Brother Gregory: Gene Three

Brother Gregory: Gene Three

Mendel’s Sparrows

Being the fictionalized story of Brother Gregor Mendel; monk, scientist and the discoverer of genetics.

How Mendel teaches his classes and discovers Mozart

by

John Hulme

scholar

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 John Hulme

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Afterword

About the Author

Footnotes

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Chapter One

A Song of Praise

"No, no! Before you repeat the 'luceat eis', pause for a moment, lower your voice; the second time you sing those words it must be softly - softly, do you hear?"

Thomas Makyatta paused outside the door of the chapel to listen. The raised voice of Prior Sembera was unmistakable but that was not what had caused him to stop. Moments before this outburst, the sounds emanating from the Augustinian chapel had been of a completely different quality. After a series of swelling notes played on an indifferent basset horn, Makyatta had heard the pure rising voices of the Monastery choir begin the opening lines of Mozart's famous last work, the Requiem.

" Requiem, the choir had sung, aeternam dona eis, Domine,"

"et lux perpetua luceat eis."

It was the second repeat of 'luceat eis' which had brought the performance to a halt.

Normally a man of placid and even temperament, Vaclav Sembera was aroused to passion by only two things; God and music. Although he often felt that the burden of religious duties fell on his broad shoulder without any assistance what so ever from the other members of his order, he did not object too strongly, and he looked sadly but kindly on the distracting scientific endeavors of his abbot and his fellow monks. But when it came to music, the Prior was much less tolerant.

God, he believed, spoke to sinners and true believers alike through great music. The sound coming from the voices in the choir, his choir, was the purest expression of God's message to earth and the heavenly notes created as man's voice was raised in glory were a sacrament equal to none other. When music was performed badly, it was not only a sin, it was one of the worst sins.

Ducet - softly - do you know the meaning of the word?

After mass, held promptly at 6:00 am that morning, there had been a Chapter meeting, the first in several days. Abbot Napp had spoken briefly to his monks and pupils, bringing them up to date on various news items, Monastery business and upcoming events in Brno. He had paid more than usual attention to the grumbles concerning the poor 'zabijacka', the 'slaughter of the pigs', at the monastery. This was a pagan ceremony held at the end of January in which every part of a pig was prepared and eaten. This year, ethnic tensions had run higher than normal. A minor Czech ceremony that Napp tolerated rather than encouraged, the 'zabijacka' was normally ignored by the ethnic Germans and thus celebrated more than normal by the ethnic Czechs. Unfortunately the monastery pig had been of poor quality on this occasion and had not faired well at the table, leading to some pointed remarks from the Germans. This in turn had caused sharp words to be said by the Czech contingent and the temperature of the debate rose rapidly. Abbot Napp wanted to put to rest these rumblings of discontent before they got out of hand. Winter was a harsh time in which the members of the monastery lived in very close proximity with little outside activity to distract them. Tensions often flared in these dark months.

But he had ended the Chapter meeting on a high note. As usual our choir will be singing in Easter celebrations. He smiled in the direction of Sembera. Brother Prior will, no doubt, bring great credit to our order from all his efforts.

Many around the room also smiled, but for a different reason. It was well known that Prior Sembera had a private feud with the Kapellemeister of St Peter and St Paul's Cathedral on the Petrov Hill. Every year their respective choirs competed for the honor of singing first in the Easter services, the prize going to the choir that performed best in the pre-Easter warm up held on Palm Sunday.

This year Prior Sembera felt he had a secret weapon; Mozart and the glorious Requiem [see footnote] composed on the great composer's death bed. While regal and deeply moving, the Requiem was cantata-like in form and the 'Confutatis' contained a ferocious verdict of damnation, which Sembera felt applied appropriately to his unfortunate rival. Every year, as soon as the 'zabijacka' finished in January, he began rehearsals. At first the reluctant choir practiced once a week, but today began the dreaded series of daily workouts that Sembera lived for. After breakfast he had rushed his choir into the Chapel with less than dignified haste. There was not much time left before the great day, and the Prior had a lot of work to do before he could stand in the great Nave of St Peter and St Paul's, tap his score and bring his choir to its full potential.

Into the Library

It was outside the Monastery Chapel, at the beginning of the day's exhaustive rehearsal, that Thomas Makyatta had heard the plaintive opening phrases of the 'Introitus'.

Do you like Mozart? came a voice from behind him. He turned with a start to see his ex-pupil, now monk and scientist, Brother Gregory grinning broadly. Several days ago Makyatta had journeyed from his home town of Heinzendorf to hear his famous student give a scientific presentation. Since then the weather had prevented him from leaving Brno, and he was staying in Mendel's Monastery.

They had met that morning at breakfast and agreed that they would spend the day together. A particularly heavy snowstorm had brought all traffic to a halt in Brno for the last two days, but now the skies had cleared and the horses were moving on the streets once more. Today Mendel would be returning to the Realschule and his duties as teacher of science, so he had asked Makyatta to accompany him. While Mendel had been getting ready, his old schoolteacher had waited at the bottom of the stairs. That was when he had heard Sembera's rehearsal and gone to investigate.

I get little chance to listen to such music back home, Makyatta replied regretfully. As you must remember, apart from feast days and holy days, there is little entertainment in our village. But the Mummers come regularly and there is singing in the church.

He looked at Mendel, I did once hear the work of Mozart at a festival in Olomouc, but I cannot remember much about it.

This piece, Mendel said, indicating the music coming from the chapel, was written by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in 1791. It was the last thing he composed, and some say, he never finished it. Makyatta nodded.

We have a particular affection for the works of Mozart in this Monastery, Mendel went on, and not just because of the Prior. He explained to his old schoolteacher the passions of Sembera and the upcoming, completely unauthorized, musical competition.

Mozart visited Brno when he was a boy, and actually performed some of his own music during his stay here.

How do you know? Makyatta asked.

We kept some of it, replied Mendel with a grin. At which his old friend looked most puzzled.

What do you mean?

Come, said Mendel, I'll show you. And he led the schoolteacher towards the library, where they found Brother Matthew sitting among his books chewing on his cuff.

Brother Matthew, could we see the Schrattenbach book please? Mendel asked his fellow monk. I would like to show Herr Makyatta the Mozart score.

I thought you were teaching today? Brother Matthew grunted, pushing himself out of his comfortable chair and lumbering towards an ornate Chinese cabinet in the corner of the library.

I am, Mendel told him, and Herr Makyatta is coming with me. I asked him to watch me teach my classes and give me some help.

Perhaps he can help you with your Czech pronunciation, Klacel said, opening the cabinet with a large key and removing a package wrapped in green blaze cloth. All three men laughed at the joke made at Mendel's expense.

With great reverence Klacel placed the parcel on a nearby table and removed the cloth covering. Inside the protection was an unremarkable volume of poetry about 10 inches wide and 14 inches long.

This book is not ours, Brother Matthew explained opening the volume randomly to show its contents. It is on loan from the Schrattenbach family. Prior Sembera persuaded them to lend it to us several years ago, and we just never got round to returning it. He