Mephisto Aria. Is the history of a dangerous love affair destined to be repeated?. At the height of her career, opera singer Katherina Marow is brought crashing down by her father's suicide. Among his effects, she finds his wartime journal and reads the h

Mephisto Aria

Is the history of a dangerous love affair destined to be repeated?

At the height of her career, opera singer Katherina Marow is brought crashing down by her father's suicide. Among his effects, she finds his wartime journal and reads the heart-wrenching entries of a soldier in Russia and in war-torn Berlin. She learns the crimes and secrets her father harbored, but cannot condemn him, for while she discovers his demons, she is facing her own. The stage-world she lives in draws her into a lawless ecstatic realm, and she is tempted, as he was, by forces which could destroy her. Has she too made a devil's pact? And if so, will she pay for it, as her father did, with her life?

I Overture

Berlin 1982

Katherina Marow staggered toward the parapet, at the end of her strength. She heard her own panting and the footfall of the men behind her, in close pursuit. Her knees were stiff, from kneeling by the body, and both of her palms were perspiring where she clutched handfuls of her bulky skirt. She focused on the steps, the speckled gray-green of weathered stone, and watched each foot landing, fearing above all that she might stumble. Finally, she reached the crenellated wall of the castle.

She stepped up on it, paused a fraction of a second to gather her courage, and turned her face to the light.

“Avanti à Dio! ” she cried with her last breath, and threw herself off the wall.

She landed smartly on the perfectly placed cushion and stayed on her knees until the final chords of the opera sounded. The two stagehands, who always stood by during her plunge, appeared without speaking and helped her to her feet. She thanked them with a nod, adjusted her costume, and stepped carefully around the set for her curtain call. The firing squad was just coming offstage.

Dazed, her heart still pounding from the exertion of the final scene, Katherina joined the cluster of singers waiting their turn to go before the curtain. The others glided out and returned, singly and in groups, from their applause.

Finally the tenor ventured out for his solo bow. His applause was long and enthusiastic, and she waited patiently while he savored his moment of glory. Then she strode out, passing him in the alley formed by the stagehands holding apart the overlapping curtains.

Katherina stepped out into the light and the Berlin audience erupted into ovation. Clearly, they adored their Tosca. Detached and enthralled, she gazed dreamily into the interior of the theater, absorbing the acclaim. She swept her eyes across the entire hall then glanced to her right, toward the space between the fluted columns that made up the patrons’ box.

Of the several people there, one stood out by virtue of his height. Gray-haired and debonair, he had an air of authority. Even his clapping was reserved, as if his admiration were somehow different from that of the crowd. But at that moment, she belonged to the adoring world, and she shifted her gaze toward the highest balcony, where the students sat.

Exuberant applause washed over her from the dark mass above and below her and blended with the fierce glare of the footlight so that the sound itself seemed to radiate color and warmth. Intoxicated, she closed her eyes, letting the wave of adulation envelop her; she could almost lean her head against it.

Flowers landed at her feet and she gathered up the ones she could easily reach, holding them overhead in both hands. The volume and duration of applause was greater than it had been for the others and greater than she was used to. It suggested she had just advanced a stage in her career.

After a final inhalation of the sound, she curtsied deeply and exited the stage.

In the wings, the other singers had dispersed and the general manager stood alone, his expression somber. “Can we talk in your dressing room? ” Without waiting for a reply, he took her arm.

The general manager closed the dressing room door behind him with excessive care, as if fearing to disturb anyone. Given the noise and activity everywhere else in the theater, his restraint was ominous. Katherina’s joy drained away to dread.

“Is something wrong? ”

“I am sorry, Katherina. ” He handed her a small note and waited silently, his eyes averted. She read the brief message, understanding the words but not the meaning. She forced her eyes over the senseless paragraph a second time, and as its sense gradually seeped in, her jaw trembled. “Is it true? ” she whispered, hoping for denial.

The general manager nodded. “I’m afraid it is. I can assure you, the staff will keep the utmost discretion. I knew your father. Dr. Marow was a quiet man, but suicide was the last thing I would have expected. ”

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