[his brow furrows further, hearing that music again, this time more frantic-je vous mes nuits a L'Assasymphonie-]
I hadn't met him, but I'd heard...he was talented, I told the Emperor. Inexperienced, but talented. It was my opinion that got that man the commission from the Emperor and then we got to rehearsal only to find it a mess. He was...he was treating it like a frivolous game. He insulted Rosenberg and mocked him and then myself and I thought, this, this is the man that I put some of my reputation, my relationship with His Highness on the line for? How could anything good come of such a rehearsal?
But then--then--he played for me an aria and it was...[he trails off, expression going distant as the music drifts past his ear-weil ich dir entrissen bin-- and he shudders] ...it was sublime. And I couldn't stop thinking about it, about how beautiful it was, and yet that it belonged to someone who had no disregard for anything anyone ever said of him.
He defied members of the Court at every turn, deliberately insulted them, disregarded any of the restrictions which I myself had worked so hard to stay within so that I could compose, could live--carefully guarding every piece of myself, never speaking out of turn, learning the ways that those in Court would lie to themselves and to others, their indulgences, their grievances; how they would turn on their friends, their family just to get one step ahead.
And yet, he did nothing of the sort. He made himself their enemy, yet still he managed to stand against them and compose music that was...it was like nothing I had ever heard. [c'est le bien qui fait mal and Saleri sucks in a breath] My own music started to sound discordant, false, wrong in the face of whatever this man created. And I hated him for it; for the way his music made me feel, for my own jealousy over his carefree, defiant nature while I was stuck, still playing my role for them, little more than a puppet.
So Rosenberg and I...it was not difficult. A word here and there, some dissent. I...it was wrong. I knew it was wrong; it was not the way to win this so-called contest; this somewhat-rivalry that had started between our music. And I...I tried to stop myself.
[his voice goes faint, distant] Sleepless nights, knowing what I was going to do, hearing the strains of his music, driving me to--to--I could see it, how it was all going to go, between what Rosenberg and I were doing and his own flagrant disregard for the Court and its games I...I knew it would lead to his ruin. So I thought, perhaps, if I could simply...stop myself...[a moment, a breath, and Salieri's eyes close as his hand curls into a fist underneath Benjamin's]
1/3? CW: disassociation, auditory hallucinations, flashbacks, discussion of almost suicide attempt
[his brow furrows further, hearing that music again, this time more frantic-je vous mes nuits a L'Assasymphonie-]
I hadn't met him, but I'd heard...he was talented, I told the Emperor. Inexperienced, but talented. It was my opinion that got that man the commission from the Emperor and then we got to rehearsal only to find it a mess. He was...he was treating it like a frivolous game. He insulted Rosenberg and mocked him and then myself and I thought, this, this is the man that I put some of my reputation, my relationship with His Highness on the line for? How could anything good come of such a rehearsal?
But then--then--he played for me an aria and it was...[he trails off, expression going distant as the music drifts past his ear-weil ich dir entrissen bin-- and he shudders] ...it was sublime. And I couldn't stop thinking about it, about how beautiful it was, and yet that it belonged to someone who had no disregard for anything anyone ever said of him.
He defied members of the Court at every turn, deliberately insulted them, disregarded any of the restrictions which I myself had worked so hard to stay within so that I could compose, could live--carefully guarding every piece of myself, never speaking out of turn, learning the ways that those in Court would lie to themselves and to others, their indulgences, their grievances; how they would turn on their friends, their family just to get one step ahead.
And yet, he did nothing of the sort. He made himself their enemy, yet still he managed to stand against them and compose music that was...it was like nothing I had ever heard. [c'est le bien qui fait mal and Saleri sucks in a breath] My own music started to sound discordant, false, wrong in the face of whatever this man created. And I hated him for it; for the way his music made me feel, for my own jealousy over his carefree, defiant nature while I was stuck, still playing my role for them, little more than a puppet.
So Rosenberg and I...it was not difficult. A word here and there, some dissent. I...it was wrong. I knew it was wrong; it was not the way to win this so-called contest; this somewhat-rivalry that had started between our music. And I...I tried to stop myself.
[his voice goes faint, distant] Sleepless nights, knowing what I was going to do, hearing the strains of his music, driving me to--to--I could see it, how it was all going to go, between what Rosenberg and I were doing and his own flagrant disregard for the Court and its games I...I knew it would lead to his ruin. So I thought, perhaps, if I could simply...stop myself...[a moment, a breath, and Salieri's eyes close as his hand curls into a fist underneath Benjamin's]