The door was massive, and made from oak. Above it was a cast-iron fanlight. I turned the handle and pushed the door open. The music ceased. I pulled the door to and the music resumed, a little raggedly at first, but quickly regaining its former unison, taking up the anthem at the point where it had broken off.
I repeated the exercise, pushing the door open and causing the music to stop, then closing it once more. As the music started yet again I sensed I could not keep on interrupting them like this. On the other hand, I had no intention of waiting meekly outside. Accordingly, I took a deep breath, swung the door open and marched in.
‘Carry on!’ I ordered, in a breezy manner.
The imperial anthem had already begun grinding to a halt for a third time, but my confident instruction was enough to set it going again. I saw that I had entered a large auditorium. Down below me sat an orchestra about ninety strong, arrayed in a half-circle before an empty podium.
‘Good!’ I called out encouragingly, although I doubted if they could hear me any longer. The music proceeded unabated, and was now terrifically loud. I strode quickly down the centre aisle, then passed amongst the musicians and mounted three steps on to the podium. I turned to face them just as the refrain came to a close and the main theme was due to start all over again. When this moment actually arrived I felt my hair stand on end. We were off once more at full tilt, but this time I was in command! I looked about me. To my left sat row upon row of violins, violas and oboes; in front of me were bassoons and yet more woodwind; and to my right were trombones, trumpets, horns and tubas, as well as all the lower strings. Beyond these were ranged kettledrums, snares, a bass drum, a great gong, some bells and many other kinds of percussion. There was also a harp.
The orchestra played on. I soon discovered that all I had to do was wave my hands vaguely in time to the music, and they in turn would keep time with me. It all seemed very easy. After a while, however, I noticed that the musicians were not actually following my lead. Without exception their eyes were focused on a violinist who sat at the end of the front row immediately to my left. His chair was positioned slightly forward and turned at an angle to the others, and this allowed the entire orchestra to see him. Carefully, I observed his actions. I soon saw that he was hardly bothering to play his violin: instead, he concentrated all his efforts on keeping time with his right hand (in which he also held his bow). I continued watching in fascination as we charged again through the tireless anthem. At one point this violinist caught my gaze. I gave him a nod of acknowledgement and he returned the gesture deferentially. He appeared to have the orchestra under his total control.
Nonetheless I was their supreme leader by appointment, so I went on ‘conducting’ in my own style for several more rounds of music. At the same time I took the opportunity to appraise my new charges, if only broadly. They were all dressed in the imperial livery: frock coats of black velvet with scarlet frogging, and black breeches. These outfits, I noted, were spotlessly clean but rather threadbare. Their boots were black with brass buckles. The violinist on my left was attired no differently from his colleagues. They were all playing without scores on their music stands, presumably because the anthem was quite familiar to each of them. A painstaking count told me that there were ninety-eight musicians altogether. Standing nearby, unused, was a piano.
At last I decided it was time for a break. Only then did it occur to me that I had no idea how to stop them. I ceased waving my hands but nothing happened; likewise when I clapped them together. The orchestra just kept on going, such was their level of absorption. Fortunately, the ‘lead’ violinist seemed to understand my dilemma because suddenly, at a signal from him, the music came to an abrupt halt. Then, to my surprise, they all rose to their feet and bowed to me.
An awkward silence followed as they stood holding their various instruments.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
There was no response.
‘You can sit down,’ I said. ‘Have a rest.’
Quietly, they all sat down, but still the silence prevailed. Perhaps, I thought, they felt intimidated by my presence on the podium, towering above them as it were. For this reason I stepped down and strolled over to the violinist in the front row. Instantly, he stood up and bowed again.
‘Your name is?’ I asked.
‘Greylag, sir.’
‘And how long have you been with the orchestra?’
My question, intended merely to establish a less formal tone, appeared instead to baffle Greylag completely. He was clearly lost for words. It then dawned on me that such an enquiry would be meaningless to him and his companions. The imperial orchestra of Fallowfields was comprised wholly of serfs, and hence they knew of no existence other than their service to the court. To ask Greylag how long he’d been with the orchestra was as futile as asking him about his expectations for the future. My mistake, of course, had been to forget the lowliness of his situation. True enough, serfdom was a rare circumstance nowadays in Greater Fallowfields, persisting mostly in the farthest-flung corners of the colonies. Here at the very heart of the empire, by contrast, the tradition remained fully intact. These particular serfs had the distinction of being the personal property of the emperor himself. My question, therefore, verged on foolishness.
Even so, it was too late now. As Greylag stood mute before me I realised that there was still much for me to learn.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he murmured at length. ‘I don’t know the answer.’
‘That’s all right, Greylag,’ I said. ‘Maybe we should have some more music.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,’ he said.
‘Oh, by the way,’ I added, ‘is there anything else, apart from the imperial anthem?’
‘Well, we do have some variations on the theme, sir, if you’re interested.’
I wasn’t sure what he meant exactly, but the suggestion sounded fairly reasonable so I gave my immediate consent. I was then treated to a performance of the same tune played in countless different ways. Again, I ‘conducted’ from the podium while Greylag took care of the actual details. I was now beginning to recognise the full potential of this arrangement. Indeed, my first day in charge of the orchestra had turned out to be most satisfactory.
Eventually, when afternoon drifted into evening, I left them to their own devices and headed for the door. As I walked across the park I could still hear the music ringing in my ears, and I reflected on how extraordinary it was that a single theme could be subject to so many modifications and still be recognisable. At one point even the melody itself seemed to have been altered, yet the music retained the unmistakable stamp of the imperial anthem. I looked forward with eager anticipation to yet further variations. Moreover, it was plain that I had the finest orchestral resources at my disposal. All I had to do now was work out precisely what I was going to do with them.
It was a chilly evening and the stars were out. I peered up and verified the positions of one or two constellations that I knew; then I strolled on towards the observatory which, I noticed, was in complete darkness. For a moment I assumed that Whimbrel had wandered off somewhere, but when I arrived at the door I found it was unlocked. I went inside and ascended the iron spiral, my boots clanging noisily on the stairway. Then I heard Whimbrel’s voice from above.
‘Come up!’ he called. ‘Sorry, it’s so gloomy!’
I found him standing near a window, struggling to read one of his charts by starlight. He turned it this way and that, but appeared to be having no success.
‘This is impossible,’ he said. ‘To observe the stars properly it needs to be dark; but when it’s dark, of course, I can’t tell what it says on the chart.’