Chapter 299: Take off your hats in salute, gentlemen! (K4)

Chapter 297 – Take off your hats, gentlemen! (4K4)

The lights went out and a silence fell over the Astley Amphitheater.

No one could see what was happening in the darkness above the stage.

Chopin stands behind Arthur as he removes his gloves, revealing hands capable of bursting with countless moving notes.

His palms were covered with beads of sweat, and nervousness and worry were written on his face at the same time.

“Mr. Hastings, are you really okay with this?”

Arthur smiled and stood up as he removed the Guy Fawkes mask and put it on Chopin’s face.

“Frederick, there’s no need to worry about me, I feel perfectly fine now. Like I promised you before, I will give you a stage to fully display yourself, it’s up to you to take advantage of it next.”

Chopin inquired, “But …… but your hands, they are bleeding ……”

As a pianist, no one understood the impact of an arm injury on a musical career better than Chopin.

Arthur saw that he was so uneasy, and could only smile helplessly, “Frederick, I am not injured, and Mr. Bertrand is not in any serious trouble. What you see may not be the truth, and the truth you may not be able to see. I did bleed a little, only it’s not as serious as you think, and besides, it’s not just me and Mr. Bertrand who are bleeding in this world. The Polish people are also in your thoughts.

Frederick, if you really want to be grateful to us, don’t think too much about it, and swing your notes so that the people will remember that there is only so much we can do for Poland.”

“But ……”

This time, without waiting for Chopin to finish, Arthur laughed and got up to press Chopin’s shoulders and pin him to the bench.

Just as Chopin was about to say something else, he suddenly realized that Arthur had a silver souvenir cup half full of soil in his hand.

Arthur set the cup next to the sheet music in front of Chopin and smiled softly at him.

The significance of this silver souvenir cup to Chopin would only be known to very few people, but not coincidentally, Arthur happened to be one of them.

He had made a special trip to Chopin’s residence in London yesterday evening and had learned the story of the silver cup from Mr. Mickiewicz, author of The Englishman, who was also a Polish exile.

It was a souvenir given to Chopin by his teachers and classmates at the Warsaw Conservatory when he left Warsaw to study in Vienna. Tucked in the bottom of the silver cup is a copy of the choral score written by his classmates in Chopin’s honor, and covered with the score is a handful of plain, brown soil.

For others, a silver cup of soil might seem odd, but for Chopin, it held a special significance.

It is a handful of mud from Warsaw, and it represents Chopin’s thoughts and passions for the land that haunts him.

Arthur leaned down and whispered in Chopin’s ear, “Go on, Frédéric, show them what it means to be the number one pianist in Poland. Be confident, you have the strength and the talent, even a young talent like Mr. Mendelssohn, who has become famous at a young age and is renowned in Europe, I don’t think he can beat you on the piano. And coincidentally, Mr. Mendelssohn’s opinion is the same as mine.

Do you remember Mr. Heine, who auditioned you with me yesterday? Do you know what a man as arrogant as Mr. Heine said about you? He said to me that when you sat down at the piano he felt as if a fellow countryman from his birthplace were telling him the strangest things that had ever happened in his home town while he was away. If he could, he would like to ask you: ‘Are those roses at home still blooming enthusiastically? Do those trees still sing so beautifully in the moonlight?’

Frederick, you are quite right in saying that you are useless, for you can do nothing but music. But at the same time, what you say is all wrong, because there is no one who can do anything better than you on top of the piano, because you are Chopin. Since the piano is the only thing you can control, do it with all your might. In that case, my blood will not have been shed in vain.”

Arthur’s smile grew wider as he spoke.

He put his hands behind his back and stepped back step by step.

However, the moment he was about to walk off the stage, Chopin suddenly called out to him, “Mr. Hastings.”

“Hmm?”

Arthur paused in his footsteps as he smiled and raised an eyebrow.

Chopin stared at the face, blurred in the darkness, his tense expression finally relenting as he finally broke into a charming smile he hadn’t seen in a long time again, dripping with the same pleasant attitude he’d had in the Viennese concert halls of yesteryear.

He picked up the silver cup on the piano stand and snapped at Arthur, “May I have some blood?”

Arthur stared at him for a moment, long enough to finally smile and nod.

He reached out and landed two fingers on top of the silver cup, and beads of blood dripped down, staining the cup and moistening the soil.

Arthur gently shook his head and smiled, “One drop should be enough, it’s not that I’m stingy, but this ‘blood’ is indeed poisonous.”

Fog filled the stage once more, and Arthur turned around and disappeared into the smoke screen with a stride.

And along with the sound of the footsteps, there was the pleasant note that the audience had been waiting for.

A gust of wind blew across the stage, and the paper with the score flipped, on which was written only the Nocturne in E-flat Major, the first piece Chopin would play tonight.

The evening breeze blew in the middle of the Astley Amphitheater, the lilting melody clearly entered from the right hand voice, softly played, indescribably smooth, everything was like calling out to the evening breeze of a summer night.

The sound of such soft and elegant music fell into the ears of the audience as if a pair of gentle arms had brushed their cheeks.

The crowd, whose blood had just been pumping from the duel, was instantly plunged into a reminiscence of a rustic summer night, while the Hastings supporters, who had come for tonight’s piano premiere, were more shocked than anything else.

Arthur, whose masterpiece ‘The Bells’ has always been known as a wildly popular London recital piece, had composed a piece that was the polar opposite of his personal style.

Even the president of the Philharmonic Society, Moscheles, who was sitting in the front row of the auditorium and was worried about Arthur’s life and safety, was a little lost in thought.

He closed his eyes to savor the flavor in the notes, and his tightly frowning brows gradually unfolded: “Pure, quiet, clear but also delicate, forgetting worries, forgetting sorrow, forgetting that he is still lying on the cot in the apartment, is he talking? If Mozart is a calm pond, this is a lake in the evening moonlight. Is this really Arthur Hastings? Was he such a delicate man? Perhaps it is I who know him less.”

Mendelssohn, who had long known the truth, leaned against the door of the passage, and looking at the arm that leaped over the keys in the darkness, he could not help laughing with some jealousy, “What a misfortune, and what a blessing! There is another man of such eminence in London. If this goes on, I shall have to think seriously about going to Paris again. Perhaps I should settle here in the future? Who is the better interpreter of the Romantic way, Liszt or Chopin?”

Hurriedly rushed down the steps of Dumas and others heard the sound of this music also can not help but slow down the pace, until they came back to God, but found not far ahead of the corner, is burning a pipe.

Dumas surprised to look at the front of the eyes does not seem to be hurt Arthur, can not help but be surprised: “Arthur, you ……”

Arthur leisurely exhaled a mouthful of smoke, gently shook his finger at his two friends, he lowered his voice and said with a smile, “This is indeed a genius isn’t it?”

“You’re not hurt?” Arthur just smiled at that as he smoothed out his hair and spoke, “The title of talented pianist is about to change, if that’s what you’re asking, and I do seem a little hurt.”

Disraeli looked around, “What about Mr. Bertrand?”

Arthur took a drag on his cigarette, “Mr. Bertrand should have taken the money and gone back to his apartment, this did work him hard today. But overall it was money well spent.”

“So you bribed him?” Disraeli tapped his head and said, “Damn! I should have thought of that. But …… Bertrand shouldn’t be cheap, right? You did all this just to pad the field for this Polish guy? What the hell do you figure in that way?”

Arthur didn’t say anything explicitly about this, he just turned to speak and reminded Disraeli slightly, “Benjamin, you’re going to elect a councilor soon. What issues are you going to come up with to cheer your constituents?”

Disraeli’s proud brain immediately turned a corner when he heard this.

He knew that Arthur was talking about the issue of aid to Poland.

On this point he could both give the Whigs a hard time and stand on the moral high ground. And the presence of a distinguished Polish pianist was undoubtedly the best way to make Poland known to the public.

Disraeli’s heart rejoiced, but then he began to worry about Arthur’s situation.

He also mentioned implicitly, “I saw Viscount Palmerston come today as well, do you think he will know how to appreciate the piano?”

Arthur just laughed softly at his words, he patted Disraeli’s shoulder, “It doesn’t matter if Viscount Parmeston doesn’t know about music, it’s fine if Viscount Melbourne and Mrs. Norton appreciate it, I gave Mrs. Norton two box tickets two days ago, I believe that she will choose the men who can make her happy to come.”

Dumas also heard the black talk between the two, and the fat Frenchman frowned and asked, “Arthur, but you are taking a bit of a risk by doing this, aren’t you? Will the Viscount of Melbourne support you unconditionally just because he hears a few delightful ditties? While I admit that Mr. Chopin’s tune is indeed no ordinary ditty, I also don’t think it holds the magic to charm a lucrative politician.”

Arthur shook his head gently, “Alexander, you’re right, I’m certainly not sure.”

“Then you still do this sort of thing?”

Arthur took it upon himself to wrap a couple bandages around his hand, “Isn’t there still His Majesty the King there?”

Disraeli frowned, “Would His Majesty be involved in the appointments and dismissals of Scotland Yard? Besides, could you have predicted in advance that he would be here today?”

Arthur laughed and shook his head, “Of course I couldn’t, I was just joking. I can’t trust Viscount Palmerston’s generosity or Viscount Melbourne’s passion for music and Lady Norton, the only thing I can trust is the small-mindedness and short temper of our Westminster magistrate, Mr. Norton.”

Dumas heard the name Norton, and remembered some of the earlier whispers, “He’s here today, too?”

Arthur nodded slightly, “I sent a letter a few days ago to the honorable former MP, Mr. Bernie Harrison, enclosing two tickets for tonight, and also cordially invited him to be able to bring his good friend, Mr. Norton, to attend with him, and incidentally to witness with his own eyes whether or not he has any problems with his wife and Viscount Melbourne. As you all know, Mr. Harrison has always been on good terms with Scotland Yard, and I am sure he will graciously accept this offer of mine. It would be even better if he could confidently and comprehensibly persuade Mr. Norton not to put up with this unfortunate marriage for the sake of that illusory official position, even to the point of having Mr. Norton sue for divorce.”

Hearing this, Disraeli at last understood Arthur’s whole plan.

He couldn’t help but suck in a breath of cool air, but in an instant a smile of admiration and reverence appeared on his face, “If Viscount Melbourne suffers a lawsuit because of this, I’m afraid that it will have an impact on his election, ah! Such a scandal would be fatal to any politician aspiring to go further. And you, my dear Arthur, I’m afraid you’re the only one who can save him at a time like this. Once this is made, I fear that no matter what Viscount Palmerston whispers in Viscount Melbourne’s ear, it will not be possible to shake your position in Scotland Yard, or indeed in the whole of the Home Office.”

Arthur smiled and said, “Incidentally you can also attack the Foreign Office on the Polish issue in a big way. Benjamin, it’s a win-win for us.”

Dumas also patted his stomach and couldn’t help but spit out, “That’s fucked up, I was fucking worried about you before and now I look back and think it was all fucking redundant. But Norton’s a bad, soft eating bastard who did deserve to die, and who the hell was hanging on that human life case earlier? Was it his or Bernie Harrison’s?”

Arthur smiled at that, “That depends on how well Mr. Harrison is doing. As of now, I’m leaning towards both of them being suspects.”

It was at this moment that the piano piece finally came to a close.

As the afterglow of the last note subsided in the theater, at once, the theater erupted with applause like a mountainous roar.

“A masterpiece!”

“A complete masterful rendition, I can’t think of a better one.”

“Hastings! Hastings!”

The audience’s eyes were restored to light as the stage lights came back up.

Just as they were about to offer Arthur the most sublime of courtesies and throw the roses in their hands onto the stage, they were shocked to find that the Arthur they had recognized was not at the piano, but standing on the steps not far away.

At the center of the stage sat a young man wearing a mask and a lock of brown curly hair on his forehead.

“What …… is going on here?”

“Wasn’t that Mr. Hastings who just played?”

“Why is he wearing the same mask as Mr. Hastings?”

In the midst of a cacophony of chatter, Arthur walked over to Chopin’s side and, with a smile on his face, leaned down and removed the Guy Fawkes mask that had been placed on Chopin’s face.

Chopin was still immersed in the world of music that was uniquely his, and perhaps due to the overly emotional nature of his playing, there was a hint of tears in his eye sockets.

When he came back to his senses, he saw only Arthur standing in front of him, and when he turned his head to look again, it was a crowd of stunned spectators.

Chopin lowered his head somewhat shyly as he opened his mouth to say thank you, “Arthur, I’m really very grateful to you for such an opportunity!”

Arthur smiled as he opened his mouth, “No, Frederick, it’s me who thanks you very much!”

In the midst of a line of sight, Arthur, who had already changed into his tuxedo, turned around, and he raised Chopin’s left hand high in the air, placing his bandaged hand in front of his chest, and announced aloud to the world in a slightly indebted voice.

“Gentlemen, ladies! Take off your hats and salute! Standing before you is a true genius. Allow me to proudly present to you, Poland’s most distinguished pianist, Mr. Frederic Chopin!”

For a moment, the audience rose to its feet and applauded.

Seeing this, the always introverted Chopin’s first reaction was to retreat backwards, but in the end, he stood strong.

He took a deep breath, bowed and thanked the audience, “A song ‘To Hastings’ is dedicated to all of you, thank you for your love and enthusiasm.”

(End of chapter)