SGB Chapter 297

## Chapter 297: Hats Off, Gentlemen! (4K4)

The lights dimmed, plunging the Astley Amphitheatre into a silent hush. No one could see what was happening in the darkness on stage.

Chopin stood behind Arthur, his gloves removed, revealing the hands that could conjure countless captivating melodies. His palms were slick with sweat, his face betraying a mixture of nervousness and worry.

“Mr. Hastings, are you sure you’re alright?”

Arthur smiled and stood up, taking the Guy Fawkes mask from his pocket and placing it on Chopin’s face.

“Frederick, no need to worry about me, I feel great. Just like I promised, I’ll give you a stage to shine. Now it’s up to you to seize the opportunity.”

Chopin questioned, “But…but your hand, it’s bleeding…”

As a pianist, no one understood the impact of an arm injury on a musical career better than Chopin.

Seeing his concern, Arthur could only smile helplessly. “Frederick, I’m not hurt, and Mr. Bertrand is fine. What you see might not be the truth, and even the truth may not be visible to you. I did bleed a little, but not as bad as you think. Besides, who in this world is not bleeding? The Polish people you care about are the same.

Frederick, if you truly want to thank us, don’t overthink it. Unleash your music, let everyone remember, this is all we can do for Poland.”

“But…”

Before Chopin could finish, Arthur, with a smile, stood up and pushed him onto the bench, his hand on Chopin’s shoulder.

Just as Chopin was about to say something, he noticed a silver commemorative cup filled with soil in Arthur’s hand.

Arthur placed the cup beside Chopin’s sheet music, giving him a gentle smile.

The significance of this silver cup was known to very few, but Arthur, by chance, was one of them.

Yesterday evening, he had visited Chopin’s London residence and learned the story of the cup from Mr. Mickiewicz, another Polish exile and author of “The Englishman.”

This was a gift given to Chopin by his teachers and classmates at the Warsaw Music Academy when he left for Vienna to study. Hidden at the bottom of the cup was a sheet of music with a chorus dedicated to Chopin by his classmates, and on top of it lay a handful of ordinary brown soil.

To others, using a silver cup to hold soil might seem strange, but for Chopin, this handful of earth held a special meaning.

This was a handful of soil from Warsaw, representing Chopin’s longing and passion for the land that haunted his dreams.

Arthur leaned down and whispered in Chopin’s ear, “Go, Frederick, let them see what it means to be Poland’s top pianist. Be confident, you have the skills, the talent. Even a young prodigy like Mr. Mendelssohn, who is famous throughout Europe, I don’t think he can surpass you on the piano. And coincidentally, Mr. Mendelssohn agrees with me.

Remember Mr. Heine who listened to you play yesterday with me? You know how arrogant Mr. Heine is, right? He told me that when you sat at the piano, he felt like a fellow villager from his birthplace was telling him the strangest things that happened at home while he was away. If he could, he would ask you, ‘Are the roses at home still blooming passionately? Do the trees still sing so beautifully under the moonlight?’

Frederick, you’re right, you’re useless because you can’t do anything but music. But at the same time, everything you say is wrong, because no one can do better than you on the piano. You are Chopin. Since the piano is the only thing you can control, give it your all. Then, my blood won’t have been shed in vain.”

As Arthur spoke, his smile grew brighter.

He put his hands behind his back and stepped back, one step at a time.

However, as he was about to leave the stage, Chopin suddenly called out to him, “Mr. Hastings.”

“Hmm?”

Arthur stopped, raising an eyebrow with a smile.

Chopin stared at the blurry face in the darkness, his nervous expression finally softened, and he finally showed a charming smile he hadn’t seen for a long time, radiating the same cheerful attitude as he did in the Vienna concert hall.

He picked up the silver cup from the piano stand and asked Arthur, “Can I have some blood?”

Arthur looked at him for a while before finally nodding with a smile.

He extended two fingers above the silver cup, and blood droplets fell, staining the cup red and moistening the soil.

Arthur shook his head and chuckled, “One drop should be enough. It’s not that I’m stingy, but this ‘blood’ is indeed poisonous.”

The mist on the stage rolled again, and Arthur turned and disappeared into the smoke as he walked away.

The audience’s long-awaited melodious notes echoed with his footsteps.

A gust of wind swept across the stage, turning the pages of the sheet music. It only showed the first piece Chopin was playing tonight – “Nocturne in E-flat Major.”

The evening breeze blew through the Astley Amphitheatre, the melodious tune seemingly flowing from the right-hand part, a soft performance, an indescribable fluency, everything seemed to be calling for the evening breeze of summer.

The soft and elegant music reached the audience’s ears, like gentle arms brushing their cheeks.

The audience, who were still excited by the duel, instantly fell into a recollection of the summer nights in their hometowns, while those who came for Chopin’s piano debut were more surprised.

Even Mr. Moschelles, the president of the Philharmonic Society, who was sitting in the front row and worrying about Arthur’s safety, was mesmerized.

He closed his eyes to savor the taste of the music, his furrowed brows gradually relaxing. “Pure, serene, clear yet delicate, forgetting troubles, forgetting sorrow, forgetting that you are still lying in your apartment bed. Is he speaking? If Mozart is a calm pond, this is a lake under the evening moonlight. Is this really Arthur Hastings’ work? Is he such a delicate person? Perhaps, I haven’t known him well enough.”

Mendelssohn, who already knew the truth, leaned against the doorway of the passageway, looking at the arm that was jumping between the keys in the darkness. Even with his talent, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy and sigh in sorrow, “What a misfortune, what a blessing! London has another outstanding figure. If this continues, I should seriously consider going back to Paris for an exchange. Maybe I should settle here in the future? Liszt and Chopin, who can better interpret the romanticism?”

Dumas and the others, who rushed down the stairs, couldn’t help but slow their pace when they heard the music. When they came to their senses, they found a pipe burning in the corner not far ahead.

Dumas looked at Arthur, who seemed unharmed, and couldn’t help but exclaim, “Arthur, you…”

Arthur exhaled a plume of smoke, gently shook his finger at his two friends, and whispered with a smile, “Isn’t he a genius?”

“You’re not hurt?”

Arthur just smiled and stroked his hair, saying, “The title of genius pianist is about to change hands. If that’s what you’re asking, I am indeed a little hurt.”

Disraeli looked around, “What about Mr. Bertrand?”

Arthur took a puff of his pipe, “Mr. Bertrand should have taken the money back to his apartment, today was really hard on him. But overall, the money was well spent.”

“So, you bought him off?” Disraeli slapped his forehead, “Damn! I should have known. But…Bertrand’s price shouldn’t be cheap, right? You did all this just to have this Pole as a warm-up act? What’s your motive?”

Arthur didn’t explain, he just turned around and reminded Disraeli, “Benjamin, you’re about to run for election. What issues are you going to bring up to make your voters cheer?”

Disraeli’s proud brain immediately turned.

He knew Arthur was talking about aiding Poland.

On this point, he could embarrass the Whigs and stand on the moral high ground. The emergence of an outstanding Polish pianist was undoubtedly the best way for the public to understand Poland.

Disraeli was delighted, but then he started to worry about Arthur’s situation.

He also hinted, “I saw Viscount Palmerston today, do you think he’ll appreciate the piano?”

Arthur just chuckled at this, patted Disraeli on the shoulder and said, “It doesn’t matter if Viscount Palmerston doesn’t understand music, Viscount Melbourne and Lady Norton will appreciate it. I gave Lady Norton two box tickets the other day, and I believe she will choose a gentleman who can make her happy.”

Dumas also understood the subtext between the two, the French fat man frowned and asked, “Arthur, but the risk you’re taking is too big, right? Will Viscount Melbourne unconditionally support you just because he heard a few pleasant tunes? Although I admit Mr. Chopin’s music is not ordinary, I don’t think it has the magic to enchant a power-hungry politician.”

Arthur shook his head gently, “Alexander, you’re right, I’m not sure.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

Arthur wrapped a few bandages around his hand and said to himself, “Isn’t there His Majesty there?”

Disraeli frowned, “Will His Majesty interfere with the personnel appointments of Scotland Yard? Besides, can you predict that he’ll come today?”

Arthur shook his head with a smile, “Of course I can’t, I was just joking. I can’t believe Viscount Palmerston’s generosity, nor can I believe Viscount Melbourne’s passion for music and Lady Norton. The only thing I can believe in is the small-mindedness and bad temper of our Westminster magistrate, Mr. Norton.”

When Dumas heard the name Norton, he also remembered some rumors, “He came today?”

Arthur nodded slightly, “I sent a letter to the honorable former MP, Mr. Bernie Harrison, a few days ago. It came with two tickets for tonight’s performance, and I sincerely invited him to attend with his good friend, Mr. Norton, and witness firsthand whether his wife and Viscount Melbourne have a problem. As you know, Mr. Harrison has a good relationship with Scotland Yard. I believe he will generously accept my proposal. If he can confidently persuade Mr. Norton not to endure this unfortunate marriage for the sake of that elusive position, or even have Mr. Norton file for divorce, that would be even better.”

Disraeli finally understood Arthur’s overall plan when he heard this.

He couldn’t help but gasp, but a moment later, a smile of admiration and respect appeared on his face. “If Viscount Melbourne gets sued because of this, it could affect his election! This kind of scandal is fatal to any politician who aspires to further advancement. And you, my dear Arthur, I’m afraid you’re the only one who can save him at this time. If you can pull this off, I’m afraid no matter what Viscount Palmerston says to Viscount Melbourne, it won’t shake your position in Scotland Yard, or even the entire Home Office.”

Arthur smiled and said, “By the way, you can also attack the Foreign Office openly on the Polish issue. Benjamin, it’s a win-win for us.”

Dumas also patted his belly and couldn’t help but rant, “Damn it, I was worried about you, but now that I think about it, it was all a damn waste. But Norton, that scumbag who lives off women, deserves to die. Who was that murder case hanging over? Was it his or Bernie Harrison’s?”

Arthur smiled, “It depends on how Mr. Harrison handles things. For now, I tend to think they’re both suspects.”

At that moment, the piano music came to an end.

As the last note faded into the theater, a thunderous applause erupted.

“A masterpiece!”

“A complete master-class performance, I can’t imagine anything better.”

“Hastings! Hastings!”

As the stage lights came back on, the audience’s eyes regained their sight.

Just as they were about to shower Arthur with the highest honors and throw their roses onto the stage, they were stunned to find that the Arthur they recognized was not at the piano, but standing on the steps nearby.

And the one playing in the center of the stage was a young man wearing a mask and a strand of brown curls on his forehead.

“What…what’s going on?”

“Wasn’t that Mr. Hastings who just played?”

“Why is he wearing the same mask as Mr. Hastings?”

Amid the noise and discussion, Arthur walked over to Chopin, smiling and leaning down to remove the Guy Fawkes mask from Chopin’s face.

Chopin was still immersed in his own musical world, perhaps because he was playing too emotionally, his eye sockets still held a trace of tears.

When he came to his senses, he only saw Arthur standing in front of him. He turned his head and saw the stunned audience.

Chopin lowered his head shyly, thanking him, “Arthur, I’m so grateful for this opportunity!”

Arthur smiled and said, “No, Frederick, it’s me who is very grateful to you!”

In the midst of all the gazes, Arthur, now in a tuxedo, turned around, raised Chopin’s left hand, his bandaged hand placed on his chest, bowed slightly and announced to the world with a loud voice.

“Gentlemen, ladies! Hats off, gentlemen! Before you stands a true genius. Allow me to formally introduce to you, the most outstanding pianist in Poland – Mr. Frederick Chopin!”

For a moment, the entire audience stood up and thunderous applause filled the air.

The usually introverted Chopin, seeing this, instinctively wanted to back away, but in the end, he stood firm.

He took a deep breath, bowed and thanked the audience, “A “To Hastings” for you all, thank you for your love and enthusiasm.”

(End of Chapter)