right and a partial roof. There was no side window to the left, allowing him to rest one arm on the half door.

As Sergei mounted the long metal, rubber-covered step, to sit in the passenger cabin he was informed by the driver, in his broad American accent, about the seat.

Say! I’m sorry, gentlemen. The seat is damp. Can I close the top for you?

I prefer it open, said Modest, so that we see the view. What do you think, Sergei?

Yes, replied Sergei in his faltering English, I want the best view of this city that I can get. Don’t worry about the seat. I have a long overcoat.

Although the passenger cabin was open-topped, there were windows forward of the passengers, to the right and left. Sergei’s view of New York was hampered by the wide frames of these, unless he turned to each side and looked straight out to the left or right. Despite this handicap and the difficulty of fitting his long legs into the space between the seat and the wall of the front cabin, Sergei was fascinated by the sights revealed to him on this damp, eventful journey and the enthusiastic commentary provided by his old friend, Modest.

In 1909, New York had skyscraper buildings and a mixed population of almost five million people. Modest was keen to explain his feeling of belonging to this apparently strange, new vibrant city by citing the fact that forty-one percent of the population of New York was foreign-born.

He insisted that the taxi driver should make a detour through Brooklyn, where he pointed out a Russian Orthodox Church. Also, they drove past many tall, narrow houses with shops on the ground floor topped by apartments. One of these was a white-fronted building with steps up to a Russian-style furniture shop and three floors of living accommodation above. This was the business and home of a friend of his, named Vladimir. As they drove past, Sergei could see that the shop had steps leading up to a wide, black door with two narrow shop windows to the side. An ornamental hand rail, to the side of the steps, continued along the front of the shop windows. Despite the early hour, furniture had been placed outside, for sale.

Modest was quick to point out that the numerous vehicles which could be seen numbered far more than those on the streets of Moscow or St. Petersburg. Also, there were many people on the sidewalks, travelling to work very early, opening shops and preparing street stalls by setting out their wares.

The smells and sounds of early morning New York washed over Sergei Rachmaninov, from his repeated views to the left and right. He had encountered nothing like this before. The disturbances and riots in Moscow and St. Petersburg and the increasingly sullen, threatening behaviour of people around Ivanovka contrasted sharply with the sense of orderliness, commerce and innate friendliness of New York. The absence of unrest on the streets was refreshing to him. He could see that there was poverty here too and that many of the inhabitants were of foreign extraction, but there was a basic sense of business and orderliness. Modest informed him that half-a-million of the inhabitants of New York had arrived from Germany and Austria. There were less Russian-speaking people, but still a considerable number. Also, he observed that the policemen were armed. Modest continued by adding that there was unrest in the city, but this was related more to working conditions than political rule. Many immigrants worked in factories for long