I.
It was night when first,
Starving for moonlight,
The owl awakened.
A lyre sounded in a distant world:
The bird hooted as the music played~
2
Winter had just arrived, and a light chill had begun to settle throughout the air, causing a thin sheet of ice to cover the terrain. 3
Frederick-Alexander (the namesake of both Frederick Wilhelm II of Prussia, and Emperor Alexander I of Russia) stood before the large window of his bedroom. He’d just awoken, finding only a cast of gray light flooding his room, creating shadows with every inundation. He felt fairy-like, as if awaking to a second dream. A feeling of loftiness was present throughout him; his soul seemed to be writhing and restless, prepared to take flight towards Elysium at any moment. In childhood, he had suffered many infirmities; his mother would always attribute his repeated illnesses to his spirit never holding fully and firmly to the carnal capsule in which it dwelt; she imagined it hang loosely and with flimsy effort to the surrounding flesh, mourning its imprisonment, and anticipating its emancipation. 4
“Frederick’s élan vital is too preponderant for the boy’s body: it yearns to leave it, so that it may return to God,” she would say to her husband at times. 5
The mother’s words echoed in the son’s heart as he sat in his bed, and even as he moved towards the window. The sight of the damask draperies that hung heavily on either side of the aperture delighted him. They were forest-green and beige with arabesque designs embroidered into them. In both directions from the window were masterful paintings of landscapes, beaches, virgin lands, ornate vases with sunflowers overflowing, and a depiction of Parisians walking through their city on a gloomy day. Every one Frederick-Alexander loved, for he felt there was a piece of his self to be found in each of them. 6
A comoda chiffonier sat majestically in the upper-right corner from the simplistic four-poster. To the left of the window was a small writing desk and chair, with papers placed neatly on top, next to a jar of pens and desk lamp situated on opposing sides from one another. Standing formidably to the right of the four-poster was a cello with moonflowers inlaid into its prodigious body. 7
Frederick remained staring out onto the terrain, rubbing his hand over the thin beard and mustache he had not shaven in four days. He listened to the blue jays, and yearned to join them; his spirit was swelling like a wave, touching the shore of his humanity before ebbing back into silence. A sense of purity enveloped him, and he contemplated its weight and immensity. The movement of life and Earth (that mysterious force that makes free will an impossible chimera) pulled at his center, attempting to reclaim that which it had given away. 8
“Gaia desires me to rejoin it,” he thought, “as it desires all its creatures to be aware of its presence. The birds and flowers feel their creator: man does not. I wish to feel it with all of my being! There is freedom in the experience: a continuum of air, and it is I it craves to have as its inhaler. God blows breath into its creation: its creation breathes it in. It is that vital force which gives life, and it summons me to its side.” 9
Frederick was moved by this reflection; a feeling of sadness arose within his breast, but he repressed it and walked to the writing table. There he saw the notes to a song he had started writing the night before. It was a piece expressing great sorrow, though he knew not towards what or for whom the remorse was being conveyed. It was rare that he thought profoundly about any music he wrote, but instead only floated in the pulchritude and emotions of its depths, allowing it to be grown on its own. 10
What he had began writing the night before he considered to be the culmination of what he had had as a goal since his sixteenth year: to touch heaven, –– to capture one hundredth of a trillionth of the magnitude of its beauty. As he was playing the strain on his cello, a numinous wave started to flow throughout his entire being, and at that moment, he understood that divinity had looked upon him and smiled, proud of its chosen son. 11
When reviewing the notes he wondered if the same feeling that had encompassed him the night before would return. He feared it would not, and that what he had perceived to be beautiful and angelic last evening would, this morning, be harsh and mundane. The turmoil that arises from being disappointed in one’s own creation is a suffering none should be made to endure. It led Virgil to depression and desiring to destroy his precious Aeneid, and drove Gogol into insanity. In youth the agony of limitation shows itself in similar ways, sometimes, even, in the form of severe insomnia. 12
There was some hesitation before Alexis picked up the sheet music and stepped towards his instrument, taking the wooden nape of the cello’s neck into his hand, along with the bow, and seating himself on the bed. A minute passed before the bow was placed on the strings and the first note played, followed by the second, until the sensation from the night before came rushing back, and washed over him: it was now his turn to smile back at divinity. 13
Playing all he had written of the strain, he noticed for the first time that morning the clock above his bed. It showed 8:15 AM. He quickly placed the instrument back in its holder and hastened to get washed and dressed. Today was his 18th birthday, and he knew he was expected to be downstairs first thing. 14
II
Day passed forevermore, like a stream.
Twilight eclipsed its creation,
Setting into the sea a raindrop:
First one, then one million.
15
Upon entering the den, Alexander found his parents in a half-jovial, half-relaxed mood. Sleep had cherished and preserved both of them well, and the morning air had freshened them splendidly. They both smiled upon seeing their son, small and sallow, though pensive and with features comparable to those of a pretty girl. His mien had always had a mark of femininity, which he neither minded nor noticed. His mother rose from her seat and embraced her only child, who was this morning entering into adulthood, wishing him a happy birthday; his father did the same. 16
At breakfast, the three of them discussed what was customary for them to discuss (each others’ dreams, plans for the day, various persons, the weather, etc.), with the inclusion of the birthday party that was going to be thrown that afternoon. Frederick had protested the idea from the time his mother first conceived it, and repressed no similar sentiments this morning either. “It’s all pointless, all of it!” he objected in his firm, though soft and uninspiring voice. "Tell me, who will be there for me? No one! People will come, no doubt, but only to oblige you two, because of respect and friendship, or because they’re family and consider it polite and dutiful to make an appearance; or–– and here’s the primary motivation! –– Any party’s better than none: free food and drinks everywhere! And where will that leave me, but in my room with my cello?” 17
“Your cello? I almost forgot you have one of those! Do you still play?” his dad interrupted. “I never hear it.” 18
“The music is quiet,” Alex rejoined, thinking back to his most recent piece. 19
“Remember when we bought it for him, Sammy?” the mother asked. “And how he used to run to us with every new song and ‘spiel,’ as he used to call it?” 20
“That was when he was crazy about Arvo Part,” Samuel stated. 21
“I still am,” Alex inserted with a laugh. “I just don’t listen to him as much as I used to; but I always think about his music, no matter what I’m doing.” 22
“Let’s have him playing at the party!” his mother interjected with enthusiasm. “I prefer his choral pieces. Will that be alright with you, Alexis?” 23
“Whatever pleases you, pleases me,” he responded with sarcasm. 24
“Do you see how he makes fun of me, Sammy? And your child he is, all the way!” Her husband smiled. “But listen Alex, an idea just came to me! No, do not gasp and give me that look! You said you still play your cello, and certainly you’ve only progressed since the last time we heard you play, am I right?” 25
“Perhaps,” he answered. 26
“Well, you’re eighteen today, and are probably anxious to explore the world, and drink from its oceans of experience. Tomorrow you will not even consider that you have parents made of flesh at all, but will seek out only the waters and lands of Earth, and the stars of the universe, for guidance and inspiration. So I must exploit this chance while its here, and request something that will be hopeless for me to request later... or at least until you're older and settled. Children always return to their parents when exhausted with the exhilaration of life. But there are many years to come before that happens, so grant me this favor.” Alex looked at his mother inquiringly. “I want you to play your cello for us tonight at the party.” 27
With those words uttered, Alexis began to envision a romantic scene of which he was the cynosure, holding his cello, and surrounded only by dim candlelight and shadows. There would be the crowd sitting, admiring; and then there would be himself, the singing caryatid, capturing the silence and making it into a divine melody–– translating God’s whisper into God’s voice. 28
When he had finished playing, there would be no applause, no adulation: but only an absence of sound; perhaps weeping would be heard, but not from sadness would cries ensue, but from coming within reach of a terrene Paradise–– within a finger’s length of imbibing from an angel’s cheek its tears: the mist arising from the waters of Victoria Falls. He sat pondering over the vision for some time, before looking towards his mother with a thoughtful smile: “I’ll perform, but I must finish writing a song I started on yesterday.” 29
“Is it your masterpiece?” his father asked with raillery. 30
“No, it belongs to God.” 31
32
Back in his room, Frederick returned to his song. The next hour or two he devoted to its completion, playing and transcribing the final notes. There was tranquility in its movement, and a thought flashed into his mind: ‘It is when I play music that I become most beautiful.’ He began considering the idea, and analyzing its truth, when the bedroom door was gently opened and his father passed through it, taking a seat next to his son. Alex was awakened from his reverie; he looked at his dad with surprise and wonder, so long it’d been since he’d been in his room. 33
There was a short silence. His father was the first to speak. “You haven’t changed many things in here, I see,” he began slowly. “Consistency is grand, you know. It’s become more elegant, I must admit; your artistry is starting to show in your surroundings. It is a rare ability to be able to influence material objects with your presence alone, and in here everything becomes you more daily it seems, and still you’re perfecting who you are, or at least beginning to understand it more. There is an internal portrait within everyone, and from birth it is painted and revised and steadily completed, if it is ever completed at all. When your portrait is finalized and revealed, you may be taken aback, and want to touch up the image, but you must remember, Alex, no matter how the picture looks to you, it is the reflection of a beautiful person that is being depicted. Never change! Grow always, but stay as you are, and happiness shall remain with you… or at least serenity shall.” 34
His father's voice grew slower, but firmer and more fixed. He wanted his words to assume a greater weight, so that they would be imprinted into his son’s conscious. Alexis was not, he believed, made for the hardships of the world, and once he entered it, his innocence would betray to others his weaknesses, and those others would be fast to exploit them for their own benefits. Still he did not wish that to keep his son from making the progression for boyhood to manhood; he wanted him to dwell in the world, and to see its glories and evils. Since Frederick’s birth, both he and his wife had made it their obligation to protect and nurture their son; they would still protect him, but it was time to allow him freedom: there would be hesitation in that step, but no qualms. 35
“But listen,” his father resumed, “what I came here to talk to you about, besides that, is the future, and what you hope to accomplish in it. Everything that I have will be given to you when I die. My prayer is that when I am dead, you will live fully, and not be afraid to see the world and hold humanity in your most loving embrace. I want you to marry, but only so you can know the joys of a family: –– there is no greater love than that! And shall you have a son… oh, that is a gift! For a father to be given a son, there is nothing better, except for a father to be given a good, noble son. You’ve blessed me since your birth in so many ways!” He became emotional as he spoke. Tears began to flow down his face, and he swallowed hard for some time, as if attempting to restrain his sobs, before rising abruptly from the bed and pacing back and forth, clasping and then wringing his hands interchangeably. “No, you shall not marry: I am sure of it!” he nearly shouted, “but you will love! Yes, you will love immensely, until your heart becomes sore!” He paused for a moment and blushed, mildly embarrassed. “But look at me, I’ve become maudlin.” Alex smiled, and brought a smile to his father’s face. The latter took his hand and wiped his face, recomposing himself as best he could, before sitting back down. 36
“You’re eighteen now,” he added, reassuming a stern, though warm, tone, “and before you is the world. You will do great things in life--things that will change man! I believe you’ll teach him what he’s forgotten: how to be kind and loving, and your example shall guide generations long after your death. Within, you have a soul that is like a sun, shining and emanating hundreds-of-trillions of rays of light, and its brightness shows through you, and it shall cast a celestial light on all men. Your body is small and fragile; your spirit has the power of a hundred armies! 37
“If only you could know how proud I am of you, and how treasured you are! I love you, Alexis, and happy birthday.” The two then embraced, and with affection in his eyes, Samuel left the room, where Alexander remained dazzled, considering his words. 38
III
Petals wilt and fall to the ground.
And that which was once beautiful when alive,
In death, nourishes the soil.
39
By evening all the guests had arrived, bearing smiles and gifts. It had started raining at noon, and had only just ended at six, leaving behind a dreamy, though somber, overcast throughout the sky. The day seemed later than it was, and with the overcast came a somnolent atmosphere, intertwined with spiritual romanticism and dreaminess, which was reflected in the guests and the party itself. 40
The visitors were assembled in the den in small groups where they discoursed, holding crystal glasses filled midway with champagne. “Berliner Messe” was being played only loud enough to provide a distinct theme to the mood. 41
Frederick made his way though the den, receiving handshakes, hugs, and congratulations from the guests, all of who were much older than himself. He saw his Aunt Shelley and approached her with enthusiasm. She was a dignified gentlewoman, who was not only his mother’s sister, but also the mother of his only, and dearest, cousin, Judy. Since childhood, he and Judy had been very close, even inseparable at times. One summer day when the two of them were eleven and twelve (she surpassed him by a year), they had been playing from morning to evening. When twilight came, they sat next to each other in the grass, looking out at the lake not far from Frederick’s home. The sun descended into the horizon, and as an ablution of golden light washed over the landscape, Judy took Frederick’s hand into her own, whispering, “I will never marry, Alexis, for I shall never be able to love anyone more than I do you at this moment, which will eclipse all others in my life.” Alex had stored that memory in his heart, though at times the weight of its message distended beyond its capacity, and the organ swelled. 42
Alexander now stood before his Aunt, kissing both her cheeks. “Happy Birthday, dear Frederick.” 43
“Thank you, Aunt Shelly,” he replied with a grin and slight inclination of his head. 44
“Are you enjoying the party?” she asked. “I was shocked to hear you were having one! ‘My Alexis, throwing a party? Unheard of!’ I said to that mother of yours.” 45
“I tried to protest, but… you know…” 46
“Of course, my darling. But have you seen the gift table? It seems ample, doesn’t it?” 47
Frederick turned and saw the table piled with presents wrapped in bright ribbons, decorative bags with confetti flowing from the tops, and colorful balloons taped to cards. The sight excited him, and made him laugh softy. “People become generous when you turn eighteen, it seems,” he said facing his Aunt. 48
“I believe they do,” his Aunt responded with a chuckle. 49
“I’ve looked everywhere, but still haven’t seen Judy,” Alex said looking around him, betraying a look of embarrassment at so direct a comment, as well as anxiety on his countenance. 50
“Oh, my dear, Judy couldn’t make it,” his Aunt stated regrettably, displaying in her voice sympathy and pity for her nephew, whom she knew could only enjoy his party if with his cousin. “The weather kept her…. the asthma, you know; she just couldn’t support the effort, though she fought desperately to do so. She tried to convince me to let her come, but, and you will hate me for this, I insisted she stay in bed. I get so worried about her that…” she took a moment to inhale and press her fingers together frantically. “But how dashing you look tonight!” she suddenly called out. “You are glowing! Judy will be crushed at not having a chance to see you radiating so well; however, she did ask that I apologize on her behalf and congratulate you… and demanded I bring home cake for her.” Frederick laughed, though a great disappointment shrouded him. His Aunt noticed it, and strove to put him back in good spirits. “Don’t be so upset, my dear,” she added consolingly; “there is reason to hope. Robert is still home getting dressed. He takes so long; I don’t know what to do with him anymore! But you know how much he caters to Judy, and that combined with his perseverance in defying everything I say and do… well, I wouldn’t be surprised to see him arrive with her on his arm…” 51
At that moment both Robert and Judy entered the den, and the guests all turned to them. Frederick and Aunt Shelley noticed them last. The former’s face lit brilliantly; the latter was jovially indignant. “Oh, the schemers! I knew she’d given in too easily! She must have hopped out of bed soon as I left the house and gotten dressed, planning the story of iniquity and unjust cruelty of an overbearing mother against the innocent daughter, while practicing for its execution in front of her father! I dare say she’s picked up too much from me!” she cried to her nephew. “Well, go along, Alexis, and run off to her. Don’t waste the minutes of your youth with an old woman.” 52
Frederick turned gleaming to his Aunt, and kissed her forehead. “You are not so old, my dear Aunt,” he said before dashing to his cousin and uncle. “Good day, Uncle Robert and Judy,” he said, shaking the man’s hand, and embracing the girl. “Come Judy, I have something to show you,” and with that the two of them went to the gift table. 53
Robert walked to his wife, and kissed her on the cheek. “Forgive my tardiness, but I was busy soothing the tears of your daughter,” he said smiling. 54
“Better tears than bruises, I say,” his wife responded. “You were wrong to bring her out in this kind of weather. You know how her asthma gets.” 55
“I know, Shelly, but I didn’t have the heart to leave her alone, heartbroken and weeping. She would have tightened around my legs the second I approached the front door,” he declared with a sorrowful, defeated tone, hoping not to receive further remonstrations for a thing wholly out of his power to control. 56
“It will be alright, I suppose, her being here,” she submitted. “Have you greeted Samuel and Elizabeth?” 57
“No, I haven’t seen them.” 58
“There they are over there, by the snack bar. We’ll go together,” she said, taking her husband’s hand and walking towards her sister and brother-in-law. “What do you think of the music?” she asked Robert. 59
“It’s funereal,” he said quickly. 60
“It’s a bit Catholic, don’t you think? I feel like I’m on my way to mass. Dreadful!” 61
“There are worse places than mass, Shelley,” Robert replied. 62
“I’ve yet to find them! But besides that, I hear that Alexis will be playing a song later tonight,” she stated, anxious to see her husband’s response. 63
Robert stopped walking, and thought for a moment or two: “That should be interesting.” 64
65
At the gift table, Judy and Alex were examining the gifts, making guesses at what each one was. Judy appeared to be pale and short of breath; she did her utmost to conceal it from her cousin, but he noticed it from the time he first spotted her. “Why don’t you sit down, Judy?” he asked her. 66
“What for? I feel fine. Look at this one,” she said, indicating a little, rectangular shaped present, “I think there are paintbrushes and paint in here. Let’s take it in the kitchen so you can decorate my face, since it has no color to it.” 67
“Don’t jest about it! Your mom told me you’re sick, and this time she wasn’t overstating it. You didn’t have to come…” 68
“Don’t lie to me, Alex! You’re always noble when you have everything you want before you, but not when it’s distant. I swear, if I were crawling into my coffin right now, you’d curse me for not being here!” 69
Alex smiled till it hurt his jawbones. “I can’t disagree with that. You look lovely, by the way,” he said, noticing her blue embroidered gown. 70
“Thank you. Eighteenth birthdays come only once, I hear, and we must dress for the occasion,” she laughed. 71
“But in all earnestness, will you at least go in the living room to lie down a while, until you’re better.” 72
“I would, except I know you don’t want me to… not sincerely, anyway,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Anyhow, I’d rather dance a waltz instead.” 73
“You don’t know how,” Alex responded with subservience. 74
“Still, it’s your favorite dance, and I’m willing to let you teach it to me. How hard can it be, after all? I was in ballet for about seven years, or have you forgotten?” Alexis smiled and was prepared to submit, but remembered that the music being played was ill suited for the dance. He mentioned this to Judy. “Well, what is this playing now,” she asked? 75
“Um… ‘Spiegel Im Spiegel’, I think, by Arvo Part,” he answered. A look of triumph entered his cousin’s eyes, and for an instant she adopted the aspect of a princess for whom all obstacles are immaterial: miniature stumbling blocks before a ponderous surge. He perceived the expression, and became enthralled. 76
“Then it seems we will have to go slowly,” she said, holding out her arm to the young man, and tilting her chin upwards. Alex took her arm, and moved her out onto the floor. The guests created a pathway for them, and like majestic swans interlocked, they glided atop the polished wood floor, existing only in a realm they’d created, with only the cantus firmus as an accompaniment. They whirled about in circles while moving across the room, as the onlookers became entranced by the sight, and thought back fondly on their youths. Judy’s masterful port-de-bras were illustrated in her motions, and by the ease with which she transcended into the clouds with her cousin, who was trained in the craft of waltzing. The dance lasted the entirety of the composition, concluding with a bow and curtsy from the captivators, and adulation from the viewers. 77
Alex helped Judy back to the table and into a chair. She’d grown faint with the waltz, and needed time to recover. “I’m fine,” she weakly let out. “Let’s dance some more; I don’t want you to spoil your party nursing me, especially since I don’t need it. When the next song plays, we’ll go out once more.” 78
“Save your energy. Sitting with you won’t spoil anything; your becoming seriously ill on account of me will. So please, breathe some, and know that I’m perfectly happy remaining by your side for the rest of the night, or at least until it is time for me to play…” he said. He had almost forgotten his promise to perform a song, and for the first time he began to feel nervous about it. His heartbeat became irregular, and a thin sheet of sweat started to cover his palms. Still the idea and the image from earlier that day excited him, and for the first time, included in his mental portrait was the one character he had forgotten, though she would be the most important spectator in the whole of the gallery: Judy. Now that she stood facing him, her rendering became sharper in his mind, and her visage was the only one distinct in the picture. Soon the entire image was solidified in his mind, and his neurosis was calmed in one respect: that of the uncertainty of the scene’s appearance. Now that the scene had been established, it became paramount for him to reconcile the before, the during, and the after. Now he was only Frederick-Alexander, the pretty child of respectable parents; he wanted to ascend beyond that, into an ethereal realm: the bridge rested within his composition. How would he be looked on after tonight? The worst answer would be, “The Same.” That would be the precipice prepossessing the abyss. “As Divine” would be an unknown sphere into which he would be projected. He could not fathom the meaning of those words. The immediate image following his performance refused to form in his head; there existed only the first image–– both mystical and dazzling–– of himself and the audience. It was in the likeness of the “Coronation of Napoleon” that the image was manifested, except painted transparently blue, and as the focus stood, instead of the Emperor, the cellist. 79
Frederick looked at Judy, who was puzzled by his last statement. “What do you mean by ‘until it is time for me to play?’” she asked him slowly, her pallid face revealing an expression of curiosity. “Time for you to play what?” 80
“Well, you know, circumstances beget circumstances, which, in turn, lead to certain approbations and demands, or demands and approbations, and it’s the way events transpire… sequence upon sequence–– in layers…” 81
“What is this rigmarole?” she demanded in jest. “Talk clearly, or I won’t speak to you anymore tonight.” 82
“Alright. I’d forgotten it myself,” he stumbled out, not so much embarrassed to reveal the news of his performance, as much as wanting to irritate and annoy her by retaining it. “It’s nothing important, really… just a slip of the tongue. Here, have you had the kiwi yet? It’s amazing!” 83
“Goodnight, Frederick. I see Mrs. Bellswin sitting down by the window with no one to talk to. She just turned ninety-one last month, and right now nothing seems more pleasant than a chat on the joys and wonders of old age with her!” Judy then gave a motion as though she were about to leave. 84
“Dear Heavens! You will not only die from boredom, but will insult the woman! Do you see how she always keeps her hair in the latest style? She doesn’t even realize how old she is, and here you’ll come shattering down that perfectly constructed palace. But don’t worry, I’ll rescue you both from those fatal ends,” Alex said, grabbing her hand. “I’ll tell you, but you must promise to keep it a secret. Do I have your word?” Judy gave her word. “Ok, later on I’m supposed to play a song I wrote yesterday.” 85
“Nonsense! Was this your idea?” she exclaimed, excited and taken aback at the same time. 86
“Somewhat, but what does that matter?” 87
“Can I listen to it?” she asked, coughing weakly. 88
“Of course you can… with everyone else,” he answered, looking into her face and seeing she’d grown paler. “I’ve excited you though. I was wrong to do so,” he said, before moving nearer to her, and checking the temperature of her forehead. He noticed it was warm and went to get her a glass of ice water. “Here, drink this,” he uttered, moving the glass to her mouth. Judy attempted to protest, but he refused to listen. “Consider me your personal servant, if it’ll make you feel better. Anything you want is yours, only name it.” 89
She took the glass, and sipped down its contents. “I only ask for one thing: for you to remain here with me, as you said you would do, until the concert.” Frederick happily approved the command, and together both he and his cousin spent the evening, watching the guests and laughing. 90
91
When it struck eleven-thirty, Alex’s mother gathered the guests around her and informed them that in half-an-hour, “Alexander will be regaling us all with an original composition, and if it will please you, I ask that chairs be assembled in a circle before the fireplace.” The party was surprised, but delighted by announcement, and when midnight arrived, everything was in order, with everyone in place. 92
IV
Such gentle dreams drifting off to sleep,
When, as dawn approaches,
And the rising sun touches earth’s surface,
An angel’s tears fill an empty pond:
And in awe we wander,
‘Can life ever touch us so beautifully?’
Then resting our heads against the soil,
We are lulled to sleep by a song.
93
The den was dimly lit; in front of the hearth, in a semi circle, were seated the guests, along with Judy. A chair was placed in the center, so that all could see it. There was a low murmur prevalent, which subsided at the entrance of Frederick, who was holding the large instrument and bow in both hands. He took his seat in the chair, and arranged himself and his cello comfortably. His eyes shifted to each of the guest, and he smiled apprehensively. He was sweating greatly, and breathing heavily. A flash of lightening struck outside, the first since evening, and for a brief second, the room was transformed blue, as Alex had seen in his vision, and all was perfect. Rain then began to fall outside, followed by the crashing of thunder, and more flashes of lighting. Maintaining this for many minutes, the thunder and lightening finally gave way to a benign, rhythmic falling of rain. The delay eased Alexander, and he once more took notice of his gallery, and spoke for the first time, indicating that he was ready to began. A sublime silence fell over the room, and when it was time, Alex placed his bow on the strings, and began to play. 94
Premier silence, puis le déluge ! Alexander looked only at his fingers as they played each note and chord. The emotions of before came, but were balanced by a flood of thoughts. He refused to look up, concentrating only on the movement and slowness of the piece. To hurry it was to vanquish its essence; he had to be patient and delicate with every progression, and he had to feel each sound become apart of himself, and himself apart of the music. When a musician plays, he or she is aware of the affect his or her music has on the audience, and whether or not a connection is being made. When that connectedness is feeble or absent, the musician will attempt to create or strengthen it, which can lead to a struggle, even to desperation. At that moment, the musician must then rely on faith, and hope that the music alone will be powerful enough to move the crowd, and if it is not, and if it does not, by the conclusion of the demonstration, the musician will sense it immediately. 95
From the very first note, Alexander felt his connection established, and his bridge built; the bond became stronger, and then flexible, until he was able to manipulate and reshape it as the melody necessitated. His song caught hold of his audience, and they were captivated by it, feeling their bodies and spirits being lifted towards infinity. Divinity entered the room, and wrapped itself around every person and object, being guided and flowing from the pinions of the song. Such a small word it seems: “Song!” How can something so simplistic capture a thing so immense as the piece played by the cellist? It reached beyond that word, and all words, and found a home in the hearts of its listeners and the life force of its creator. At that moment, Alexander’s vision of the “Coronation of Napoleon” was realized, only he represented a being of greater power than the emperor— in lieu of a human form stood an idea and personification. Alexis became the image of life and light, and the tegumentary black of the night sky being pierced by the golden glare of sunlight; he became the whispering air in a field of reeds; and his strain became the voice of God, and the reawakening of Heaven. 96
Alex played till he reached the last note; the air started to settle as the music became silent, and the room became once more distinctive. When all sound was stopped, and the final string bowed, there was nothing but a quiescent layer of serenity forming the ambient. All were hushed, and the cellist remained in place with his head facing the ground. The sounds of subdued weeping soon swept over the scene; still Alex did not move. Every guest was lost in a daydream, reflecting the music. Judy was the first to stir. Her eyes were red from crying, and she shook as she stepped towards her cousin, who by now seemed little more than an etiolated plant. She rubbed her fingers through his hair, before bending beside him, and tenderly lifting his head towards her. She gasped–– never in her life had she seen a more beautiful specimen than she did then. Alexis opened his eyes weakly and smiled at her; she kissed his brow, and whispered something into his ear. The two of them chortled softly. The guests saw the interaction and too smiled, before applauding rapturously, some with tears still in their eyes. 97
Alex turned to his cousin. “Do you think they will remember my melody, Judy?” he asked her. 98
“Alexis, every time they descry the stars in the sky at night; whenever they fall upon their knees to pray; whenever a raindrop lands on their foreheads; and whenever they close their eyes to go to sleep, they will remember your song, and will forever cherish it… as shall I. With every feeling of love that arises in our hearts, also will arise your song, dear cousin,” she answered him. “And with the falling of night, a blissful storm stirring in our hearts will be intensified by the memory; however, shall that blissful storm be one of misery, the memory of your music shall transform it into a halcyon cloud looming above our beds, illuminated by a joyous moon. And then Divinity shall smile at us all, taking us into its arms, which is Heaven, and saying: ‘You are home. When living, you once touched its floors, guided by one of my sons. Now you may taste of it fully, and relish in its magnificence and glory, and know that as you are now apart of it, it has always been apart of you, my children, –– as I have always been.’” With those words, Frederick pressed his cousin’s hand with his lips, and thanked her inwardly for always loving him.
The End
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