"Our journey over the next few days will be as follows," Mendelssohn traced his finger over a crudely drawn map, "From Warsaw to Krakow, then to Vienna for a short stop. Thereafter, we’ll make our way towards Munich, Stuttgart, and finally… Paris."
Liszt pored over the route in dissatisfaction, “Felix, why not just head directly from Warsaw to Paris via Frankfurt instead of wandering all over the continent? From what I see here, your course takes too many unnecessary turns.”
"Maybe a direct passage has certain… disadvantages… Mr. Chopin, what do you think?"
Glancing over, Chopin hardly considered the former’s question as he replied, “As long as we get there eventually, and safely, I could care less.”
Liszt, with reluctance, finally agreed to Mendelssohn’s original plan, “To the station, then?”
Mendelssohn grinned, “The next train departs in an hour.”
The carriages rattled rhythmically as the three took their seats near the back of the vehicle.
As the train continued on the tracks, Chopin looked outside, wondering if he would ever set eyes upon his homeland again. Meanwhile, Liszt could not help but question Mendelssohn’s intuition that the longer route was the better route.
Many days passed by until the trio finally arrived in Vienna, and from there, they took another train headed for Stuttgart.
It was nearly evening: the sky was slowly making its transformation from a blue cloudiness to the warm colours of a red and orange sunset. It seemed strange how the more pleasant the hues turned into, the colder the weather actually became.
"It’s time," Mendelssohn suddenly announced.
"For what?" Liszt and Chopin inquired in unison.
Getting up from his seat, Mendelssohn opened the door of their cart and motioned outside, directing the latter two towards the dark hallway. Without waiting for Liszt and Chopin to follow in his footsteps, Mendelssohn crept along the narrow corridor to the nearest door.
"Felix, why are we here?" a voice from the shadows spoke.
Unable to make out whether it was Franz or Frederic who had whispered in the blackness, Mendelssohn responded nonetheless, “We need to get out of here. Now.”—