Cantabile Tales

As yesterday was Maundy Thursday, I had arranged to meet some of my acquaintances for afternoon tea in...

...the Orangery at Kensington Palace.  Queen Anne was there, as were Leopold Mozart, Geoffrey Chaucer and several other notable personages.

On the way, I met some Chinese tourists, who were having a barbecue picnic in Kensington Gardens, not far from the Albert Memorial.  The weather has been surprisingly fine and dry, as the gentlemen noted as they offered me a cup of their own refreshing tea.

Leopold Mozart had arrived in London to brief me urgently on the need for the proper supervision of his son.  Apparently, according to Mr Mozart senior, John, as he now often calls Wolfgang, cannot even be trusted to play the violin properly without a copy of Versuch einer gründlichen Violinschule on hand at all times.

The book is, as you may be aware dear reader, Mr Mozart senior's own bestselling title, which in English is known as A Treatise on the Fundamental Principles of Violin Playing.  I think Leopold believes that by asking me to mention it here, he may sell a few thousand more copies.

Well, I have heard that Mr Mozart junior, and his dear sister, have been enjoying some time in my music room in Adelaide recently.  Mr Mozart junior, who is never known to me as John, has even, so I am told, been promoting his music to the general public of my home town.  Mr Mozart senior wonders why his own music is not promoted so often, and why his son usually talks about him in the past tense.

Dr Piscopia, my principal private secretary, says all is in order, except for the sound of a trombone from time to time.   The noise of the instrument in question, being played exceedingly badly, has also been a complaint of Professor de Montaigne from the library.

The good professor has also sought my advice regarding Mr Mozart senior's book.  He wants to know whether a copy should be kept in the library or in the music room.  What are your thoughts on the matter, dear reader?

Whilst walking into Kensington Palace with Leopold, I wondered why he had left home himself in his teens, after his own father died, and then ignored the opinions of his mother completely.  It therefore seems rather hypocritical to me that he expects his son to obey him at all times.

Leopold and I have both noticed, however, that many of the royal palaces appear to be turning into rather tacky pseudo-historical theme parks.  I am a person who desires aesthetic integrity.  Leopold does, too, so he says, and it is a value he has tried to instill in his children.

I briefly discussed the matter of aesthetic integrity with the Chinese tourists I met on my way.  Whilst sipping green tea from small, Song dynasty cups, we agreed that art cannot comfortably co-exist with a fun park, mass-produced souvenirs and tabloidian or even Whiggish opinions about the past.

The tourists were also somewhat bemused by the design of the Albert Memorial, so I explained that is was designed by a committee.  No great work of art has ever been produced by a committee.  However, several of my friends are commemorated around the base of the memorial, on its Frieze of Parnassus, including Mr Mozart junior and Mr Chaucer.

Just as I was about to greet Leopold Mozart, I received a text message from Mr Chaucer.  He welcomed me to Engelond, and said he was running late and we should goon on without him. Mr Chaucer, I believe, will be sitting in the same pew as myself at the royal wedding.  I do hope he manages to keep to the schedule then, otherwise he will be in serious trouble.  It may even mean losing his place in Poets' Corner.

Fortunately, Queen Anne was awaiting us as expected in the King's gallery.  She had not visited the gallery herself recently, though she certainly feels at home there.  As we approached, she was standing under a portrait of her grandfather, Charles I. However, she had also brought along her young son, Prince William, Duke of Gloucester.

Although children are always welcomed in the Orangery, and even have their own menu there, I hoped the duke would not ask for a fizzy brown drink and blow bubbles in it while I chatted to his mother.  Fortunately, the Duchess of Marlborough came along just in time to take the child off to play in the gardens.  I was somewhat relieved.  I really do prefer my afternoon tea exclusively in the company of mature, elegant adults.

I mentioned to the queen that Mr Chaucer was running late.  I knew he had never been to the palace before, though I had mentioned to him some time ago that it is quite easy to find.  Apparently, he had been on a trip to Canterbury to investigate what sorts of tourists he might find on the way there nowadays.

Then he missed the bus back to London after being caught up in a crowd of French school groups in the crypt of the cathedral.  He sent the text to me whilst waiting for a train.

But now I must go.  I shall return another time to tell you more.