The Devil's Opera(184)
Guinevere stood on a hill and sang encouragement to Arthur and to her captains.
It was loud, it was brash, it was glorious to Friedrich, especially when Arthur strode onto the stage in full armor, splashed with blood. He sang one entire aria to explain that none of it was his.
The final victory chorus was built on a full statement of the march from the overture, with trumpets sounding calls over it all and drums rumbling beneath. It ended with Arthur and his knights lifting their swords in triumph.
The curtain dropped on the end of the first act to loud sustained applause.
* * *
The emperor accepted a glass of wine from Baldur, and looked over at Ulrik. “An interesting story so far. And I begin to see what you mean about the woman’s voice. Almost I would like to hear this song she sang.”
* * *
During the entr’acte, there was a bustle backstage as certain set elements were changed out by the crew and as the leading characters changed costumes. Marla made a fast change with Sophie’s help, and headed back to the wing she would enter from in Act Two.
Marla took her spot, and stood, eyes closed. Despite the crush of the activity, everyone gave her room. No one moved so close as to even brush her with the hem of a wide sleeve. Her face was still, but her hands made small movements.
Dieter walked up to the castrato Andrea Abati, who was resettling the blond wig he wore as Nimue. He nodded in Marla’s direction. “What is she doing?”
Abati glanced at his some-time pupil, and replied, “I think she’s doing what the up-timers would call ‘getting her game face on.’ She’s flowing through all her lines and songs in her mind, gestures and all.”
Dieter gave his head a little approving shake. “She is pure diamond tonight.”
“That she is,” Abati replied as he finished adjust the wig. He turned full-face to Dieter. “How do I look?”
“Very eerie, Your Nimueship,” Dieter said with a smile.
Abati bent down a bit to let one of the dressers touch up his pale makeup. Dieter began reviewing his own songs.
They were both looking at Marla when the orchestra began the entr’acte music. Even across the width of the stage, her eyes seemed to glitter.
Abati nudged Dieter. “Tighten your sword belt, lace up your boots, and stay on your toes. I’d say she’s ready for the fray.”
* * *
The second act began with a chorus that indicated that some time had passed since the end of the first act events. Things were not totally peaceful, but farmers could work the land and craftsmen build their tools without horrific danger. That was attributed to Good King Arthur, and the people sang his praises.
After that song, the upstage lights dimmed, and the figure of Nimue was seen to glide downstage in a spotlight out of the stage left wing. Friedrich sat up straight, as he had already decided that everything in this story was going to hinge on the sylph. He knew that the part was being played by the Italian castrato, Abati, but he could see and hear nothing manly in Nimue; and that made him chill just a bit.
Nimue paused at the front of the stage and lifted her hands together, freezing for a moment as the orchestra held a dissonant chord, then opening them in a broadening gesture as the chord resolved into a motif that sounded ominous.
“Morrigan,” Nimue sang.
The orchestra paused for the barest moment, then repeated the ominous motif.
“Morrigan,” Nimue called again.
This time there was a response:
“Who calls the Morrigan?” sounded a strong contralto. Another spotlight picked up a striking figure who strode onto the stage from the stage right wing to confront Nimue. Dressed in dull red with a black cape that was flourished like wings, this figure was undeniably a woman; one with cruel lines on her face.
Friedrich hissed between his teeth. He knew that face was the product of skillful makeup, but at the distance he was removed from the characters, in the light that was there, this breathing image of the goddess of battle and discord looked like nothing less than a monster. So he could imagine Medea looking when she slew her children before Jason’s eyes.
He shivered as their duet began.
* * *
Amber watched the duet with a clinical eye. Margaret, the woman singing the Morrigan role, was perhaps the weakest singer of the major roles. Her voice was acceptable—indeed, she had an awesome lower register—but her pitch control was sometimes a bit erratic, and she had taken forever to learn her words. So if there was one song in the whole production where Amber crossed her fingers and prayed for a good outcome, it was this one.
Tonight, thankfully, it worked well. The Diabolical Duet, as Amber thought of it, soared and roared, Nimue at times leading the Morrigan, and at times the reverse being the case. The lines were all sung cleanly and clearly, and the plot of the opera advanced by means of the plot between the characters.