Requiem of Revenge: Music and Murder in 18th Century Europe by Richard Kurti

Author:Richard Kurti [Kurti, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2024-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

The Bachs arrived at noon, full of nervous anticipation. Sebastian had shaved and wore a loose-fitting smock; Anna Magdalena was dressed smartly. As I greeted them outside the waggon, she clasped my hands. “Can I be with him? I really want to be there.”

“I’m afraid there simply isn’t room inside.”

“I don’t need a seat. I can stand.”

“It’s not a good idea. If you’re not used to seeing surgery like this…”

The colour drained from her cheeks. “Is it so bad?”

“The chevalier has done this a hundred times. The best thing you can do is wait for your husband at home.”

“But I can’t settle to anything.”

“Have you prepared a recovery room?”

“Not yet.”

“Then that is something you can be busy with. Make sure it’s quiet and not too bright. Somewhere he can rest and heal in peace.”

“Very well.” She embraced Sebastian and kissed him tenderly, promising him that all would be well; in truth she was trying to reassure herself.

Everything inside the surgical room was so perfectly designed, there had been no need for me to assist in any of the procedures for months, but in this case I insisted on staying. I wanted to watch every move the chevalier made.

Once Bach was firmly strapped into the operating chair, the chevalier inspected both eyes carefully with a magnifying glass. “You seem remarkably calm, Herr Bach.”

“I have heard so much about you. This promises to be a new beginning for me.”

“Indeed it will.” The chevalier picked up a small clamp to hold back the eyelids. “Most people like to offer a prayer at this point.”

“My whole life has been a prayer. Every piece of music I’ve written.”

“Well, I’m sure God will show His gratitude by looking after you now.” With that the chevalier applied the clamps so that it was impossible for Sebastian to blink. “Shall we begin?”

“I’m ready.”

The gag was strapped into position. The chevalier picked up a scalpel and approached the right eyeball. Instinctively Bach tried to recoil, but he was tightly secured. Fearful cries came from behind the gag, but the chevalier didn’t hesitate. “Hush now.”

As the razor-sharp blade hovered over the glistening surface, I saw the chevalier’s hand begin to tremble. He took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead, then made the first incision.

Blood and fluid oozed out as the white tissue peeled back. The chevalier made the second cut, but as he reached for the couching instrument, he stood bolt upright, sweating and pale.

“What is it?” I asked.

He looked dizzy and grabbed onto the wall to steady himself. Suddenly he pushed past me and burst out of the door. I hurried after, and found him leaning against one of the wheels, retching violently.

“Are you ill?”

He shook his head, burped, then vomited profusely over the cobbles. The moment it was out, he stood up, breathed deeply, and smiled. “Note to self: one less brandy next time.”

Calmly he headed back to the steps, but I pulled him aside. “You’re still drunk!”

“Just a little hungover. But I’ll be fine now.

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