November 1634
" Thus saith the Lord…"
"Stop." Andrea Abati closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Dietrich Fischer was still looking at him with that same placid but confused expression he'd been wearing all evening. Andrea scrubbed his hands over his face, then took a deep breath.
"Dietrich, you are not singing a ballad to a girl you want to romance." Dietrich nodded, just as he had in every conversation they'd already had this evening. "You are the prophet of God here. You are the voice of Haggai. You need to sound like that prophet, not like some love-sick swain mooning after a bit of skirt." Dietrich's expression moved toward a frown-or at least as much of one as Andrea had ever seen on his face.
The voice master was beginning to wonder if all the world was playing a practical joke on him. Here, finally, he had found a voice that could sing part of his beloved Otello, and the man could not take direction! It was enough to send him to a monastery-well, maybe not that bad, but still…
A thought occurred to him.
"Dietrich, have you ever known a stern old priest or pastor with a big voice?"
The confused expression was back, but Dietrich nodded. "We lived in Rostock until I was fourteen. Pastor Johannes Quistorp was like that."
"Did he ever give you a fiery scolding?"
"No."
Andrea wanted to scream.
"Did you ever see him scold some like that?"
A smile dawned on the big man's face, and he nodded. "My uncle." It was apparent he remembered the event well.
"I want you to sing like that scolding, with that kind of scorn and fire. Can you do that for me?" Dietrich's eyes lit up; he nodded with fervor. "Good. Hermann, if you please."
Andrea closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall as the harpsichord sounded the introductory measure, waiting for Dietrich's entrance.
" Thus saith the Lord,
The Lord of Hosts:
Yet once a little while,
And I will shake… "
The voice master's eyes snapped open at the first note. It was rich. It was resonant. It dripped fire and sternness. It was not the least bit romantic. Andrea listened as Dietrich completed the recitative, almost spitting out the words and taking the moving lines at a run.
"… saith the Lord of Hosts. "
Dietrich's final phrase was stately, proud, and forceful enough that Andrea almost thought he was hearing one of those old prophets. Whoever that old pastor was must be a veritable Elijah, that the thought of him inspired Dietrich to this level. Andrea muttered a quick thank you prayer to God for that man.
"Good, Dietrich. That is the sound we want." Dietrich's smile was back. "Now, let us make it perfect."
Despite the cold weather outside, Marla was sweating by the time the evening's rehearsal was over. Part II of Messiah was the longest of the three parts, containing twenty-three sections to part I's twenty-one and Part III's nine.
The first half of Part II was definitely not happy music. And it didn't help that five of Part II's eleven chorus sections occurred in the first seven sections of Part II. By the end of the first two, "Behold the Lamb of God" and "Surely He Hath Borne Our Griefs", Marla's arm felt almost numb from the effort of dragging the singers along. They kept making the basic mistake of allowing the slow sad sections to droop in tempo.
Fortunately, the third and fourth chorus sections, "And With His Stripes We Are Healed" and "All We Like Sheep Have Gone Astray", were somewhat livelier. The choir did much better with those; enough so that by the end of the rehearsal Marla's mood had improved and her arm felt better. They still needed work, obviously, but a good start had been made tonight.
She dropped her hands from the final cutoff, allowing the chorus to relax.
"Okay, folks, that's it for the night. Look at your music before next rehearsal. Especially the ones we looked at tonight, the ones that seem so slow. We have to do better than we did tonight. We start practicing with the orchestra in a little over three weeks. You have to know your parts by then-all of your parts." She waved at them. "Go home."
Franz came up and set his hands to rubbing her shoulders. She started to melt.
"You are tight tonight."
Marla looked back at him. "What did you expect? You heard them. It was all I could do to keep them within eyesight of the correct tempo for 'Behold the Lamb of God,' and 'Surely He Hath Borne Our Griefs' was even worse." She sighed, and leaned back into his arms.
"Do not be so hard, Marla. They do well." She snorted-a ladylike snort, but it was definitely a snort. "'Tis true. At least you've not had to fire any of them."
"True." The thought of what Franz had had to go through with Herwin Vogler made her pause for a moment. It was true; the chorus rehearsals had not had anyone as recalcitrant as the violist that Franz had finally discharged from the orchestra not long before the big concert last July.
Marla's mood mellowed more as the last of the knots were worked out of her neck and shoulders. She turned back to her husband, who brushed sweat-soaked tendrils of hair back behind her ears. "The revolution progresses," he said.
"Yep. But meanwhile, I'm tired. Take me home."
"As you command, my dear."
God Above, she loved that man.
Marla answered the knock. She opened the door to reveal a young man carrying a bundle. His family resemblance to Patroclus Zopff was so strong that this must be the storied younger brother Telemachus. Franz stepped up behind her and set a hand on her shoulder as she said, "Yes?"
"Herr Sylwester? Frau Linder?"
"Yes?" This time from Franz.
"I have… you must… my brother…"
Marla bit her lip to keep from giggling as the young man, obviously flustered, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He squared his shoulders, opened his eyes and started again.
"My name is Telemachus Zopff. I am come from my brother Patroclus Zopff."
Marla had to suppress another giggle as Telemachus rattled that small speech off and released a small puff of breath at the end.
"Come in, then," Franz replied. They stepped out of the doorway to allow the young printer to maneuver his bundle into the house. Marla cleared a space on the table that was serving as a desk. A moment later, Telemachus was unwrapping the bundle.
The first thing the printer held up was a familiar lavender book. "Patroclus says to say that we have completed the setting of the treatise." He handed Marla the book with a flourish. "And here is the final set of proof pages." Telemachus laid his hand on the stack of paper tied with twine.
"Good!" Marla resisted the itch to immediately untie the proof stack and get to work. It would be a bit rude, after all. She smiled at Telemachus, and was rewarded by a shy smile in return.
"Will you take some ale, Herr Telemachus?" The young man nodded vigorously in response to Franz's question. While Franz stepped out of the room to fetch the ale, Marla gestured to the nearby seats, and gathered her skirts to sit. Telemachus followed suit just as Franz reappeared with two mugs of ale for themselves and one of water for Marla. She accepted it with thanks. She still hadn't developed a taste for beer or ale. She probably never would.
"So, what other word do you have from Herr Patroclus?" Marla watched as Telemachus hurriedly swallowed the mouthful of ale he had just taken in, choking a moment or two before the ale decided to descend by its proper passage.
"He also said to say that he has ordered one of the Vignelli duplicating machines." Telemachus' smile flashed again. "Speaking for myself, I am glad he has done so. I think we can make good use of its speed to do broadsheets and pamphlets. And I thank you for mentioning Frau Haygood to my brother, because she it was who convinced him that we should buy it." The smile soured somewhat. "Of course, he says nothing of my suggesting months ago that we should get one."
"Hmm." Franz cradled his mug in his hands. "A not uncommon problem. Scripture says something about a prophet not being honored by his own."
"'For a prophet is not without honor save in his own country.' Matthew chapter 13 verse 57," Telemachus responded. He grinned at their surprise. "It is a favorite verse of the Committees of Correspondence. Not that we… they… at all compare themselves to Jesus, but we… they… have a message of truth for our people that seems to be facing similar rejections."
"So you know something of the committees?" Franz asked. Marla had an idea that Telemachus knew rather more of the CoC than his brother suspected, or would approve of.
"I spend time with them," Telemachus said with a defensive air. "I hold to their beliefs, even if Father and Patroclus do not agree. I help at the Freedom Arches when I have some time of my own, which isn't often."
"Why do you support the committees, in the face of your family's disapproval?"
"Because of my family," the young man replied. "Not because I reject them, but because of our history." Marla felt her eyebrows go up, but she said nothing. After a moment, Telemachus continued.
"You know, of course-you must know-my father ensures that everyone knows-that the Zopffs were once the favored printers and publishers of the Elector of Brandenburg." Marla nodded, echoed by Franz. "But do you know why we are no longer in Berlin? Did Father or Patroclus tell you that part of the story?" Telemachus snorted. "Of course not. They never speak of that, to spare the family some form of embarrassment or shame. As if it matters now, twenty years later and across half the Germanies." A large amount of ale was drained from his mug.
Marla waited. She'd been curious for some time as to why the Zopffs were no longer in Berlin.
The story had simple bones, to hear Telemachus tell it. The Elector of Brandenburg was Lutheran prior to 1613. Conrad Zopff, being desirous of pleasing the Elector, made it plain that he and his house were Lutheran as well. He was so much a Lutheran that he would seek out books and pamphlets to print that would assail both popish beliefs and what he would label the 'misguided Calvinists'.
That changed in 1613. The Elector became a Calvinist. Unfortunately, it had not come to the Zopff family's attention that this change was in the wind. Literally two days before that change was announced, Conrad published a particularly harsh, critical and venomous anti-Calvinist pamphlet. Almost overnight the patronage melted away.
"This was before my birth," Telemachus fumed, "but I've overheard enough late night conversations between my father and Patroclus to know the family tried to keep going for two years, hoping that the passage of time would soothe feelings. But the old Elector had a long memory. They were finally forced to leave Berlin before the last of their silver melted away."
Telemachus brooded for a long moment.
"I was born in Erfurt. Countess Anna Sofie Furstin von Anhalt-Zerbst und Dessau, the wife of Count Karl Gunther von Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt, heard of our troubles and extended an invitation to my father and grandfather to settle in their lands. We stayed there until the rebuilding of Magdeburg began.
"All the time I was growing up, I heard how the Elector's rejection crushed my grandfather's spirit, how we had come down so far in the world. And even as a lad it made me angry that our lives had been almost ruined because of one man's whim about which church he wished to believe in. I despise the Hohenzollerns, root and branch." The angry glint in Telemachus' eyes was almost enough to be a fire.
"So I work with the committees at every opportunity. Someday that will be my lifework, to help change the world so that such things don't happen again."
"… Los peces en el rio
Pero mira como beben
Por ver al dios nacido
Beben y beben
Y vuelven a beber
Los peces en el rio
Por ver al dios nacer."
Marla held the last note out, listening to hear if the girls wavered in tone, but they held true. Finally she had mercy on them and cut off the note. There was a melodramatic "Uhhhh" of inhaled air from the front row. "Knock it off, girls." She didn't even look up from her music as she spoke.
There were giggles scattered around the choir. Marla's mouth curved a little as she remembered her junior high days. It still amazed her sometimes that some of the things she'd done in choir hadn't gotten her in serious trouble. Like the time she and Becky.. . well, that didn't bear thinking about.
"Okay, ladies, that was good." Eyes brightened around the room and everyone stood up straighter. The girls had learned that whenever Marla called them "ladies", she was pleased. "The French song next." That drew groans. French wasn't as easy as Spanish or Italian or Latin, and the girls always hoped Marla would overlook that song during choir rehearsal. She never did. You'd think they would have learned.
Marla looked up and raised her hands. The girls snapped to, all eyes on her. Marla hummed a pitch; the girls hummed it back to her. She gave them three small beats, and they began.
"Un flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle,
Un flambeau, courons au berceau
C'est Jesus, bonnes gens du hameau,
Le Christ est ne, Marie appelle,
Ah! ah! que la mere est belle,
Ah! ah! ah! que l'Enfant est beau!…"
Franz set his baton down carefully before looking around at the orchestra. Silence grew as he stared at them, moving from section to section, saying nothing. Bit by bit the smiles of the musicians faded away. At length he spoke.
"Gentlemen, that was almost pathetic." There was iron in his voice. No one would now meet his gaze. "We played this section, this Pastoral Symphony from Messiah, in our concert only four months ago. And we played it well. That is why I left it until now to rehearse again, thinking that you would have retained that work. But now, now we sound like… like…" Words failed him, and he looked down.
The breathing of over forty men was muted. Someone coughed, sounding like an explosion in the silence.
Franz looked up again, to find every eye now on him. "You are better than this." His voice was quiet but was heard by every ear in the room. "You know that. I know that. Do not shame the name of Master Handel like this." He closed his score.
"I will not accept your complacency. Decide tonight what you will do." Franz gathered his jacket, score and baton, then walked the length of the room to the door.
Matthaus Amsel stood and watched as Franz left. The others gathered around him. They all looked at each other as the door closed-all but Matthaus, who continued to stare at the door.
"Will… will he tell Master Heinrich?" That was his youngest brother Johan, Matthaus knew. There was muttering among the others.
"No." The lead violinist did not turn around. "He will do no such thing. He would not think of it, unless we drive him to it." Now he turned, and everyone, even his brothers, stepped back. "And that we will not do. We will not fail Master Franz."
It was the first time that any of them had called the young conductor "Master." All of them noted it; none of them objected.
"I told you," Matthaus looked around the group, "I told you what he said of Master Abati's words at the choir rehearsal, about the call to greatness. That man…" Matthaus pointed to the closed door. ". .. that man has the vision to lead us, to mold us, to make us more than we ever dreamed of being… to lead us in making the greatest music that our world, our history, has ever known. And if we will not commit to greatness, he will leave us and find those who will."
There was no sound. Everyone but Matthaus was staring at the floor, clutching instruments and bows in white-knuckled hands.
"This will not happen again." The lead violinist's voice was weighted. The others felt the words as much as heard them. "We will not do this again. Before God, gentlemen, we will never again come to a rehearsal unprepared, or unready to offer less than our very best." There were mutters of agreement. His voice grew colder. "Mark me well, gentlemen. You will answer to me if you do. This will not happen again."
The agreements were louder this time. Matthaus looked around. Everyone caught his eye and nodded.
"Good. Now, there is daylight left. Learn your parts anew."
Simon Bracegirdle stepped to his side as the others took to their chairs and began practicing with fever, fervor and focus. The two of them turned away from the seats and took a few steps towards the door.
"I do not know about them," Simon nodded back toward the others, "but you have convinced me of your intent."
"Good." Matthaus snorted.
There was a moment of silence between them, then he saw the Englishman look to him with a sideways glance. "His gaze marked you as well, then?"
"Oh, aye." Sigh. "Not simply marked, but pierced to the innermost. I almost felt the very Judas in that moment, Simon, almost as if I had betrayed him by being less than the music required. I would rather he had screamed and thrown things." Matthaus' right hand fisted into the palm of his left, again, and once more. "I will not abide that look from him again. And if that means I must belabor you and our fellows, then so be it." He smiled slightly, but the look he turned on his friend had more than a touch of steel to it.
Simon tugged on his forelock in a display of false servility. "Yes, sir, absolutely, sir, without delay, sir."
That sparked a brief laugh in the lead violinist as they turned back to pick up their own instruments and add to the general cacophony within the room.
Marla listened as the girls sang the old carol. No way around it, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" just sounded more impressive in Latin than in English-but then, it was originally a Gregorian chant, so it should. The girls were doing a good job, even the ones who a couple of months ago couldn't pitch match for anything.
Ingram had really come through for her when he'd found the two pieces of semi-circular 3 inch PVC pipe. Putting one end by the singer's ear and the other by her mouth really helped each girl to hear what she was singing and how it was different from the others. They would never be world-class singers, but at least they were able to blend in now. The girls thought it was due to some miracle of the plastic. Marla didn't disabuse them of the notion, but she knew that a length of hose or even a similar construct of wood would have done just as well.
The poor monotone, Frieda-such a pleasant child-alas, was still a monotone. Her speaking voice was a little unusual in sound, as well, so Marla wondered if she was a child who had often suffered from ear infections. She'd heard from Aunt Susan that the medical staff had already noted how prevalent some degree of hearing loss was among the down-timers because of the childhood illnesses that were suffered without antibiotics.
It was fortunate that Frieda's voice was soft and didn't carry beyond an arm's length. Stationed in the center of the choir, with strong voices surrounding her, she was not noticeable.
They finished the song and Marla cut them off with a circular motion of her hand. "Very good, ladies." She almost laughed as the girls preened a little. Such vain creatures they were, but so much fun.
"Gerde, pass out the new song." As the mimeographed sheets were being passed amidst murmurs and the rustle of pages, Marla continued. "This one's in Italian. Most of you have had enough Italian or Spanish to have a good guess at how the words should sound. We'll go through it once to get a feel for it, then we'll start working notes and words. Ready?"
The girls nodded, caught the pitch that Marla hummed to them and hummed it back. She gave them the preparatory beats, and they began.
"Tu scendi dalle stelle
O Re del Cielo
E vieni in una grotta
Al freddo al gelo
E vieni in una grotta
Al freddo al gelo…"
The Green Horse was in full form tonight, Isaac decided as the noise poured out through the doorway. He stepped around a man who was leaving, made his way to the bar and ordered ale.
"It is good to see you tonight, Herr Fremdling." The tavern owner set the mug on the bar. "I miss you and your friends playing."
Isaac looked around the crowded room, and laughed. "It does not look as if you miss us much."
"Oh, aye, I've the custom," the other man shrugged. "But I miss the music. Especially the Irish songs. Frau Marla could make a stone weep or a cripple dance."
"Aye, that she can. But, as the Grantvillers say, she and the others are up to their eyebrows in other work. I would not expect to see her much before January, my friend. But I will remind them of our promise to play here. They will come."
The tavern owner was called to another customer. Mug in hand, Isaac turned to face the room. He hadn't expected to see anyone he knew, but standing there across the room was Lucas Amsel, waving at him. Isaac waved back and made his way across the room to the table, where he found Lucas fulfilling his role as Master Schutz's attendant, companied with his three brothers and a man he did not recognize.
"Isaac," Master Schutz said in his rich and resonant voice. "Be welcome. Do you know Herr Patroclus Zopff?"
From the ink on his hands, this must be one of the family of printers. Isaac knew of their connection with Marla's projects, which explained why the man was known to the master musician.
"I have not had the pleasure, master." The next few moments were spent in introductions. Lucas and Johann Amsel squeezed together even more to make room on their bench for Isaac.
"So, young Isaac, how goes it with you this season?" Master Schutz focused his interest on Isaac.
"Well enough, sir. I participate in the orchestra rehearsals that do not involve Messiah. " Master Schutz, of course, had heard of Isaac's decision. "I play at weddings and parties and teach violin to students, one or two of which may become passable players if they exert themselves even a little."
"Ha! That is always the problem, is it not-the exertion. As others have discovered recently." Master Schutz directed a sidelong glance to the other players at the table. Isaac was surprised to see Johann blush and Marcus and even Matthaus look somewhat discomfited. He looked to them with expectation. "Go on. Tell him."
"We, ah… the orchestra grew lazy, and came to rehearsal a few days ago with most of us unready to play the selection scheduled for work."
Isaac whistled. "Oh my…" He almost choked to avoid saying the name of the Most High. "Not a good idea, my friends."
"So we discovered." Matthaus looked down at his mug. "I have not felt so flayed in years."
"But he was so quiet," Johann spoke up, himself barely audible in the noise of the common room. "He did not rant, he did not shout, he was not mean at all. Yet I felt so horrible after he left."
"There are those who can do that," Schutz chuckled. "You would not think it of him, but it is the quiet ones who will most surprise you. And it is their criticisms that hurt the most… especially when they are well-deserved."
"Truth," Isaac said. "He stands in Frau Marla's shadow so much, it is often surprising to know just what our Franz is capable of. You see her, you overlook him." Heads nodded around the table. "Yet consider this… for all that Frau Marla may be strong-willed, resolute and
… intense, shall we say… for all of that, Franz is her equal. Our friend Rudolf once said that her spine is fashioned of sword steel. I tell you that Franz is as strong, if quieter.
"They are so alike in so many ways, not least of which is their passion for the music; they will tell you the truth as they know it, no matter the cost to themselves; and what they say, they will do."
"That is comforting to hear." Patroclus waved at a passing barmaid and handed her his mug. "For I tell you that I have wagered the future of my family on what they say."
"The printing for the Leipzig book fair?" Master Schutz questioned.
"Aye, but even more than that, the tying of our business so closely to them. We turned down work to complete the music printing projects. I fear we may have lost customers. The trip to the Leipzig fair will drain most of our funds. If things do not go well, we may be forced out of business."
"Fear not. They have, if anything, understated the impact of this music and the treatise. Your fortune will be made from these, and the other things they will bring you to print."
The refilled mug appeared on the table. Patroclus lifted it, looking at Schutz over the rim as he took a long pull. He seemed to find reassurance in the lined face of the old musician.
"Truth," Isaac repeated. "Just as Grantville cannot be ignored in the areas of the mechanical arts, in politics and in philosophy, so she cannot be ignored in music. Herr Patroclus, ere long every musician of any note will know of the up-time music. There are those who will try to ignore it-they will not succeed. There are those who will try to fight it-they will be no more successful than those who ignore it. There are those who will try to take control of it-they will also fail. But those who embrace it-ah, they are the ones who will write the music of the future.
"My friend, the bell of the universe has been rung. The reverberations will resonate for generations. Everything will change, just because Grantville is here. There is no escaping that. But those of perception, who have the courage to grasp an opportunity when it presents itself, those folk will prosper."
"Well said," Master Schutz declared. "Wisdom indeed, Herr Patroclus, if you will hear it." The printer gave a slow nod, a thoughtful expression on his face.
The conversation turned to lighter things for some time. At last, both Herr Zopff and Master Schutz claimed a need to prepare for the morning. They left, Lucas trailing in the master's wake.
Isaac and the remaining Amsels called for one more round of ale, then spent some time talking about the orchestra rehearsals. Isaac was hungry to hear how things were progressing. He knew when he made the decision that not playing for Messiah would be difficult to bear. It had proven to be difficult indeed. But he would not back away from his choice to honor the faith of his fathers.
That conversation wound down at last.
"I leave you with one last thought, my friends." Isaac prepared to go. "Franz was annealed in a very hot furnace indeed, and the blows of the smith were hard. 'Twould be wise to not stand against him."
"Funny." Matthaus gave a wry grin. "He says much the same of you."
December 1634
The rehearsal was going well, Franz decided as he paused between sections for a breath. It was the first of three planned complete run-throughs of Messiah before the first performance. The orchestra had risen to his challenge and begun producing the sound they were capable of. The chorus had been practicing with the orchestra for the last two weeks. Marla had turned the directing responsibilities over to him with some show of relief, taking her place in the rear ranks of the soprano section along with Master Andrea. The resulting increase of soprano sound had served as a challenge to the other sections, with the result that the entire chorus was singing both better and, when needed, louder.
They had completed Part 1 without incident and had moved on to Part II. Franz guided the musicians through the opening sections. He was gratified that the chorus in particular had taken to heart Marla's instructions in "Behold, the Lamb of God" and "Surely He Hath Borne Our Griefs" and was keeping to the tempos he set. And the chorus had produced a stirring sound in "And With His Stripes We Are Healed."
That brought them to one of Franz's favorite sections, "All We Like Sheep." He raised his hands. It took longer than usual for everyone to settle and focus on him. The male voices in particular seemed a bit restive. Well, that was to be expected the first time through a full performance. All the previous rehearsals had been broken up by the stops called by the directors to address flaws and weaknesses. Not tonight. It was full steam ahead-whatever that Grantville expression really meant-with only the shortest of pauses between the selections. It required standing still from the singers and focus from everyone.
When the desired calm and focus arrived, Franz began. He cued the chorus entry right after the second beat. Two statements of "All we like sheep," and the parts were off on their contrapuntal chases of each other.
The performers had not progressed far into the piece when it happened. Twice the chorus had returned to the theme "All we like sheep." After the second time, the tenors and basses were supposed to sing a moving line of "have gone a-stra-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ay." What was sung was "Baa-baa-baa-baa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa."
Franz was looking to the cellos and basses at that moment, preparing to give a cutoff. It took a beat or so for the sound to register. His eyes cut to the chorus, and his baton froze in mid-air. The chorus and orchestra faltered to a halt a moment or two later.. . and everyone dissolved in laughter.
There atop the heads of every grinning tenor and bass were constructions obviously meant to be rams' horns. That on Dietrich's head was truly impressive. He had somehow contrived to craft a set of horns out of paper that did a full curl, with the tips jutting out past his mouth. His "fleece" was more noteworthy as well; where the others had used curled wood shavings or strips of cloth or paper, Dietrich had made his out of many short scraps of yarn, obviously acquired from the cloth manufactory at which he worked. The many colors produced an odd but still impressive effect. And somehow he had managed to blacken the tip of his nose with charcoal. Yes, there was no doubt that Dietrich was the alpha ram of the flock.
After the initial moment of shock, Franz's first thought was that Marla had set up another joke. He shot a glance at his wife, to find her leaning on Master Andrea. The two of them were laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their faces. Marla caught his look and, reading his expression, shook her head.
Franz looked back to the men, and as he did so noticed that his hands were still suspended in the air. Chuckling, he lowered them, set his baton down and began to clap. Within a moment, the orchestra and the sopranos and altos had followed suit.
The applause lasted for some little time. It finally dwindled and faded away, replaced with chuckles, giggles, and the flourishing of handkerchiefs all over the room as people dried their eyes and blew their noses. After a moment, Franz held up his hand for their attention.
"Well, I see that we have been visited tonight by Brillo and his gang of scruffy, rascally rams, come from Franconia." Laughter welled again, and Dietrich stuck his thumbs under his suspenders and beamed. "Well done, my friends. You have given us a moment to laugh together. I also declare that you are probably the slyest bunch of japesters I have encountered in some time, surpassing even Simon Bracegirdle." Simon adopted an expression of mingled shock and hurt after hearing his name slandered, which caused a moment of laughter in the orchestra.
"We have had our moment of fun, friends." Franz got serious again. "Now let us return to our work." He shot a mock glare at those who were doffing their ram hats. "And if I hear another 'Baa', someone shall become a wether instead of a ram."
"If it would make us sing like Master Andrea," Dietrich rumbled, "it might be worth it, Master Franz."
Andrea straightened from where he had been whispering to Marla. "Actually, boys, I believe my surgeon is still practicing. I am certain I could arrange for him to come to Magdeburg." The women laughed to hear the rapid negative expostulations from the men.
Franz rapped his baton on the music stand. "Tenors and men…" He gave a grin and lifted his hands. "Measure 19-where we left off before the sheepish interruption." He gave the downbeat and they were off again; this time with the right words.
"Are you sure you did not put them up to that?"
Marla laughed in response to Franz's question after the rehearsal. "No, love, I didn't. Although I might have, if I'd thought about it."
Franz looked to Andrea, who held up his hands. "Nor did I. I wish I had. The expression on your face was beyond all price." The three of them shared another quiet laugh.
A thought occurred to Franz. "Master Andrea, if my comment concerning wethers and rams offended you in any way, please accept my apologies."
"None needed, my friend." Andrea waved a hand as if to brush something away. "What you said was nothing compared to the quips and gibes we of the gentilhuomi make among ourselves." He chuckled for a moment, then grew serious again. "No, I, ah, 'came to grips' with what had been done to me years ago. And though there are times when I still wonder what I would otherwise have been, on the whole I am content, even in the midst of this barbaric wasteland."
Andrea smiled to take the sting from the last comment, then continued. "No, the only deprivation I really felt was the lack of a successor. My brothers carried on the family name, but I had no one to follow me… until I came to Magdeburg. Now, in Marla, Dietrich and others, I have my legacy. I am content."
Thursday, December 21, 1634
The Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle
Marla looked at her clothes laid out on the bed. She had decided several weeks ago that she wouldn't dress in one of her performance gowns for this concert. This was the girls' night, not hers, so she had selected clothes that were good but not ornate, in order that most of the attention would be focused on them.
She smiled as she thought of working with Frau Schneider the seamstress to create clothes she could wear for teaching. She didn't want more of the Empire gowns. They would have cost too much. Fortunately, the good frau had been working on new designs of divided skirts, one of which was very close to what Marla had been looking for. In a few days, she had taken ownership of several ankle length skirts that, while not as full as a down-time dress, did have something of a flow to them while she moved. They weren't jeans, but they did qualify as pants… sort of.
Most of the skirts were of durable, serviceable material… things that would wear well and hold up under the stress of a school teacher's work day. The day she ordered them, however, Frau Schneider had a piece of velvet that was the shade of claret, or maybe merlot. .. a dark wine, anyway. Marla hadn't been able to resist ordering one skirt in that fabric, and now it lay on the bed.
Marla reached out a hand to stroke the blouse that lay beside it. Alison, her mother, was a good two and one-half inches shorter than her daughter, and had generally worn her skirts above the knee, so after the Ring fell there was nothing in her closet in the line of dresses, pants or skirts that would fit Marla. Above the waist, however, they were very close in size, and Marla had drawn several shirts, blouses and sweaters from that closet when she moved to Magdeburg. The best of them lay on the bed with the long skirt.
It was a white silk blouse, with long sleeves and a tall collar. Marla's vision blurred as she remembered how much her mother had loved wearing it. Slow tears rolled down her cheeks as she recalled the memories of the last time she had seen her mother in it, laughing, on the way to a Christmas party with her father. Three and a half years later, it still hurt to think that she'd never see them or her brother again.
"Stupid," she muttered, wiping her face with sharp movements. "She'd want you to wear it."
A few minutes later, just as she was ready to put the finishing touches on her ensemble, Franz entered the room. "Marla, it is almost time to…" He stopped dead in his tracks. After a moment, he smiled. "I thought you said you were 'dressing down.'"
"I am." She twirled in place.
"My dear, you will capture the eye of everyone in the room; the men with admiration, the women with jealousy."
"Piffle. Help me with this, please." She handed him the ribbon that matched the hue of her skirt. Mounted on it was the only piece of jewelry she had from her mother.
Alison Linder hadn't possessed much real jewelry, and most of what she did have was on her person the day the Ring fell and she was left up-time. But she had left behind in her jewelry box a Victorian-era cameo that had belonged to Alison's great-grandmother Dorcas, the one she had always said was half Black Irish and half Cherokee. It was ivory, somewhat yellowed with age, but Marla had mounted it on the new ribbon, wanting to wear it for the sense of connection it gave her. Between the blouse and the cameo, she felt as if somehow these women would know what she was doing, what she had become.
Franz stepped behind Marla, looped the ribbon over her head and drew the ends together, fastening the hook and eye. Marla turned to face him. He shook his head.
"Hopeless."
"What?" Marla looked at him with a bit of suspicion.
"No one will look at the girls."
Marla slapped his arm. "Stop it." She looked at her watch. "Yikes! We've got to go!"
"That's what I was saying." Franz followed her out of the room.
Where has the year gone? Lady Beth wondered. It seemed like only last week that she had moved to Magdeburg in the spring to assume the administration of the Duchess Elisabeth Sofie Secondary School for Girls, yet here it was only a few days before Christmas. She settled back in her chair next to Casey Stevenson at the rear of the pack of patrons, families and teachers, waiting for the first annual DESSSFG Christmas Choir Concert to begin.
Casey, who had been looking around, now leaned over toward her boss. "Quite a crowd we've got here. More than just parents."
"Yep. As soon as word started getting around about this concert, I had patrons and parents and prospective parents sending notes and requesting seats. It looked for a while like I was going to have to ask Marla to schedule two performances, but at the end we didn't need to." She looked around the very full great room of the townhouse that was the temporary location of the school while their permanent buildings were under construction. The Zopffs were to her right; the Drechsler family was ahead and to her left. "But it was close. We might could squeeze two or three more people in here-but maybe not."
At that moment the side door opened and the girls-sorry, the young ladies-walked in and arranged themselves on the three rows of the risers that Marla had commissioned. Lady Beth smiled a little as she remembered Marla's adventures in getting the risers built. First there was the problem with the design: she wanted them to be fold up for portable use. It took some work with a carpenter to achieve that. Then she wanted them carpeted on top to muffle footsteps-until she saw the cost of the cheapest carpet available. After that, a good dark stain was fine. Lady Beth still wasn't sure where they were going to store the risers after the concert, but she knew there had to be the odd nook or cranny around a house like this.
A disturbance sounded behind them, and both Lady Beth and Casey looked over their shoulders. Lord Above, it was Mary Simpson and Princess Kristina coming in the door! Lady Beth stood and moved to greet them, asking herself what they were doing here. A moment's thought told her the answer was pretty obvious. From the footsteps behind her, she knew that Casey was following.
"I'm sorry," Mary whispered after Lady Beth made her quick curtsey to the princess. "Princess Kristina just heard about the concert a little while ago." Mary gave a small shrug.
The young princess stared up at Lady Beth. "Frau Haygood, I would really like to hear this concert." Her face had a composure that seemed beyond her years.
Lady Beth thought for a moment, "Princess, you can have my seat, and two of my teachers will give theirs up for Mrs. Simpson and Lady Ulrike." She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to Casey, who read the message and swiftly moved back to their row to get Staci Matowski out of her seat as well.
"My thanks to you," the royal daughter replied. Mary Simpson mouthed "Thank you" over the head of the princess.
Lady Beth became aware of rustling and murmuring behind her. She turned to lead the princess and her companions to their seats and was faced with the sight of the entire audience standing. That took her aback for a moment, until it dawned on her that the princess was a member of the royal family and this was a formal occasion. No one would be seated while she was standing.
Casey hurried back to Lady Beth's side. "We can't put them in our seats in the back row," she whispered. "We moved three chairs down front and made the front row that much wider. They have seats in the middle, right next to Duchess Sofie and her parents."
"There was room?" Lady Beth hissed.
"Barely."
Lady Beth straightened and turned to the princess. "If you'll come this way, Your Highness." She led the way to the front of the audience, then gestured to the empty seats. Princess Kristina seated herself on the center chair, wiggling a little to set her back against the back of the chair. She looked around with aplomb, feet not quite touching the floor. There was another rustle of movement as the audience resumed their seats.
Mary Simpson stepped to Lady Beth's side as Lady Ulrike sat to the princess' right. "I owe you one," Mary murmured.
"Too right you do." They exchanged small smiles as Lady Beth passed some programs over, then Mary took her seat as Lady Beth returned to the rear of the room and joined Casey and Staci standing against the rear wall.
"I thought you said there were two or three seats left open," Casey muttered.
"I guess I was wrong." Lady Beth straightened up as the side door opened again and Marla stepped through. "Oops. Here we go."
Marla closed the door almost all the way after her girls walked out, leaving it open just a crack to peer through. She waited for them to arrange themselves on the risers, waiting for her moment to walk out. Just as she was about to do so, three people came in the back of the room. A moment later, Lady Beth and Casey were up and talking to them. Marla's jaw dropped as she recognized who the late visitors were. She spun from the doorway.
"Franz!" Marla hissed. "It's Mary and Princess Kristina! What are they doing here?"
Franz stepped over and applied an eye to the crack. "Well, at a guess, it appears the princess has come to hear the concert, bringing Frau Mary with her as a companion."
Marla backed up, wiping her hands on the jacket she was wearing. "Nobody told me they were coming."
"Mm-hmm." Franz was still looking through the crack. "From the looks of it, no one told Frau Lady Beth either. Some of the teachers are moving chairs down to the front row."
"That's not fair," Marla muttered.
Franz turned and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You have performed before her before."
"But that was different."
"In what way? You sang, and played your instruments. Remember how Maestro Giacomo described conductors-we are those who play the musicians. There is no difference between using your hands to evoke music from the piano and using them to evoke music from those girls. Now go," he slipped the jacket from her shoulders, "go and make music."
Marla took a deep breath. Franz was right-there was no difference. It didn't matter who was in the audience; she was ready, the girls were ready, it was time to sing. She turned and gave him a kiss. He touched her nose afterwards and she wiggled it in reply, bringing forth the smile it always did. Bowing, Franz opened the door. She squared her shoulders, and stepped forth.
Lady Beth watched as Marla strode out to stand in front of the risers. In the soft light of the great room, wearing the deep red skirt and gleaming white blouse with long black hair falling past her shoulders, the young woman looked very stately as she took a bow in acknowledgment of the applause.
"She looks just like she knows what she's doing," Lady Beth murmured. She didn't realize she'd said anything out loud until Casey leaned over to her.
"She does," Casey whispered. "Mom was one of her first teachers, so I've kind of kept up with what she's been doing over the years. She's very good."
"Yeah, but being good yourself doesn't mean you can teach it. How many mechanics or flat-picking guitarists have you seen that know how to do the work but couldn't put it in words to save themselves?"
"Ssh. She does. Watch."
Marla turned to face her girls. Everyone was in their best dress, faces were scrubbed clean, and most of them were smiling. A few looked nervous, but most were smiling. She looked at them all, gathering their eyes with her own. When they were all focused on her, she touched her chin with her index finger, the signal that she was ready to begin. Smiles disappeared as the girls seemed to lean forward a little, watching her intently. Marla hummed a pitch; they hummed it back. She raised her hands, gave the subtle movements of the right hand that gave them the beat, and began.
"Veni, Veni Emmanuel!
Captivum solve Israel!
Qui gemit in exsilio,
Privatus Dei Filio.
Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te, Israel."
"She's not using music," Lady Beth hissed.
"I told you," Casey whispered back, "she's good."
"Veni, Veni O Oriens!
Solare nos adveniens,
Noctis depelle nebulas,
Dirasque noctis tenebras.
Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te, Israel.
Veni, Veni, Rex gentium,
Veni, Redemptor omnium,
Ut salvas tuos famulos
Peccati sibi conscios.
Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te, Israel."
Lady Beth joined in the applause. She didn't understand the Latin very well, but she had heard the English words in her mind, and 'O Come, O Come, Emmanuel' was one of her favorites. What the girls had sung was absolutely beautiful-a unison sound, so pure it was almost perfect, quiet enough that it seemed hushed, loud enough that everyone in the great room could hear it. Chills ran up her spine and the hair on her neck tingled.
She leaned back over to Casey. "Okay, she knows what she's doing.
The rest of the concert held true to the spirit and sound of that first selection. And what impressed Lady Beth was all were sung without accompaniment, yet the young voices were true.
'Adeste Fideles' -also in Latin, of course. 'O Come, All Ye Faithful,' to Lady Beth.
'Joy to the World' in English.
'Un flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle' in French. Lady Beth kept singing 'Bring a torch, Jeannette, Isabelle,' under her breath until Casey poked an elbow into her ribs.
'Greensleeves' in English.
'Los Peces in el Rio' in Spanish. Lady Beth didn't recognize it.
'Coventry Carol' in English. She sort of knew this one.
'In Dulci Jubilo' in Latin and German. Lady Beth knew it as 'Good Christian Men, Rejoice.'
'Tu scendi dalle stelle' in Italian. Another one Lady Beth didn't recognize, but very pretty nonetheless.
Marla had made short little introductions to each of the subsequent pieces of the concert, repeating some of the information in the printed programs. True to form, she turned and spoke to the audience again. Lady Beth admired how polished her German had become.
"For the last song on the program, we will sing a song written in the up-time by a German pastor, Johann Gruber. Those of you who heard my recital last year heard this song then. I trust you will enjoy it."
Marla turned back to the girls. A moment later, her hands were in the air, and they began.
"Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schlaft, einsam wacht
Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar,
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'!
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Hirten erst kund gemacht
Durch der Engel Halleluja
Tont es laut von fern und nah:
'Christ, der Retter, ist da!'
'Christ, der Retter, ist da!'
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht
Lieb' aus deinem gottlichen Mund,
Da uns schlagt die rettende Stund'.
Christ, in Deiner Geburt!
Christ, in Deiner Geburt!"
Lady Beth had a good vantage point from where she stood in the back of the room. She watched as Marla's expressive hands shaped the music coming from the fifty-plus girls on the risers. She listened to the purity of the voices, to the sound of love expressed, and was brought to the point of tears. It wasn't a bravura performance of what was to her a beloved old carol, but it was one of the most beautiful she had ever heard.
There was a hush after the song ended. It stretched for a moment, until Marla dropped her hands and stepped to one side. Then the applause erupted. Marla waved to the girls, and they took a bow as the applause continued. Finally, as the applause began to wane, Marla held up a hand and stepped to the center again.
"Thank you. On behalf of the girls, thank you for your support." She looked back over her shoulder at the girls, then looked back with a mischievous grin on her face as the girls started to giggle.
"Uh oh." Lady Beth wasn't sure what was coming next, but she was certain that it was going to be something unexpected.
"As it happens, we have one last song to sing tonight, even though it's not in the program. It's a fun song, so we hope you enjoy it as well."
Lady Beth sagged back against the wall with visions of the girls singing 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus', or something equally inane. She watched as Marla raised her hands again and launched the girls into song.
The melody was very familiar. She recognized it in the first measure of the song. But the words-they weren't what she expected. It wasn't until the first phrase was completed that Lady Beth realized what she was hearing. She clapped both hands over her mouth to keep herself from laughing out loud until she could gain control of herself. Once she thought she could trust her voice, she dropped her hands and leaned over to Casey, who had a hand up to cover her face as her shoulders shook.
"Tell me…" Lady Beth had to stop and force down a giggle that was trying to climb out of her throat. "Please tell me that isn't 'Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer' in Latin."
"I can't…" Casey whispered back, "… because it is."
"Where… how…"
"Marla showed me the music. An up-time church music director named Philip Brunelle did it. I don't know where she found it."
"You knew about this?" Implied was, "and you didn't tell me?"
"Mm-hmm. She wanted it to be a surprise."
Lady Beth forced more giggles down. "Oh, it is that."
The song finished a moment later, amidst the chuckles and guffaws and clapping of the parents and patrons. As she joined the laughter and applause, Lady Beth decided that not only was the concert a success, but so was Marla.
Monday, January 1, 1635
The Feast of the Solemnity of Mary
Master Giacomo Carissimi looked around the great room. In front of him he could see Admiral Simpson and Mary, returned from her adventures. He could see a few other naval uniforms in the room. With Mary and the admiral were Jere and Lady Beth Haygood, Mary's voice and hand for the arts programs in Magdeburg. The two women were looking at the program and chattering away. Giacomo smiled when he noticed that both husbands looked to be a bit bored.
Giacomo's friend Girolamo Zenti sat to one side. To the other was Master Heinrich Schutz with Amber Higham on his arm and accompanied by his assistant Lucas Amsel.
He was ready for the Royal and Imperial Opera Hall to be completed. This time next year the concerts would perhaps be held in a proper hall, not just in the biggest room that could be found.
Conversations washed around him as he thought about that: about the stage where operas -including his own Brutus, completed earlier in the year-and ballets and concerts would be staged, about the organ to be built, about the oh so many details that had to be worked out with Kelly Construction and then monitored. A lot to do… but when it was done, what a pleasure it would be!
"Master Giacomo!" Girolamo's voice was quite loud.
He was startled. "Yes?"
Everyone laughed.
"See?" Girolamo said. "He was off in paradise, thinking about something undoubtedly to do with music. What was it this time, master, the treatises to be published?"
"No," Giacomo replied. "If you must know, I was thinking about the new opera hall." His expression was sober, but when everyone laughed he laughed with them.
At that moment, as if by signal, people all over the room began standing. Within a moment, everyone was standing, including Giacomo and his friends. He watched as the royal family, King Gustav and Princess Kristina, proceeded to the royal seating area, followed by the Stearns family and Don Francisco Nasi. Once the king was seated, everyone sat.
Giacomo leaned forward a little with anticipation.
Franz stepped through the door of the great room and strode to the podium. He already knew the room was filled to the bursting point. Marla had already told him that up-time fire-marshals (whatever they were) would have prevented the performance on the grounds of too many people in the building. There were more people here than for the July concert, more glittering dress, more jewels, more… everything. Some of that was due to Mary Simpson being present in Magdeburg again, spurring her arts league cohorts to achieve her goals. But even more of it was due to the two people present in the royal seats tonight. He came to a stop beside the podium, laid his hand on the music stand and made two bows: one directly to the presence of Princess Kristina and her father, Gustav Adolph II, King of Sweden and Emperor of the United States of Europe; the other to the audience in general.
Marla was so excited she was almost vibrating where she stood next to Master Andrea in the front row of the soprano section. This was it! Tonight! The first performance of Messiah in this universe, this history, this Europe, the first of several performances this week. She was sure that the audience of nobility and influential burghers would accept it. But to her, because of the work of the Zopffs, this was the first step in bringing all of the up-time music to Europe. Tonight!
Master Andrea leaned toward her ever so slightly, and whispered from the side of his mouth, "Stop bouncing!"
Franz stepped onto the podium and drew his baton from his sleeve. Holding it in both hands, he looked around the performers gathered before him; the orchestra on the floor, and the choir of fifty voices on the risers behind the instruments. His gaze ended on his wife, almost luminescent in her blue gown, and he touched a fingertip to his lips for her. Her smile broadened as he thought he saw her nose wiggle in reply.
He looked down at the baton held before him in both hands and took a deep breath. When he raised his head again, he found all eyes on him, waiting expectantly. With deliberation he raised his hands. Instruments were lifted to the ready positions. Vocalists focused on him even more intently.
With a slight lift of the baton, he led them into the wonder of Messiah.
Master Heinrich Schutz closed his eyes and let his chin rest on his chest. His statement at the beginning of the Messiah adventure that he had expected to learn from Master Handel had been nothing but the truth. He had studied the music until he almost had the full score-he had copy number two-memorized. He had been present in as many of the rehearsals as he could manage, including two of the full dress rehearsals. But tonight, tonight was when he would put the capstone on his learning, here in the audience as it was performed for the first time. Here where he would feel the feelings of the audience.
Schutz had learned much of the man Johann Sebastian Bach, had read and heard much of his music. There was no question in his mind that of the two, Bach and Handel, Bach was the superior musician. His music was often exquisite, often powerful, and always so very well done. As a contrapuntalist, in particular, Handel could not be compared to Bach. Yet Schutz in many ways preferred Handel's music-there was a quality to it, a… a joy in most of it that was often lacking in Bach's. And so, tonight, he was to hear the masterwork of Georg Friederich Handel.
The opening chorale section of the opening section, the Sinfonia, sounded, forte and deliberate. It was indeed a stately piece, and Schutz soaked it in. It repeated in a piano dynamic, almost as if there was a quiet echo in the room, concluding in a sustained chord.
He opened his eyes to watch as Franz gave the cut-off for the chord, then literally in the next moment gave the attack to begin the fugal section of the Sinfonia. The violins carried the opening line alone, until four quick measures later Franz cued the second violins to their entrance, followed four measures later by the violas, cellos and basses. There had been several discussions, Heinrich remembered, as to what tempo this section should be played at-the slower tempo that was the score's direction, or the faster tempo that was more traditionally used. He was glad to hear that Franz had settled on the latter.
Eyes closed again, Schutz listened as the string parts chased each other through the fugal section, now forte, now mezzo-forte, now forte again, until they reached the concluding chords.
There was something in the air tonight, Marla decided; something that conducted excitement. The choir had reached that fine point where every person was so focused, so poised, so ready for what was coming that the air almost sizzled. Her brother would have said they had their game on.
The tenor soloist stepped forward. Archard Daecher looked like a walking skeleton, but the young man had a voice that in its own way was nearly the equal of Dietrich Fisher's. Marla could see heads nodding in the audience as he sang the opening words of the arioso "Comfort Ye, My People."
"The voice of him
That crieth in the wilderness,
'Prepare ye the way of the Lord.
Make straight in the desert
A highway for our God.'"
Master Giacomo Carissimi sighed as the tenor arioso ended with that declamation. Such a strong voice. Such precision in the singing. His friends Master Andrea and Frau Marla had done well indeed in preparing the singers if they were all up to this plane of musical offerings.
Mary Simpson smiled as the tenor launched into the air "Every Valley Shall Be Exalted." Oh, how she had missed this music. It had been part of the annual cycle of great music that had once been part of her life as the Dame of the Three Rivers. Every Christmas and Easter, all or part of Messiah was being performed somewhere in town, and she almost always managed to attend at least one performance. She hadn't realized how much she had missed it until she made it back to Magdeburg after her adventures and discovered that her arts league had marched on without her. Did they ever! First the July orchestra concert, and now this staging of the greatest of oratorios, which did a lot to fill a void in her heart.
She was glad that Marla wasn't so traditional that she staged the work in the original voicing and instrumentation. Mary had never been fond of the massive performances that had been so common at one time-three hundred voice choirs, and the like-but she did like something larger than the sixteen singers and twenty instrumentalists that were what Handel-no, Handel, must get that right-had used in the original performances. The fuller sound was appropriate.
Mary shook her head. Enough thinking, woman. Listen to the music. She abandoned herself to the sound of the finest of the tenor selections of the work, letting the sheer beauty of it drive every thought from her mind.
The evening progressed. The opening chorus "And the Glory of the Lord" was received well by the audience-as it should have been, Master Giacomo decided. The voices were so together as to sound as if they were produced by one throat. Hearing the music like this had so much more impact and beauty even than the recordings that he had heard in Grantville. No matter how beautiful the sound of the recording, it was not the same.
This was the future! This was what he was working for, why he had accepted the challenge from the royal family of establishing the Royal Academy of Music-to bring this music to the world.
Dietrich Fischer stepped back into the ranks of the men. His basso had been appropriately profundo on "Thus Saith the Lord, the Lord of Hosts" and "But Who May Abide the Day of His Coming." His huge voice had almost made the audience's curls wave, Franz thought to himself. No wonder Master Andrea had worked so much with him.
The chorus "And He Shall Purify the Sons of Levi" went well, with the appropriate parts light and dancing as Marla had drilled into the singers. He smiled a little as he led them, having a brief flash of the rehearsal where she had compared the singers to heavy-footed dancers.
Wilmod Eichelberger, the twelve year-old boy who had earned the contralto solos-much to everyone else's surprise-stepped forward to sing "O Thou That Tellest Good Tidings to Zion". Some of the women in the alto section had resented that choice at first, but by now all were behind him. Franz suppressed a wince when he recalled what Andrea Abati had said about the boy: "If young Wilmod had been born in Italy, he would have been a gentilhuomo of some note." That was high praise from the sometimes acerbic Italian; high praise, indeed. But it still hurt to think about.
Franz caught Wilmod's glance, raised his baton, and cued the orchestra for the beginning of the recitative and solo.
"… the Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace."
Marla took a deep breath as the choir released the last note and the orchestra finished the conclusion to "For Unto Us a Child Is Born." So far everything had gone well. Next up was the "Pifa", or "Pastoral Symphony." After the opening "Sinfonia", it was the only purely orchestral selection in the work. Its placement in the work was fortunate, coming as it did after the longest choral section. It gave all the singers a chance to catch their breaths, especially she and Andrea, who would be singing solos after the "Pifa" was done.
The orchestra was doing a superb job on this, she noted with a slight smile. But then, if there was any one section that they should play perfectly, it should be this one. When Franz had told her of what happened on the day when the players had tried to slough their way through the "Pifa", she hadn't known how to react. Did she go strangle some players, did she remonstrate with Franz for being so harsh with them, or did she chew her nails about something like that coming up so late in the rehearsal process? In the end, she had settled on feeling very proud of how Franz had handled the whole thing. It showed a mature grace that she wasn't sure she could have measured up to.
Oops, that was the end of the "Pifa." Time to sing again.
Mary almost licked her lips in anticipation as the performance progressed. There was a cluster of soprano recitatives and ariosos after the "Pifa." Andrea stepped forward to sing them. The last of the soprano ariosos led directly into the chorus "Glory to God in the Highest," one of the brightest of the choruses that was just full of energy. With a bit of a musical joke, the chorus stopped several measures before the end, and the orchestra parts dwindled to just a few short chords played pianissimo.
Andrea and Marla exchanged places. The orchestra played the introductory measures and Marla began "Rejoice Greatly, O Daughter of Zion", one of the two greatest soprano airs of the work. She had done it during her recital last year, but as Mary just bathed in the music, it seemed as if this performance was even more… she searched for a word… brilliant, perhaps, like a jewel that had been cut and polished to its finest potential. There was no doubt in Mary's mind now that Marla would be a force in the music of Europe for years to come.
This performance was undoubtedly bravura, and when it came to an end Mary clapped along with the others.
And so the evening went. Master Carissimi was almost enthralled as the various choruses, airs, recitatives and ariosos followed one another through the course of the performance. He drank it all in, rising with the music until he felt as if he were floating. After an intermission of a few minutes, they moved steadily through Part II, of which he thought the high point was the very fine performance of the air "Why Do the Nations so Furiously Rage" by the young bass Dietrich Fischer. He found the nature of that particular text more than a bit ironic given the times, which drew a bit of a smile from him. Still, it was now very apparent why Andrea truly wanted to take this man under his wing.
Marla took a deep breath as Archard finished the air "Thou Shalt Break Them With a Rod of Iron". She had organized this performance of Messiah along traditional lines, omitting the handful of sections or portions of sections that were not usually performed even during 'full' performances of the work and keeping to the traditional order and sequence of the sections. However, she had made one significant change: she had moved the "Hallelujah" chorus from the end of part II-directly after the solo that Archard was even now completing-to the end of the entire work. She had her reasons, which were based on something she had told no one. She suspected that Mary Simpson might guess.
There would be another short intermission, then it would be time for her to step forward again to open Part III.
Master Carissimi closed his eyes as Marla began to sing.
"I know that my Redeemer liveth,
And that He shall stand at the latter day
Upon the earth."
The purity of her tone always amazed him, just as the timbre of her voice always enraptured him. If ever there was a golden voice, if ever God had so blessed someone, it was this voice, this young woman. La fiamme sacre -the sacred flame, that was all he could call it. The touch of God on her.
"… and He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth, upon the earth:"
Here was no showpiece. Marla sang with some intensity, true, but it was a quiet intensity. There was a slight smile on her face, Giacomo noted, but her voice floated effortlessly. It was almost as if music was simply arriving in the air by Divine providence.
"And though worms destroy this body,
Yet in my flesh shall I see God,
Yet in my flesh shall I see God."
Ah, Giacomo thought to himself. He understood something now, tonight, which he had not observed before. Here and now, Marla was singing not just words, not just a song, but her belief as well. How beautiful, to hear someone-even though a Protestant-sing in such a way that everyone who heard knew without a doubt that she believed what she was singing.
"For now is Christ risen,
For now is Christ risen from the dead,
The first-fruits of them,
Of them that sleep."
The air came to an end, Marla's voice finally concluding as it floated over the strings. They carried on for a few more measures to finish in a quiet chord. Marla stepped back into her place, the audience quiet in its place, subdued by the quiet piety they had just experienced. Giacomo opened his eyes again with a beatific smile. La fiamme sacre indeed.
Mary listened as the performance approached its conclusion after Marla's exquisite performance of "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth." Section followed section. That amazing young bass hammered "The Trumpet Shall Sound." Moments later, the boy alto-where did Andrea Abati find these people?-teamed with the tenor to sing "O Death, Where is Thy Sting?". That in turn led directly into the chorus "But Thanks Be to God", another of those joyful choruses which Handel was so adept at crafting.
Speaking of Andrea, he sang the final soprano air, "If God Be for Us," and did superbly-of course.
Chorus followed chorus followed chorus, until they at last arrived at the final section of the work: the "Hallelujah" chorus.
Mary gripped her hands together as the orchestra began. The custom she had known from up-time was not valid here in Magdeburg, but she though she knew what was in Marla's mind. Only moments were left to see if her thinking was good.
"Hallelujah! Hallelujah!…"
The end was in sight for Marla. It had been a long evening; almost three hours since they began, at least two and one-half hours of performing. Fortunately, none of them had been singing that entire time, but it was still hard work. Now if only…
"For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth…"
It might be just the setting, Mary thought, but this was one of the most stirring performances of Messiah she had ever seen. The chorus was incredibly powerful for no larger than it was. There was no perhaps to it, she was being touched by tonight's work as much as she had ever been.
Despite water in her eyes, she was watching an area in the seating that Marla kept glancing at.
"The kingdom of this world is become,
The Kingdom of our Lord,
And of His Christ…"
Master Schutz was sitting straight now, eyes open, listening to the great work as if it was a word from God… which, in one form or another, it was. His original expression of determination had changed over the course of the evening, moving through pleasure and joy to one that verged on awe. The up-time books had called him the Father of German music, so in a way what he was hearing, what was pouring through his body, was a child of his work, crafted somehow 120 years in his future, and brought to him by Grantville from a time over twice that again. His eyes filled with tears.
"And He shall reign forever and ever…"
Marla had made sure that her position in the chorus allowed her to watch a portion of the seating without losing sight of Franz. The song was almost half over, and nothing.
The tenors came in with their heroic entry in this section, followed by the altos, who were in turn followed by the sopranos.
"King of Kings, and Lord of Lords,
King of Kings, and Lord of Lords…"
The sopranos were beginning what Marla had always thought of as climbing the ladder, repeating the King of Kings line over and over, raising the pitch a step every time, unison with the high trumpet.
The movement, when it happened, was so slight she almost missed it. It took a moment to dawn on her that Princess Kristina was standing. Standing!
The sopranos continued to climb.
"King of Kings, and Lord of Lords,
King of Kings, and Lord of Lords…"
Higher they climbed, sounding with the trumpets and supported by the lower voices.
"… and Lord of Lords…"
Finally, on the last rung of the climb, it happened.
Mary gasped when she saw Gustavus Adolphus stand to his feet. It had happened! She shot to her feet, followed a moment later by the rest of the audience. Mary was smiling at what had just happened. A correlation between a future German who was undoubtedly butterflied out of existence now, George II of England, and the master of northern Europe, Gustavus. Oh, sure, the story of George being so moved upon hearing Messiah's "Hallelujah" chorus that he stood was probably apocryphal, but it was such a lovely legend. And here, now, it was fact, not legend… with the note that it was the princess who led her father.
Joy shot through Marla when she saw the king climb to his feet and set his hand on his daughter's shoulder. He stood there, tall and straight, a sober expression on his face, as the chorus continued praising the God that he claimed to serve.
Marla's mind was so full of happiness that she almost lost track of the words. She did kind of hiccough one, which earned her a sidelong glance from Master Andrea. He would undoubtedly have words for her about that one at her next lesson.
The king stood!
It was a seal on their work. It was a seal on the up-time music. It was the capstone of everything she had been trying to do, and it meant that all of it, music, women musicians, now had visible royal approval. Suddenly, the future looked both brighter and easier.
Marla abandoned herself to the music with elation.
"And He shall reign forever and ever,
Forever and ever, forever and ever,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,"
"Hal – le – lu – jah!