The Shadow of Great Britain

Chopin caught the sugar cube and nodded slightly: "I do have some concerns about this, after all... I’m not here to steal the spotlight."

Liszt took a sip of tea: "Of course you’re not, but I am! Frederick, do you know whose name is missing from tonight’s program?"

Chopin was taken aback and frowned: "Who?"

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

"Arthur?" Chopin was a bit surprised: "Isn’t he conducting the final piece? I saw his name written on the back."

"The back?" Liszt hurriedly flipped the program and, sure enough, he found Arthur’s name on the back.

—Sir Arthur Hastings, Kt., Conductor.

However, the repertoire section remained empty.

Not even a title for the piece.

Not even the "Composer" column was filled, as if the piece fell from the sky, or perhaps no one wanted to take responsibility for it.

Liszt stared at that line for a good while, then gave a slight smile, flipped the program back, and slammed it back on the table.

"Look, Frederick, this is Hastings’ style. No stage appearance, no name mentioned, just standing in the corner, but making everyone feel as if he’s the very soul of this concert."

Chopin pondered for a long time, sucking on the sugar cube, and couldn’t quite figure out Arthur’s intentions.

But given his understanding of Arthur, and how Arthur had once lent him a helping hand in his most difficult times, Chopin could absolutely not agree with Liszt’s view.

However, not being the type to argue, Chopin could only gently defend Arthur: "Franz, you misunderstand him deeply. Arthur is definitely not the kind of person you think he is. A person who’s not even afraid of death, could he fear performing on stage?"

"Perhaps." Liszt snorted, "Frederick, I don’t know what kind of person he was in the past. But now, in my eyes, he’s nothing but a coward. Even if he dared to take the stage once, to make a fool of himself, I’d stand up and applaud his courage. After all, losing to me on the piano isn’t something to be ashamed of. But the thing is, he never does. Judging by what he’s done recently, this guy is simply the most calculating and insidious person in the world."

He took a sip of tea, seemingly finding the taste too weak, added another sugar cube, and continued: "Think carefully, he chose the position of conductor. Did you notice? Throughout this concert, there’s no number he personally arranged, yet he specifically chose to conduct the last piece. What’s his intention? It’s nothing but trying to capture all the applause at the end for himself. You and I have both held solo concerts, so you should understand, no matter the performance outcome of the final piece, the audience’s applause before the end is always the most enthusiastic."

Chopin, sucking on the sugar cube, hesitated for a long time and finally squeezed out a sentence: "But... he didn’t voluntarily ask to conduct the final piece, did he? I heard that the order of performance was arranged by Queen Victoria herself."

Hearing this, Liszt was momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter, shaking his head with a child-like tone: "Oh, Frederick, you’re so adorable. Do you still naively believe that everything in this world is as fair and just as it appears on the surface?"

Though Chopin wanted to counter Liszt, he was at a loss for words, and had to resign himself to a meek smile: "Franz, Arthur is not the kind of person you think he is."

"You’re still speaking up for him." Liszt put down the teacup and rolled his eyes at him: "Your tongue is as stiff as a rock. If you want to argue with me, I suggest you get George Sand in here. At least she speaks with her brain engaged. In your state, I feel as if I’m bullying you just by responding."

Chopin was momentarily stumped, his face growing even more embarrassed.

He tried to argue but didn’t know where to start, so he could only shake his head with a wry smile: "You... Franz, you can be really harsh at times."

"Harsh?" Liszt raised an eyebrow: "That’s honesty. Do you know what kind of person I can’t stand the most? It’s people like Hastings, who keep mum while calculating everything in their minds. They want to keep their identity as a pianist yet don’t want their works to be tested. They neither want to be compared nor to be in the limelight receiving the most glorious applause."

As he spoke, he pointed at the program: "However, call him a coward or calculating, he succeeded. He placed himself in the most secure and also the most dangerous position tonight."

At this point, Chopin finally raised his head and asked: "But if Arthur really has a trump card work, then what would you do?"

"If he truly has a trump card work?" Liszt repeated Chopin’s words, his tone carrying an almost mocking pity: "Then I really have to congratulate him for finally having the courage to do something a musician should do."

He walked back to the table, picked up the program, and shook it gently: "Too bad, if he wrote a new piece, why not sign it? Why leave the title and composer columns blank? Is he afraid it’s not presentable or worried about being accused of using the stage for self-promotion?"

Liszt tossed the program back onto the table with a loud, sharp sound.

"I think! It’s most likely his old trick, picking some forgotten Handel piece or borrowing a few pages of sheet music from one of those old Vienna Palace musicians, twisting it, changing the key, adding some military drums and brass, and voilà, a new piece for the Queen. After all, his signature showpiece, ’La Campanella,’ wasn’t it also a lift from Paganini?"

Hearing this, Chopin quickly interrupted: "It’s not plagiarism, but adaptation."

"Adaptation? Did he get Paganini’s permission?" Liszt sneered at this: "I’ll just say it here, Frederick, if tonight he’s not conducting a so-called adaptation, then it’s most likely a recycled manuscript from some forgotten composer like Kodaly or Elton, those who haven’t been played in a hundred years. He picks a piece everyone might have heard the name of, but not the content, and performs it without anyone going into detail."

At Liszt’s near-insulting remarks about Arthur, even the good-natured Chopin couldn’t hold back any longer. He flushed and stood up: "Franz! You must take back everything you’ve said tonight!"

Chopin had thought that Liszt would retort, yet to his surprise, Liszt readily agreed.

"Sure!" Liszt sneered: "But, the premise is that he dares to perform his new work, and it’s good. If he really does so, Frederick, even without your prompting, I’ll bow and apologize to him. However! Until he proves his worth, tonight this concert belongs to me!"

Just as Liszt finished speaking, there was a sudden knock at the door of the dressing room.

An attendant dressed in royal attire quickly walked in, holding a thick sheet of paper, and softly asked: "Excuse me, are you Mr. Liszt and Mr. Chopin? This is the description of the last piece of tonight, just obtained from the Lord Chamberlain’s office."

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

He took the sheet, scanned it quickly, initially with a smile on his lips.

But in the next second, the smile instantly froze.

Liszt stared at the line for a good while, not saying a word for a long time.

Until Chopin came over and also saw the note.

The paper read:

"Wellington March"

Composed by: Sir Arthur Hastings and Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha

Conductor: Sir Arthur Hastings

Premiere Date: August 30, 1837

Venue: Buckingham Palace Music Hall