The day was growing dark and blustery in Salzburg. The usually green hills growing ashen grey with the coming of winter, and the proud trees bending helplessly against the unmerciful gusts of wind. Indeed, the tempest was so harassing that many chose to stay indoors for fear of being swept down!
However, one lone, black carriage made it's way boldly up the country road, openly defying the cruel breath of Father Winter. The carriage was making it's way up to a lonely Manor house, which loomed over the valley like some great gravestone. One could tell that perhaps, under better weather and circumstance, the manor would be quite charming. However the circumstances were regrettably neither here, nor their!
Once the battered carriage had made it's way into the court yard of the great house, the coachman quickly went to open the door, giving a courtly bow to the man whom exited the vehicle just as quickly. The man, if one could assume that, was wearing a black duster, buttoned up to the neck, a scarf wrapped round and round his face, and seated firmly atop the man's head was a black top hat. The only bits of skin that were revealed at all, were the man's bright maroon eyes, and his pale nose.
The man was escorted up the stairs and into the building by a manservant, whose wig immediately took flight upon the wind! The great oak doors were hastily shut behind them, and the man stood marveling at the grand interior of the manor. The marble floors winked up at him, and high above painted cherubs danced across the blue ceiling.
The manservant went to remove the stranger's cloak and scarf, but was reprimanded with a slight rap against the arm by the man's walking stick.
"I say!" protested the manservant loudly. "What cheek is this?"
The stranger's bright, maroon eyes however won the argument and the manservant nervously straightened his petticoat, leading the stranger up the grand staircase. The stranger's great riding boots stomped loudly, and many maids and servants stopped to gawk at this strange man who would brave such weather. Indeed, he must have been a man of great import to simply saunter into their master's house without invitation.
The two eventually arrived at a set of double doors, their haughty, golden carvings causing the stranger to snort a bit.
The manservant curtly asked the stranger to await in the hall, as he hurriedly vanished beyond the doors. After a few moments he reappeared, and now looking quite pale himself bowed low to the strange man.
"Forgive me your Excellency! If I had known-"
But the red eyed man wouldn't hear it, as he shoved past the manservant, slamming the golden door in the poor servant's face.
The parlor was warm and comfortable, a roaring fire in the fireplace, and many cushioned chairs and couches about. Sitting in one, exceptionally comfortable chair and sipping on a cup of tea was a young brown haired man with spectacles, wearing a blue, night robe with golden trim.
The man had an air of dignity and pompousness about himself, made even more apparent by the lazy wave he gave for the other gentleman to sit.
The stranger removed his cloak and scarf with a flourish, tossing the articles of clothing this way and that as he strolled to the chair. He sat and the firelight revealed he too was a young man. He was grinning a Cheshire cat's grin as he tossed the top hat away and ran a gloved hand through his snow white hair.
His red eyes seemed to glint with delight, as he crossed his legs and sat with both hands on his walking stick.
There was a long silence where the two gentlemen sat watching each other, almost as if it where some sort of secret game only they could understand.
Finally the other man sat his tea down with a sigh. "Well?"
The pale man smiled wider, taking out a booklet of papers and triumphantly smacking them down on the wooden coffee table in front of the other.
"Ode An Die Freude!" he declared proudly. "His latest masterpiece!"
The spectacled man raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. He stared at the pamphlet as if it were a serpent that had suddenly appeared from thin air. Finally, after several tense moments he snatched up the document and began to flip through it. His brow furrowed in confusion and he broke out into a cold sweat.
"Impossible!" he gasped. "How is it a man with no hearing and of inferior birth can write in such a way? It's as if the voice of God is speaking through him!"
"Aha! So you admit it!" shouted the pale man, tapping his cane against the hardwood floor in excitement.
"Admit what?"
"Admit that my German composer is more creatively gifted, than your Austrian composer ever was."
"Nonsense!" spat the other man, throwing the pamphlet down onto the table.
"He may be gifted yes," he continued pointing a finger at the still grinning pale man. "But he is nothing compared to the genius that was Amadeus!"
The pale man laughed harshly at this.
"Oh my dear Roderich!" he exclaimed. "My Beethoven is far more gifted without the ears, than your Mozart was with all of his so called gifts."
"Rubbish! Stuff and nonsense!"
"What ever you say." yawned the white haired man, rising from his seat. "I believe I shall take my leave. The air in here has grown stuffier."
"You pompous, arrogant, bastard!" growled the other man from his chair. "How dare you come into my home just to gloat and act like you are God himself?"
"Ah! But I bare gifts!" replied the other man, merrily pointing his waling stick at the gentleman's robes.
The other man's brow wrinkled in suspicion as he rummaged through the pockets of his robe, his hand finally brushing against some kind of paper.
"Thought you might like to hear it in person. Besides. Vienna is oh so lovely this time of year," the pale man giggled. "Well I really must be off. Tata for now."
And with that he was gone. The spectacled man stared at the doors for the longest time, his mouth hanging open in confusion. Finally he willed himself to look at the contents of his pocket. As he read the tiny slip of paper over and over, his face became as red as the Prussian's eyes.
Count Roderich Edelstein,
You are cordially invited to attend the grand concert of maestro Ludwig Van Beethoven in the Imperial Capital.
- Your dearest friend and confidant, Gilbert.
P.S. I saved you a box seat!