The Music of Love E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 201

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Extremely poor and on the verge of starvation, Lady Milbanke makes a hasty decision to meet an old friend, the famous impresario Gustav Dessoff. To save herself and her daughter Carla from the poverty they had found themselves in, following the death of her husband, she agrees to go to Vienna with Gustav and sing in public at the fabulous Opera House. To keep the secret of their identity they assume different names and Carla is told on no account is she to reveal who she is, and that she must say she is a friend and a companion. Whilst Lady Milbanke is rehearsing at the Opera house, Carla first meets the unpleasant Baron Otto von Erhardt and later the handsome, but mysterious Rako. As Carla's mother becomes the toast of Vienna, she makes friends with Rako and he shows her the wonderous sights of Vienna. But unbeknown to her, the Baron has his sights on Carla, and Rako is not who he says he is. As events turn against Carla and she is placed in imminent danger, how she is saved and who steals her heart are all told in this wonderful tale of the magic of music and love.

Leseprobe

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I first visited Vienna in 1933 with my brother Ronald Cartland who was later to be the first Member of Parliament to be killed in the Second World War.

We were tremendously impressed by the Stefanstock and I had a strange vision of a Cardinal when I was in it. The second time I went to Vienna was in 1969, when the Mayor gave me a Civic Reception for my work for health.

The third time was in 1986 when I was promoting my books in Germany and was also having a film taken of my life. I had the great joy of going into The Spanish Riding School with the director. I was filmed patting one of the horses and talking to the rider.

I also appeared on the stage of the magnificent opera house and mimed to one of the love songs on my album, which I had previously made with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Later I was interviewed in the Royal Box and it was a wonderful experience to see the marvellous building both from the audience and from the stage.

On each of these three visits I stayed at the Hôtel Sacher, and not only ate the delicious, world famous Sacher Cake, but went down to the kitchens to see it being made. Vienna will always be one of the most romantic and fascinating cities in the world.

When I wrote “The Private Life of Elizabeth, Empress of Austria”, I was so very touched to learn from Earl Mountbatten of Burma that it was appreciated by the Elizabeth Club who said it was one of the best biographies that had ever been written about her.

Vienna is not only a city of music, but also to me a city of love.

CHAPTER ONE ~ 1877

Lady Milbanke looked up from her desk as her daughter Carla came into the room.

“It is no use, Mama,” Carla said. “I went with Bessie to price the chickens, but they are much too expensive for us to afford one.”

For a moment Lady Milbanke did not answer. She was thinking how lovely her daughter looked. The cold air outside had brought a flush to her cheeks, and her small, pointed face was framed by the woollen hood she wore. Lady Milbanke was thinking that other girls of Carla’s age would be wearing a hood trimmed with fur. Instead, of which she was painfully aware, Carla’s coat was too small for her, and threadbare.

“…so we bought some scraps of meat instead,” Carla was saying, “for Bessie to make a stew.”

She wrinkled her small nose.

“I am tired of stew, and I know you are too, Mama, but honestly, there was nothing else we could afford.”

Lady Milbanke sighed. It was a deep sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of her thin body. At thirty-eight she was still very beautiful. Like her daughter, if she could have afforded to be fashionably dressed, she would have looked a sensation at any of the parties to which they were no longer invited.

Ever since Lord Milbanke had died a year ago they had begun to fall out of the fashionable world in which he had moved, simply because they could not afford it. It was not only gowns that were far beyond the reach of Lady Milbanke’s purse, as she could not return hospitality, she was too proud to accept it.

Now, as she looked at her daughter, she wondered if in fact she should have tried to inveigle invitations for Carla, if not for herself. She had been so miserable when her husband died unexpectedly. Although he was some years older than she was, they were very happy. When she realised the financial situation in which she had been left, she first felt helpless. She could not bear the sympathy of people who, in the past, had fawned on her husband not only because he was important diplomatically, but also because he was a clever and interesting man.

It was quite a different thing for hostesses to entertain a widow with a daughter who was a rival to their own children. What was more, Lady Milbanke could barely afford a hired carriage to take them out to dinner.

“How could Papa’s affairs be in such a mess?” Carla had asked despairingly.

Her mother had just explained that they had nothing to live on, and she replied,

“Your father was never a good business man. He had a large salary in the Diplomatic Service and he spent every penny of it! The money he inherited from his father was badly invested.”

She felt tears come into her eyes as she remembered how the solicitors, after Lord Milbanke’s death, had read her his assets. They had made it quite clear that everything in which he had invested his money had been a disaster. It had been a case of bankrupt firms and financiers who had absconded with their clients’ money – also ‘flash-in-the-pan’ and ‘get-rich-quick’ ideas, which were always failures.

It meant that Lord Milbanke’s widow was left with nothing except a house that nobody wanted to buy, and that contained very little to sell. She had sold what she could month by month, week by week.

Now she knew that, unless they were to starve, she must find something else. Because Lady Milbanke shrank from going herself to the pawnbrokers’ shops, she left the negotiations to Bessie.

She was their only remaining servant, an old lady who had been with them for ten years. She often thought, however, that Bessie was not particularly clever at negotiating a good price.

‘I will go myself,’ she decided, and wondered what with.

Carla walked round the desk and put her arm round her mother.

“You are looking sad, Mama,” she said, “and you know Papa liked you to smile and look happy.”

“It is difficult,” Lady Milbanke murmured, with a little break in her voice.

“Come and sing for me,” Carla begged, “as you used to sing to Papa.”

Lady Milbanke gave an unexpected laugh.

“At this time of the morning?”

“What does it matter what time it is?” Carla asked. “When I hear you singing I feel as if I am carried into another world where there are no worries, no troubles. I am sure that is what Papa used to feel.”

Lady Milbanke rose from the desk.

“I suppose, really,” she said, “I ought to sell the piano.”

Carla gave a cry of horror.

“Oh, no, Mama! How could you think of doing such a thing? You know how much it means to you – and to me!”

Lady Milbanke crossed the room to sit down at the grand piano that stood in an alcove at the end of it. It was true she had an unusually beautiful voice. Her husband had made her sing to him most evenings when they were alone. They had therefore arranged the piano so that he could watch her comfortably from his armchair. It was raised a little on a small platform.

He had made the background for her, while somewhat theatrical, very beautiful. Unfortunately now that they needed the money, they could not sell the murals of flowers and birds against which the piano stood. It had cost Lord Milbanke a great deal of money to have them painted exactly to his liking.

Lady Milbanke sat down on the piano stool, her dark hair silhouetted against the sunshine in which flew exotic birds. Beneath them there were flowers of every colour, stretching away into a misty horizon.

Lady Milbanke ran her fingers over the keys. Then she started to sing very softly an Italian song, which she knew was one of her daughter’s favourites. There was no doubt her voice was outstanding. As she sang, she forgot her troubles and it seemed to Carla as if her mother was an angel singing in the sky. Her voice echoed and re-echoed round the drawing room. Only when the song ended and Lady Milbanke let her hands fall into her lap did Carla realise she had been listening almost breathlessly.

“That was wonderful, Mama!” she said. “I have never heard you sing better!”

Lady Milbanke put out her hand to touch the piano as if she was caressing it.

“Your father paid a great deal of money for this,” she said wistfully.

“You are not to sell it, Mama,” Carla protested jumping out of the chair in which she had been sitting.

“It will not be much use to us if we have nothing to eat!” her mother pointed out.

Carla leaned on the piano.

“Are things really as bad as that?”

“I am afraid they are desperate,” Lady Milbanke said. “I must pay Bessie’s wages. She has had nothing for three months!”

“Perhaps,” Carla said hesitatingly, “we could approach one of Papa’s relatives and ask them to help us.”

“How can we possibly do that?” Lady Milbanke asked quickly. “They have never been to see us since your father died. Anyway, none of them are rich. In fact, they consider themselves to be very poor.”

“Then I must find something to do,” Carla said. “Surely after the very expensive and extensive education I have had, I could earn some money, even if it is only as a Governess?”

Her mother laughed.

“Darling, I cannot imagine anybody employing you as a Governess!”

“Why not?” Carla asked.

“Because, my dearest, you are far too pretty – and pretty Governesses are notorious troublemakers in any family. If she is only eighteen and looks like a spring flower, then a lady, unless she is blind, would not allow her to cross her threshold!”

Carla laughed.

“You sound exactly like one of those novels you do not approve of me reading!”

Her mother shrugged. Carla thought with a smile, although she did not say so, that at times her mother’s Italian blood was very obvious. Lady Milbanke was in fact only half-Italian, the daughter of the Conte di Ravello and his English wife.

There was no doubt that it was her Italian background that had given her such a beautiful voice. Also the dark eyes that seemed to shine when she was happy, and flash fire when she was angry. At the same time, her English mother was responsible for the white skin and the clear-cut classical features that her daughter had inherited.

Carla, however, was more like her father than her mother. Her fair hair, with touches of gold in it, resembled the pictures of her father’s ancestors. Unfortunately, the beautiful Lady Milbanke had not been painted by the famous artists of their day, which would have made the pictures more saleable.

Lady Milbanke walked across the room. As she reached her desk Carla knew that once again her mother was aware of how little money they had. She was in fact, wondering what else they could sell.

The jewels that Lord Milbanke had given his lovely wife had been the first to be sold. They paid for the funeral and the more pressing of his creditors. Then their furs had gone. The chinchilla cape that Lady Milbanke had worn to the opera, the sable tie and muff that had been the envy of her friends. The ermine wrap, which made the plainest evening gown look elegant, followed. After them had gone the silver, which had fetched very little. The china ornaments had fetched even less – as had any other objects that Bessie could dispose of amongst the junk shops in Islington.

Lord Milbanke had bought a house there when it was still a popular area, although not so fashionable as it had been at the beginning of Queen Victoria’s reign. He had decided when he saw the house that it was a bargain, considering its size. He wanted somewhere he could entertain when he was in London. He thought vaguely when he retired from the Diplomatic Service he would then buy a place in the country.

He had always lived in grandeur. Owing to the various posts he had held, he had been provided with a house and servants, carriages and horses. He had never really questioned whether or not he could afford it.

It was when he was at the Embassy in Rome that he had fallen head-over-heels in love for the first time in his life. He was thirty-eight, and although he had enjoyed a great number of love affairs, he had never met anyone he wanted to marry. When he first saw Maria, the seventeen-year-old daughter of the Conte di Ravello, he knew he could not live without her. She was not only beautiful, but she captivated him with her lovely voice.

Lord Milbanke had always been musical. As he had worked in the Embassies of Budapest, Vienna, St. Petersburg, then Rome, music was very much a part of his life. When he had heard Maria sing, he felt that he was hearing for the first time the voice of an angel.

It was in fact quite by chance they met at a party given especially for the King of Italy.

Lord Milbanke, although not yet an Ambassador, was through sheer brilliance, of diplomatic importance. After a long-drawn-out and very elaborate dinner the guests had repaired to the salon. They were told they would hear music and songs that had been specially arranged by Gustav Dessoff from Vienna.

As Lord Milbanke knew, Gustav Dessoff had already made his mark in the music world. He remembered meeting him on several occasions. He was an Austrian belonging to a good family who, however, was not content to stay on his comfortable estate in the country. Instead he devoted himself to the development of music. He specialised in finding musicians and singers who, under his patronage, became acknowledged stars.

It so happened that Dessoff was in Rome at the time of the party. He was invited to bring for His Majesty’s entertainment some of his discoveries to perform after dinner. As usual, Dessoff was looking for something new.

He was sure the King would be well acquainted with the principals of the operas. He wondered whether he could find somebody different to provide, if nothing else, a talking point in the evening. He considered whether it would be worth sending to Paris for a baritone he had just discovered and whom he thought was exceptional – or alternatively whether he should ask a soprano he had heard in Milan to come to Rome.

Then his cousin with whom he was staying insisted he should attend a concert at a nearby seminary for young ladies. She told him her daughter was to play the piano. Gustav Dessoff thought that nothing would bore him more. Yet because he was a kind man he agreed. He thought it would be a wasted afternoon when he might be tasting the joys of Rome. As he expected, the concert was held in the assembly hall of the school.

The girls came on to the platform one after another, to show their parents what their music teacher had taught them. She was an elderly woman with no talent of her own. Gustav Dessoff sat praying that the concert would end quickly so that he could escape.

Then a girl appeared, who he thought was at least extremely pretty. Certainly she stood out amongst the other pupils like a jewel in a rough setting. When she began to sing Gustav Dessoff caught his breath.

At the first notes he knew that she was exceptional, and by the time she had finished he was ecstatic. Never, he thought, had he heard a lovelier voice that was so pure. With her top notes Maria seemed to touch the sky. He could hardly wait until the concert was over when he might be introduced to the girl who had sung like an angel. He learned that her name was Maria Ravello, and that her mother, the Contessa was in the audience.

Gustav Dessoff found no difficulty in getting himself invited to the Conte’s home. There Maria sang to him again. He knew he was not mistaken in thinking she was one of the exceptional people born with a perfect voice that hardly needed training. He tried to explain to the Conte and his wife how unusual their daughter was. They were pleased at his appreciation. Because he was so persuasive, they allowed Maria to sing at the party that was being given for the King.

“I trust,” the Contessa said in her quiet English voice, “that the other performers are known to you? Otherwise it would be a mistake for Maria to mix with them.”

Gustav Dessoff understood exactly what she was saying. He promised that Maria would be carefully chaperoned and protected but not only from the performers. He was thinking that some of the guests might think, that because she was with him, they might be familiar with her.

The Contessa was obviously anxious about her lovely daughter, which was understandable. Gustav Dessoff however succeeded in having them invited to the party after the dinner. This was a concession which the Conte appreciated. He knew that in no other circumstances would he have been fortunate enough to have been included in such a special Royal party.

Maria sang.

Once she had started she was not nervous because as usual, the music carried her away into another world. She had not the slightest idea how lovely she looked standing on the small stage, which was massed with flowers.

It had been erected at the end of the salon for the performance. With Maria in mind, Gustav Dessoff had arranged that the rest of the music was very different. There was a pianist who was world famous, a violinist who came from Hungary, and a quartet that was good enough to please the most critical Italians.

But there was only one singer – and that was Maria.

He had asked if she could wear a white gown, and she looked like a lily with her dark hair and white skin. When she had finished singing there was that pregnant silence, which every professional knows is the greatest compliment they can receive. Then the applause was, for such a distinguished company, ecstatic.

Gustav Dessoff had afterwards begged the Conte and Contessa to let him take Maria under his wing.

“I will produce her,” he said, “at all the great opera houses in Europe.”

Because he was so insistent they were finding it hard to refuse him when Lord Milbanke appeared on the scene. He had been at the concert, heard Maria sing, and lost his heart.

They were married a month later.

“You will never again appear in public, my darling,” he said, “and only sing for me, but I promise you will never have a more appreciative audience.”

He was handsome, experienced, and very gentle with her. Maria fell in love and was willing to do anything he suggested.

“I shall never forget you,” Gustav Dessoff said when he came to her wedding.

He gave her a very expensive present.

“Sometimes, when you look at this,” he had said, “remember that to me you were the treasure that was out of reach, the dream that never came true!”

She had smiled and thought she would forget him. She travelled with her husband to different countries and listened to many singers. Sometimes she thought a little wistfully that she might have sung ‘Carmen’ or ‘Aida’. She knew that she would have been better than many of the principals taking a leading part but Lord Milbanke had never allowed her to sing for anyone but himself and their daughter Carla.

Once when she had suggested that she might sing to their friends who were coming to dinner, he had replied angrily,

“Do you think I want my wife looked at as if she were an actress? Your voice is mine, and no other man shall hear it!”

He had kissed her fiercely and possessively and she knew that he was very jealous. She loved him and her whole life revolved around him. When he died there was nothing – only an emptiness and the ceaseless worry about money for which she had no solution.

“If I had a voice like yours, Mama,” Carla was saying now, “I am sure people would pay me to sing, even if it was only in the street!”

Lady Milbanke laughed.

“I am afraid, my darling, while you have many talents, singing is not one of them.”

“I know that,” Carla said, “but my talents do not seem to be very saleable.”

“We must sell something,” Lady Milbanke said desperately, “but I cannot think what.”

Bessie came into the room at that moment.

“Luncheon’s ready, My Lady,” she announced, “’though, if yer asks me, ’tis not enough t’keep a mouse alive.”

“I know, Bessie,” Lady Milbanke said. “Miss Carla was telling me how everything was too expensive this morning.”

“We can’t go on like this, and that’s a fact!” Bessie said.

“I know,” Lady Milbanke agreed walking towards the door.

Carla followed her and Bessie came behind them.

“I ’eard you singin’,” Bessie said as she shuffled along. “It’s a pity you can’t enter for t’competition they’re ’avin’ at Covent Garden.”

“What competition is that?” Carla asked.

“Me niece was talkin’ about it when I visits ’er yesterday,” Bessie replied. “Seems some ol’ Josser ’as come to London and wants t’find a new star t’sing in Vienna or some such place!”

They reached the dining room and Lady Milbanke sat down at the table with Carla beside her. On the table, Bessie had put a china bowl containing a small amount of meat stew. She had added two or three carrots and an onion that she and Carla had bought in the market. It was a dish they had regularly, simply because it was the cheapest they could buy.

Bessie went back to the kitchen to fetch the plates she had left to warm on the stove. She put them down in front of Lady Milbanke, saying as she did so,

“Me niece can dance, and as yer knows, hers been in the chorus at Covent Garden fer three years, but she’s got a voice like a crow!”

She laughed at her own joke. Then as Carla realised her mother was taking no interest in what Bessie was saying, she asked,

“Are there many girls entering the competition?”

“No, only two or three who’ve been told they ’as a chance. This Austrian or whatever ’e is, is ever so partic’lar but they says that if ’e finds someun ’e fancies ’e can make ’em thousands of pounds!”

There was a note of envy in Bessie’s voice and Carla laughed.

“Well, I was just saying to Mama that I will never make a fortune by singing.”

She looked at her mother and said,

“That is true, Mama, is it not, and I do not think I would be much use as a dancer.”

Lady Milbanke was ladling the largest portion of the stew on to a plate for her daughter.

As if she was suddenly aware of what was being said she asked,

“Who is this man who is judging the girls? Did your niece tell you his name?”

“Her did, but I can’t remember it,” Bessie replied. “Now let I think – it was very outlandish – Dress – off – or somethin’ like that.”

Lady Milbanke put down the spoon.

“Was it by any chance ‘Gustav Dessoff’?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Bessie replied. “I can’t think ’ow them foreigners can remember their names!”

She walked out of the dining room as she spoke.

“Gustav Dessoff!” Lady Milbanke said softly.

“Have you heard of him, Mama?” Carla asked.

She was eating quickly what was on her plate because she was very hungry.

“I knew him in the past,” Lady Milbanke replied. “He thought my voice was exceptional.”

“Which it is!”

Carla looked up.

“Mama! You are not thinking of going in for the competition!”

She was joking, but her mother did not answer.

“Are you?”

There was a long pause before her mother said,

“I am going to Covent Garden this afternoon to see Gustav Dessoff again.”

*

It was evening before Lady Milbanke returned to the house in Islington. When she had left, dressed in the best clothes they had between them, Carla thought she looked very pretty.

“Do take me with you, Mama,” she pleaded.

Her mother shook her head.

“No, Carla. I have no wish for you to go inside the theatre, or to have anything to do with the theatrical profession. It is something of which your father would not have approved.”

“But you are going there, Mama!”