For The Musical Genius (Novel) - Chapter 93

Chapter 93

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The lyre was said to be the instrument played by Apollo, the god of music.

Its arms, connecting the crossbar and the soundboard, were as smooth as the figure of a beautiful woman draped in nothing but a single thread. It felt like gazing at a captivating classical painting. As my fingers gently caressed the gut strings, gliding as if over ice-

“Wow.”

A sigh of admiration escaped. Despite not being played for ages, a clear, pure sound resonated. The strings were made of gut, twisted in the traditional way. Since they were made from the intestines of dead animals, the sound was distinctly different from metal strings. Even without forced vibrato, the melody was rich and natural.

I didn’t know how to play the lyre. I didn’t even know how to finger the notes. Yet my fingers moved naturally between the gut strings. As if cradling a newborn, I held the lyre carefully, and it sang out its long-suppressed, clear voice. It was the same principle as when I first played the violin.

It felt as though I had become one with the lyre. My pounding heartbeat seemed to make the strings shimmer. Notes were being drawn on a blank, white canvas. Like drawing a fermata over a double bar, only after the final melody rang out did my fingers stop.

Ziiing-!

The high ceiling, built in the Baroque style, echoed. The faces of those who had become the audience showed clear traces of regret. Surely, the beautiful melody still lingered in their bodies. I carefully turned my head to look at Alessandro.

“Shouldn’t we hear another Paganini’s performance this time?”

Alessandro, flustered, hastily put down his glass. Gustav gave a mysterious smile and nodded.

“As the young maestro says, I’d also like to hear Mr. Alessandro play. The Paganini Caprice I heard at the filming site was truly wonderful.”

Alessandro’s face gradually turned red, thanks to the praise from the eternal maestro, Gustav. Though he was a well-known actor in Hollywood, he was helpless before his idol. Alessandro stood up, saying, “Alright.” But he was stiff, almost like a frozen robot. His mind must have gone blank.

“Lower your left shoulder a bit more, and bend the wrist of your left hand that’s on the string. Your grip on the bow is too tense right now, isn’t it? If you bow like that, you’ll make a scratching sound. Instead, relax your grip as if you might drop the bow. The moment it touches the string, the right amount of strength will come naturally.”

Was it my imagination that everyone’s attention was on us? Alessandro was used to such corrections from the film set, but the others were not. Gustav’s expression, in particular, subtly changed.

“Young maestro, how do you give such advice? Even I, who have played violin for many years, find it hard to immediately notice such personal characteristics of a violinist.”

It was only natural to be curious. Even I didn’t know how I could see such things. Would you believe me if I said I could see custom postures adapted to each individual, rather than standardized textbook positions? At that moment-

“Do you just see it?”

The eternal maestro asked, as if he could read my mind. Before I could even nod, he gave a faint smile, as if he’d expected it.

*

Sizzle-!

The familiar smell tickling my nose made me wonder if I’d come to Korea. Because of the wine last night, the maestro had given the guests empty rooms. “In Italy, there’s a saying that you give the master bedroom to important guests,” he’d said. Then President Im Hye-ra had insisted on making breakfast herself.

“Madam, were you a chef in Korea?”

Most people would think a chaebol never gets their hands wet. But in a chaebol family, bridal training is no joke, so her cooking skills were understandable. The chef’s surprised look made sense. On the table was a mix of Korean full-course and French dishes that President Im Hye-ra liked. It was a true East-West fusion.

“When I visited Korea before, I remember enjoying this dish very much. Was it called bulgogi? But Mrs. Im’s bulgogi is much better. It’s like magic.”

Gustav tasted every dish President Im Hye-ra made, as if he were at a fine restaurant. The others were the same, expressing surprise at her unexpected skills.

“Hyun, you take after Aunt Yoo-ha and are a great cook too,” President Im Hye-ra said meaningfully, staring at me. I pretended not to hear and kept moving my fork. I couldn’t let myself get roped in by President Im Hye-ra after Chairman Wang. When the meal ended, teacups with floating petals were brought out, as if on cue. I’d drunk all sorts of teas, including those supplied to the British royal family, but none as good as these.

“The next filming location is Venice, right?”

Wasn’t it a city famous for water? When Jean-Pierre said yes, Gustav gave a mysterious smile.

“By now, the mask festival must be happening.”

Then Gustav looked at me and spoke.

“Paganini liked masks with red feathers.”

What did that mean?

We stayed one more day in Rome, then headed to Venice, Italy. Judging by President Im Hye-ra’s excited look, she was really looking forward to the mask festival tonight. It seemed she was now fully enjoying the trip. The sunlight pouring in through the car window made me close and open my eyes.

“We’ve arrived.”

It was truly a city called the collection of Renaissance art. The city on the water, as if touching the sea, fascinated all who saw it. The songs of gondoliers constantly rang in my ears, and the wide windows and doors always touched the water’s surface. Who would know that countless piles were driven under this old city?

“Hyun, didn’t you say filming is in two days?”

“Yes, that’s why the president wanted to come early.”

It was all for the mask festival. Maybe President Im Hye-ra had been impressed by the masquerade scenes in European movies. In the past, when Venice was at its peak, masquerades were held almost daily. The origin of the masquerade was that slaves could hide their status and enjoy a day of freedom. Eventually, it became a pleasure for the nobility.

“Hm, Hyun, there’s no mask with a red feather?”

Apparently, President Im Hye-ra remembered Gustav’s words. But the famous masks in Venice’s shops were already sold out. Only the basic bauta mask was left. But since I had no intention of joining the festival, that was enough.

“Oh, the young gentleman chose the bauta. You have a good eye. All the famous people in Venice loved the bauta. Paganini of Genoa also loved the bauta.”

I barely held back a laugh at the shop owner’s sales pitch. Surely Paganini had many masks besides the one with the red feather.

* * *

“Maestro, you really need to stop now.”

When Gustav poured wine, the chef nagged him, as if waiting for this moment. Each time, Gustav would smile faintly and joke, “With not many days left to live, what’s the point of health?”

“They must have arrived in Venice by now.”

Gustav sipped his wine and looked out the window. It was already getting dark. The reason he hadn’t gone to Venice was simple: he wasn’t needed at the film set. He’d gone to give musical advice, but really, it was to hear Kang Hyun’s performance.

“Ysaÿe, did you see him too? That boy who resembles you.”

His genius violin skills and the way he could instantly correct someone’s posture were just like that friend. Ysaÿe Heifetz, who had made Gustav feel both inferior and challenged in his youth. Gustav realized the wine tasted especially good today. Perhaps it was because he felt like he’d returned to his youth.

“Choi, could you bring me the lyre?”

At Gustav’s words, the butler immediately brought the lyre. It was in an old case. Even though it hadn’t sung for so long, the strings had produced a beautiful voice. He’d said he didn’t know how to play, but Gustav had seen with his own eyes how the boy’s hands moved on their own. Gustav carefully cradled the lyre. Then-

“How can this be?”

Gustav’s eyes widened as he examined the lyre. The butler looked curious but didn’t ask. Suddenly, Gustav burst into hearty laughter. The butler and chef exchanged puzzled looks, as if to say, “Has the maestro ever laughed so loudly before?”

“The soundboard is broken.”

The back of the soundboard, which should amplify the resonance of the strings, was broken in several places. At this level, the sound should have leaked out like water from a cracked jar. Yet, how had such a beautiful melody come out?

*

Wow-!

As luck would have it, it was the last day of the mask festival. The fireworks lighting up the night sky and the cheers of the crowd were enough to make the water tremble. Every year at this time, the festival was held at St. Mark’s Basilica. It was such a big event that even TV crews came to film.

“Hyun, don’t I look good?”

She looked like a peacock with its feathers raised. The basilica was already packed with people in masks.

‘Tsk.’

This was why I hadn’t wanted to come, but I couldn’t resist President Im Hye-ra’s stubbornness. On the platform where the priest should have stood, musicians were performing. As I listened to the music, I found myself drifting deeper into the basilica.

Huh?

I spotted a child crying. Sitting with a mask on, sniffling and wiping away tears. I thought about just passing by, but the child’s sorrowful crying kept drawing my gaze.

“Why are you crying?”

“I… I have to play the piano soon. But I can’t play. I’m scared and don’t want to go on stage. But if I don’t, I’ll definitely get scolded.”

Though the Italian was unfamiliar, basic communication was no problem. Clearly, the child was frozen by the crowd.

“Should I play for you instead?”

I didn’t know why I said that. Maybe it was the child’s teardrops. The child, with a “Really?” handed me their mask and black cape. It was a mask with a red feather. Since we were about the same size, it fit perfectly. I’d thought it was a boy, but when I removed the mask, I saw a tall girl who would surely break many hearts in the future.

“Serena, it’s time to go up.”

Just then, the host came and led me onto the stage.

What piece should I play?

In the rush, I hadn’t even heard the name of the piece. The basilica was now packed and buzzing with people. An ordinary melody wouldn’t capture their excitement. Suddenly, I remembered the man who wanted to become the Paganini of the piano. As soon as I finished that thought, my fingers naturally moved to the keys.

Dudududung-!

The first notes rang out, and everyone’s attention focused instantly. Since I was about the same size as the girl, I had no trouble reaching the pedals. My fingers danced over the keys as if gliding. The high notes of Liszt’s “La Campanella,” newly arranged for piano from Paganini’s 24 Caprices, rang out like the chimes of a bell. Thinking of the man who wanted to be like Paganini, this time I pressed the keys instead of the strings.

Each note carried a different strength from my fingertips. The breath on the pedal and the melody made my shoulders ripple like waves, and those waves became music at my fingertips. The girl watched with her mouth open, and so did the masked audience. At the end of the seemingly endless “La Campanella,” the red feather swayed as the enchanting melody reached the basilica’s ceiling.