"Good," she said. "That's the first thing that's gone my way today." She glanced at the door, then back at the others. "We're going to have guests today. Elizabeth Jordan, one of my former voice teachers, has made contact with a couple of Italians who wish to join us today. One is a musician-a composer, I believe-and the other is a craftsman of some kind. They should be here any . . . ah, and here they are now."

The door to the choir room opened, and a short, slightly plump woman entered, followed by a short man in a black ca.s.sock. Franz didn't quite goggle at him, but was taken back a bit. One did not ordinarily expect that mode of dress in Grantville, or at least not in the high school. A Catholic cleric of some kind, obviously.

The third member of the party was somewhat larger, but definitely not of a size to stare Thomas eye to eye. Franz estimated he was about his own height. He moved with some grace, but was obviously not a courtier. He must be the artisan that Marla had mentioned.

"Elizabeth, you're just in time." Marla stepped forward and shook hands with her former teacher. "Please, introduce your guests."

"This is Maestro Giacomo Carissimi and Signor Girolamo Zenti, all the way from Rome." Each man nodded slightly when his name was called; Carissimi stiffly, as if he wasn't comfortable, and Zenti with a slight, crooked smile on his face. "The maestro has come in search of knowledge about our music, and Signor Zenti looks for knowledge about musical instruments. When you told me yesterday what you would be discussing today, I knew they would both find it of interest."

"Thank you for coming," Marla said, offering her hand. Carissimi hesitated, then reached out and shook it quickly, releasing it at once. Zenti in turn took her hand, and instead of shaking it raised it to his lips. Marla was obviously taken off guard, but kept her composure and retrieved her fingers as soon as he released him Marla turned and had the others introduce themselves. As they did so, Franz decided that the maestro was innocuous, but that he could find himself taking a dislike to Zenti without much effort.

Once the introductions were completed, Marla said, "Please be seated where you please. We were about to get started. And please, feel free to speak up at any time. This bunch certainly does."

With that, she shifted her focus again to Thomas and Hermann, who, despite their verbal combat were sitting next to each other. "You two were arguing about tempering again, weren't you?" They nodded cheerfully. "And the rest of you," sweeping a hand motion to include Josef, Rudolf, Leopold and Friedrich, "were kibitzing and cheering them on from the peanut gallery, right?"

Smiles and nods were mixed with confusion over the figure of speech. "Meanwhile, the grinning gargoyle brothers over here"-she pointed to Isaac, who looked offended, and Franz, who just smiled-"were laughing at all of you. And you probably deserved it."

She sat down at the piano, and placed her hands on top of the cabinet. "I'm tired of all this argument, so I've spent the last couple of days researching this issue, and I'm ready to put a stake in it and bury it for good." The Italians looked very confused, but Elizabeth was whispering to them, explaining Marla's figure of speech.

As always when she started one of their sessions, Franz was a little nervous for her. He knew her heart, her desire: how she desperately wanted to succeed at this work; wanted to bring the glory of the music she knew to the time she was now in; how she wanted to midwife the birth of a glorious age of music. He knew how hard she studied and prepared. He knew how when she first started her stomach had ached before every cla.s.s; knew, too, how she had castigated herself after each of those early sessions because she felt she had sounded uncertain and timid rather than a.s.sured and self-confident. The fact that he had detected nothing of the kind and repeatedly told her so was no comfort to her. But gradually, as she learned that she could teach them, that she could hold her own in discussions with them, that she could find answers to all their questions, she had indeed found a.s.surance and self-confidence, and their sessions had become the joy that she had so wanted them to be.

Today, however, she was tackling head on an issue that she had been dancing around for weeks, the issue of tunings and tempering systems. If she was feeling nervous, there was no evidence of it in her demeanor. She sat there calmly, smiling slightly, looking cool and collected in front of the eight of them.

"Hermann, how many tempering systems are you aware of?"

He sat in thought for a moment, then said, "The Just and the Pyth . . .

Pytha . . ."

"Pythagorean," Thomas prompted.

"Pythagorean systems," he muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?" Marla looked at him with her head tilted to one side.

He squirmed a little, then said, "I have trouble wrapping my tongue around that name when I'm speaking good Deutsche. It is even harder with English."

"Continue."

"Just, Pythagorean, and Mean are the ones I know of, Fraulein Marla."

Franz looked at him out of the corner of his eye, checking his att.i.tude, but he seemed totally serious.

"And of those, which are in common use?"

"Only the Mean."

"Why is that?"

Hermann thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he didn't trip up, then said, "Because the other two are too limited, are too discordant except in a few keys."

"Right. But, can't you say much the same thing for the Mean temperament as well?

Hermann looked stubborn, while Thomas made no attempt to suppress a very wide smile as Marla made his case for him. Franz watched to see how Marla would handle this. He wanted her to do well, to bring Hermann around, because to be the power in music in the USE that he thought she should become, she had to be able to engage the stubborn peers of his musical generation in dialogue, reason with them and eventually bring them to see her positions. Hermann was perhaps her first serious test, as he himself, Friedrich and Thomas had been won over very easily.

"Hermann," she said, "you have to face the fact that the Mean system works okay with voices, strings and horns, all of which the musicians instinctively tune, usually without even being aware they're doing it. But with any kind of keyboard, it is just too limiting. You're basically limited to four or five tonalities, the simpler ones." She set her hands on the piano keys, saying, "Stay with me, Hermann. We're going for a ride"

Marla began playing "A Mighty Fortress Is Our G.o.d." Over the simple harmony, she said, "You know this hymn. Even in the time we came from, it's one of Luther's most famous works. It's in our hymnals in the key of C major-no sharps, no flats. Now listen, and listen carefully."

Franz saw an intent expression come over her face, one that he was coming to know very well. He nudged Isaac, and mouthed to him, "Get ready."

There was a brief pause, then Marla's hands began moving swiftly over the piano keyboard. Arpeggios were rolling up from the low end of the keyboard, and over it she began playing the melody and harmony of the old hymn in the traditional 4/4 time. At the end of the verse, she played a transitional phrase which modulated into a sustained chord, then suddenly began playing a light rendition of the song in 3/4 time, almost a dance, in a new key. Again, when she came to the end of the verse she played a transition, this time immediately modulating to a new key where once again she played in 4/4, this time playing the song as a canon of repeating lines over a constant ba.s.s note. Another modulation, another style-this time a quiet meditation, almost in the manner of an adagio.

Franz looked at the others, and saw on the faces of the newcomers the stupefaction he had expected. He, Thomas and Friedrich knew Marla's talent, but this was the first time she had unleashed its full potential before Isaac, Leopold, Hermann and the Tuchman brothers, and they were obviously stunned.

Once again she modulated, this time playing the old hymn in a hammering martial style, at once pompous yet regal. She brought it to a rousing close, playing the last line in a slow ritard that allowed her to alternate chords first in the treble keys, then in the ba.s.s, using the sustain pedal to let them ring and create an effect that almost rivaled an organ for richness and sonority. She allowed the final chord to resound in the room, then released the pedal and let the piano action damp the strings.

Franz saw a small smile play about the corners of her mouth as she took in the expressions of the others.

"Okay, guys," she said, "how many keys did I play in?"

Hermann shook himself, looked at the others, and said, "Five." They nodded in support.

"And what were they?"

"First was C."

"Right."

"Then the next was . . . G."

Hermann sounded a little reluctant, and Franz thought he knew why. When Marla smiled, he knew he was right.

"And what is G to C?" Marla asked.

"The dominant,"

"And in the Mean system," she said, "can those two keys sound consonant in the same piece of music?"

"Yes."

"Ah, but what about the next keys? Where did I go from G?"

"D?" Hermann sounded a little unsure of himself.

"Yes, D was next. I used an augmented sixth chord for the modulation, so it was a little tricky, but you got it, we landed in D. D is the dominant of G, right?"

Heads nodded all over the room.

"So now we have C, G and D. Is consonance possible in the same piece with those keys? Just possibly," she answered her own question, "just possibly. But where did we go from there?"

No one ventured a guess.

"Thomas, did you follow?" When he shook his head, she smiled again, and said, "Okay, I'll have mercy on you. I went from D to A, and ended in E. See the pattern in the modulations? Each time I modulated to the dominant of the previous key. I've now got five different keys in this piece, ranging from C major with no sharps or flats to E major with four sharps. Hermann," she looked at him seriously, "in the Mean system, can I have all five of those keys sound consonant in the same piece of music?"

Franz heard her emphasis, but was glad to note that her tone of voice and her expression were both serious, that there was no sense of mocking or humor. She was treating both the topic and Hermann with respect.

The room was quiet. No one said anything, no one even stirred until Hermann finally sighed, and said, "No, Fraulein Marla, you cannot. Your point is made."

"But don't you see, Hermann," Marla said, "don't you see that it's not my point? This is not some dictate that I'm trying to force upon you. It's not some up-time invention or standard that I'm trying to shove down your throat. The earliest mention I could find for equal temperament goes all the way back to some guy named Grammateus in 1518-that's over one hundred years before today, for heaven's sake! Equal temperament was something that generations-your predecessors in music, your peers now, and your successors in music-all worked toward. As composers and performers alike desired more tonal complexity and sophistication in their music, as they experimented and argued amongst themselves and with their patrons, they eventually hammered out a consensus for the equal temperament system."

Marla looked around at all of them, then said slowly, "And Hermann, it was the Germans who arrived at it first. By 1800, this was the standard in German music. It took the rest of the world at least another fifty years to catch up to you. So you see, I'm not trying to force the stream of music into an unnatural streambed, I'm not trying to force it to flow uphill. Instead, I'm trying to guide you into the natural bed for your stream, but I'm trying to guide you to it now instead of several generations later."

Hermann muttered again. Franz saw Marla lift an eyebrow, Hermann coughed, and said, "But it still sounds discordant."

"Of course it does," Marla laughed. "It's a result of musical diplomacy. I once heard a definition of diplomacy that goes something like this: diplomacy is the art of leaving all interested parties equally dissatisfied. That's a perfect definition of equal temperament. All keys are slightly less than consonant, but importantly, all keys are equally dissonant. Once we accept that compromise, then the full artist's palette of tonalities is available to us."

Franz smiled at her metaphor.

"Believe me," Marla added, "I know exactly how discordant equal temperament is. I have absolute perfect pitch, so anything less than pure consonance grates on my ear. But, I will accept the minor discomfort that equal temperament causes in order to play things like this."

She turned to the piano again, and began a piece in 3/4 time. It lilted and danced, almost like a stream flowing over rocks. The music flowed, with waterfall-like runs in it, broadened out to a more stately theme and treatment, then returned to the original style. Marla's fingers flew, the tempo ebbed and flowed, and finally began to move faster and faster until it trailed away under the right hand in the high treble keys.

Once again dead silence reigned in the room, until it was broken by a collective sigh from the men. Marla turned to them, and said, "That was the Waltz in C# minor by Frederic Chopin, part of his Opus 64, one of the loveliest piano pieces ever written. The key has four sharps, and it probably couldn't be played in the Mean system."

Looking around the room, she asked, "Any questions? Any comments?"

"Excuse me, please, Signorina," Maestro Carissimi said.

"Yes, sir?"

"I understand what you say, and it makes clear much that I did wonder about. But is there not a . . . how would you say . . . along side . . ."

"Parallel?"

"Yes! Thank you for the word. Is there not parallel issue, one of tuning, of intonation?"

"Oh, absolutely," Marla said. She pressed a key on the piano, and a tone sounded. "That is an A, the note defined by international agreement to be the tuning standard. And there are machines and tuning forks to exhibit that standard and to measure against. That standard was arrived at almost," she looked confused for a moment, "well, what would have been almost 250 years from now. But between now and then, tuning was a local matter, usually determined by whoever built the organ in the local church or cathedral."

"Exactly my point!" said the Italian. "In Italy, the tuning is higher, brighter than in Germanies, but even within a province, is not the same from place to place. Until a standard for all of Europe can be devised, we musicians must still adjust tuning as from place to place we go. Music written for Italian churches transcribed to other keys must be to get same sound in northern German churches, and perhaps the same if northern music to Rome or Naples is brought."

"And that will change not so quickly," his companion said. "Musicians-especially Italians-will not like hearing that wrong are their tunings." There were murmurs of agreement from around the room, and Thomas and Hermann in particular nodded vigorously.

"Well," Marla said, "at least we all agree that developing a standard tuning is a problem, and that it probably won't be solved soon. But do you all understand why the equal temperament is so important?"

Heads nodded all around, and "Yes," was heard from every corner.

Marla looked down at her watch. "Yikes! I didn't realize it was that late! This is Wednesday night, and I've got choir rehearsal at church. Okay, we'll meet again on Friday here in the school choir room. We'll finish the discussion we started last time about modes and the changeover to major and minor keys. See you then!" And in a whirlwind, she grabbed her books and was gone. Elizabeth and her guests also rose, made their farewells, and left.

The eight young men sat quietly for a moment, as if drained of energy. Finally, Hermann looked up, and said to Franz, "Now I know what you meant. She is indeed worthy of our respect. It would be an insult to say she does not play like a woman, but when I close my eyes, all I hear is a musician of great skill and talent playing with vigor and authority."

He sighed. "Forced to discard another preconception. Two in one day. At this rate, in another month she will have me cleaned off like a blank slate, a tabula rasa."

"Well, I am tempted to ask if that would be such a bad thing." Thomas grinned, obviously restraining himself from crowing over Marla's victory. "But instead I will say that you at least had the advantage of knowing her first, and seeing that she did indeed posses some knowledge and skill before she unleashed the full fury of her a.r.s.enal on you. Friedrich and I, we were exposed to the full-bore power of her talent within hours of first meeting her."

"And do not forget the hangovers," Friedrich interjected.

"Ach, how could I forget? The memory of the thunder in my skull being matched by the thunder of her piano playing still makes me shudder!" Thomas matched actions to words. "Some time, Hermann, have her play for you the "Revolutionary Etude." Then you will see the full scope of her power, and you will truly understand why I sit at her feet."

"But she is so young!" Josef said. "How can she be so strong, so a.s.sured, so . . . so . . ."

"Authoritative?" Thomas supplied.

"Yes, how can she be so authoritative? How can she be like a master at her age?"

Thomas looked to Franz. "How old is she?"

"She recently pa.s.sed her twenty-first birthday, which is young but not so young. To us, she's of an age to be a journeyman. To the folk of Grantville, she's her own woman, to do as she pleases. Most of them know she is talented, but I believe that Master Wendell and perhaps Master Bledsoe are the only ones who truly appreciate her magnitude. Master Wendell says that if not for the Ring of Fire, he thinks she could have been one of the great ones of their time."

He stood and walked over to look out the window. "She is driven to mastery. Her spirit, her gifts drive her to rise above her origins, her womanhood, to become a master." He turned to face them. "She will not stop until she is either broken or is acclaimed by all."

"So if she is of age, why is she not married, as so many of the Grantvillers are?" asked Josef. "She is comely, and seems pleasant enough."

"Hah!" snorted Rudolf, surprising everyone, since he was the most taciturn individual most of them had ever met and never volunteered anything. "No, thank you. That fraulein has sword steel for a spine, and I suspect she could out-stubborn Gustav Adolf himself. She may be a muse incarnate, a very Calliope . . ."

"Take care," Friedrich warned.

"Nevertheless, I fear that most men would desire someone with at least some compliance in her soul. Fraulein Marla may be doomed to a spinster's life."

Friedrich and Thomas burst out in uproarious laughter. Friedrich actually slid out of his chair and rolled on the floor. Thomas bent over holding his stomach, howling.

The newcomers all stared, eyes wide and jaws agape. Finally Hermann collected himself. "What is the jest?" he demanded.

Thomas managed, by sheer willpower, to somewhat compose himself. "The jest," he wheezed, "stands there." He waved a hand at Franz. Franz waved back, smiling slightly, as Thomas continued. "Our man Franz there woos her."

"Not just woos," Friedrich husked, levering himself into a sitting position on the floor. "Not just woos; for he has won her heart."

The astounded expressions returned, now focused on Franz. He shrugged and said, "'Tis true."

"Then why have you not wed, if you feel thus?" asked Hermann.

Franz lifted his left hand, and everyone sobered. They all knew the story by now. "When I can play again in public, when I can again make my way with my violin, then I will ask her." The fire in his heart at that moment was a match for Marla's, and enough of it showed that the others actually sat back a little.

"She a.s.sents to this? It seems somewhat unlike her," said Rudolf.

"She knows. She agrees."

They all looked at Franz soberly. He bore their gaze calmly, and they all saw the determination in his eyes. Finally Hermann spoke.