the book. “Rousseau is wrong. If we’re wise, we will not consider pulling down those above us who sustain us. The ancient order sustains us. God preserve the health of our Elector and our Emperor. No pauper lines my pockets and pays my rent!”
With the edge of his hand he pushed the book away and into a little dusting of flour. “I tell you, I don’t know what is happening to the world. The New World colonies simply rebelling and trying to make themselves a new country, turning their back on England last year. The United States, indeed! Mark my word, even if they succeed they will come crawling back after some time. I have full trust we’ll never see such a revolution on our beloved European shores.”
Maria Caecilia shook her head as she filled the plates. “My little Sophie now reads these things as well.”
“Take it from her. Mad, foolish young people.”
“Hopefully, they’ll soon grow out of them. You and your wife will come for Christmas dinner? My sisters will be here for some weeks; I expect they’ll arrive any hour. You will have a cake with your coffee? Do take some home. I remember as a boy you loved cakes.”
“And you loved them as well, still do. Ah, your lebkuchen.”
He sat for a moment inhaling the steam from his coffee cup, then ate a bite of the cake. “My dear Caecilia,” he said, “how clever you are, managing all these years on I don’t know what. But you know, I’ve admired you since we first met. The girl you were! So pretty, so virtuous, so devout! I can still see you leaning from the window early one morning in a chemise with pink ribbons. You didn’t know I saw you; the light was gray, and there you were. You blush.”
She brought her floury hand to her cheek. “My dear Johann, you’re kind to remember all these years.”
“Do you recall how I took you for pastry in Zell with your sisters just before you met Fridolin? But time is passing, and I’m expected at the palace on business within the hour. Let me come quickly to the heart of my visit. We were to speak of Aloysia, and this Swedish Baron. I have found more concerning him.”
“Ah, have you?” she said, sinking down to a chair opposite him and beginning to breathe more rapidly. “Is there a chance of this occurring?”
“A rather good one, my dear.”
“Johann, for the love of Saint Anne, tell me! This is my dearest hope! I’ll make six novenas to the Blessed Saint for any good news.”
“He’s a widower and quite taken, I hear, with virtuous German girls who are musical. He was there indeed last month when our Aloysia sang with her sister in the Elector’s palace. When I begin my negotiations, I will at once make clear that only through holy matrimony may he have her, with some added provision, of course, to her parents for the loss of her daily company.”
“My friend! So he heard her sing?”
“Indeed, he both heard and saw her.” Thorwart patted his lips with his handkerchief, and drank again, then sat back expansively. “And was, I am told by some acquaintances, much taken with her. I do not have the pleasure of his personal acquaintance, of course, but I know those who do. I shall make discreet inquiries. I assure you, my dear, this is neither the first nor the last marriage I have helped to arrange.”
She was too moved to touch her coffee. “How can we ever thank you?”
“I am repaid in honor, in doing the best for my old friend Fridolin’s daughter.”
They spoke of other things for a time then. His wife was well, his daughter well, though they could not join the Webers for Christmas dinner. Opportunities of a financial nature were opening to him in the Mannheim court, for which he thanked God; still, he might not be there much longer. The Elector of Munich was ill, and if he died, Mannheim’s Elector Carl Theodor would move to Munich with his court, succeeding to the Munich princeship, and Thorwart would follow. Musicians would follow as well.
He ate cake and gossiped pleasantly, crossing his legs at the knee, playing with the polished wood buckle of his breeches. Then he stood, pleading business. She curtseyed; he bowed, took his hat, sword, and cloak, and went away into the snowy streets.
Long after the sound of his footsteps had died away, Maria Caecilia stood by the warm bake