The Devil's Opera(21)
Chapter 8
“Well, that was interesting,” Marla said as she walked down the steps from the Simpson house, hands busy buttoning her coat to shut out the night-time chill.
Franz looked over as he stepped down beside her. “How so?”
“Oh, not that she’s coordinating anything and everything she can to support the emperor. That’s a given. For all that she says she’s not political, Mary has been associated with power and influence for so long that if she’s not breathing the atmosphere of politics she starts getting dizzy from the thinness of the air around her.”
All their friends chuckled from where they had gathered around her and Franz. He held his elbow out to her, felt her take it, and they began walking back to their own house, friends trailing in their wake.
“And most of the ideas that she and Lady Beth put on the table are good, and reasonable. Parades—you’ll like that,” she twisted her head to look at Thomas Schwartzberg.
Thomas had finally made his way from Grantville to Magdeburg, having spent the last two years training some of the local musicians to copy up-time music from the many recordings that had come back through the Ring of Fire. Franz was delighted that his good friend had rejoined their little company.
“Parades, mmm,” Thomas rumbled. “Sounds like opportunities for marches.” He gave a huge grin as the rest of the company chuckled. The amanuensis of up-time composers had developed a definite taste for up-time style symphonic band music. The others in the group, who were all involved with the Magdeburg Symphony Orchestra, poked fun at him, which he took in good nature. “I have one in mind.”
“So what was interesting?” Franz prodded his wife.
“Oh, the plans for an opera, of course. Master Heinrich can do it…” Here Marla referred to Heinrich Schütz, the emperor’s Kappellmeister for the court in Magdeburg, and the foremost German composer of the day. “…but can he do it quickly enough to be a help?”
Laughter sounded from all the group. “Master Heinrich is not one of your neurotic up-timer musicians,” Rudolf Tuchman advised from behind them. “The man is one of the best of our day. He had to write a new cantata every week for weeks on end when the elector of Saxony was holding court. He will have Arthur Rex ready for rehearsal before you can believe it.”
“I hope so.” Marla was quiet for a few steps. “Funny, but for all that the Arthur legends are truly iconic in our literary history, even by my time there were few musical treatments of them, and none that were of the first rank. Well, except for Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, Parsifal and Lohengrin.” Franz saw the expression of distaste cross Marla’s face. It was apparent that Wagner was not her favorite composer. “But those only dealt with peripheral stories, not with the main legends. I hope Arthur Rex proves to be the exception to that rule.”
They had arrived at their house, and Franz dug in his pocket for the door key. After a moment of fumbling at the lock, he swung the door open and they all trooped in, led by Marla. There was a busy minute or so of doffing coats and finding places to store them. Their friends all found places to sit or perch around their parlor.
Franz looked up as Marla stepped over to him. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to let you guys talk about the orchestra programs without me. I’m…tired,” she murmured. And to his eyes, she did appear to be wilting.
“As you wish. I will try to keep the discussion quiet in here.” He squelched all the other things that rushed into his mind to say. It had been an eventful day; if she desired time alone, he would give it to her.
Marla kissed his cheek, then crossed through their friends, smiling and speaking to them as she did. They all watched her leave the room, then turned as one to look at Franz, uniform sober expressions on nine faces: Rudolf and his brother Josef, Thomas, Hermann Katzberg, Isaac Fremdling, Paul Georg Seiler, and Matthaüs, Marcus and Johann Amsel. Friends old and new, all close, all part of the nucleus of musicians committed to the future of music envisioned by Marla and Franz. All now looking at him with the same unspoken question on their faces.
“Yes, Marla is doing better,” Franz responded. “No, she is obviously not back to her normal from before the miscarriage. Frau Mary and Frau Lady Beth both tell me that she’s doing well, but that it might be some time before she is fully recovered.”
He withheld from them Mary’s final statement on the matter to him: “And Marla may never fully regain her joy, Franz. To lose her firstborn like that, with no warning, is devastating. It can’t help but change her. We’ll just have to hope that it doesn’t change her for the worse.” Which was now his daily prayer.