# Anton: Chapter 3



## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

5 minutes past 8, there was a knock on the door, in the typical signal which the young composers used to identify themselves coming in. In stepped Nikolai.
"There you are! You have been away for quite a while," Anton smiled, with a slight sneer.
"Indeed, I got caught up with what's going on. You were right, sir," turning to Sergei, "Something, namely someones, is expected this evening, and almost everyone here was on the look out for them. These visitors arrived yesterday, they're from St. Petersburg. They are... composers."
Everyone sat up in their chairs, and Anton stood up.
"Are they here already? Where are they?" he spoke excitedly and quickly.
"They came just 5 minutes ago, and are in the main crowd, being acclaimed by the number of enthusiasts they have."
"How many?"
"5. I believe there are 4, and 1 is their Patron."
"Did you meet them yet?"
"Oh, I tried so hard now but there was too much of a crowd. I doubt that they even know that we're--"
A new, foreign knock came at the door.
"I will open the door," Anton walked around the chairs and tables and came to the door.
Opening it, there stood 5 men. But they were not all foreign to him. He grinned.
"Dear Nikolai Andreyevich! How glad I am to see you here!" he cried.
An older man with glasses smiled and bowed.
"Dear Anton Stepanovich, I had heard that you were to be here this evening, with your circle, and I wanted to make acquaintance."
"Of course, please please come in!" and the 5 men were escorted in.
Anton's beaming eyes was contagious for all his young followers, who all began to whisper excitedly to each other. The only one not to smile was Sergei. Thus began the introductions.
"My dear students," Anton declared proudly, "This is my former composition teacher Nikolai Andreyevich back in St. Petersburg. He taught me everything there is to know that I have tried to share with you all. Well, almost everything," he added with a clever smile.
"Welcome! Welcome to Moscow!" Everyone stood up, and a great many began to say excitedly as one to give well wishes.
"This is my dear friend Sergei Ivanovich, chief composition teacher at our beloved Conservatory," Anton gestured to Sergei, who bowed politely, and gave a slight, but not very warm smile. In turn, Anton named each of his 6 younger students with him, each bowing at his introduction.
The 5 from St. Petersburg were very pleased at this show of hospitality, especially Nikolai Andreyevich, who begged to give his own introductions.
"I would like to introduce you my colleague Mily Alexeyevich," a rather stocky gentleman bowed with a very natural smile, "and our 2 most illustrious students: Anatoly Konstantinovich and Alexander Konstantinovich. No they are not brothers."
"Although we are in spirit," added the younger one seriously.
Anton was impressed with these 2 other men. Anatoly Konstantinovich was older than him, and had only slight acquaintance with him when he was younger. But Alexander Konstantinovich was a new face. Only about 20 years old, he was comparable to Anton's own students, and yet something struck him. Alexander had an almost brilliant look about him, although he was young, and indeed Anton did not at all feel like he was speaking to an inferior for all his age. Both Anatoly and Alexander proved to be gentle and thoughtful men, not very inclined to talking, but observing carefully all that was going on around them.
"Of course, I would leave our greatest guest for last, since he's not a composer, but actually our patron, Mitrofan Petrovich."
A well-dressed man of middle age and well combed hair greeted Anton, and shook hands.
"I am so glad to meet you, Anton Stepanovich!" he began warmly, "I had heard great things about you, and I couldn't help being curious about what it's like here in Moscow, on the Music Scene. I was the one to arrange this trip for us, because I have started a publishing business back in Petersburg. I am looking for composers of great talent, hopefully some of your bunch, who I could support."
"That would be capital, absolutely capital!" Anton couldn't help excaiming. "If anything is wrong with Moscow, it's definitely the lack of consistent presence of publishers. We try to make contracts with people, but smaller companies always get bought up by larger ones, annulling our contracts. It's becoming increasingly hard to get favor, since we deal with European publishers. I have a number of works now only in manuscript that I haven't gotten published for a while."
"Is that so?" Mitrofan Petrovich was surprised. "Europeans care nothing for our affairs nowadays. I would love to help. Of course, we have _our_ standards..." he smiled at the others behind him.
Anton smiled and looked around. To his surprise, Sergei continued to frown during this entire conversation.
"Well," Anton began, changing subject, "What do you propose this evening, Nikolai Andreyevich? Did you all bring music?"
"We did, and we were hoping to share some with you tonight, if you like."
"Of course! And we could share our music with you too! Are you in favor, Sergei?"
Sergei squinted his eyes. "I wouldn't imagine any harm done. Actually," he finally straightened himself up from his slightly slumped position in his chair, "I have a work or two that you all may want to hear," a sort of sarcasm poisoned his speech.
"Great!" Anton was oblivious. "But... I wonder if this room is good enough. Actually, now that i come to think on it, I wonder if we can find a room with 2 pianos."
"2 Pianos? I'm sure we could ask," Anatol added. "I have a work myself like that."
"Let's go and look then," Anton walked out of the room with Nikolai Andreyevich, and met a large group of men standing outside.
"Is there to be a concert, sirs?" many began asking.
"A concert? A very informal one perhaps, but that wouldn't be a bad idea," said Mily Alexeyevich. Everyone agreed.
In the Grand Hall, which could hold 150 people, there were 2 pianos, and they were put side-by-side for the occasion.
Servants began moving chairs around into rows where they couldn't fit around tables anymore. All the composers with their manuscript cases walked in, almost like a show. Men in the room all shouted and clapped, some calling out the names of their favorites.
"I don't trust these people, Anton," Sergei whispered gravely into his ear.
"Why ever not? Nikolai Andreyevich was dear to me. No doubt they are here to make good terms."
"Or just to assert their superiority over us. Careful. We are indeed disadvantaged, having two Kuchka members against us."
"What is this 'against'?" Anton frowned mightily. "They are just strangers to you is all, Sergei. Don't be so suspicious when it's unwarranted. This isn't a game."
"Or is it? It is certainly a competition, for _sport_. We must be careful tonight, just warning you."
Anton said nothing, and looked around. A sort of front row was set up by the 2 pianos which were in the back of the room, and here the composers separated each other into 2 groups: the Petersburg men, and the Muscovites. Anton, feeling bold, took the spot closest to the other side and so sat next to Nikolai Andreyevich. Crowds came and sat behind them all, eagerly awaiting what might happen.
The Club's Host stood forward.
"Gentlemen!" he yelled over everyone to get their attention, "We are exceptionally delighted tonight to have with us visitors from St.Petersburg with us, but even further pleased to have an unexpected soiree with them and our very own Moscow composers. Those who wish to stay must be respectful of our gathering, and those who wish to leave have the upper rooms to their use. But I hope all of you stay tonight."
There was clapping now after this. Mily Petrovich, who served as the speaker for the night, stood up.
"Dear gentlemen, thank for our warm reception this evening, and I hope that we will succeed in pleasing you all. I ask Anton Stepanovich and Sergei Ivanovich to step forward with me to make an agreement for our performances. In the sight of the people, I and Nikolai and Andreyevich have decided on a form for this soiree. From each group, let us select one from our circle at a time to play, and so diversify the styles we will hear tonight as we move from one city to the other, so to speak. What do you say? Do you find this fair?"
Anton looked at Sergei for his opinion. Sergei looked at the floor for a second, but spoke up.
"I agree to accept your terms, Mily Alexeyevich, as is our way here in Moscow to give priority to the requests of our guests, whereas perhaps in other cities, it may be different."
There was a slight murmur in the audience at this bold remark, and a few snickers. Anton stared at Sergei, who showed no emotion.
"What are you doing?" he whispered to Sergei as they sat down.
"It's known as asserting one's equality," Sergei suddenly lit up with a smile. Anton turned around to look at the Petersburg group. Everyone except Anatoly, who got Sergei's joke, was frowning.
"I can see Anatoly as a decent friend," Sergei commented behind his hand. Anton put his hands over his face, trying to hide his own smile. It was 15 minutes before 9 o'clock.

So the soiree of sport began.


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