Vienna Blood

41

ASCHENBRANDT HAD BEEN COMPOSING at the piano all day. He had been working on Carnuntum-more specifically, on an orchestral interlude that was provisionally titled The Eve of War. It was programmatic-like the overture-and evoked the approach of a great storm with timpani rolls and angry bursts of double bass and cello. He wondered whether the score needed the additional depth of a Wagner tuba-but was undecided.

The interlude was a dark, brooding piece that had required careful attention to detail. The triumphal theme that appeared at the end of the overture and signified the Quadi's victory was reprised, note values extended, and in the relative minor key. At first there was just a stygian plainchant in the bassoons, but then it was transposed several octaves higher and rendered with exquisite tenderness by a solo cor anglais. The interlude ended with a trumpet call that represented the sound of a cock crowing. Dawn was breaking-a Homeric “rosy-fingered” dawn. In the next scene the leader of the Quadi would rally his troops and sing an aria that would swell the chest of any good, honest German. The day has arrived,

Our day of destiny.

Let us be victorious

Or die a hero's death. “In days to come

Around the hearthstone

Children will beg to hear the tale

Of brave ancestors who dared to challenge

The might of Rome. “Blood and thunder,

Blood and thunder.

Salvation and victory.

Fields incarnadine.

Wotan-let this sacred day be ours.”

Aschenbrandt was exhausted. He left the piano and collapsed on an armchair, closing his eyes. Yet he could not rest. The themes of his opera kept on returning-like reminiscences. Rising, he removed his cello from its case, scraped the bow over a cube of rosin, and placed Bach's first Cello Suite on the music stand. Aschenbrandt was not an accomplished cellist but he was proficient enough to render a tolerable performance of some of the Bach suites. Although his pitch was sometimes suspect, he could easily produce a big, expressive sound.

He began the G Major Prelude.

His head cleared immediately. It was like standing in a shaft of sunlight.

Bach had created music without melody.

Out of texture, structure, and flowing rhythm the listener was carried through cycles of tension and resolution. But when Aschenbrandt allowed the last note to die, the silence was not complete. The leader of the Quadi was singing the last verse of his aria-a resonant bass:

Blood and Thunder, Blood and Thunder.

It was a good melody.

If he didn't commit it to paper now, he might forget-and it would be lost forever. Reluctantly, Aschenbrandt laid the cello aside, went to the piano, and began to write the melody down: D, G, B-flat, A. Dotted crotchet, quaver, crotchet, minim.

His muse was heartless, but he had a duty to obey her.

Whatever was demanded, he must find the strength.