Through Darkest Zymurgia!

On reaching the Spaniel I quickly handed Bruno into the care of the steward, an excellent and most unflappable man, and we hurried to dress for the opera. My first act on reaching La Mortadella had been to call my old school chum, Sir John Bertram, now serving as Her Majesty's Ambassador to Lyricum. He was immediately able to procure an excellent box at the Grand Opera, on the understanding, I think, that I wouldn't visit him at the embassy to reminisce about old times. I suppose Ambassador Sir John Bertram has little to say to Johnnie "Pig's Knee" Bertram at that.

After an excellent ship-board dinner, the steward having also visited the Market district that afternoon, we boarded a gilt coach-and-four sent by Sir John, and returned to the Promenade. I must say, I had never conducted an expedition in such style; not least of the Spaniel's luxuries was sufficient space for such fripperies as proper evening dress. On the way, Philpott asked me what to expect.

"Your first impression," I said, "will be of a gaudy over-decorated hall, rather like a magnified version of this coach. Your second will be of hundreds of over-dressed people, each striving to out do the other, and utterly failing to out do the hall itself. On one side is the stage, which will be hidden by a scarlet curtain. On the other three sides are many elegant boxes, each with its own group of overdressed people. On the floor are the stalls, where sit those who actually want to see the opera."

"Then what do the people in the boxes want?"

"To be seen by each other, of course," I said, as we reached the Grand Opera House. A footman rushed to open the coach and place a stool below the doorway. Another rushed to open the opera house door as we swept up the red carpet. A third, for a reasonable gratuity, undertook to escort us to our box. It was on the right hand side of the stage, about halfway back, on the second level, with a good view of the entire hall.

My description had, if anything, been understated. I had forgotten the gilt chandeliers, sparkling with thousands of glowing phantasms, the ornate gilt carvings (in the Bizarre style) which adorned the front of each box, and the careful lighting, so that the occupants of each box were clearly visible.

"My word," said Philpott, gazing into a box directly across from us, "Is that...is she...I say, Dr. Thintwhistle, is that legal?"

"That's just the style here, young Thaddeus," I said. "Her gown, while scandalous by Anglish standards, is not nearly as revealing as it looks from here, nor is it particularly outlandish by Lyrican standards. It's nothing compared to, say, the costume worn by that lovely lady in the box to the left."

"I'm afraid I don't see any difference, sir."

"Ah, but the gown worn by the lady on the left is considered quite daring, for it is as revealing as it looks."

"How can you tell?", Philpott asked, rising in his seat and craning his neck.

"Sit down, Philpott, everyone can see you gaping. Granted, they are here to be seen, but it's not considered polite to be seen looking. I can tell because the one on the left is Signorina Rosalina, and the one on the right is Signorina Lucia. If the lovely Lucia appeared in a cape and velvet slippers, Rosalina would forego the cape just to outdo her."

"Who are they that they can act so shamelessly, Dr. Thintwhistle?"

"Is it not obvious? They are ladies of negotiable affection."

"Ah, I see. Forgive me, sir, it did not occur to me. Prostitution is an accepted part of Lyrican culture, then?"

Once again I was glad that Philpott spoke no Lyrican, though from the raised eyebrows in the nearby boxes I fear some of our fellow opera goers spoke Anglish. "It's somewhat more complicated than that, Philpott."

"Is it?" He gazed into space for a moment, lips pursed. "If I were to walk around to their boxes, do you suppose they would talk to me for a few minutes?"

"Philpott, I am shocked at the very idea," I said, lightly. He blushed, but rallied.

"Dr. Thintwhistle, I have no intention of 'negotiating their affections,' as you so discreetly put it."

"Ah. Be that as it may, they won't see you."

"You think not? All I want is a few minutes of their time," he said.

"I know not. To a lady in their profession, time is affection. You must negotiate the one to gain the other. But that is irrelevant. Do you see the large man with silver hair, seated beside Signorina Rosalina?"

"The one dressed in russett and gold, into whose ear she is whispering?"

"Indeed. He sits at the head of the Council of Merchants. He is extremely wealthy, and doubtless that affected the negotiations. He will not wish to share his investment with an Anglish academic. I've no doubt his bodyguard is just on the other side of the box door. But this also is irrelevant. She would not speak to you anyway."

"Why not?"

"She has a contract with someone else at present. It would be unprofessional."

Philpott sat in silence for a time. He might have been studying the ceiling (gilt, with a variety of bizarre excrescences), but I knew better. Eventually, he came out with it.

"Dr. Thintwhistle, do you know, how would one enter into negotiations with such a professional? I presume the Signorinas would not object to selling their attention, rather than their affection."

"Philpott, have you ever been to the jewelry department at Eton's?" As he began to nod, I continued, "Never mind, of course you have. Do you know what they say about the prices there?" He shook his head. "Ah. They say, 'If you have to ask, you can't afford it.' Now hush, the music is beginning. Though we sit in a box rather than in the stalls, I really would like to hear the opera."

For the sake of those who do not remember the story of Rotini's Chianti, I offer this summary. It is considered a flawed masterpiece, for reasons which, I believe, will become clear as I continue; nevertheless, as the first opera of Rotini's renowned Rigatoni Cycle, it is an essential foundation.

In Act 1, we find Alberto Chianti poling his barge down a Lyrican canal toward the Bay of Biscotti. It is raining, and the arpeggios of rain are a poignant counterpoint to his glissandos of despondency and despair. He is a poor man, and unable to support his new wife; in desperation he has undertaken to bring the barge to harbor for a few pennies. The barge stops at a lock, and as Alberto waits for the lock to fill so that he can continue his journey he spies a glint of gold in the murky waters of the canal. Diving in at great hazard to his health, he retrieves a golden ring, which he places on his finger. Rising remarkably unsoiled from the dirty water, Alberto sings at great length about his changing luck and good fortune.

In Act 2, Alberto is hailed by a young woman on the bank of the canal. She is Sophia Rigatoni, the lockkeeper's daughter, and she claims the ring as her own. If he will return it, she will marry him and be his always. Alberto calls to her leap aboard the barge, and she does so. They consummate their union (lyrically speaking) in a duet of great beauty and passion, and she claims the ring. Strangely loath to release it (and well-aware of his previous marriage), he refuses, and they struggle. At last he smothers her under a bale of cotton. Alberto hides Sophia's body under the bales of goods on the barge as he sings of his great love for the ring.

In Act 3, Alberto is hailed by Lucia Rigatoni, the lockkeeper's second daughter. She claims the ring as her own, and says she will marry him and be his always. No wiser than Sophia, she comes aboard at his bidding, the union is consummated in song, and all is serene until she tries to take the ring from his finger as he sleeps. In the ensuing duet Alberto pushes Lucia over the side, and she is crushed between the bank and the barge. He pulls her from the water, singing of his ring, and hides her body beside her sister Sophia's.

These things run in threes, of course, and in Act 4 Antonia Rigatoni, the lockkeeper's youngest daughter, appears. She makes the same claim, and the same offer, she hops aboard, and so forth. She is somewhat brighter than her sisters and has brought a knife with her; it does her no good. Alberto stabs her with it, and hides her beside her two sisters.

The lock is finally full at the beginning of Act 5, and Old Rigatoni himself appears out of the lockkeeper's hut. At first he hails Alberto as an honest bargeman, and they drink together, singing of the pleasures of wine, woman, and song. Worse for drink, Alberto sings that he is not just a bargeman but a collector of things of great beauty; has he not three treasures aboard his barge? Has he not this fine ring? Old Rigatoni questions Alberto about the ring, and Alberto lies, saying that it has been his always. At this the three slain women rise from the graves on the barge and denounce him. Old Rigatoni attacks Alberto at their urging, but is no match for the young man. Alberto throws him into the lock, and he is crushed by the water gate, and dies, but not before he curses Alberto (at great length) with eternal restlessness. He will feel at home nowhere, and everyone's hand will be turned against him so long as he retains the ring of the Rigatonis.

In Act 6, Alberto abandons the barge and returns home by the speediest route, yet finds that the spirits of the three slain women have preceded him. His wife is not best pleased. She curses him, though not so completely as old Rigatoni, and he is forced to kill her before she shouts and summons her father and brothers to do away with him.

In Act 7, Alberto comes to his senses for the first time in the entire opera, and reasons that eternal restlessness is no reason to eschew comparative safety. Fleeing his crimes, Alberto seeks out a remote valley in the Lundt mountains. Here he builds himself a fortress, vast and impenetrable, and wanders, day and night, to and fro, fondling the ring of the Rigatoni, and cursing any who would take it from him, as the spirits of those he has murdered fly about him and accuse him in shrieks and wails.

Critics of the Chianti feel that its greatest flaw is the introduction of logical thinking in the last act, especially after so promising a begnning. Nevertheless, the opera establishes the premise for all that comes after, and is therefore indispensable.

If the plot is flawed, the music is delightful, if repetitious. Who can forget the glissandos of Alberto's despair as he poles his barge down the canal; his duets with Sophia, Lucia, and Antonia, rising now in elegant glissandos of passion, counterpointed with the arpeggios of the rising water in the lock, lowering now in ugly violence as his lover is smothered, stabbed, or crushed; the boisterous glissandos of play and good fellowship Alberto sings with Old Rigatoni; or the threatening, wailing glissandos of the slain counterpointed by the arpeggios of rain on Alberto's fortress? Rotini was a young composer when he wrote Chianti; it is utterly amazing that one so young could do so much with glissandos and arpeggios. In his later years, even Rotini would not have attempted it.

The evening thus passed quickly and pleasantly. Philpott divided his time between watching the singers on the stage, asking me what was going on, and gazing thoughtfully at the Signorinas Rosalina and Lucia across the way. I foresaw potential complications on our return trip.

During the interval between acts four and five I saw a surprising sight; below us in the stalls was a man that I was sure I had seen swabbing decks on the Spaniel. He was neatly, if cheaply, dressed, and had a sailor's tan. I observed him periodically throughout the rest of the evening, and each time I looked he was on the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees, completely taken up by the opera.

At the opera's end, Philpott and I made our way down the stairs, out to the coach, and back to the Spaniel. I gave Captain Halvorsen orders to put to sea as soon as he deemed prudent, and retired to my cabin a happy man. No matter what happened in Zymurgia, the summer would not be a total loss. Chianti was not La Profiterole, but it was opera, done in the grand Lyrican style. I settled into my bunk, expecting to awaken in a bright new morning, far out in the Sea of Dogs.