Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette. Volume XX

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.