The Devil's Opera(187)

“Never trust an editor,” Friedrich muttered with a scowl, settling back and crossing his arms.

* * *

Princess Kristina’s face split in a huge yawn. She sank down in her chair. Ulrik wasn’t sure she would last out the evening, as much as she professed to enjoy the show. Even now her eyes were drifting shut.

Ulrik looked over to Gustav. The emperor was holding his chin, and tapping his foot. He apparently caught Ulrik’s gaze out of the corner of his eye, for he turned his head and winked at the prince.

“What do you think of it?” Ulrik asked. He was a bit surprised to discover a moment later that he really wanted to know the emperor’s opinion on what they were hearing.

“A bit heathenish, perhaps,” Gustav conceded, “but compared to the tales my Finns tell around the campfires at night, this is actually somewhat mild.” He chuckled. “The music is quite good, I think. I’m rather glad I plucked Kappellmeister Schütz from your brother’s court.” That was said with a wicked grin.

“And the singing?”

“Oh, very fine, I would say. The baritone is as good as any I have ever heard, and he has the stature to play a proper king.” Gustav patted his ample midriff as if to exemplify the concept. “And the castrato—Abati, is that his name?—he is excellent. Although I still shiver at the thought of what was done to him.”

Gustav twitched his shoulders as he said that last. Ulrik nodded in complete agreement.

“And Frau Linder,” he prompted after a few seconds.

“Yes…Frau Linder,” Gustav responded. “We have heard even in Stockholm of La Cecchina, the ornament of the court in Florence. Perhaps in Frau Linder we have her equal.”

Or even her superior, Ulrik thought to himself as Gustav held his wine cup out for a refill.

* * *

Franz pushed his hair back and looked around the orchestra. There were smiles everywhere. They all knew they were doing well; the opera as a whole was going well. And despite all the murmurs about egotistical and arrogant singers, they all knew that the soloists were nothing short of superb tonight. Excitement was in the air in the orchestra so thick you could almost drink it.

The applause finally started to die down. Franz looked to the stage curtain, knowing that it would rise shortly. When the performance began he had been concerned about Marla. The things that had happened tonight would have been enough to put almost anyone in a funk. But she’d said she was mad, and apparently that gave her extra spirit, for tonight she was Guinevere, more so than she had ever been.

One more act, he thought as the lights blinked in the signal to begin. One more act.

He raised his baton.

* * *

Despite his determination to remember everything that happened in the last act, Friedrich was really only able to remember bits and pieces of it from that first performance, except for three great songs. By some odd coincidence, they all involved Marla Linder.

The first was the duet in the first scene where Guinevere sat alone under the Dragon Tree and poured out her heart to it; her anger, her pain, her dejection, her wounded pride, and finally her bereftness. That was a wonderful poignant moment, which was answered brilliantly when the voice of Merlin responded to her from the tree.

Merlin revealed what had truly happened to Arthur. Guinevere was slow to understand, but once she did grasp the events, and the parts played by all involved, she burned with wrath against Nimue.

Merlin cautioned her:





Beware the sylph’s strength!

Take warning from my fallen state.

No man may confound the creature’s might.





To which Guinevere responded:





No man, you say?

But I am not a man, nor have I ever been.

With Saint George and Saint Michael to strengthen my hand,

I will be this creature’s bane.





Merlin made no reply as the music echoed motifs from the overture march, and the drums rumbled beneath.

The second bright remembrance for Friedrich was in the second scene of the third act, where Guinevere tracked down Nimue and made good on her promise. The duet was strenuous and musically challenging, as one would expect between two sopranos of such power and skill. But the presentation was also strenuous as Guinevere appeared, in armor, sword in hand, and proceeded to lay into the sylph, who managed to produce a sword just in the nick of time to avoid being skewered by the queen’s first thrust.

Back and forth they went, declaiming lines of the duet as they did. Friedrich had to chuckle. Neither of the singers would have lasted long as bravos on the streets or as soldiers on the battlefields. But for stage fencing, it wasn’t bad, and it was certainly exciting.

As the duet began moving toward its conclusion, Nimue was obviously getting the worst of it. At that point, she sang: