The Moderate Soprano

by David Hare

  She gets up.

  Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, if I’m going to submit to audition, then I badly need practice. I’m out of touch. And now’s as good a time as any. Fritz, Carl, when you need me to sing, I’ll be ready. Just let me know.

  She goes out. The men stand for a moment, amazed.

  THIRTEEN: 1950

  Bing leaves the group and steps forward to talk to us. Everything else disappears.

  Bing I’ll never know why I used that word, ‘drapery’. I can hear myself now. ‘A theatre’s not a drapery,’ I said. Was I psychic? How could I know? Six years later, Glyndebourne was shuttered for the war and the only job I could get was in the department store Peter Jones. I had a small desk on the ground floor. I informed customers of the correct number of rationing coupons required for individual items.

  Later I got promotion to gifts, china and glass. I was in charge of ladies’ hairdressing. The atmosphere in the salon was intensely neurotic. It reminded me of opera. I felt at home. The customers were worse than the hairdressers. I came up with a formula. I would put a finger through a curl in the client’s hair and say, ‘But madam, it springs back beautifully.’ I never knew what it meant, but in a Viennese accent it always worked.

  Each night I did fire duty on the roof of the store, looking out at the air raids all over London. Watching the flames. One night a block of flats in Sloane Square took a hit. I ran across, I poked in the rubble and uncovered a girl’s hand. The arm came out of the rubble by itself. I still wake screaming. The rest of the girl was elsewhere.

  FOURTEEN: 1934

  Darkness. A shaft of light: Bing coming through the door. He turns on a small light. It’s the new theatre. But it’s scarcely visible. Just its bare outline – and Audrey sitting by herself in the empty space, elegant as ever, on a single chair, just staring ahead.

  Bing You’re alone.

  Audrey Yes.

  Bing I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave you?

  Audrey No.

  Bing I can turn out the light if you want.

  Audrey is staring ahead, then she turns and looks at him blankly.

  You had your audition.

  Audrey Yes. Did you talk to them?

  Bing In passing.

  Audrey Ah.

  Bing I’ve barely seen anyone, I’ve been so busy. It’s been an impossible day.

  Audrey Poor Rudi.

  Bing Putting on opera’s like trying to build a wall with wet sand. You finally get a bit of it in place and then it crumbles elsewhere.

  He smiles.

  The worst thing that happened was in Charlottenburg. An incident. The only time I lost a soprano.

  Audrey How did you lose her?

  Bing She was called Gertrud Bindernagel. Her husband came onstage and shot her during a performance.

  Audrey Goodness.

  Bing Yes. He believed that she’d been doing what the English call ‘playing away’. So he walked on stage during Siegfried and he killed her. In front of the audience. He turned out to be wrong. She’d been faithful. It completely messed up my schedule. We had to do Fledermaus instead.

  Audrey Ghastly.

  Bing Always. I’ll never forgive him.

  Neither of them has moved, and Audrey is far away in her thoughts, not looking at him.

  And have you seen your husband?

  Audrey He’s putting up signs. In the lavatories. He loves instructions.

  They both smile.

  What’s your impression? Do you think his opera house is going to work?

  Bing doesn’t answer.

  You can be frank.

  Bing It’ll work.

  Audrey You don’t sound very sure.

  Bing Briefly.

  Audrey Only briefly?

  Bing For this season. Maybe next.

  Audrey Is that all?

  Bing I did the budget, remember? He’ll lose a lot of money.

  Audrey He doesn’t mind that.

  Bing Truly?

  Audrey He doesn’t care about money. Oh, he goes round turning out lights, and re-uses envelopes, and tears up old sheets for dishcloths. He likes small savings. But he’s not frightened when it comes to the big stuff.

  Bing It’s difficult. These are huge sums.

  Audrey looks at him, defiant.

  Audrey He believes in service. He believes people who are fortunate should put something back. He hates idleness, selfishness, waste. He’s a good man. He wants to put his goodness to work.

  Bing That’s very commendable.

  Audrey But?

  Bing If opera were a matter of good intentions … But in England you have no tradition.

  Audrey He’ll make one.

  Bing And is that what you want?

  Audrey I want to sing.

  Bing But did you want your own opera house?

  Audrey waits a moment before answering.

  You don’t have to answer.

  Audrey No. We only met a few days ago. Why do I trust you?

  Bing People do.

  Audrey Why is that?

  Bing I’m a keeper of secrets. It’s my profession.

  Audrey smiles.

  Audrey It’s hard to say anything which doesn’t sound disloyal. And I have not the slightest wish to be.

  Bing I know that.

  Audrey John is very unusual. You know he fought with the 60th Rifles?

  Bing I knew he’d been in the war.

  Audrey He was Captain of ‘A’ Battalion. He led an attack on a farm.

  Bing Held by the Germans?

  Audrey Yes. He dug down under fire with his company in enemy territory. They were stuck in the middle of the battlefield for the whole afternoon. John climbed up on to the edge of the crater because he wanted to know what calibre shells the enemy was using.

  Bing That sounds like him.

  Audrey Yes, he was curious. So he stood up to see. Regardless of the consequences, and blind to the dangers. Then he gathered his men together, he produced a book from his pocket, and he read to them. The Faerie Queene by Spenser.

  Bing I don’t know it.

  Audrey It’s a medieval poem. He thought they’d enjoy it.

  Bing Reading poetry in battle, that’s wonderful.

  Audrey Yes. Yes, it’s wonderful. But it’s also unreal.

  Bing Did the men like the poetry?

  Audrey We’ll never know.

  She shakes her head slightly.

  Later, when he saw his name on a list for exceptional bravery, he struck it off. The army wanted to give him the DSO after the Battle of Bellwaarde. But he said leaders should never be honoured. The men should.

  Bing knows to say nothing.

  I can only tell you: I fought so hard not to marry. Oh God, Rudi, I fought. As hard as I could. I resisted it. As long as I could. Twice, I cancelled.

  Bing Twice?

  Audrey The first time, I was offered a job. But that was just an excuse.

  Bing Why?

  Audrey Because I knew this would happen.

  Bing This?

  Audrey Something like this. Something like Glyndebourne. And you lot. Now I know my job is to do it all superbly. Onstage and off. I live with a man with a formidable will. He has a dream, and I have to make it practical.

  Bing You feel trapped in his dream?

  Audrey No. But I will be defined by it.

  She looks at him, unsentimentally.

  I’ll die without ever knowing what I might have achieved without him. I’m being given a life, but another’s being taken away.

  Bing That’s always true when you marry.

  Audrey Perhaps. But not so violently.

  They both smile.

  Are you married?

  Bing Yes. To a dancer.

  Audrey How’s that?

  Bing Turbulent.

  But Audrey is already pressing her main anxiety, coming out forcefully now.

  Audrey If I sing on this stage, you know what people will say. People will say, ‘She only got
the job because of her husband.’

  Bing smiles slightly.

  Am I right?

  Bing Opera arouses offensive feeling. I don’t know why. Something about the idea of singing. In the way people talk about it, in the way they write, there’s exceptional cruelty. Opera’s a snake-pit. I call it the laboratory of bad behaviour.

  Audrey That’s what they’ll say. ‘He built the theatre for her.’

  Bing I shouldn’t worry. If they don’t say that, they’ll say something else. Equally unpleasant.

  This time they both smile.

  Audrey So? You might as well tell me.

  Bing Tell you what?

  Audrey I’m waiting. What was the verdict?

  Bing Oh.

  Audrey On my audition?

  Bing I think Fritz should tell you. Or Carl.

  Audrey So you do know?

  Bing nods.

  Rudi, I’d rather hear it from you.

  There is a moment. Then:

  Bing Your voice is small. It’s a small voice.

  Audrey Is that what they said?

  Bing Smaller than perhaps they’re used to.

  Audrey Is that all?

  Bing But charming. I suppose we’d say mitleiderregend. Or maybe ergreifend.

  Audrey Ergreifend?

  Bing There’s a quality of sincerity in your acting which makes up for your lack of obvious vocal technique.

  Audrey I’m not good enough? Is that what they’re saying?

  Bing No. You’re good in a different way.

  Audrey What does that mean?

  Bing There’s a German word. Do you know it? Ausstrahlung.

  Audrey No.

  Bing It’s untranslatable.

  Audrey Try.

  Bing Ausstrahlung. How do I put it? It’s what you have.

  Audrey That doesn’t help.

  Bing stops, genuinely stuck.

  Bing Let me think. Do people in England say ‘anima’?

  Audrey ‘Anima’? No, no one in England says ‘anima’. Not that I’ve ever heard.

  Bing Anima is what a person gives off.

  Audrey Their soul?

  Bing Not quite.

  Audrey Their aura?

  Bing Hmm. In a way. That’s closer. It’s a question, finally, of who they are. At their heart.

  Audrey I see.

  Bing And therefore what they emanate. Their essence. And its radiation.

  Audrey is hesitant.

  Audrey And they found it in me?

  Bing Yes.

  Audrey Ausstrahlung.

  Bing Yes.

  Audrey And – broadly – they feel it’s a good thing?

  Bing A very good thing. And very rare.

  Audrey And that means what? They’ll employ me?

  Bing You’ll open the theatre. You’ll sing Susanna in The Marriage of Figaro.

  Audrey turns away, overwhelmed.

  But don’t let on that you know.

  Audrey I won’t.

  Bing Let them tell you.

  Audrey I will.

  Bing And don’t tell John. We must do this professionally.

  Audrey Yes.

  Bing There are procedures.

  Audrey I’m sure.

  Bing Still, it’s good news.

  Bing beams at her. She can’t stop herself checking again.

  Audrey ‘A small voice’?

  Bing Yes.

  Audrey But ‘Ausstrahlung’?

  Bing Exact.

  Audrey closes her eyes.

  FIFTEEN: 1950

  The others vanish. Busch steps forward and speaks to us, alone.

  Busch The war was not good for anyone. I was lucky, I got to conduct in America. But I fell out with Carl. He was stuck for most of those years in Ankara in Turkey. When I mounted an opera season in New York, he said I’d stolen his staging and design for a Verdi Macbeth without attribution. He was furious. For a long time we didn’t speak. But my quarrel with Audrey was worse.

  John couldn’t get money to her and the children. They were living in Vancouver. John insisted on sending them there so they wouldn’t get bombed. Audrey was broke. She heard where I was working. She wrote. She said she needed a job. I tried to be polite, I refused. She was desperate, she said she had to know the reason. I was reluctant to tell her, but she got more insistent. An unpleasant correspondence ensued. Finally to my shame I put it in writing: ‘Your voice was good enough for Glyndebourne. But it’s not good enough for New York.’

  SIXTEEN: 1953

  Audrey is in bed. She is now blind. She has bandages round her eyes. She is panicking. John is at her bedside.

  Audrey I can’t see. I can’t see anything.

  John You have your bandages on.

  Audrey They took them off. I couldn’t see. I’m blind.

  John You’re not blind. It’s a reaction. It’s temporary. It’ll take time to heal.

  Audrey Why do you lie? Why are you lying? Stop the lying!

  Audrey has shouted the last command, alarmingly. John is silenced.

  Say what we did.

  John Not again.

  Audrey Say them.

  John I’ve already done it.

  Audrey Say them in order.

  John ’34, The Marriage of Figaro, Così fan Tutte, ’35, The Magic Flute, Così fan Tutte, The Marriage of Figaro –

  Audrey My head’s exploding. I can’t take it. Let me go – Let me go home to my mother.

  John Your mother’s dead.

  Audrey Mother’s not dead. Don’t lie to me, stop the lying. Again!

  He doesn’t respond.

  Again! The first six seasons. Before the war.

  John The Marriage of Figaro –

  Audrey Yes –

  John Die Entführung aus dem Serail –

  Audrey Yes.

  John ’36, Don Giovanni, The Magic Flute, The Marriage of Figaro, Così fan Tutte, Die Entführung aus dem Serail. ’37, Don Giovanni, The Magic Flute, The Marriage of Figaro, Così fan Tutte, Die Entführung aus dem Serail. ’38, Macbeth, The Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovanni, Così fan Tutte, Don Pasquale –

  She starts speaking over him, tenderly.

  Audrey I love you, John. I loved your theatre. They’re taking it away.

  John Who’s taking it?

  Audrey It’s not ours any more.

  John It’s ours for ever.

  Audrey They’re taking it.

  John That’s inevitable. That’s the way of things. Times have changed. It’s not worse. It’s just different.

  Audrey is still.

  Audrey I gave my life to loving you.

  John I know.

  Audrey I loved you, John. I loved you, John.

  John I know.

  Audrey So tell me, when will death come?

  John cannot speak.

  Say them again. Before the war.

  John The Marriage of Figaro, Così fan Tutte, The Magic Flute, Così revival –

  John stops, unable to continue.

  Audrey I love you, John. When will death come?

  SEVENTEEN: 1958

  The others vanish. Ebert comes to speak to us. He is seventy-one.

  Ebert He’d talked so much rubbish. So it turned out. I didn’t realise till the end. Then I discovered.

  After Audrey died, his heart went out of it. So he decided to hand the theatre over to his son George. I got a letter from Christie saying, ‘I have decided to step aside. It would be a good idea if you stepped aside too.’

  That’s all. Audrey had warned me. The first day I met her. If only I’d listened. She said: ‘Democracy, yes, but only when he grants it.’

  He sacked me as though I were a gardener. I’d done my job. I’d pruned the fruit trees, I’d planted the beans, the edges of the lawn were perfectly neat. So now he had no need of me. All that stuff about treating people decently. I worked twenty-five years! Forty-one productions! And he couldn’t even look me in the eye to ask me if I wanted to go. After everything we’d created togethe
r. Just a handwritten letter. ‘You’re sacked.’ That’s all. As if I were nothing! In his eyes, I was nothing! My life’s work was nothing!

  He told me by the way, his dog was well.

  Oh they talk about values. But what are their values? Finally? English values are always on the Englishman’s terms.

  EIGHTEEN: MAY 1934

  A glorious morning, sunshine. John is sitting at a table he has set up on the lawn. Audrey comes out, looking young and full of life. She is holding a prospectus.

  Audrey John, really! Look at this, look at these prices. Are you out of your mind?

  John I don’t think so.

  Audrey Two pounds for a seat! No one in the world can afford to pay that.

  John There are reductions.

  Audrey (reading) ‘One pound ten shillings at subsequent performances.’

  John Correct.

  Audrey How on earth is anyone going to be able to pay that sort of money?

  John I am happy to say that’s a question to which they must find the answer, not me.

  Audrey But it’s simply impossible.

  John Why?

  Bing comes out, also holding papers, young and blithe.

  Bing What is this?

  Audrey Rudi, I’ve just seen the prices.

  Bing I hope they’re high. That’s what I asked for.

  John You see. Rudi agrees.

  Bing If we’re to have any chance of balancing the books.

  Audrey No one will come.

  John We’ll run that risk. And it’s not about money.

  Bing It is for me.

  John It’s about principle.

  Ebert comes out on to the lawn carrying a cup of coffee.

  Ebert I heard raised voices.

  John We’re having a family dispute.

  Audrey I nearly fainted when I read what we’re charging.

  John They have to respect us. They have to show us respect.