The Shadow of Great Britain

"Sir, what brings you here?"

"I wanted to greet you in person before the performance begins." Arthur walked naturally into the dressing room, dragged a chair over and sat down. "Perhaps you don’t know, but I’m placing quite a bit of expectation on your performance tonight. Or rather, it’s not only me—your teacher Mr. Moscheles and your senior Felix Mendelssohn are both here this evening, and Felix even volunteered to take the lead in the piano quartet to warm up the audience for you."

Talberg’s breath hitched slightly. "Sir, I... I’m very grateful to you, not only for those few articles you wrote in my defense in the Paris newspapers, but also for giving me another chance to measure myself against Liszt."

"You don’t need to thank me." Arthur smiled and gestured for Talberg to sit. "Opportunity is only half of the stage; the other half you have to win by yourself."

Talberg’s face was taut, and his fingertips unconsciously tightened around the program.

Seeing him like this, Arthur couldn’t help laughing as he asked, "Still thinking about what happened at Princess Belchioroso’s charity concert?"

"I’ll never forget it as long as I live." Talberg replied through clenched teeth. "Although the Paris newspapers all said that Liszt and Talberg both emerged as victors, that it was a win–win situation with no loser, everyone knew the truth in their hearts. A loss is a loss; I have absolutely no need to force myself into self‑deception. As for Liszt’s performance, I was dumbfounded, and I’m willing to admit I had never heard such exquisite playing. But that doesn’t mean I’ll submit without a fight."

Arthur laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Don’t give yourself too much pressure, you’re still young."

Talberg drew a deep breath. "I understand, Sir, but you know the stage and the audience are always merciless."

He lifted his head and tried to squeeze out a smile, but his expression was even paler than before.

Arthur looked at him and shook his head. "Don’t be too hard on yourself, Sigi. At least that charity concert wasn’t entirely painful. I heard the amount raised that night was quite considerable? Even the Paris newspapers later praised you and Liszt for what you did for the Italian exiles."

Here he paused, then added casually, "I imagine that money has come in handy by now. The Italian exiles in France... their situation really is lamentable."

Talberg pressed his lips together; he clearly did not notice the ill intent behind the British copper’s words. "Yes, that’s probably the only part of that concert that gives me any comfort. Do you know, Sir? Later I even received a letter of thanks from Mr. Mazzini."

"Oh?" Arthur leaned forward slightly, his expression still calm. "The leader of those Italian exiles?"

"Exactly." Talberg nodded. "In the letter he thanked me, saying that sum of money helped them set up a new printing press in Marseille, and paid for food and lodging for the exiled Charcoal Party patriots. The letter was very short, yet it made me feel a long‑lost... sense of meaning. Perhaps... sometimes music ought not to exist solely for vanity and applause."

The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched, as though in a smile. "You’re right, Sigi. If music cannot change something, even if it’s only a single person’s fate, then it’s far too light."

He paused, then continued lightly, "That letter... do you still have it?"

"Of course I’ve kept it." Talberg turned back and poured Arthur a cup of tea. "I’ve always cherished such letters."

Arthur nodded slightly, with a hint of envy. "I truly hope I’ll have a chance to see that letter. I’ve received fan mail as well, but all the notes I’ve ever gotten put together don’t carry as much weight as that one of yours."

Talberg smiled faintly, seemingly moved. "After the performance, if you’d like to see it, I’ll have someone send the letter to your house. As thanks for the help you’ve given me, and also as a... commemoration of that night."

"I’m honored." Arthur rose slowly and straightened the white gloves at his cuffs. "Then I won’t disturb your preparations. Sigi, remember one thing tonight: the London audience has no filter when it comes to Liszt. As long as you bring out your full strength, everything else will follow naturally."

Talberg stood up to see him out. "Understood, Sir. And let me wish, in advance, that the premiere of your new piece goes smoothly."

Arthur pushed open the dressing room door, and the corridor of Buckingham Palace seemed especially quiet for a moment.

He glanced back; Talberg was bent over arranging his scores, his shoulders slightly taut like a bowstring not yet relaxed.

Arthur said nothing more, turned, and walked along the carpeted corridor.

The air outside was much fresher; compared to the dressing room, it made his head feel clearer.

Just as he turned the corner, he saw a man leaning against the wall, cursing under his breath in the direction of the guest seats, his tone full of that anxious and comic German petty‑bourgeois air.

"Damnable fate! I can’t escape it even in Buckingham Palace!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow and couldn’t help laughing. "I truly didn’t expect, Heinrich, that even in the Queen’s palace you could still find something to complain about."

Heine started, then turned his head; seeing that it was Arthur, he relaxed. "Damn it! Arthur, you’ve no idea what I just saw! Thank heaven I’m only masquerading as your servant tonight, and don’t have to sit all prim and proper in the guest seats."

Arthur walked a few steps closer, asking with interest, "What is it? Did you see Benjamin? Didn’t I tell you earlier that he’d received an invitation to tonight’s concert?"