“So, Lieutenant, your sister-in-law is singing in this opera thing?” Honister asked.
“Yep.”
“Why aren’t you at the opera house watching it, then?”
“She offered tickets. Not my cup of tea,” Byron snorted. “I’m not partial to plays or musicals, and especially not opera. My tastes run to Alan Jackson and Martina McBride, and fat chance of ever hearing them again.”
Honister turned a confused expression to him. Gotthilf slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Never mind. I’ll explain later.”
* * *
The lights rose on the second scene. There was a chorus that revolved around a council to plan a battle with the invading Saxons. Arthur, Guinevere, and their captains were there, as was the bishop, who was revealed to be Merlin Ambrosius. The sound of the music was martial and stirring, with echoes of the grand march from the overture. It ended with a mass shouted “Death to the Saxons!” That got a roar of approval from one of the inhabitants of the imperial box. The emperor still remembered, it seemed, just who had betrayed him a couple of years ago.
After the applause, Merlin and Arthur moved downstage into a pool of light. The duet that followed would have been considered great, except that Amber knew what was coming next. Even so, Merlin (the tenor) and Arthur (the baritone) had a lengthy discussion about honor, sacrifice, and wisdom, and why they were all necessary characteristics of a good ruler. For all that the words sounded stuffy on paper, Amber thought to herself, Heinrich’s music made them sing. She squeezed his hand as the duet came to an end and Arthur left the stage, then settled down into her seat. She knew what was coming next, and that thought thrilled her.
* * *
Friedrich’s eyes were fixed on Merlin, who had remained at center front in a spotlight. The singer raised his eyes, and opened his mouth.
“Our Father, Who art in heaven…”
It was a beautiful melody that Schütz had crafted. But it was interrupted. Another voice was heard.
“Merlinus…”
It was a soprano, with a striking timbre and an intonation that projected cool as contrasted to the warmth of Marla’s voice earlier.
“Who’s there?” Merlin sang, looking around.
There was only silence, and he resumed his meditation, this time with the orchestra supporting him.
“Our Father, Who art in heaven…”
Again the second voice was heard:
“Merlinus…”
And again Merlin replied, “Who’s there?”
This time there was a response. A different spotlight picked up a figure that approached from stage right; tall, slender, flowing blonde hair, dressed in robes of teal and silver.
“One who brings a gift, Merlinus…”
And thus began the duet “Die Magie Der Nacht”—“The Magic of the Night.”
The sylph Nimue circled Merlin, offering him access to great magic; greater than any he had ever known; the magic of Solomon himself.
Merlin countered the temptations by continuing to sing the Pater Noster.
To Friedrich, the contrast between the texts and the contrast between the soaring melodies of the sylph and the quiet contemplative voice of the bishop almost wrenched at one’s heart. Almost, almost one could hear echoes of the temptations of Christ in the wilderness in it.
The temptations were varied, and subtle. The duet was obviously a trial to the heart of the bishop, yet he remained steadfast. It finally came to a conclusion.
Nimue sang one last time, “Will you take it?”
Friedrich rejoiced in his heart when Merlin sang, “No.” Then his heart sank, for as the sylph turned and exited the way it had come, Merlin’s head turned and followed it.
That did not bode well for the character, he thought, even as the lights blacked out for the scene change and applause erupted around him.
* * *
The body of Schardius landed on the pier with a thump. Gotthilf looked down at it in the moonlight. The open eyes staring sightlessly off into the night; water rivulets running from face and hair; soggy clothes bunched and twisted.
“Not very impressive now, is he?” Byron said, as Dr. Schlegel bent to examine the body.
“No,” Gotthilf agreed. “And for all that he was, or tried to be, in the end he is nothing more than cold clay, waiting to be put back in the earth.”
* * *
The third scene of Act One presented a series of arias and choruses that evoked the strains of battle, as the imminent battle was realized. Swords were heard clashing; horses were heard to neigh; hoof beats were heard thundering in the distance as Arthur led his knights in the final charge. Friedrich felt his pulse quickening through it all. He sat on the edge of his seat, almost visualizing in his head the ranks of the Saxon foe breaking under the charge of the British horsemen.