Grantville Gazette V

  Mrs. Jordan, Elizabeth, has surprised me almost every day since the first time we met. She is a good natured, intelligent, ironic woman; a woman of profound faith, even if not Catholic, a talented musician and a very good teacher. Once the initial embarrassment was gone, music brought us together and I am proud to say we have become very good friends, as close as decorum permits.

  Her husband, a high ranking constable in the city guard, works as liaison with the constables of the other United States towns. So he spends most of his time out of Grantville. I don't know how much this bothers Elizabeth, because up to this moment I never felt comfortable and close enough to ask and she doesn't talk much about it. But, sometimes, I had momentary glimpses of how much she misses her husband.

  They have two young children, Daniel and Leah. They are very lively, spirited and curious as any child should be. They are clearly a big part of her life and the sound of their games has been a pleasant background in the many afternoons I spent at Elizabeth's studying.

  As you may have guessed already, Elizabeth has become my guide, my mentor, my teacher. I am not sure what I would have done without her.

  I am not the only musician who is trying to learn something about the new music. Nothing truly surprising considering what treasure up-time music is. One of Mrs. Jordan's previous students, Miss Marla Linder, is teaching a group of German musicians, all very skilled I must add, and she let us borrow some very useful notes.

  If the Germans are very good, Miss Linder is simply surprising. She has the flame, and I believe she will become famous very soon. She is still a little rough in some passages, but her talent is unmistakable and, being so young, she has huge room for improvement. With the right exercise and care, her voice will shine like gold.

  We met the first time during an August afternoon in the school choir room. Elizabeth invited me to participate in a discussion that Miss Marla was having with her German friends. The topic was mainly "tempering." You see, temperament of keyboard instruments has changed a great deal in the course of history.

  Many methods have been used in the attempt to produce pure octaves and pieces of music written in different eras have a different intonation. So, knowing the differences between the mean intonation we use now and the others is crucial for us.

  Most of the music from the middle of the nineteenth century until the Ring of Fire, was written with equal tempering in mind and most of the music written in the eighteenth century was written using "well tempering." If one changes the original intonation, they necessarily change also the composition's harmonic organization, thus producing something different from the original music.

  I appreciated how clearly Miss Linder touched such fine points in music theory. I believe she will make a fine teacher in the future, a rarity among great performers.

  I didn't say much at the meeting. I just pointed out that as things are now, there are no standards in music, not in pitch. The pitch I am used to is higher than the pitch of the twentieth-century instruments and much higher than the pitch mainly used here in Germany.

  I tried to explain that, for the moment, we cannot expect standards and we should do as we down-timers are already used to: a lot of transcribing when our music is played in a place whose habits are different from the ones of the place where the music was originally written.

  In the following weeks I went to other meetings, and, with time, the ice was broken. Music helped to create a true camaraderie of musicians. Sometimes we simply escaped the many stresses of modern music and spent many evenings playing the notes we knew better, exercising in what our teachers call "Baroque jam sessions."

  Even though Marla Linder played the first note, it was Elizabeth Jordan who took the brunt of my musical education. She set a very strict program of studies. From Monday to Friday after school we study piano for two hours, then I have my class of music theory and history. On the weekends I have to spend hours doing my "homework," exercising, studying and listening. Any Monday I have to be well prepared and pass a test on what I have done the previous week.

  Since I began I've read plenty of books and I have been listening to hundreds of recordings. We decided that the better way to understand the evolution of music without being overwhelmed by so many authors and styles was to follow a strict chronologic path: late Baroque, Classic, Early Romantic, late Romantic and Modern periods.

  The names of the many giants that should have lived after me are printed in my memory just like my daily rosary: Albinoni, Corelli, Geminiani, Johann Sebastian Bach, Lully, Scarlatti, Vivaldi, Handel, Pachelbel, Beethoven, Haydn, Mozart, Brahms, Debussy, Liszt, Mendelssohn, Schubert, Faure, Mahler, Smetana, the Strauss family, Tchaikovsky, Bellini, Bizet, Cherubini, Leoncavallo, Rossini, Puccini, Verdi, Wagner.

  For each one of them I have to learn the different styles of their compositions: fugues, concerti grossi, sonate, symphonies, symphonic poems, waltzes, overtures and so on.

  Some nights I dream I am in the center of a storm with music sheets twirling in my mind like leaves blown by a gale. I can only hope that when the wind stops blowing the leaves will fall in a pattern I can understand.

  Three weeks ago, after an afternoon spent trying to make sense of Chopin's Opus 64, when I was feeling more frustrated than the dog chasing his tail the Polish composer was trying to depict, I asked Elizabeth why she was sharing this gargantuan task with me.

  "See, Giacomo, when I first met you, I am ashamed to say I didn't know who you were. After you left I had to go look for your name in my college schoolbooks and in the library."

  After a short pause she smiled and said "I know you don't want to read of what your future would have been in the timeline I come from, but I can at least tell you had an important role. Without you the music I know and have loved since I was child would have been different. I felt like I owed you a great deal. I also realized that, with you, I had to set the bar high, very high, so high I was afraid I could not even reach it. It was a challenge I could not resist."

  Looking me straight in the eyes, she kept on, "I am new in this profession, Giacomo. I became a full-time teacher only after the Ring of Fire. I had to know what I was capable of and you were, are, the perfect challenge for me. Like your friend, Girolamo," she smiled again with that subtle smile that warms my heart, "I never leave a challenge go untouched. And believe me, no matter how hard it is trying to teach something to that stubborn head of yours, working with you has always been a pleasure."

  I believe I became as red as Father Mazzare's tomatoes in August. But her resolve gave me another reason to not give up. I want her to be proud of me more every day.

  After the invention of those devices that make it possible to listen to somebody play or sing even if they are long-time dead, one can listen to music in two ways: recorded music and live music.

  Even if I had my share of the first kind, I've always preferred the second, because seeing who is playing with my own eyes makes my down-timer mind much more comfortable. Luckily, I found plenty of live music in the town of Grantville.

  One may think that together with all the things they are busy producing, with the reorganizing of the German political structure, and with a war about to be declared, these Americans would barely find the time to sleep. Instead, they love to make music. And they do it plenty and well.

  Music of all kinds, from the sacred hymns they play in their churches to the ballads sung by the common people. They have many genres: rock, blues, jazz, folk, country, soul and many others. Honestly, I am not able to describe my reactions the first time I heard that awful music called hard rock. But after that concert at the Thuringen Gardens, I understood perfectly how the hardened Spanish soldiers at the Wartburg could have been terrified by it.

  Put a hard rock band behind me and even I, Giacomo Carissimi, your most peaceful musician, would gladly march to battle against any enemy just to put that noise far behind me. Some of the oldest Americans are sure that rock musicians adore the devil. I am prone to agree with them.

>   One of my favorite activities is listening to the high school band, what I call Mr. Wendell's kingdom. This is for the skill that this teacher has in dealing with his young students.

  Their existence is a proof that the Jesuits were right in making the study of music such an important subject! They are simply spectacular. They use mostly wind instruments that are very different from what we are used to. These instruments use a device called a "valve" that regulates the flow of air in the instruments. This permits the players to play in all keys and produce richer sounds compared to what we are used to. I do believe, though, that the sounds are more apt for a battlefield than for a church. Nevertheless, seeing so many boys and girls learning how to play, and making so many efforts to be able to play together in harmony makes the teacher in me feel very happy.

  Not many of them will become professional musicians, but, whatever the path they will take, the study of music will enrich their lives and will give them a key to see the world with.

  Since the moment of my arrival, I have come to enjoy the relative peace of any moment I spend in St. Mary. Any time my busy days permit it, I try to find refuge and consolation inside its holy walls. When not in prayer or meditation I have long and useful conversations with Father Kircher SJ, whose reputation in the Company I found very well deserved. I recommend to you this man of rare insight, logic, savvy, wisdom and compassion.

  I found a subtle pleasure in using my experience as master of chapel for the people of St. Mary, and I deeply regret not to be able to spend more time helping with the sacred music during the different services.

  When I began participating in the choir rehearsals I was afraid that my arrival could have caused some jealousies, but I was proven wrong. Both Mrs. Linda Bartolli, the organ player, and Mr. Brian Grady, the director of the choir, did their best to make me feel at ease and part of the community.

  At the end I think that, when working with them, I am receiving as much as I am able to give. I treasure the opportunity to learn more about the sacred music written in times and places that weren't my own. I have also learned to appreciate the mechanical wonders that are up-time organs whose mechanical and pneumatic parts are all powered by electricity. It's incredible the kind of tonal flexibility one can achieve with such a small case.

  Many of the people who believe that after Pretorius' Syntagma Musicum the organ cannot be improved will be seriously disappointed. Linda once told me that the greatest honor for an organist is to play on an instrument built by an artisan named Silbermann whose organs will maybe be built more than fifty years from now. I am sure it is true, but I am well satisfied to play the one they have here in St. Mary.

  Just recently, we decided to stage a concert for Saint Stephen's day with a program of down-time and up-time music. I look forward to the event.

  While I was busy with my music studies, Girolamo and Johannes didn't remain idle. Their plan was first to learn all they could about pianos, then to restore a few of them and only at that point, once they had learned where they could get all the materials they needed, to start building new ones.

  Pianos come in different dimensions and shape: there are the upright pianos, whose soundboard and strings are in a vertical position, made to be used in normal or small places. There are the baby grands, similar in shape and dimensions to an harpsichord, that require, for a perfect sound, a larger room, and then there is non plus ultra of instruments, the concert grand, whose sonority makes them perfect for concert halls.

  Girolamo bought a few upright pianos, some of them in very bad shape, and two baby grands. People had begun to realize the value of those unique instruments and even if buying them was a true bleeding I never saw my artisan friend pay such a sum so gladly.

  Quite unexpectedly, he managed to find a grand piano in a place called the Bowers Mansion. This villa, that used to belong to a rich family here in Grantville, is the closest thing to a palazzo the Americans have and it's now used as the administrative center for the region. The piano was left abandoned just before the Ring of Fire when the last member of the Bowers family died.

  Buying the pianoforte has not been as easy as Girolamo believed. Some of our German friends have decided to start making modern instruments and the grand piano was a terrific asset for them as well. The purchase became a ferocious bidding between the two parties. I was afraid Girolamo was about to have an apoplexy when he paid the final sum, but, thanks to the glory of Venetian ducats, still the best coin in Europe, he managed to bring the piano home.

  The piano must weigh at least eight hundred pounds and is made by an American craftsman called Steinway. It is totally black, made in walnut, spruce, birch and poplar. The harp is made of iron and the strings are of the finest steel and brass.

  The piano had been visibly neglected in the last years The frame was scratched and dented, one of the legs broken and clumsily patched, some of the actions were broken and some other (together with a few of the precious strings) were missing. Despite this, the instrument was a sturdy one and Girolamo is still very optimistic about giving it a second life.

  The night the piano arrived at the shop Girolamo seemed very concerned. He was worried about an inevitable rise in costs brought by a competition on all fronts with Hans Riebeck. So, the same night, he invited all the partners of Bledsoe and Riebeck to the Gardens and he tried to convince them to form a commercial alliance or, at least, to "divide the cake" to use a very colorful American phrase. Girolamo's offer was to cooperate to get together all the materials they might need instead of fighting for them. He was adamant about the rightness of his idea and he spent all night trying to talk his competitors into it. The Germans did not agree right away, but they looked very thoughtful when we left. I am sure that they will see the sense of it.

  Since then Girolamo has been working frantically. I've seen him disembowel uprights and lay all their components on the huge table in the large garage. I've seen him taking parts from one piano and working on them until they fit on another. I've seen him studying manuals until late night, manuals in a language he still has problems to master. He was grateful, he said, to have been able to purchase a set of up-time tools. They are so much better to work with than his old ones, and in some cases absolutely necessary.

  Surprisingly, Johannes was the first to produce a profit, and with the simplest idea.

  Up-time cellos have a pin at the bottom of the instrument that permits the players to keep them upright without holding them tight between their knees. This simple innovation saves a sensible amount of the musician's energy and permits him to focus his attention completely on his performance, improving it drastically. Johannes sold the whole idea to the guild in Fussen, and, at basically no costs, was able to earn the first hard money for the company. I would not be surprised if they will start making cellos with the long pin very soon.

  Ten days ago, when I was about to come home after a long day of musical studies, I heard Girolamo calling me from the garage. I hurried up, and, as soon as I entered the room, he invited me to sit in front of one of the uprights; the one that was in the best shape when acquired. I could hear the excitement that was barely contained in Girolamo's voice.

  Even if the frame didn't have the rich ornaments and paintings that are Girolamo's signature; I could proudly read "Pianoforti Zenti" beautifully carved on a small silver plate just above the keyboard.

  "So you fixed it," I said, in Italian.

  "Si, I think it's done. Tuning it was a pain in the ass, and I would never have done it without the kind assistance of Hermann Katzberg, but I really think you should try it. It is my special present to the man who will change the musical world. This way some of your future glory will ooze back to me."

  I stood still for a while, speechless and sincerely moved by such a present. Then my hands almost moved by themselves and started playing a composition I had written for organ a few years before and I just recently transcribed and enriched for piano with Mrs. Jordan's help.

  While the notes where
flowing from my hands to the wooden keys I felt something grandiose growing in me. All my fears and doubts of the months before were vanishing from my soul and a sense of strength and determination were digging their way into the deepest part of my heart.

  I think that was the first time I played the piano without committing any mistakes.

  In all this turmoil of events I had completely forgotten about my patron, Stefano Landi. Well, he didn't forget me because he recently sent me an irate letter asking me if I had found something about him and his works. It's not very Christian of me, but I can say with a certain satisfaction that I haven't found much. In the universe where the Americans came from Maestro Landi was probably too busy fighting with his sickness or enjoying his glory to compose anything worth being archived here in Grantville.

  For a few days I wasn't sure if I should have written him the truth, but then I've had another moment of luck that gave me the idea for a small ruse. Apparently, just before the Ring of Fire, in a part of the USA called Michigan, there had been a revival of French Baroque Opera. The artists of this century will be known as barocchi by our posterity, even if I would much rather be called contemporary or stil novista. After all, as my American friends would say, I am a plain guy and I hardly believe someone may consider me bizarre. Too bad we cannot control the opinion history will have of us.