The second song segued directly from the first, as Guinevere entered the court from stage right, asking one and all what was occurring. That was Nimue’s cue to sing yet another aria, exulting, telling Guinevere in no uncertain terms exactly what Arthur had done the night before. The sylph exited, up stage left, still exulting.
Friedrich decided that he could really come to hate Nimue, woman or no. But his eyes now fixed on Guinevere, standing alone, betrayed and scorned.
And thus began the third song of the scene, what was called “The Betrayal of Passion Duet” in the score.
Arthur began the duet by trying to apologize, but Guinevere rounded on him. The resulting duet was tempestuous and wracking, as Guinevere castigated him—no other term could express the depth of hurt and anger and even rancor that poured from her lips. Arthur had trouble singing a single sentence against the chastisement and reproach thrown at him like storm-waves from the sea.
He finally broke through long enough to sing one declamatory line, “But I love you, I need you!”
The music paused for a brief moment when the chord sustaining the last word finally ended. Friedrich noted in the corner of his mind that Schütz’s use of these breaks was inspired, but his attention still hung on Marla, waiting to see what she would do next.
What resumed was an echo of the ominous motif from Nimue and the Morrigan’s duet. It sounded, and sounded, and sounded, until Friedrich was ready to scream “Get on with it!”
The kettle drums started a muted roll, rumbling underneath the building of a dissonant chord by the horns and the clarinets. Guinevere finally entered on yet another dissonant note, softly, sadly.
“You…
“You never loved me.”
The voice paused while the chord and the drums sustained their tones. Then it resumed, like a scalpel of ice.
“I was never more to you
“Than a prop for your throne!”
As soon as Guinevere bit off the final syllable, the strings entered, and the orchestra played a swirl of sound that cascaded upwards and ended like a shriek. There was a moment of pure silence. No one breathed, in th
e audience, the orchestra, or the stage. Then without another word, she turned and exited stage right, steps sounding loud in the silence.
Arthur stood alone in the spotlight after that excoriation. He dropped his outstretched arms; his head bowed. Slowly the spotlight narrowed, narrowed, narrowed, until it only lit his face. Then it cut to black, and the applause began.
Chapter 69
After Dr. Schlegel hauled Schardius’ corpse off, Gotthilf stared at Byron. Byron stared back at him. They both turned to look at Simon, sitting against a wall with his knees drawn up and his arm wrapped around them.
“We need to get back to the opera hall, but someone needs to get him back to your house,” Byron said.
“What time is it?” Gotthilf asked.
Byron looked at his watch by the light of the moon. “Not quite eight p.m.”
“You’re sure Honister said the performance had begun?”
“Yep. He backtracked to make sure that Schardius didn’t drop or throw anything away, and he said he could hear the orchestra from outside.”
“Well, then based on the program, the opera won’t be over for a while yet,” Gotthilf said. “I’ll run Simon home in the duty carriage, then meet you back at the opera house.”
“Right.”
Gotthilf walked over to the boy, bent down and held out his hand. “Come on, Simon, up with you. You need to tell Ursula what’s happened.”
Simon stirred, grasped the offered hand and let Gotthilf pull him up. He followed Gotthilf to where the police department carriage waited for them. Once inside, he leaned against the side. He said nothing.
“So,” Gotthilf said after a few minutes of slow progress, “does it help any knowing that Schardius is gone?”
Simon stirred. “Some,” he said.
Gotthilf didn’t push the issue. He suspected, though, that Pastor Gruber might be talking to the boy about this soon.
* * *
Amber felt Heinrich squeeze her hand again. He leaned closer.
“This shall be your triumph, tonight.”
Amber shook her head.
“No, this is your work, yours and Johann Gronow’s.”
“My dear,” Heinrich murmured as the applause and cheers continued to sound from all around them, “what we did was nothing more than preparing the canvas and mixing the paint. You have painted the masterpiece, you and your singers.”
* * *
Friedrich sat back in his chair, half-exhausted. God above, there was still one more act to go!
He looked over at Gronow, and muttered, “You are not going to give me a hint as to how this ends, are you?
Gronow grinned. “Did you give us advance warning of what you had crafted for Frau Linder two months ago? No. As Saint Matthew recorded in his gospel, ‘Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ And you, being a good Lutheran, would desire to be obedient to the Holy Writ. I am merely observing that because of your prior actions, you want to be treated in the same way. Ipso facto, and quod erat demonstrandum for good measure.”