??195: Chapter 134 Paganini Etudes
195: Chapter 134 Paganini Etudes
The ballroom was abuzz with guests clinking glasses, eagerly discussing various topics of interest.
Several ladies, watching the musicians of the London Philharmonic Association tuning their instrunts, could not help but express their envy to Mrs.
Cordington at their side.
“It’s incredible that you even managed to invite Mr.
Mozesales today,” they said with admiration.
“I wonder which piece he plans to start with?
Is it his own ‘Alexander Variations,’ ‘Tribute to Handel,’ or perhaps a piece by Mr.
Bach, or Beethoven’s ‘Ninth Symphony’?”
Mrs.
Cordington couldn’t help but feel proud inside, but she only responded modestly, “That is up to Mr.
Mozesales himself, I always refrain from intruding on a musician’s creativity.”
However, Mrs.
Cordington was just as curious as the other ladies about the pieces Mozesales would play tonight.
Suddenly, she saw Mozesales giving his place by the piano to Arthur beside him and instead put on the white gloves he had taken from his pocket.
Mrs.
Cordington, quite knowledgeable about music, was startled by this turn of events.
She quickly nodded to her friends in parting and hurried forward, lifting her skirt, to inquire of Mozesales.
“Mr.
Mozesales, what is this?
Are you feeling unwell?” she asked.
With a face full of apologies, Mozesales said, “I apologize, madam, there is nothing wrong with my health, but I am indeed feeling sowhat emotionally uncomfortable.
As to the specific reason, you might want to ask Mr.
Hastings later.
But for now, I suggest you return to your seat and enjoy ‘La Campanella,’ which he will be playing.”
“‘La Campanella’?” Mrs.
Cordington was taken aback when she heard the na.
She knew all too well whose piece it was, being a recent avid fan of the composer Paganini himself.
This year, Paganini’s 27 concerts in London created nothing short of a Paganini frenzy in Britain.
Even though Paganini’s concert prices were double those of other music events, with front-row tickets on the black market reaching four to five tis their price, his fans still flooded the 3,300-seat Royal Theatre.
And not just music enthusiasts, even businessn with little knowledge of music slled opportunity in Paganini.
They began to release many products with the maestro’s face and na on them, such as canes, jewelry boxes, and umbrellas.
The restaurants close to the Royal Theatre shalessly added items like ‘Paganini pies’ and ‘Paganini coffee’ to their nus, with nas that baffled many.
Despite how nonsensical this seed, the gentlen and ladies were willing to pay for anything with Paganini’s na, as his na guaranteed sales.
Mrs.
Cordington, who proudly called herself a ‘devoted Paganini fan,’ had bought many such items.
In fact, she wore a silver bracelet engraved with Paganini’s na to the soiree tonight.
Moreover, she had also purchased a hat embroidered with Paganini’s na for her husband.
But General Cordington was very resistant to wearing the hat, preferring to display his genuine diterranean look rather than bearing Paganini’s na atop his head.
Looking at Arthur, sitting by the piano and adjusting his breath, Mrs.
Cordington exclaid with surprise and disbelief, “Can Mr.
Hastings really play ‘La Campanella’?”
“It’s not about playing the violin,” Mozesales responded, his emotions uncertain, unsure whether to laugh or be angry.
“Mr.
Hastings told
that he had adapted the piece for the piano.
And most importantly, he told
that he had just started learning the piano.”
“My God!” Mrs.
Cordington brought a hand to her forehead, “You’re not joking with , are you?
Why didn’t you persuade him otherwise?”
Shrugging, Mozesales replied, “Madam, I did try to dissuade him, but Mr.
Hastings wouldn’t listen.
Moreover, he told
that his nickna is ‘Scotland Yard’s Paganini.’ So, if that’s the case, I think you’d better sit back and listen.
If he truly is ‘Scotland Yard’s Paganini,’ then this piece should present no difficulty for him.”
“After all,” Mozesales continued, “Mr.
Paganini himself told
that since he was eleven, he never practiced the violin again, which didn’t stop him from becoming the greatest violinist in history.
The music world is never short of geniuses; perhaps Mr.
Hastings is one of them.”
With that, Mozesales stopped talking to Mrs.
Cordington.
He pulled out his baton from his waist and slightly lowered both hands.
The accompanying musicians, seeing his gesture, fell into a hush, knowing that Mr.
Mozesales was about to get serious.
Arthur, feeling the change in the atmosphere, took a deep breath; his hands hovered just above the piano keys.
He knew that when the first note rang out, it would be like giving a command to the entire orchestra.
Suddenly, the breathing in the air stopped sharply, and Arthur’s fingertips struck the keys.
With the light and graceful lody rising, the chatter of the guests in the hall began to diminish.
After the brief piano solo introduction, Mozesales’s arms burst open forcefully; the instruntalists quickly followed the baton in his hands, harmonizing with the piano.
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