Chapter 10: Tales from the Vienna Woods

Disclaimer: Written in 2001, this story was inspired by characters and situations created by a certain author who discourages fan fiction.

Writer Contacts: To contact Wiebke (and especially if you would like to link to this site or any of the stories), email wiebke@juno.com.

Wolfgang rose and after wandering aimlessly amidst the tables and chairs and bookcases, settled himself down at the piano bench. He beckoned Louis with one hand.

"You're going to play?" Louis asked, rising and taking a seat in a chair closer to the piano.

"Might as well," Wolfgang replied. "It gives my hands something to do while I talk and it keeps you entertained. Besides, what else is immortal life for if not to practice for so many years that sheet music becomes non-essential?"

Laying his fingers gently on the ivory keys, the Austrian began a solo adaptation of Mozart's "Piano Concert in D Minor." Louis recognized it immediately. Its sweet, calm airs had always been a balm to him.

"Mozart lived in Vienna, didn't he?" Louis asked quietly after a minute or so had passed, consciously deferring to the music.

Wolfgang nodded as he played. "He died there. So did Beethoven." His hands flew across the keyboard in one of the concerto's brighter moments. "Mozart died three months after my change. I have often regretted that I had not paid enough attention to him. One couldn't appreciate him at the time, he wrote so much and the politics were simply amazing. Afterward I vowed that I would support such artists as much as I could."

There was another pause as Wolfgang minded his fingers and hands for a particularly difficult passage before continuing. "Beethoven -- now Beethoven I never missed, not while I was in Vienna. I saw every premiere. I remember the first night of the sixth symphony, the so-called "Pastorale." Such a happy work, and by then I was feeling better."

Louis watched as Wolfgang's fingers continued their dance up and down the keyboard. He noticed the variations and adaptations Wolfgang was weaving in. No doubt he had adapted the piece himself and played it hundreds of times over.

"The first few years were not so happy," Wolfgang remarked conversationally. "There was so much for me to handle. Besides my servants, I had my family to deal with. My father wanted me to see me remarried. I refused -- for obvious reasons. Despite this, he named me his heir. When he died within a year of my change, I inherited his entire estate. My mother was already dead and I had no siblings so it worked out well in some ways, but then of course the spotlight fell on me. Obligations to the court, to family friends, to our properties."

He paused and concentrated briefly on his playing. "All eyes seemed to be on me. The young baron. The man who never missed a performance. The man whose insatiable appetite for women was becoming legendary. The man who ate the most indulgent foods -- although less than before, as I'd learned to tone it down -- and never looked the worse for it. Everyone seemed to know me just at the moment I wanted to be anonymous. It was maddening."

He shook his head in frustration. "Meanwhile I had to ascertain what I was capable of, what I had become. As I said earlier, I carried out experiments. I starved myself only to find I was not starved. I cut myself only to find I would heal without a scar. I broke some bones and it was better before I knew it, once I set the bones properly."

Louis nodded. "It all sounds somewhat familiar. I can't starve myself, unfortunately, although Lestat says that too often I seem to try. But go on. You never found out what had happened? And you never met someone like yourself?"

Wolfgang shook his head as he leaned back to play one of the lighter sections. "I'm afraid not. No, it was just me, all alone in Vienna trying desperately to formulate some sort of plan. What was I to do with myself, living so exposed at the heart of society? I would perhaps have left earlier than I did -- 1810 -- except that I needed to way to retain access to my financial assets. I had to plot a way out as well as a way to keep myself comfortable over the course of what I by then knew would be a very long life."

He sighed and turned to Louis, who was listening thoughtfully. "It had been 19 years and I wasn't aging. I should have been 51 but I wasn't; I was 32 forever and ever. People were beginning to notice, to ask me how I kept my 'boyish good looks.' You probably were forced away from your mortal life in a similar fashion."

Louis swallowed. "Yes, I was. I had to tell everyone that I had developed a... fever. It was very painful."

There was a moment of silence as Wolfgang arrived at the end and rested his hands on his lap. "It was painful, wasn't it? Isn't it?"