Murder Backstage, page 30
There were men concealed in the tiny closet where the ropes, sandbags, and sheaves were stored as well. His Majesty had wished to accompany them but had been easily dissuaded from that course of action. But it had not prevented him from sending Fugger along with them.
“The man has an interest in the matter,” His Majesty had insisted. “He should be there!”
Now as von Beer grumbled on, Haydn was grateful for the banker’s presence. It made the whole operation more bearable. After a while, even Fugger felt compelled to whisper: “Would it not be best to stay quiet, Herr von Beer? We risk alerting the killer to our presence.”
Von Beer snorted, but—unable to refute the good sense of Fugger’s remarks—subsided at last into silence.
It was utterly quiet now. Only the ticking of the clock could be heard in the inky stillness. Haydn waited, hardly daring to breathe. Johann and Luigi were nearby, he knew. God forbid, any harm should befall them. He had not been able to dissuade them from coming.
At last a quiet creak penetrated the silence, followed by a slow, careful scrape, then a muffled footstep, and the tiny click of the door closing. Beside him, Haydn felt von Beer grow alert. The closet door was slightly ajar, and all three men strained to see who had entered the room.
The changing room was clothed in darkness, but through the gloom, Haydn made out a slender figure. A match flared, and the flickering flame of the candle revealed the intruder’s face.
Haydn heard a sharp inhalation of breath beside him.
“It is Count Kohary!” Fugger hissed. “I recognize the man—it is the same wig and the garment is very nearly the same as well.”
“Taken from the Burgtheater’s stock of costumes,” Haydn said in a low voice. “And that, if I mistake not”—he tipped his chin at the large leather pouch in the intruder’s hands—“is the Archbishop’s money.”
Von Beer was about to open the closet door to confront the man, but Haydn put out his hand to restrain him. “Allow me.”
He stepped out of the closet.
“Frau Oliveri!”
The intruder spun around. Accustomed to seeing her in male garb, Haydn had recognized the singer despite her disguise and despite the wig she had hastily thrown over her dark curls.
“I have been expecting you.” Haydn held out his palm. “It was good of you to return the Archbishop’s money. It was not yours to take.”
The startled expression on the singer’s swarthy features was replaced by a sneer.
“I will not ask how you found me out, you are a clever man. But it was not wise of you to come alone.”
She drew out a dagger from her sleeve and held it out.
“It is over. Turn yourself in, Frau Oliveri.” Haydn took a cautious step toward her.
“Take but one more step, and I will not hesitate to plunge the blade into your breast. I have done it twice.”
“Do it a third,” von Beer boomed, coming out from the closet, “and you will be a dead woman.”
Haydn kept his eye on Frau Oliveri, whose eyes darted wildly from him to the Police Inspector and to Fugger.
Luigi had by now appeared at the door, his own pistol held out. “Drop your knife, Frau Oliveri. The Police Inspector may spare your life. But I will not.”
Donna Oliveri stood frozen, staring at the men before her. Then after what seemed like an eternity, her knife clattered to the floor. The leather pouch followed suit, falling with a muffled thud on the wooden floorboards.
“He deserved to die!” she shrieked with her head thrown back and her fists clasped angrily at her side. “That cheating swine deserved to die!”
Chapter Forty-Two
Haydn dipped his pen into the pot of black ink on Affligio’s desk. Eager to begin work, he had arrived at the Burgtheater early that morning. Now he shook the ink off the tip of his nib and pulled a sheet of paper with its neatly lined staves toward himself.
The opening phrases of the overture he was composing needed to be notated while they were still fresh in his mind. How exquisitely wonderful it was, he thought, to return to the day-to-day business of being a Kapellmeister.
The pages of Karl’s libretto—an especially well executed dramma giocoso—lay open on his right, and he glanced down at the work from time to time as he quickly jotted down the musical notes.
Judging by the libretto, the impresario’s assistant was a skilled storyteller with a flair for the dramatic. Haydn had asked for and started reading the work as soon as he’d arrived that morning. The opera had pleased him so greatly, musical phrases had effortlessly presented themselves to his mind.
The daily running of the Burgtheater—and Affligio’s murder—had left him little time for anything else. But now, with the murder resolved, he could once more turn his mind to music. It would not be until later in the day that the singers would come in to rehearse. Moreover, the Prince had assured Haydn he would soon be relieved of his duties as impresario.
“His Serene Highness will not regret hiring Karl,” Haydn told himself as he worked. He had already broached the subject of hiring a librettist for the theater in Eszterháza. The Prince—delighted at the prospect of putting on original works in his theater—had authorized Haydn to make an offer.
“As long as the man possesses talent, Haydn—it goes without saying,” His Serene Highness had said.
The offer was contingent upon the quality of the libretto, and Haydn had yet to make it. He was about to send for the young man when there was a knock on the door.
He raised his eyes.
“Ah, Karl!” Haydn gestured the young man in. “I was about to send for you.” He was going to say more when he saw a familiar figure following Karl into the room.
“Papa Keller? What brings you here?”
“Your wigs, Sepperl!” Papa Keller staggered into the room, bearing three large black Chinese lacquer boxes. “They are ready. I would’ve given them to you this morning, but you had already left.”
Haydn thrust his chair back, striding around his desk to relieve his father-in-law of his burden.
“Have you the receipt? His Serene Highness will need to sign it before Herr Geld, the paymaster, can issue the sum.”
“There is no need for that!” Christian Steiner’s deep bass sounded at the door. He strode into the room and plucked the receipt from Papa Keller’s outstretched hand. “The Burgtheater is quite capable of making its own payments.”
“Indeed!” Haydn was too stunned to protest. He set the stack of boxes down on a table by the wall. Where the money was to come from, he knew not. The Archbishop’s purse had, as far as he knew, been returned to him. He was still struggling to frame his question when Christian with a smile provided the explanation he had been seeking.
“The Archbishop has graciously allowed us the use of his purse.”
“In return for—?” Karl asked the question in Haydn’s mind. He cast a worried glance at Haydn.
“In return for nothing. He does not wish to invest in the theater any longer.” Christian pivoted his bulky frame toward Haydn. “Thanks to your employer, the Emperor has undertaken to pardon Affligio’s unpaid debt.”
Haydn inwardly cringed. That meant poor Fugger had been induced by His Majesty to take a loss on the entire amount. No doubt, he had received property or mining rights somewhere within the Empire to compensate him for his troubles.
“And the existing partners?” he asked.
“Have been recompensed—or will be shortly, His Majesty promises.” Smiling broadly, Christian perched himself beside the wig boxes on the table by the wall. “And I am to take charge as impresario. And Karl—” He turned to the young assistant, who had turned a warm shade of red as his gaze drifted toward Haydn.
“Will be returning to Eszterháza with us as His Serene Highness Prince Nikolaus’s librettist,” Haydn informed them. He turned to Karl. “The position is yours if you wish to have it. I have no hesitation in making the offer. And you will be richly rewarded if you take it.”
Taken aback by this good news, Karl could do no more than mutely nod.
“I see I am about to lose a valuable assistant,” Christian said, but the bass had a good-natured grin on his face.
The smile faded, replaced by a rueful expression, as he turned to the Kapellmeister.
“I wish to thank you, Herr Haydn.” He clasped his hands together. “Truthfully, I did not think any good would come either of your taking over Affligio’s duties or of your meddling—at least that’s how I regarded it. But were it not for you, bitterness and strife would’ve reigned among us. And the Burgtheater would have been forced to close down.”
Haydn acknowledged the singer’s thanks with a deprecating smile and shrug. He had done no more than any other God-fearing individual would have.
The bass was not done speaking, however. He shook his head gravely. “I still cannot believe Donna killed her husband and Affligio. I don’t say Affligio didn’t get what was coming to him. But whatever did Gregorio do to deserve such evil?”
Papa Keller who had made himself comfortable upon one of the chairs in the room leaned forward. “How came you to suspect her, Sepperl? She has always seemed such a gracious woman. Far easier to believe that Loretta Renier might dispose of another than to believe Donna Oliveri would do such a thing.”
“Yes.” Christian turned his curious gaze toward the Kapellmeister. “What made you suspect her?”
“Well.” Haydn walked back around the desk and took his seat, marshaling his thoughts as he did so. “I had not considered her to be involved in the matter at all until I learned that it was she whom Fräulein Renier had confided in.”
He succinctly recounted the details.
“It was Frau Oliveri who had made Affligio’s murder look like a stabbing. It seemed only reasonable to suppose that it was she who ensured the Archbishop was here to see a mysterious man leaving by the backstairs. Expecting to see Leopold Mozart, that is exactly whom His Grace saw.”
“She pretended to be me.” Karl was understandably outraged. “I cannot believe she would do something like that.”
Haydn turned to the man. “I doubt her intention was to cast suspicion upon you. It was a convenient disguise, nothing more.” He took a deep breath, attempting to find the words to discreetly explain the rest.
“His Grace was not happy about an employee of his taking on a position at court—without his permission at that. Affligio was to persuade Leopold—by word and deed—that returning to Salzburg would be the better option. The only person other than Affligio who knew of the arrangement was his partner.”
“And it was his partner as well,” Karl chimed in, “who knew about the prop knife and its working.”
“Indeed!” Haydn nodded. “And that was another thing. Everyone had said, Gregorio had categorically refused to join in Affligio’s venture. Yet, Affligio’s ledgers showed him to be a partner.”
“A clear indication he was falsifying the books,” Christian immediately responded. “Gregorio had too much sense—God rest his soul—to give Affligio any money. I suppose that was why Affligio pursued Donna.”
Haydn nodded. “Duped into thinking he loved her, she was willing to kill her husband. But once she had given Affligio her money, he lost all interest in her.”
“And began pursuing Loretta Renier,” Papa Keller said. “Small wonder, Frau Oliveri was incensed.”
“Once I began considering her to be the mysterious partner,” Haydn said, “everything else fell into place. Her acting skills are tremendous, and she is able to impersonate a man—albeit not for long. Everyone who met her ‘Count Kohary’ considered him a womanly individual and commented on the quality of his voice.”
He absently fingered the pages of Karl’s libretto. “Had Affligio’s ledgers been truthful, one would have to count Gregorio Oliveri his first partner. But the actual Count Kohary had told us Affligio’s first partner was a woman. If it was not Gregorio, it would have to be Donna.”
Comprehension dawned on Christian’s heavy features. “And then you noticed her contract?” When Haydn nodded, he continued, “I can hardly believe Affligio meant to get rid of her rather than Loretta Renier.”
“A fool’s move,” Papa Keller declared. “I thought the man had more sense than that!”
Haydn smiled. “He was duped by Fräulein Renier just as he himself had deceived Frau Oliveri. She was merely toying with him to keep her position.” He forbore to mention that it was the Emperor himself who had counseled Loretta Renier in that plan. Or so the soprano had said.
“We should’ve known it was Frau Oliveri from the moment Giulietta’s handkerchief appeared where it did,” Karl said, grimacing wryly. “The rehearsal broke that Sunday right after Giulietta hands her kerchief to Romeo.”
“True enough,” Haydn agreed. “Fräulein Renier had no opportunity to retrieve the fabric. I myself had wondered how it had found its way outside the back entrance.”
With a grunt, Christian hoisted himself off his perch.
“I feel bad about yelling at the poor woman. But she would try the patience of a saint! I shall have to find a way to rid myself of her once the season is over.”
He turned to Papa Keller. “Come with me, old man. The new impresario has no intentions of keeping his suppliers waiting for their money. You will be paid immediately.”
Papa Keller was about to follow the bass when Karl stopped them. “There is one other matter, however. We need another singer.” He looked from Christian to Haydn. “To take Frau Oliveri’s place, of course.”
“Dear Lord, I had not thought of that.” Christian’s features were wreathed in dismay as he looked helplessly at Haydn. “Can the Prince spare one of his singers?”
“I doubt it.” Haydn shook his head. “But never fear. My brother Michael’s wife is an excellent soprano.”
“She will do it? She will join us for a short time?”
“I imagine she might,” Haydn responded dryly. “Michael owes me a favor.”
The men were about to leave when there was yet another interruption. A portly individual entered the room followed by a taller man and a young boy.
“Joseph!” Michael barely acknowledged the other men in the room. “I have brought Leopold and Wolferl. They wish to convey their thanks to you. Had you not found Affligio’s killer, Leopold would’ve been forced to live the rest of his life under the weight of suspicion.”
Leopold—his face shaved, dressed in a fresh suit of clothes and a new wig—came forward with both hands outstretched. “I hardly know what to say, Herr Haydn. You have done more than save my life. You have restored my reputation to me. Neither word nor gesture can sufficiently express my gratitude.”
“I am grateful as well.” Wolferl swaggered in and greeted the men with an insolent grin. “And we would ask one favor more.”
“It is his opera,” Leopold said, his hands clasped together as though he were praying. “The boy is so eager to have it performed in Vienna, Herr Haydn. If something can be done . . .”
“It is not Herr Haydn’s decision anymore,” Christian informed the Mozarts brusquely before Haydn could reply. “I am the new impresario, and I will not under any circumstances have the work performed.”
He lowered his head to regard Wolferl and continued in a gentler tone. “Your music is incomparable, my boy. But the work lacks dramatic interest. And without drama, it will surely fail. You will be the laughing stock of the entire city. And your career—such as it is—will be over.”
The words seemed to deflate Wolferl, and his dismayed blue eyes sought Haydn’s gaze. “What would you advise, Herr Haydn?”
Haydn smiled. “I would advise listening to those more experienced in the matter than you. Work with singers, learn from men such as Herr Steiner, and if it is your ambition to be the greatest composer of opera the world has ever seen, I have no doubt you will achieve it. You have the potential, but you are not ready yet.”
He swiveled around to face Michael. “And Michael, should you still wish to thank me, there is one kindness I would greatly appreciate.”
THE END
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Author’s Note
How much of this story is based in historical fact? Quite a bit, as it happens. Giuseppe Affligio (1719-87) was impresario of the two opera theaters in Vienna from 1767 to 1770. Affligio leased the properties from the Emperor, which meant that it was the impresario rather than the court that took care of all expenses pertaining to opera production. This entitled the impresario to all the profits. The court, however, attended performances free of cost.
Now, Prince Kaunitz, State Chancellor of the Habsburg Empire, had persuaded Affligio to invite some French performers to Vienna. Believe it or not, these performers set Affligio back a mind-boggling 70,000 gulden a year. Unfortunately for Affligio, the performers weren’t quite the draw he’d been led to believe they’d be. The poor impresario found himself in debt and in desperate need of productions that would be a sure thing.
It was under these circumstances in January 1768 that Leopold first conceived the idea of having his prodigiously gifted son write and conduct an opera. Convinced that a cabal of jealous musicians in Vienna was determined not to recognize his son’s gifts, Leopold decided an opera would be just the thing to make believers of every doubting Thomas in the city.
It was Emperor Joseph who unwittingly gave Leopold the idea. His Majesty had asked the young Wolfgang Mozart whether he wouldn’t like to write and conduct an opera. What boy would’ve replied in the negative? Certainly, not Wolferl!
