Part 13 (1/2)
”You mentioned he has a philosophy degree?”
”Oh, yes.” Her face beamed with pride before she bent her head again to look at the tear she was mending. ”Our son Adam originally went to theUniversityofLeipzig to study theology. He changed colleges, received his degree over five years ago and later became part of the faculty. Have you been inLeipzig ? He is, or was, the deputy headmaster at the Nicolai gymnasium inLeipzig . But he wrote recently to tell us he'd entered the service of Duke Friedrich of Schleswig-Holstein. He's to be the secretary to a diplomat and arrange their missions. Initially they were going toPersia and theRussias but he writes now that things have changed.”
Carl chuckled, his blonde mustache spreading wide. ”I've been toLeipzig and even visited the university but that was probably well after he left. I don't know if any of my audience was from the gymnasium faculty. My audiences are usually, ahem, somewhat less distinguished.” He gestured towards his fiddle case.
Dolf listened as Carl chatted with the tailor and his wife about performing in city markets and taverns.
Why, he'd even been to the Grantville Gertrude Fischel talked about!
”There.” Maria turned Carl's s.h.i.+rt right-side out. ”Not quite good as new but no worse than many s.h.i.+rts in town. As I have cause to know.”
”Thank you. How much do I owe?”
”Owe? After paying off those men? For not letting my husband get into a fight? Forget it.”
Leaving the tailor shop, Carl squinted in the bright sun. ”Where's the public bath? I stink.”
Half an hour later, Carl emerged from the bath, his short hair still wet under his hat. Dolf rose from the shade of a doorway. ”What are you going to do next?”
Carl c.o.c.ked his head. ”Go to the market and put out my hat. I had to pay five pfennigs to enter town, I paid ten at Herr Oehlschlegel's shop and I'll have to pay your village for stabling my horse.”
”But you've got more! I saw them.”
”Sure. And if I want to eat tomorrow, I'll have to make more today. Come on, I'm already late starting.”
Carl walked through the market, talking with the occasional seller. He approached a shaded stall with a smile. ”h.e.l.lo,mein Herr . How goes business today?”
The elderly man with a dozen or so imperfect onions set out before him, stared back. Dolf's parents would never have taken such onions to market. They would rather have used them for meals.
”What's it to you?” the old man rasped.
Carl swung his fiddle case down into his hand. ”I'm a fiddler. Let me use the shade of your spot and I'll guarantee more visitors to your stall. I'll buy an onion to eat if I can get it roasted somewhere.”
The man jerked his head backward towards the street closest to them. ”Woman three houses down bakes bread every morning. Oven may still be hot.”
Ten minutes later, all the man's onions were cooking in a closed empty pot in the woman's oven. ”Never thought to sell roasted onions,” he admitted. ”Not too old to learn, I guess.”
Carl gave a lazy smile and tucked his fiddle under his collar bone after tuning it. He drew outward-curved bow drawn across the strings. ”Do you have a tune I might already know?”
The man was totally unmusical, Dolf thought, listening to him mutter a tune. But Carl must have already known it because he began playing slowly along with the man. ”And the words?” Carl began playing again, listening intently to the man and then nodded at the refrain.
People hear a fiddle over most other noises, Dolf noticed as Carl began to draw the bow across the strings more strongly. The fiddle responded and Carl speeded up the tempo. Soon a small crowd gathered to listen.
After five tunes, Carl took a break to retune. One of the audience grumbled in Dolf's hearing as they walked away. ”We've got fiddlers who sing better and even better fiddle players here in town.” Dolf was surprised by his remark and reported it to Carl.
”I don't doubt it for a minute. The first time I played in public was only a year and a half ago.” He smiled again and gestured towards the market. ”The thing to remember is that I'm here and they're not. So while I'm not being paid in silver, I am making money. The other fiddlers all have to work because, frankly, fiddling doesn't pay all that well unless you have a patron. But I'm free to move and travel as I like; they're not. It's the freedom to sleep under the bridge but it suits me.”
While Carl got ready to play again, Gertrude came up to them. ”Good morning. My name is Gertrude Fischel and I'm with the Ascherleben CoC. Do you know any progressive tunes?” The blonde woman wore an expectant smile.
”Can't help but know them if you travel around. Old tunes with new words and sometimes new tunes.”
He began to sing and play, ”There was a Committee maid, whose hair was bright and gay . . .” The song went on for several minutes, ending with how she'd never be afraid and would only marry a good CoC man.
When he finished, some of his audience, like Gertrude, applauded loudly. Others just stood with their arms crossed on their chests waiting for the next tune. Given the uneven response, Dolf doubted that Carl would be playing many tunes of that nature today.
After the crowd drifted away following the end of his set, Carl emptied several small coins from his hat and bent slightly so only Dolf could hear. ”Never let the audience think you're making much money. But always leave a coin or two, just to let them know that others have appreciated you and how much to contribute.”
”But why do you keep stopping?” Dolf was puzzled, looking upwards to Carl.
”Right now, because I know those onions should be ready. Second, I have to retune. Third, my arms are tired. Finally, this lets my audience continue their shopping. Never bite the hand that helps feed you, in this case the people who are selling the goods that first drew them to the market.”
Dolf and Carl each ate a cooked onion. The old man paid the woman who roasted the onions and then doubled his price. He sold out almost immediately. ”I should have tripled the price.”
Carl shook his head, his eyebrows raised as if in pity. ”What and have other vendors roast their onions as well? Then where would you be?” The old man growled but gave a grim smile before walking away.
A few more sets of tunes and then Carl put his fiddle away. ”Getting too hot. You can see how the market is emptying.” His bag over one shoulder, the fiddle case over the other and his thin walking stick in his right hand, he was about to leave the area when Gertrude stopped him.
”Herr Johantgens, where will you be playing tonight?”
”Thought I'd check the local taverns. At least one of them won't have a fiddler.”
”How about trying the Golden Lion? The Aschersleben Committee meets there and I'm certain you'll get a lot more applause when you sing their tunes.”
With both Dolf and Gertrude at his side, Carl entered the dim tavern. Dolf recognized Heinrich behind the bar and took half a step back. ”To what do I owe this pleasure, Gertrude?” The tavern keeper beamed.
”I have an entertainer for you, Herr Grueber.” Dolf was somehow rea.s.sured that she was not on a first name basis with the man. ”This is Carl Johantgens who arrived in the city today. Did you hear him playing in the market?”
”No, but that's not unusual. How do you do, Herr Johantgens?”
”Well enough if I can make a few coins tonight and sleep under a roof,mein Herr . Fraulein Fischel tells me that the people who come to this tavern are receptive to progressive tunes. Not that they're all I'd be playing.”
”No, indeed. I like all sorts of music myself. Come, sit down at the table. Let's discuss this over a mug of beer.” Gertrude excused herself while Heinrich drew two mugs of regular beer and a small beer for Dolf.
”Good.” Heinrich smacked his lips after his first sip and gave Carl a broad smile. ”Now, on to business . . .”
Dolf watched the two men negotiate using very different styles. Heinrich was jovial but aggressive, laughing frequently. The much younger Carl was mild and almost diffident. He turned aside what might be considered slights with a soft smile but often revisited issues where there'd been no agreement. It seemed to Dolf that Carl might even be getting the better deal, including the right to sleep in the back room after closing. On the other hand, Carl promised that at least half of his tunes would be common or drinking songs people could sing with and that CoC tunes would not be over a quarter of those played. The most surprising part to Dolf was watching Carl write down their agreement and copy it. Each man signed both copies. ”My father was, is, a merchant and ingrained in me early that written agreements save a lot of arguing later.”
When they emerged from the tavern, it was late afternoon. Dolf was curious. ”Did you get the better deal?”
Carl gave a shrug and a weary smile. ”Who knows? We both got what we really wanted. You'd better get home, Dolf. I'm certain your parents are wondering what you've been doing. I'm going to wander around town.”
At supper Dolf related everything he had seen and heard.
”You remember the Aesop fable about the ant and the gra.s.shopper?” his father asked, his brown eyes serious. He took another spoonful of soup. ”Farmers like us are the ants and your friend is the gra.s.shopper. It gets very cold under the bridge in the winter.”
True, Dolf thought. Then remembered that Carl would be sleeping in the back room of the Golden Lion tonight, not under a bridge.
The next morning Dolf found Carl leaning against a wall near a doorway, chatting with Gertrude and an older laundress.