shadow of britain

Chapter 907 Night of Miracles
The Buckingham Palace concert on August 30, 1837, was a miracle in music history that is almost impossible to replicate, so much so that it is often referred to as "Victoria's musical coronation night".

Music historians often say that if the musical geniuses of Europe at that time were depicted as a star map, then Buckingham Palace that night would be the place where the Milky Way collapsed.

Mendelssohn, Chopin, Liszt, Talberg, Johann Strauss Sr., Clara Novello, Johann Brabham, Henry Braglov...

Each of these names alone could represent a genre, yet they all graced the same stage on the same night.

The lineup for the Buckingham Palace concert was so impressive that it was comparable to the arrival of the Olympian gods.

However, the true pinnacle of the night did not belong to any of the soloists, but to the man later known as the "Ear of the Empire"—Sir Arthur Hastings.

Arthur Hastings' Wellington March holds a dual significance in music history.

On the one hand, it is the culmination of the 19th-century military music tradition. From Beethoven's "Wellington's Triumph" to Mendelssohn's "Scottish Symphony," they can all be seen as its distant relatives.

On the other hand, the direct influence of the Wellington March was also enormous.

The following year, Johann Strauss Sr. published the "British Horn Waltz," an adaptation of the "Wellington March," in Vienna.

Mendelssohn wrote in his letter: "London understood the moral rhythm in the harmony that night."

Liszt returned to Paris with that profound experience and wrote the first draft of the "Heroic Poems" series.

Even the young Brahms, upon hearing the older generation describe the spectacle of that night, wrote in his notes: "It was a trinity of piano, orchestra, and human heart."

If there is one page in the history of 19th-century music that can be etched on the heavens, it must be this Buckingham Palace concert that ushered in the height of Romanticism.

In this concert, Mendelssohn symbolized order, Chopin symbolized the soul, and Liszt symbolized fire…

Arthur Hastings, on the other hand, symbolizes domination.

—Harold Spencer, *The British Musical Yearbook (1901 Commemorative Edition)*

When Liszt finished testing the violin and stepped through the velvet curtain into the backstage area of ​​Buckingham Palace, the orchestra outside had already begun tuning.

Although no one spoke, everyone could sense that the atmosphere backstage at the concert was unusually oppressive.

In Liszt's view, this pressure mainly stemmed from the high status and exceptionally high level of the guests present tonight.

The two monarchs were the Queen of England and the King of Belgium.

Even the wife of the King of Belgium—Princess Marie of France.

In addition, all foreign ministers and special envoys stationed in London were also invited, whether from Prussia, Austria, Russia, and Spain in the Old World, or from the United States, Mexico, Brazil, and Chile in the New World.

On the other hand, this invisible pressure also comes from the gathering of top performers at the performance venue.

The Buckingham Palace concert will be conducted by Michael Costa, who is renowned as London's premier conductor, while the guest conductor position will be held by Arthur Hastings, the former conductor of the London Philharmonic Society's Third Orchestra.

At the same time, there are two accompanying orchestras for the concert, one of which is the Royal Orchestra, founded during the reign of George IV, and the St. James Theatre United Orchestra.

The Royal Orchestra's excellence is beyond question; typically, only the most outstanding musicians are given the honor of joining the Royal Orchestra.

As for the St. James Theatre United Orchestra, although this new orchestra has not been established for long, its core members were basically all poached by Mr. Alfred Bunn, the manager of St. James Theatre, from its powerful former employers, Covent Garden Theatre and Drewry Lane Theatre.

Of course, for Liszt, such an orchestra was not unusual.

Because if this "King of Piano" wanted, he could also invite the world's top orchestras, such as the Paris Conservatory Orchestra and the Paris Opera Orchestra, to accompany him.

What truly put some pressure on him was the program schedule in front of him.

Tonight's concert overture is Rossini's "The Barber of Seville," performed by the Royal Orchestra under the baton of Michael Costa.

Next up is London's first soprano, 19-year-old Clara Novello.

Portrait of Miss Clara Novello, painted in 1833 by the English painter Edward Peter Novello (Clara's brother).

She sang the famous aria "Ah non credea mirarti" (Ah! All the flowers have withered) from Bellini's opera "La Sonnambula".

Next up was Mr. John Brabham, who had dominated the London tenor scene for two decades. Yes, the same Mr. Brabham who sold St. James' Theatre to Imperial Publishing and Mr. Bunn.

If he hadn't unwisely pooled £40,000 in 1831 to buy the Grand Arena in Regent's Park, and then spent £30,000 to build St. James's Theatre in 1835, this renowned tenor who had dominated England for over forty years could have enjoyed a comfortable retirement with a fortune. But now, to pay off his debts, Mr. Brabham has no choice but to return to the stage and perform tirelessly everywhere.

The inclusion of Mr. Henri Bragorov in the performance list is not surprising, given his long tenure as solo violinist with the Royal Orchestra and his patronage from Queen Adelaide since the reign of William IV. It was thanks to Queen Adelaide's patronage and recommendation that Bragorov had the opportunity a few years ago to study under the renowned German violinist Louis Spohr, and to receive the honor of performing a string quartet concert at the Hanover Place Concert Hall.

At this time of Queen Adelaide's unfortunate loss, it is entirely appropriate for Blagorov to take the stage and offer his condolences to the Queen in the audience.

After Mr. Brago's Fantasy in D major, Mr. Johann Strauss, who had recently gained fame in Vienna, took the stage.

His waltz suite "Homage to Queen Victoria" is clearly a special tribute.

However, although these London music stars are all quite talented, they are not in the same league as Liszt.

Therefore, he was more focused on the following four-piece piano piece.

Felix Mendelssohn, music director of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra, presented his new work, Variations Solemnis, Op. 54, as a gift.

Frédéric Chopin, who had recently refused Tsar Nicholas I's offer of amnesty and resolutely declined the position of Russia's chief pianist, presents his Nocturne (B-flat minor) and Polonaise (Eroica in A-flat major).

Sigismund Thalberg, currently Europe's most popular pianist, has brought out his signature piece, "Moses Fantasy".

Following Thalberg was Franz Liszt, the King of the Piano.

Tonight, he will compete against Thalberg on the stage of the Buckingham Palace concert with "Reminiscences of Don Juan". He wants to tell everyone in front of all Europe who truly deserves the title of Europe's number one pianist.

Upon seeing this, Liszt couldn't help but close his eyes and adjust his breathing.

Especially in situations like this, it's important to stay calm. After all, in Liszt's view, as long as he performs normally, Talberg has no chance of winning. He is that confident in his own abilities.

Suddenly, Lister opened his eyes.

He suddenly remembered something.

Liszt picked up the program again and scanned it from beginning to end once more.

He's looking for a name.

Where is Arthur Hastings?
Liszt hadn't forgotten that his trip to London wasn't just to defeat Talberg, but also to crush Hastings, that cowardly pianist who dared not confront him directly.

But with such a grand concert at Buckingham Palace, where is Hastings nowhere to be seen?

So he was just listed as a guest director?

Where's the piano?
Where's the music?
Is the truce sign being hoisted high again?
Liszt laughed in anger at the thought, slamming the program on the table beside him: "What is this? He's called a guest conductor, but he doesn't even dare to play a single piece."

He walked to the dressing mirror, unbuttoned the top button of his collar, took a deep breath, and after adjusting his breathing, slowly buttoned it up: "What a clever man. If you don't play the piano, you'll never make a mistake; if you don't step onto the stage, you'll never lose. But you're far too naive. Tonight, as soon as I step onto the stage, the entire audience will immediately know who Europe's number one pianist is. At that time, I'll see if you, sitting on the conductor's podium, will pretend to be deaf or blind."

He straightened up, picked up the program again, folded it into thirds, put it in his pocket, and pondered what he should say to embarrass Arthur when he saw him later.

Lister was pondering how to phrase things in a way that would make Arthur Hastings, that bastard who only dared to appear in the newspapers, feel uneasy on stage.

Suddenly, the red-painted wooden door to the backstage dressing room creaked open. Chopin walked in.

He looked as if he had just climbed out of the Thames; his face was so pale it was almost transparent, his black tuxedo hung loosely, and sweat poured from his forehead.

Chopin hesitated by the door for a few seconds, seemingly wondering if he had entered the wrong room.

Lister immediately noticed that his complexion was off, his lips were slightly purple, and his breathing was shallow.

Liszt was well aware of this; Chopin was not ill, but rather exhibiting a classic "Chopinian fear reaction."

Whenever the performance was too large, the audience too many, and the front row was crowded with royalty, his talented Polish friend would become anxious.

“Frederick.” Lister took the initiative to greet him and teased him, “Did you see a pretty girl? Don’t be nervous, you’re good enough for even the prettiest girl.”

Chopin gave him a forced smile, said nothing, and simply took off his glove and clutched it in his hand.

His eyes shifted to the teapot on the table, then back to Lister's face, before finally whispering, "It seems like quite a few people have come outside."

“Oh, it’s not just a lot of people.” Lister chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “Most of the world is sitting there. Queen Victoria, King Leopold, Princess Mary, plus Prussian sashes, Russian beards, Spanish perfume, and coffee beans and rum from the Americas.”

Chopin didn't reply, but gave Liszt a resentful look, his lips twitching slightly.

Seeing this, Liszt's smile deepened: "Relax, my dear. If you play a wrong note, it's no big deal. I sometimes play wrong notes too, but to most audiences, sometimes your wrong notes are a sign of good taste."

Chopin took a soft breath: "I'm not afraid of playing the wrong notes."

"So you're afraid of playing it right?" Liszt bent down, opened the sugar jar next to the teapot, took out two pieces of sugar, put one in his own cup, and tossed the other to Chopin: "You can't be worried that you'll play too well and others will think you're provoking them, can you?"

Chopin took the candy and nodded slightly: "I do have that concern, after all... I didn't come here to steal the spotlight."

Lister picked up his teacup and took a sip: "Of course you're not, but I am! Frederick, do you know whose name isn't on tonight's program?"

Chopin paused for a moment, then frowned and asked, "Who?"

Lister turned around: "Your old friend, Sir Arthur Hastings."

“Arthur?” Chopin asked, somewhat surprised. “Wasn’t he conducting the last piece? I saw his name written on the back.”

"The back?" Lister quickly flipped the program over, and sure enough, he found Arthur's name on the back.

—Sir Arthur Hastings, Kt., Commander.

However, the track list remains empty.

It doesn't even have a title.

Even the "author" section was deliberately left blank, as if the piece of music fell from the sky, or as if no one wanted to bear the joint responsibility caused by the work.

Liszt stared at that line of text for a long time, then smiled slightly, flipped the program back to the front, and slammed it down on the table.

“Look at this, Frederick, this is Hastings’ style. He doesn’t go on stage, he doesn’t sign his name, he just stands in the corner, but he makes everyone feel that he is the soul of this concert.”

Chopin pondered for a long time, still crammed with a candy in his mouth, but he had no idea what Arthur was really up to.

However, given his understanding of Arthur and the fact that Arthur had once lent him a helping hand during his most difficult times, Chopin could never agree with Liszt's opinion.

However, he wasn't the type to argue with people, so Chopin could only gently defend Arthur, saying, "Frantz, you have a deep misunderstanding of him. Arthur is definitely not the kind of person you imagine. Would someone who isn't even afraid of death be afraid to perform on stage?"

“Perhaps,” Liszt scoffed. “Frederic, I don’t know what kind of person he was in the past. But now, in my eyes, he’s an absolute coward. If he were willing to risk going on stage and making a fool of himself even once, I would applaud his courage. After all, losing to me on the piano isn’t shameful. But the problem is, he never does. Judging from what he’s done in the last period of time, this guy is simply the most cunning and treacherous villain in the world.”

He took a sip of tea, seemingly finding it too weak, and added a piece of sugar. Then he continued, “Think about it carefully. He chose the conductor’s position. Did you notice? Throughout the entire concert, he didn’t personally arrange any of the programs, yet he specifically chose to conduct the last piece. What was he trying to do? He simply wanted to monopolize all the applause. You and I have both conducted recitals, so you should understand that no matter how well the last piece is performed, the applause at the end of the concert is always the most enthusiastic.”

Chopin, with a candy in his mouth, twitched his lips for a long time before finally managing to utter, "But... he didn't ask to conduct the last piece, did he? I heard that the performance order was arranged by Queen Victoria herself."

Lister was taken aback for a moment, then burst out laughing. He shook his head as he laughed, speaking in a tone that sounded like he was coaxing a child: "Oh, Frederick, you're so cute. Do you still naively believe that everything in this world is as fair and just as it appears on the surface?"

Although Chopin wanted to retaliate against Liszt, he was not good with words and after thinking for a long time, he could only say: "Franz, Arthur is not the kind of person you think he is."

“You’re still defending him.” Lister put down his teacup and rolled his eyes at him. “Your mouth is as clumsy as a rock. If you want to argue with me, I suggest you ask George Sand to come. At least she speaks with her brain. The way you are, I feel like I’m bullying you even if I talk back.”

Chopin was taken aback, and his expression became even more unpleasant.

He tried to refute, but didn't know where to begin, so he could only shake his head with a wry smile: "You... Franz, you can be really too harsh sometimes."

“Cruel?” Liszt raised an eyebrow. “I’m just being honest. You know what kind of people I can’t stand the most? It’s people like Hastings, who don’t say it but are full of calculations. They want to maintain their identity as pianists but are unwilling to put their works to the test. They don’t want to be compared to others, but they want to stand behind everyone else and receive the most brilliant applause.”

As he spoke, he pointed to the program: "But call him a coward or a schemer, he succeeded. He hid himself in the safest, yet most dangerous, spot tonight."

Chopin finally raised his head and asked in return, "But what if Arthur really has some hidden masterpiece?"

"If he really has a masterpiece hidden away?" Liszt repeated Chopin's words, his tone carrying an almost mocking pity: "Then I really have to congratulate him for finally mustering the courage to do something a musician should do."

He walked back to the table, picked up the program, and shook it gently: "What a pity. If he wrote a new piece, why didn't he sign it? Why leave the song title and author's name blank? Is he worried about not being respectable enough, or is he afraid people will say he's using the stage to promote himself?"

Liszt slammed the program back onto the table with a loud, jarring thud.

"I think he'll probably just pull the same old tricks again. He'll find a Handel piece that no one has performed in the past, or ask some old musician in the Viennese court to lend him a few pages of sheet music, piece it together, cut it up, change the key, add some snare drums and brass, and that'll be a new piece for the Queen. After all, his signature piece, 'The Bells,' is just a plagiarism of Paganini, isn't it?"

Upon hearing this, Chopin quickly interrupted, saying, "It's not plagiarism, it's adaptation."

"An arrangement? Did he get Paganini's permission?" Liszt scoffed. "Let me put it this way, Frederick: if what he's conducting tonight isn't some so-called arrangement, it's most likely some forgotten work by a forgotten predecessor, like Cordeli or Elton, composers no one's touched in a hundred years. He'll pick a piece whose name you might recognize, but whose content you've never heard of, and nobody's going to bother to find out."

Hearing Liszt's almost insulting remarks to Arthur, the usually good-tempered Chopin finally lost his temper. His face flushed red as he stood up and said, "Franz! You must take back everything you said tonight!"

Chopin had expected Liszt to object, but to his surprise, the latter readily agreed.

“Fine!” Liszt said dismissively. “However, that's on the condition that he actually dares to perform his new work, and that it's actually quite good. If he does, Frederick, even if you don't say it, I'll bow down and apologize to him. But! Until he shows his true talent, tonight's concert belongs to me!”

Just as Liszt finished speaking, there was a knock on the dressing room door.

An attendant in royal uniform strode over, holding a thick sheet of paper, and asked softly, "Are you Mr. Liszt or Mr. Chopin? This is the instruction sheet for the final piece tonight; we just got it from the Minister of the Palace's office."

Lister raised an eyebrow: "Give it to me."

He took the paper, glanced at it, and a smile still lingered on his lips.

But the smile froze instantly the next second.

Lister stared at the line of text for a long time without saying a word.

Chopin came closer and saw the note.

The paper read:

Wellington March

Composer: Sir Arthur Hastings and Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha
Commander: Sir Arthur Hastings
First performance date: August 30, 1837

Location: Buckingham Palace Concert Hall
(End of this chapter)