The Wimshurst's Machine: Music

I did always like the flamenco style called "Canto de muerte" (hope I wrote it correctly). While working on our album, we thought to set a dark, acoustic solo soundtrack piece who may literally tell a story. Every single note in this track is following the short-novel part of the booklet, every drop, every monk singing... In the musical journey that's this our new album, the song is part VII of the suite "The Alchemist", and probably the strangest, experimental and the darkest of the whole album. For the story, look for the album on CD baby (available approx since january 2005). The story will be published in the inlay card of the CD (if I can make a good translation in time) and maybe also published here in the "Lyrics" section of each of the songs of the suite.

THE ALCHEMIST
modern suite in 8 parts
1-Intro: the call of adventure
2-Philosopher's stone
3-Intermezzo: captured
4-Prisoner
5-Meditations
6-Intermezzo: the torture machine
7-Torquemada
8-The Escape (Finale)


THE TELL TALE BEHIND THE TRACK
(Italiano in coda all'inglese)
THE ALCHEMIST
original story written by Duilio Chiarle
translation by Fabrizio B. Maracich

VII)-TORQUEMADA.
The door was opened and two guards got him without ceremonies, dragging him along the corridors and into another – this time well illuminated – room.
From this place he was able to hear, even if the sound was somehow distorted and broken, some sort of song, a song coming from a chorus of monks, probably. In front of him, with a severe and unmistakable face, the Grand Inquisitor, Tomàs the Torquemada, Master Inquisitor of the Spain Territories, confessor of their majesties Ferdinando and Isabela.
Torquemada was a skinny man, with no time to waste: he has a mission and was his intention to accomplish the mission within the timeframe of his life, no matter the methods required to succeed. The light coming from different torches made him looks terrible and merciless.
The inquisitor questioned him for a long time, as usual, to find out the Faith and honesty of the prisoner. But the alchemist’s will was strong. “So” Torquemada said at the end loosing his patience and composure, “will you admit you are a servant of the devil, finally?”.
“No” was the sharp answer of the alchemist, “I only serve God, the true God, the same God who owns my soul, as well as yours. Your very same God: He is everywhere and knows everything about our souls, our secrets and we can’t use His name in vain. I call Him to testify my innocence. He will help me”. No one dared so much. For a while Torquemada had the uncomfortable feeling of having a doubt about his own good faith. This lasted only for a short instant, but he left the room without saying a word.
Only now the alchemist was able to understand where he was. Again the light was overwhelmed by the darkness and the rhythmical noise of the steps fading in the distance were covered by another familiar noise: chains scratching on the floor. At the end only the constant fall of water drops remained to determine the rhythm of his thoughts.
After a short period of time the soldiers were back. The lock was opened and the blinding light of the torches gave the alchemist pain: he was accustomed to the obscurity of his prison. He was conducted to see his destiny. Through the dark corridors he heard again the monks singing.

VII)-TORQUEMADA
La cella si spalancò e due guardie acchiapparono l’alchimista senza tanti complimenti, trascinandolo lungo i corridoi sino ad un’altra cella, ben illuminata.
Dalla nuova cella si udivano a tratti i canti dei monaci. Di fronte a lui c’era un monaco anziano dall’aspetto severo: il terribile Tomàs de Torquemada, confessore dei Sovrani Serenissimi Ferdinando ed Isabella, Primo Inquisitore Generale di Spagna, Grande Inquisitore. Torquemada era un uomo spiccio, aveva una missione da compiere e voleva ultimarla prima che il suo tempo fosse scaduto. E per portare a termine il suo compito non si faceva scrupolo di usare ogni mezzo. La particolare luce di tante torce rendeva terribile l’espressione del monaco.
L’inquisitore non era tipo da perdere tempo. Arrivò subito dopo le guardie e lo interrogò a lungo, come era sua abitudine, per sondarne la fede e l’onestà. Ma l’alchimista non vacillava. “Allora” gli intimò infine spazientito “ammetti di adorare il diavolo?”. “No” rispose secco l’alchimista “Io adoro un solo Dio, l’unico Dio, lo stesso che dispone della mia e della tua anima. Lo stesso tuo Dio: egli è in ogni luogo e tutto conosce delle nostre anime e dei nostri segreti e non se ne deve proferire il nome invano. Io lo chiamo a testimone della mia innocenza. Egli mi aiuterà”. Nessuno aveva mai avuto un simile ardire. Per un attimo, Torquemada dubitò della propria buona fede. Fu soltanto un istante ma si trovò costretto ad uscire dalla cella turbato, senza altro aggiungere.
Fu soltanto allora che l’alchimista si avvide dove si trovava. La luce delle torce lasciò il posto al buio. Il rumore dei catenacci lasciò il posto a quello dei passi che si allontanavano. Il rumore dei passi svanì e restò soltanto lo sgocciolìo a ritmare i pensieri cupi dell’alchimista. I pensieri fluirono lenti ritmati dallo sgocciolio dell’acqua calcarea che filtrava in una pozza nella cella.
Non passò molto tempo che le guardie tornarono. I catenacci si riaprirono aspri e la luce delle torce gli ferì gli occhi ormai abituati all’oscurità. Le guardie lo afferrarono e lo portarono a vedere la sorte che l’attendeva. Attraversò corridoi scuri, rischiarati a tratti dalle rare torce. Infine giunse a sentire ancora il canto dei monaci.