Rebecca resumed with, “Mike told me that you once said you wanted Magdeburg to glitter. Well, right now we want, or rather, we need you to make Magdeburg glitter like it never has before. We want every newspaper in the empire and all the surrounding countries to be filled with news about Magdeburg. We want Magdeburg to be so present and so prominent that Berlin seems like a country village beside it.”
Mary set her cup aside and steepled her fingers beneath her nose. After a moment, she looked up. “Unofficial propaganda, huh? By downplaying Berlin, you downplay the chancellor and his cronies.”
“Exactly!” Ed barked with a grin.
Mary frowned. “I can see that. But you realize I can’t be overtly political in this—in anything. I am the Admiral’s wife, after all.” They all heard the capital letter as she pronounced her husband’s title.
Admiral Simpson’s stand of neutrality in the chaos swirling in northern Germany was widely known. Everyone over the age of twelve had their opinions as to whether or not it was a wise or prudent position for him to have taken, but no one doubted that he meant what he said.
“Caesar’s wife,” Lady Beth inserted in support of her leader.
“Who must be without reproach, yes,” Rebecca said. “We are not asking for coordination and collusion. Simply that you do those things you would ordinarily do, but as prominently and loudly and, ah, ‘splashily’ as you can, if there is such a word.”
“There is now,” Mary replied with a smile. She sipped her coffee while she thought on everything that had been said, and much that hadn’t.
Naturally, she was tempted to ask for some funding. The arts always needed more money, and squeezing the powers-that-be for it was something Mary Simpson had done for so long—first in Pittsburgh, in another universe; now here in Magdeburg—that it was almost second nature to her.
But it would be a bad idea, in the long run. As much as she’d love to add an additional revenue stream to the Arts Council, she needed to maintain a public image of political neutrality. She could afford to let that image get strained, but not get broken outright.
No, this was something that would just have to be done for its own sake. When her cup was empty, she set it down on its saucer on the table before her and looked to her guests.
“No cooperation, no collusion, no conspiring. We will do what we think is best, and you will find out about it through normal channels.”
Rebecca looked at Ed. He nodded.
“Agreed.”
“Then I think we have an understanding,” Mary said. “Keep an eye on the papers.”
* * *
When her guests left, Mary accompanied them to the door. Just before the door closed behind them, she heard Ed Piazza exclaim, “Not political, hah!”
She was still smiling when she returned to Lady Beth in the parlor. Mary looked over at her friend and lieutenant as she refreshed their coffee. “What do you think?”
Lady Beth had a notepad open and was already reviewing notes. “Salons, concerts, recitals, parades, feast celebrations, we can do lots of things. There are at least a couple of news reporter types in town that we can probably work with for articles, maybe more.”
Mary nodded. “We need to commission some musical works from the local composers, but at least one of them needs to be based on King Arthur. The theme of the wounded king who would return to his people in their time of trouble would just absolutely resonate with most of the folks.”
Lady Beth frowned. “It might be better to use Barbarossa as the subject, since he was a German emperor and his legend has many of the same elements—especially the theme of the sleeping ruler who will someday return to save his nation.”
“It’s a possibility,” Mary said, “but… The problem is that I can’t see the legend serving well as the story for an opera. So Emperor Barbarossa is sleeping with his knights somewhere under—what mountain was it?”
“There are variations. Some say Kyffhäuser, in Thuringia; others say it’s Mount Untersberg in Bavaria.”
Mary shook her head. “How do you do an opera based on a bunch of sleeping men? And what’s probably still worse from a dramatic standpoint is that there would be no suitable female roles in such an opera. Well, I suppose…”
She made a face. Lady Beth laughed. “Yes, a bit difficult! The only woman anywhere in the Barbarossa legend is his wife Beatrice, who was insulted by the Milanese. And the emperor took his revenge by forcing the authorities of the city to eat figs coming out of the hind end of a donkey. How in the world would you stage that?—much less put it to song!”