Rhapsody Read Online Free PDF

ultimate homage to one of the world's
preeminent virtuoso classical pianists.
    Misha sat for a moment, seemingly oblivious
to the audience's response, his mind still in the music's thrall.
Then as if abruptly relinquishing its hold with a snap of his head,
he stood and turned to face his adoring fans. He placed a hand on
his Steinway concert grand piano. It had been shipped from New York
along with its tuner, expressly for tonight's performance.
Graciously bowing his raven-haired head several times, he smiled,
acknowledging the audience's appreciation, both gratified and
relieved that he had been in top form.
    Perfectionist that he was, he always strove
for his best, no matter the venue, but this evening was special in
several ways. European political, industrial, business, and social
leaders from the highest stratum of society had paid thousands of
dollars for the privilege of hearing him. Sprinkled among them were
several royal and serene highnesses from Europe's oldest and most
noble families. They were for the most part a discerning group,
both accustomed to and appreciative of the very best, and that is
what he had wanted to give them.
    The beneficiary, the United Nations' land
mine fund, was a cause that was close to his heart. In his travels
he had witnessed the human devastation that these buried monsters
could cause, and he had committed himself to raising money for the
fund at every opportunity. Tonight's concert would add considerably
to the fund's coffers and, at the same time, focus attention on the
cause.
    There was a unique consideration at play
tonight, however, at least to the musician in Misha: the almost
overwhelming emotional experience of playing in this room, steeped
in history as it was. For it was here, in Schonbrunn Palace's Hall
of Mirrors, that six-year-old Mozart and his ten-year-old sister,
Nannerl, had per formed for the Empress Maria Theresa. It was on
that long-ago night that Mozart had declared that he wanted to
marry the seven-year-old Marie Antoinette, who had sat with her
mother, the empress. After his performance Mozart had kissed the
empress, then made himself comfortable on her lap.
    As the applause slowly died down, the
corporeal reality of the distinguished audience intruded upon the
sublime realm of the spirit, and Misha quickly found himself
enveloped in a crowd of well-wishers. Their good intentions, while
appreciated, only served to increase the growing impatience he
felt, now that his performance had come to an end.
    As was expected, he mingled among the
extravagant flower arrangements, accepting lavish praise and making
conversation with the perfumed ladies and fastidiously groomed
gentlemen, all sipping champagne from crystal flutes and delicately
eating Beluga Malossol caviar, which passing waiters proffered from
silver trays. There were a few familiar faces—those ardent music
lovers who traveled the world over, willing to pay any price to
hear him or other great favorites—but there were also many
introductions to industrial and political leaders who, while they
may not truly appreciate music, could be important to his career
and the event's cause.
    For an hour or so he was at his most charming
and courteous, but as time wore on, his efforts at socializing
became more halfhearted. Wrapped up in his thoughts, he retreated
to a distant corner of the hall.
    "Darling?"
    Misha started at the familiar voice, so
deeply absorbed had he become. "Yes?" he said, forcing himself out
of his reverie.
    "Where are you tonight, darling?" It was
Vera, and there was a note of concern in her voice.
    "I'm here," he said, smiling indulgently at
his wife. "I was just thinking about... the performance." The he—
for that is what it was, he told himself—flowed glibly off his
tongue.
    "Well, you were practically rude to the
countess," Vera went on, a hint of admonishment in her tone. "You
know how influential she is, Misha. She's on the board at Salzburg,
and has a great deal of say in the music