‘We are not to greet the Prince in the foyer this time?’ asked Martha.
‘No, he wishes everyone seated.’ He led them up a short staircase that gave directly on to a single row of seats at the extreme right-hand end of the balcony. ‘These are what you wanted?’ Again he was addressing the old lady.
‘Just right, thank you, Hans,’ she smiled at him.
‘A friend of yours?’ Lady Helen asked.
‘Everyone in Lissenberg is my friend,’ said Frau Schmidt. ‘And yours, I think, my dear,’ to Martha.
A fanfare of trumpets blared outside. ‘He’s coming.’ Frau Schmidt had taken her place at the end of the row with Martha beside her.
‘He’s here!’ The audience rustled to its feet as the royal party appeared at the entrance to the centre aisle, and Martha, who had been doubtful at first about the angle from which they would see the stage, recognised the great advantage of the seats Frau Schmidt had chosen. They commanded a view of almost the entire house.
As Prince Gustav advanced down the aisle, the audience gave a little sigh at sight of his companion, Countess Bemberg, glorious in gold brocade. Behind them came Prince Maximilian with one of the ladies of the court. Too far to see his expression, but Martha did not think she needed to. The royal party moved left and right to fill the front rows while Prince Gustav came leisurely forward, smiled down at the orchestra, playing Haydn’s Lissenberg anthem for all it was worth, and climbed crimson velvet steps, ready for him to the left of the stage. As he did so, the curtain rose, revealing the set that had caused such heartburning among the stage-hands. At first sight it hardly seemed worth the trouble, a receding vista of laurel hedges centering on a distant statue. But from her angled position, Martha could see a member of the royal guard, behind the scenes, musket to a hole among the laurels. She found she was clutching Frau Schmidt’s hand, felt the pressure returned.
Prince Gustav was centre stage now. He raised a hand and the orchestra hiccuped to silence in mid-phrase. ‘My people,’ to the gallery. ‘My friends,’ to the stalls. ‘I have left you too long in doubt about my plans for the future of our beloved Lissenberg.’ He paused for effect, every inch the master of the scene. He had reverted, for this occasion, to the court costume of the previous century, and it suited him well. The wig that made him look like pictures of Louis XIV, the elegant court black and shining lace ruffles set off his tall figure and commanding presence. ‘My friends,’ he went on, treating them all to this address, ‘I have done so because I was not sure what would be best for Lissenberg. It has taken much anxious thought, many sleepless nights, before I have been able to sacrifice my personal interest to that of my faithful people.’ Another pause. Martha felt a stirring of interest in the audience, felt it herself. What could he be going to say? ‘My dear friends,’ leaning forward a little, ‘I am going to talk to you now as father and friend, and I count on you to listen to me as the loving subjects I know you to be. I have married twice for your sakes, had two sons, two possible heirs. What shall I say to you? How tell of my deep disappointment? My eldest son, Maximilian does not wish to be Prince of Lissenberg. He wants to write opera, be a travelling player. He would give you up for that.’ A deep sigh from the audience. ‘And for the younger, little Gustav, I have to tell you that he is nothing but a sick child, to be nursed and cared for, never to be a ruling prince. And his mother, his poor mother, whom I have so much loved … My friends, she has taken leave of her senses. The doctors say there is no hope for her recovery. No wonder if her poor little son is not well either; it is a sad inheritance he has. My dear friends, I am laying my heart open to you here, as your loving Prince should. I have had, for some time, a comfort in these afflictions of mine, my good friend the Countess of Bemberg. She has a son, a little, healthy, promising boy. He is our future, here in Lissenberg. I have written to the Pope, there will be no problem. I shall divorce my poor, demented wife, send her home to her parents, and you shall have a Princess worthy of you, an heir to be proud of, a future assured. And now,’ he went on without a breath, giving no chance for a reaction, ‘it is time for our prize opera, the story of another Prince of Lissenberg who loved his country.’ A commanding gesture as he moved to leave the stage and the orchestra plunged into the overture.
‘Clever,’ breathed Martha to Frau Schmidt. Clever enough? She thought not, and settled down to enjoy the opera with the rest of the house. No one in their senses would have ventured an instant protest to interfere with the production of Lissenberg’s prize opera.
It was going brilliantly. If Cristabel had minded Prince Gustav’s summary dismissal of Max, it had not affected her singing. She had never been in better voice than in her first act farewell-duet with her husband, off on his crusade, or the aria in which she planned to disguise herself and follow him. And when she reappeared, in tunic and hose, as his page, she got a round of applause that stopped the performance. ‘She’s in tremendous voice,’ said Lady Helen as the curtain fell for the one long interval and the audience burst into a torrent of clapping.
‘And so is Desmond Fylde. They are striking sparks off each other. It’s making for a formidable performance, I hope it doesn’t mean …’
‘Impossible,’ said Lady Helen. ‘A nobody like Fylde. What’s happening?’
‘The Prince hasn’t moved.’ Martha could see him from where she sat. ‘He’s just sitting there, talking to Countess Bemberg as if she was the only woman in the world.’
‘And if he makes no move, nor can the audience,’ said Frau Schmidt. ‘Clever, that! Though maybe not very popular.’
‘No. Look!’ Half rising in her seat, Martha could see members of the palace guard on duty at the exit.
‘And, look!’ said Frau Schmidt as the curtain rose to reveal Franz Wengel alone on stage, his informal jacket and modern trousers in striking contrast to Prince Gustav’s eighteenth-century elegance. He stood there for a moment, immobile, as the restless murmur of the trapped audience stilled gradually to silence. When it was absolute, he spoke. ‘Fellow Lissenbergers, the square outside is so crowded that the Prince has decided we had best remain in the theatre. There will be time to talk to our friends outside when the performance is over. Meanwhile, we ask your patience and are making our interval as short as possible.’ He nodded informally to Prince and audience alike and withdrew as the curtain fell again and a new volley of clapping and shouting broke out.
‘What are they shouting?’ asked Lady Helen. ‘Deplorable to keep us shut up here like this!’
‘I’m not quite sure,’ lied Martha, and hoped that Prince Gustav was too absorbed in talk with his Countess to notice. Under the cries of ‘bravo’ and the individual names of the singers, Cristabel’s the most prominent, was a kind of undertone, a leitmotif: the crowd was shouting ‘Franz … Franz … Franz.’
Frau Schmidt had recognised it too. ‘Just as well,’ she breathed as the orchestra filed back into the pit.
‘A short interval indeed,’ agreed Martha, settling back in her seat.
The restless audience was soon gripped by the drama of the second half of Crusader Prince. Martha had always thought it unusual music, tonight she found it extraordinary as it built up from climax to climax, a great inexorable tide of song, sweeping the crowded house with it. During the short pause when the scene changed from crusader camp back to the Palace at Lissenberg, the audience hardly spoke or moved, and when the curtain rose to reveal an unmistakable replica of the throne-room at the Palace there was a great sigh of anticipation.
Fylde and Cristabel were singing, if possible, better than ever. Princess Algisa had just come, barefoot, back from proving her innocence by the ordeal of hot ploughshares. Now, as she threw off her loose penitential gown to reveal the page’s tunic and hose, her doubting husband understood at last and fell on his knees before her. She put out a loving hand to touch his wiry black curls, then plunged into her final aria. It was the musical culmination of the whole opera, drawing together its threads, working up from peak to peak
until at last, leaving Fylde on his knees, she moved forward, head high, arms wide, to give the last line straight to the audience in Liss: ‘Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!’
And, ‘Freedom!’ It came back at her from the audience in a great roar of sound. ‘Freedom and Franz!’
Pandemonium. Cristabel simply stood there, poised, waiting. The chorus had filed quietly on ready for the finale and Fylde had risen to his feet to stand as motionless as Cristabel, waiting for silence. In the pit, the conductor laid down his baton; in the front row Prince Gustav was speaking angrily to the Countess. But what could he do? The steps that had given him access to the stage had been removed before the opera began. He was helpless there, in full view of audience and stage.
‘The guard!’ whispered Lady Helen. ‘Where are the guards?’
‘Here they come.’ Martha reached for Frau Schmidt’s hand for comfort, but did not find it. Turning she saw that the old lady had disappeared, but a member of the Royal guard was standing at the doorway through which she must have vanished. Her own movement had caught his attention; without moving a muscle, he winked at her.
Looking down again, she saw that guards were now stationed all down the central aisle and across the front of the house. Guarding whom? There was another row of them behind the chorus, their scarlet uniforms contrasting with the black and white costumes. Cristabel had moved at last, turning instinctively to Fylde for comfort, and her place at centre stage had been taken by Franz Wengel. The shouts of ‘Freedom and Franz’ redoubled. Martha thought the orchestra had joined in now, only around Prince Gustav there was a patch of frightened silence.
Wengel took a step forward and the crowd hushed. ‘Enough, my friends. And, thank you. I think you all understand that my opera was merely a prelude to what we must do now. We have sung of freedom for Lissenberg, now we must achieve it. We are going to settle our destiny here and now, and, by the way, in case any of you are anxious for friends and relatives outside in the square, I can tell you that our allies the royal guard have taken charge there, as they have here. The Lord Chamberlain is their unharmed prisoner; the crowd awaits the result of our deliberations.’ He moved one more step forward, looked directly across the orchestra pit at Prince Gustav, and said, ‘If you would be so good as to join us, Sir?’
Prince Gustav said something inaudible, but two members of the guard had stepped forward to usher him towards the velvet stair, now replaced.
You had to admire him, Martha thought, as he gathered his dignity about him to climb unassisted on to the stage and face Wengel. There was a hiss or two, quickly suppressed; the crowd was silent, waiting.
‘What is the meaning of this outrage?’ Gustav spoke past Wengel to the crowded auditorium.
‘We are here to discuss the twenty-five years you have held Lissenberg, Prince Gustav. What you paid for our country years ago has been amply repaid in ruthless taxes, in extortion, and in neglect. We have no wish for violence, for a reign of terror as in France. For a long time we have held our hand, hoping for a peaceful solution, for the quiet succession of our friend Prince Maximilian. Hush!’ He raised a hand as the crowd burst into a roar of ‘No!’ and ‘Traitor!’ ‘Prince Max is no traitor, but he has been bred in a hard school. Perhaps he is not the man to lead Lissenberg in the fight we all see coming against Napoleon. As for the little prince, I am sad to tell you, my friends, that he died this morning. His father did not choose to tell you this. Nor did he tell you that, far from being mad, his wife, the Princess Amelia, escaped from his attempts to poison her and is here to give evidence against him. She is still not well, my friends, but if you wish, she will tell you her story in her own words.’ As he spoke, Frau Schmidt had come on stage, leading a veiled figure. They paused, facing Prince Gustav. The Princess threw back her veil, gazed at him for a long moment with contempt. ‘Do you recognise me, Sir?’ she asked at last. ‘The wife you tried to kill?’
‘Bitch!’ And then, ‘They said you were dead.’
‘They lied to you, Sir. Everybody lies to you.’ She turned to Franz. ‘May I go home to Baden now? There is nothing left here for me now my child is dead. Govern here better than he did. You have my blessing.’
‘Thank you.’ As Wengel bent to kiss her hand Prince Gustav suddenly lost control, exploded into a torrent of foul language, made as if to attack them, and was instantly, and not gently, restrained by his own guards. ‘Take him away,’ said Wengel. ‘And do not hurt him.’ He turned back to Princess Amelia. ‘You shall have your dowry returned, and honourable escort home to Baden when you wish it. Yes? There is something else?’
‘My dear Max,’ she said. ‘He saved my life. You will be good to him.’
‘I shall treat him like a brother.’ Wengel turned back to face the expectant house. ‘My friends, Prince Gustav has proved himself unfit to rule. Now we must take serious thought for the future of Lissenberg. With your good will, which I know I have, I will take control until we can hold free elections for a democratic government. If Prince Maximilian wishes to stand, as I hope he will, no obstacle will be placed in his way. I do not think, by the way, that you should take what his father said about him any more seriously than any other of Gustav’s lies. But what we have to face, my dear friends, is that Lissenberg is under serious threat. When I first began to plan – to dream of freedom from our twenty-five years of tyranny, I had hopes of help from France, from the man I thought the great liberator, Bonaparte. This year has proved those hopes the fantasy they were. If we want freedom, my friends, we must win it for ourselves, by ourselves. Luckily, my friends, in the army, have recognised this. As you see, they are on our side. It is lucky for us that they are. For Prince Gustav has done one good thing. Almost alone, he has stood up to the new Emperor who has paved the way to his throne with innocent blood. He has made Bonaparte our enemy, and we must be united as never before if we are to resist him. If you wish to unite yourselves behind Prince Maximilian, do so with my goodwill. He has a strong claim on Lissenberg and your love. Prince Maximilian?’
‘Yes.’ He was on his feet already. He took the steps with a couple of long strides and crossed the stage to face Wengel. Martha choked on a breath. Impossible! She was imagining things! No, the crowd saw it too. A gasp. Then a spellbound hush. Two young men. Identical? Twins? One fair, one dark, one bearded, one clean shaven, both dressed in black, Wengel in his modern trousers, Maximilian old-fashioned in knee breeches. Their beaky profiles matched like two sides of a coin. Their stance, as they faced each other was exactly the same, one foot forward, head up, enquiring, challenging. At the same moment, right hands went out, met, gripped.
‘They’ve never met before,’ Martha said it as much to herself as to Lady Helen.
‘It’s mad,’ said Lady Helen. ‘Impossible.’ The crowd were beginning to talk, to exclaim, quietly at first. Now the two heads, so extraordinarily alike turned at a quiet word from Frau Schmidt, standing just behind them. Some silent message seemed to pass between them, and Franz Wengel spoke, getting instant attention. ‘Frau Schmidt has something to say to us. Let us listen to her.’ The two young men dropped hands and made way for her to step forward.
‘Lissenbergers.’ She hardly raised her voice but in the amazed hush it carried to the back of the house. ‘I hoped it would happen like this, that you would all see the likeness before I explained it. Which I can. It is just another instance of Prince Gustav’s tyrannical behaviour. When he bought Lissenberg twenty-five years ago his only shred of claim was through his Liss wife, my cousin. He insisted that she make the mountain journey in winter so that his child should be born in Lissenberg. She was taken ill on the way and gave birth in a mountain farmhouse, to twins, one dark, one fair. Their mother, my cousin, was dying. In the general confusion, no one could remember which boy was born first. When the Prince arrived, he was furious. He swore them all to secrecy, picked the dark child as the healthier-looking and arranged for the other to be adopted by a family in Lissenberg. They were creatures of his; he meant to keep an ey
e on the child; in fairness we should remember that. But that was the year the cholera hit Lissenberg; a judgment some of us thought. The adoptive mother was a friend of mine. When she and her husband knew they were dying, she told me the whole story, I thought it best to let the Prince think his son had died too. I smuggled little Franz back to Brundt with me and gave him to my daughter to rear. He has always been a most beloved grandson to me. I never told him this story; I have no proof of it. But, when I first saw Prince Maximilian, I knew the proof was there, for all to see. You have seen it today, my friends, and so have these two brothers. Now I leave it to you Lissenbergers to decide what to do about your two princes.’
The two young men were holding both hands now, deeply conferring with each other, apparently quite oblivious of the tumult of the crowd. Then, slowly, as one Prince, they turned forward to face the audience, Franz’s right hand in Max’s left.
Surprisingly, it was Max who spoke. ‘No need of proof,’ he said. ‘It is here, within us. My brother and I know each other for brothers. There is nothing, ever, to be said again on this count. I recognise him, here, before you all, as my beloved twin, whose mind I read as I read my own. And I tell you all that it is he who should rule, here in Lissenberg. This is no sacrifice on my part. For once, the Prince has told you the truth. I have always wanted to make my life in music, with the woman I love.’ Speaking direct to the audience, he did not see the instinctive way Cristabel leaned closer to Fylde, but Martha did, and her heart bled for him. ‘The way is open for me in Vienna now,’ he went on. ‘My opera, Odin’s Daughter is to be put on at the Burgtheater. I will always remain your loving Prince, but from now on, my life is there. And I tell you this, my friends, if it had been my magnificent opera being staged here, if I had written the masterpiece we have seen tonight, I could not have left its production in others’ hands, not even to plan the brilliant, bloodless revolution my brother has achieved here tonight. Have your election, since he wishes it, but we all know what the result will be. I say, “Long Live Prince Franz”.’
First Night Page 21