XIII Duetto

“Er kommt! Er Kommt! ” On the upper floor of the stage set, the maidservant sang as she ran from window to window, describing the street, the gathering crowd, the ornate carriage, and every movement of the arriving cavalier.

Below, on the main stage, Katherina gathered the crinoline of her Sophie costume and turned in circles of girlish joy.

Then the double doors flew open. Two lines of Hussars entered, with high fur hats and pale green, fur-trimmed jackets hung on one shoulder. Scimitars swung from their sides and elaborately ornamented white boots rose to their knees. They stood at attention, forming a phalanx on each side of the open doorway.

A fanfare sounded, and the rose cavalier appeared. Abruptly, the orchestra dropped away, leaving only the violins on a high, sustained tone, full of suspense.

Octavian glittered like an ice sculpture at the center-rear of the stage. His left hand rested at his waist on the bejeweled hilt of a ceremonial dagger, and his right hand, raised slightly above his head, held the silver rose. His immaculate white satin knee pants and rhinestone-studded jacket caught the various spotlights and he sparkled.

He began hesitantly, “I have the honor…most noble lady…” and stepped slowly with lowered eyes toward the waiting Sophie. Little by little he neared her. At the words “this rose” he bowed from the waist and, keeping his eyes averted, held out the silver flower.

With measured hesitation, Katherina took the rose, touched it to her nose, and sang her reply to the silver-white top of Octavian’s head. “It has a strong fragrance, like living roses. ”

“Yes, a drop of Persian rose oil is on it, ” he sang, and the lovely head rose slowly, mist-gray eyes capturing her.

For an instant, Katherina felt as if the ground had dropped away and she was suspended, held in place by Anastasia’s eyes. Sensing the rose slip through her fingers, she tightened her grip and sang, “It pulls me, as if chords were around my heart. ”

They sang together to the thrilling climax of the duet, then moved downstage for the sweet dialog in which she sang his baptismal names to him: “Octavian, Maria Ehrenreich, Bonaventura, Ferdinand, Hyacinth. ”

How delicious it was to play at falling in love with Octavian, letting her Sophie character ramble on while the glittering rose cavalier sang back, “My God, how lovely she is. ” That they were on a brightly lit stage in front of press and dress rehearsal invitees did not dilute the thrill of playing at romance.

Anastasia sang with the full conviction of a young man falling in love, looking directly at her and then away, as if caught in too great an intimacy. Then she faded back, stage left, to allow the husband-to-be to ply his troth. Hans von Stintzing played the boorish Baron Ochs with gusto, and his hands were all over her.

Then Octavian was at Katherina’s side again, and the satin-clad arms held her for their next duet as they looked into each other’s eyes. Their vocal lines interwove, tone for tone, the brief dissonances resolving into thirds, their two agile voices in tense and thrilling interplay. “Your eyes, your noble air…I know nothing more of myself, only you. Oh, stay with me, stay by my side. ” Katherina had never sung a love duet with a woman before and was unprepared for the effect it had on her.

Then the Baron returned for the duel, which Hans had finally learned. Baron Ochs was made for him and he milked every drop of humor from the scene. At exactly the right moment, Octavian administered the wounding prick and Ochs collapsed. “Mur-der! Mur-der! ” he called out, and was carried away, singing of martyrdom and the need for a nice aged Tokay.

Finally the dress rehearsal was over. Bone weary, Katherina slipped out of her costume and emerged from her dressing room looking for Anastasia. How nice it would be to walk back to the hotel together again, arm in arm, talking about intimate things.

Radu Gavril was suddenly in front of her, still full of energy, as if the day had just begun. “We need to re-block a little bit for the lighting, ” he said, urging her back onto the stage to show her the exact spot. “It will just take a moment. ”

Ten minutes later she was free again and hurried backstage.

“Oh, Miss Marow, do you have a moment? ” A slender man minced toward her.

Katherina exhaled in resignation. “Yes, Detlev? ”

“I am so sorry. I know everyone’s leaving, but the director has decided that Sophie’s wig doesn’t go with your face and he wants me to fit another one. Can you spare me just a teensy bit of time? ” His voice grew playful. “Or are you late for evening mass? ” The tips of his long fingers formed a little tent and his eyes rolled heavenward.

Her annoyance evaporated and she poked him gently on the shoulder. “Does anyone around here go to mass? ”

“Not in my circle of acquaintances. ” He turned away with a slight flourish and she fell into step behind him, following him down to his subterranean workshop.

The wigmaker’s shop was small and cluttered. On two sides, glass-covered cabinets held Perü ken of every size, from mass-produced spear-carrier wigs to flamboyant Baroque monstrosities. On a table to the right, wooden dummy heads wore the various Rosenkavalier wigs, natural-colored ones for the first and third acts, formal white for the second act.

Katherina sat down on the chair at the center of the shop and drummed her fingers on the armrest.

“Just sit still and it will be over before you know it, ” he said, tugging her hair back into a tight ponytail and tacking the tail flatly on her head with hairpins. With a single adept movement, he slid a tight nylon cap over the entire mass.

“Here is your new Sophie look, ” Detlev announced. He set the wig on her head and adjusted it back and forth until he could match it to her hairline. Though it was pure white and made her look doll-like, it was less extravagant than the previous one, and for that she was grateful. She sat patiently as he traced her hairline with a brown marker, moving only her eyes to study the wigs in her field of vision. One of them caught her attention.

“Is that the Queen of the Night? ” She gave a faint tilt of the head toward the wig that took up a whole cabinet shelf.

“Oh, yes. Don’t you just love it? ” He finished his work and fetched the wig dummy from the cabinet, setting it on the table in front of her. The wig was enormous, as if inflated, and was surrounded at its edges by glistening white curls. In among the filaments that made up the hair was a sort of metallic confetti, which caught the light and sparkled. A dozen thin wires jutted from the crown like spokes in a wheel, each with a tiny diamond at the center and on its tip. The effect was a sparkling double halo around the wig. On a dark stage, with dramatic spotlights, it must have been scintillating.

“My finest work, ” he announced, resting his open hand on one hip, then sighed. “I’ve always wished I could sing Queen of the Night, ” he confided “Can you imagine? ”

Katherina knew he was serious and didn’t laugh. “Think you could do the high notes? ”

“F above high C? Guess not. But, when you’re young, you have your little fantasies, and she was mine. ”

“Mine too, actually, ” Katherina confessed. “I saw Magic Flute about fifteen years ago. Ruth Welting sang her. This black mountain rolled in from the rear of the stage. There she was on the top, all sparkling with an enormous diadem of diamonds radiating out against the blackness. When she started singing I dissolved into a pool of longing. ”

He removed the Sophie wig and held it up like a puppet on the fingertips of one hand.

“Don’t you hate that they made her the villain? I mean, it’s…I don’t know…like a big lie. Something beautiful and natural portrayed as evil, while Sarastro, the kidnapper, for God’s sake, is Mr. Benevolent. I wanted to sing the Queen just to be able to tell him where he could stick his magic flute. ”

Katherina laughed. “Actually, I wanted to be her daughter Pamina. I couldn’t imagine anything more exciting than having her as my mother. ” She stroked one of the sparkling curls.

“I had just lost my own mother, you see. To illness. So I was…” She shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you my life story. ”

“Oh no, dear. It’s a beautiful story. ” He nodded sympathetically. “And believe me, I know all about longing. ” He pressed a fingertip on his lips, as if formulating something.

“Opera is a wonderful place to escape a cruel world, isn’t it? That’s why there are so many people like me in it. In opera everything happens—great love, horrible deaths, tragic sacrifices, terrible crimes—and the music purifies it all. ”

She smiled up at his melancholic expression. “A little like being intoxicated, isn’t it? ”

“Oh more than a little! It’s a big emotional orgy. And we do it. The singers, musicians, wigmakers, we get a thousand people drunk for the night. ”

She giggled. “You make us sound immoral. ”

Detlev pursed his lips. “Well, we are. Maybe that’s why Mozart made the Queen of the Night into the villain. On the other hand, she has the best costume and the best aria. And let’s face it, she’s the one everyone wants to hear. Who would you rather go home with after the party, a smug-face, rule-enforcing patriarch, or the Empress of the sparkly Night? ” He pirouetted, holding the wig over his own head.

“I’m guessing not the patriarch. ”

“No, the Queen! ” Detlev retrieved his wig dummy and danced gracefully toward the display shelves. “Long live the Queen. Long live the Night! ”

“Long live the night? ” a voice in the doorway said. “That sounds ominous. ”

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