## Chapter 217: A Masterful Performance
Although the concert was scheduled for tomorrow, the renowned Coburg Theatre, which never struggled to rent out its stage, decided to close its doors for a day solely for the purpose of preparing for this grand gathering of the elite. They were not concerned about economic losses.
From the interior decorations and lighting on the stage to the seating arrangement for the orchestra, everything was meticulously planned. However, no one could fault the Coburg Theatre’s meticulousness after seeing the list of performers for the next evening’s concert.
Look at the dazzling stars of the British music scene who were about to take the stage: Ignaz Moscheles, Felix Mendelssohn, Cipriani Potter, John Field, and Johann Cramer.
The reason for gathering so many heavyweight pianists was simple: tomorrow evening marked the official retirement of the absolute leader of the British music world, the father of the piano, Mr. Muzio Clementi.
This outstanding musician, the absolute idol of Romantic piano composers like Beethoven and Czerny, who once held a piano duel with Mozart at the Vienna Palace and ended in a draw, would announce his official retirement from the music world tomorrow night, allowing him to better enjoy his retirement.
Outside the theater, two young men on English thoroughbred horses were chatting and laughing as they approached from the street.
If Arthur were here, he would surely recognize one of them as his generous friend, Lionel Rothschild.
The other was a young man dressed in a white ruffled shirt, a black tailcoat, and a burgundy bow tie. Although his name was unknown, his conversation with Lionel in Yiddish suggested he was a Jew from Germany.
The young man dismounted with the help of his servant, handing the reins to the staff responsible for horses and carriages in front of the theater.
“Lionel,” he said, “I never realized that fox hunting could be so much fun.”
As a member of the hunting club, Lionel’s dismount was significantly smoother than his companion’s. After a morning of hunting in the countryside, Lionel was clearly in good spirits. He took a deep breath and said with a smile, “Felix, your grandfather and father were famous bankers in Germany. With such wealth, did you have no other entertainment besides playing the piano?”
Felix Mendelssohn blushed and replied, “My family is quite wealthy, but my mother is very strict with me. She has been training me to play the piano and organ since I was four. Aside from that, I took Greek and painting lessons. As for hunting, it was strictly forbidden in the Mendelssohn family’s education.
My parents and grandparents are a bit old-fashioned. They believe hunting is a frivolous activity. Throughout my childhood education, they were single-mindedly focused on making my behavior and manners more refined, like a dignified, learned, and elegant aristocrat.”
Lionel couldn’t help but tease, “It seems every wealthy Jewish family is the same in this regard. Our Rothschilds, since leaving the dilapidated ancestral home in the Frankfurt Jewish community, have also been trying to improve our external image as much as possible.
My grandfather Mayer hated his identity as a poor antique dealer, and my father Nathan abhorred the term ‘nouveau riche.’ As a result, we, the third generation of the Rothschild family, must all attend university after receiving our family education.
According to my father, they, the older generation of Jews, call it enhancing the personal cultivation and academic taste of the younger generation, so that they can better integrate into high society.”
Mendelssohn couldn’t help but ask, “I seem to remember you mentioned that you studied at the University of Göttingen with your cousin Anthony? Why didn’t you study at a British university but went all the way to Hanover in Germany?”
Lionel didn’t shy away from the question. He led Mendelssohn towards the theater entrance while explaining, “You don’t understand, Felix. British universities are different from German ones. Here, the schools are mostly church schools. Oxford and Cambridge only admit those who believe in the state religion, while Durham, an equally old university, is a haven for Catholics.
When I was in university, the University of London, which didn’t consider religious beliefs for admission, hadn’t been established yet. If it had, I wouldn’t have had to travel all the way to Göttingen to study.
But now it’s different. Britain has the University of London. When my younger brother Nat reaches the appropriate age, he can attend nearby. The only question is whether Nat needs to do a transitional study at Harrow School or Winchester College before attending the University of London.”
Mendelssohn smiled as he walked, “First receive family education, then attend a public school, then go to university, and after graduation, do a two or three-year European tour. Your Rothschild education route is increasingly close to that of normal British upper-class families.
But wouldn’t it be a bit unwise to attend the University of London? After all, it’s a newly established school, and their educational level hasn’t been officially tested. Besides, I heard they don’t even give out degrees?”
“Felix, you’re a brilliant pianist, but you don’t understand politics. As I see it, the Royal Charter for the University of London will be granted soon, and it has many scholars. A school that has Mr. Bentham’s support should not be inferior to Cambridge or Oxford in terms of education.
And most importantly, the University of London has already begun to produce a large number of outstanding talents. The fact that it can cultivate so many excellent graduates is in itself powerful evidence of their high teaching standards.”
Mendelssohn, intrigued, asked, “Excellent graduates? Forgive my ignorance, Lionel, can you remind me who those scholars or famous figures are? I’ve been in the Apennine Peninsula lately, Florence and Rome, and I’m completely unaware of what’s happening in Britain.”
Lionel simply smiled and placed a finger on his lips, “Shh! If you want to know who graduated from the University of London, you don’t need me to tell you. Just listen quietly.”
Mendelssohn frowned, completely unaware of what his friend was up to. But as he held his breath and the hall fell silent, he suddenly heard a storm of music coming from the theater’s performance hall.
Mendelssohn’s eyes widened. He stared intently at Lionel and finally managed to utter, “That’s a madman.”
“Yes, he is indeed a madman, but at the same time, a genius.”
Lionel burst into laughter at Mendelssohn’s expression.
“Felix, my reaction was similar to yours when I first heard this piece. This ‘Clock’ is simply a joke to people. From the B2 section to the end of the piece, it’s all octave chords, using one piano to create the sound of a hundred clocks chiming. High-speed runs and double-handed reverse leaps are everywhere, and it’s played so fast.
To be honest, if I didn’t know who the performer was, I would have thought Muzio Clementi himself was at the piano. Perhaps only he is so obsessed with technical difficulty in the realm of piano.”
Mendelssohn was surprised, “Isn’t the performer Mr. Clementi? I thought only he liked to incorporate so much high-speed sixth and eighth chords into his pieces. Wait…”
Mendelssohn suddenly shut his mouth and listened for a while. He then said, “This is Paganini’s ‘La Campanella,’ and the performer is Arthur Hastings, the Scotland Yard officer?”
Lionel nodded slightly, “Remember what you said earlier, Felix? Mr. Hastings is a graduate of the University of London.”
Mendelssohn couldn’t help but cover his forehead, “Is the University of London so successful in music education? If that’s the case, it seems the Royal Academy of Music, with Mr. Moscheles and Mr. Potter at the helm, needs to step up its game.”
Lionel laughed and said, “Not really. I personally believe that the emergence of someone like Mr. Hastings is random. In the short term, no school should be able to shake the Royal Academy of Music’s leading position in British music education.”
Mendelssohn was itching to try ‘The Clock’ himself. He quickened his pace and asked as he walked, “Now I understand why Mr. Moscheles insisted on inviting Mr. Hastings to join this concert. In terms of musical style, Mr. Hastings does have similarities with Mr. Clementi.
Seeing a young man who can inherit his mantle before retiring, Mr. Clementi will surely be comforted. A future Clementi, hmm… I’m sure the audience will be happy to see this title.”
Lionel laughed and flattered, “One is a future Clementi, and the other is a future Bach. To witness these two talented pianists perform together, I’m truly fortunate to have booked four tickets in advance.”
Mendelssohn just waved his hand in response, humbly saying, “I’ve only arranged some of Mr. Bach’s manuscripts and tried to imitate his style. As for Mr. Bach’s greatness, it’s something I can never match.”
The two men chatted as they reached the theater’s performance hall. As their boots stepped onto the theater’s deep red carpet, Arthur’s hand landed powerfully on the final note, as if drawing a sword from its scabbard.
His forehead hair was slightly scattered, the sunlight from the skylight gradually tilted and shifted, finally falling on Arthur’s closed eyes.
Mendelssohn and Lionel stood there, clapping involuntarily, “A masterful performance.”
(End of Chapter)