Ibbotson, Eva - Magic Flutes

‘Ah, yes, that will be so romantic!’ said the Margravine approvingly. ‘By the lake . . . with the orchestra playing.’

‘You’d better see if you can get her away from the theatre now, dear,’ said the Duchess. ‘It’s time she came in and changed for dinner.’

‘And for heaven’s sake, Maxi, go and comb your hair. And your moustache. You look like a spaniel,’ said the Swan Princess.

‘Yes, Mother. I mean, no, Mother,’ said Maxi, and went.

But when he entered the theatre there was no sign of Tessa. There seemed, rather, to be pandemonium everywhere. On stage, a bald little man was rushing about shouting at people; coloured lights flashed on and off and the sound of oaths came from above.

Deeply shocked by the environment in which his beloved spent her days, the prince asked for Her Highness and was directed down some iron stairs by the laconic thumb of a carpenter. Tessa, when he ran her to ground, was in a kind of cubby-hole, kneeling with her mouth full of pins, while on a low table stood a figure in a pleated, golden dress.

Jacob had not dared to put a ballet in The Magic Flute. What was fair game for Puccini and Donizetti was out of the question for a man who ranked only a millimetre below God himself. This did not mean, however, that he had left behind the Heidis. They were to appear in beguiling animal skins as the wild beasts who cavorted to the sound of Tamino’s magic flute. But Jacob, studying the libretto, had also been reminded that the temple of the high priest, Sarastro, was dedicated to Wisdom, Industry and Art. It was therefore as statues representing these three virtues that the Heidis were to appear in Act One.

Having had this brainwave Jacob, in pursuit of musical perfection, had largely forgotten it and it was left to Tessa, at the eleventh hour, to complete their costumes. Fitting the two elder Heidis had been no trouble but Heidi Schlumberger was proving difficult. The discovery of Tessa’s identity had thrown the Littlest Heidi into a stupor of servility. She could not bear Tessa to do anything for her and now, supposedly standing still to be pinned, was wringing her hands in an excess of outraged serfdom.

‘But Your Highness shouldn’t be doing this. Your Highness should let me—’

‘Heidi, please will you shut up and stand still!’ said Tessa. ‘How can I get the hem straight if you keep bobbing about?’ She turned, feeling the draught of the open door. ‘Good heavens, Maxi, what on earth are you doing here?’

‘I came to fetch you. The aunts say it’s time to change for dinner.’

He surveyed his beloved, who looked as though a good deal of changing would be necessary before she could take her place between Monteforelli and the Archduke Sava in the state dining-room.

‘I can’t come until I’ve finished this, Maxi. I’m not even sure that we’re stopping for dinner at all.’ She had lost the morning’s pallor, for the excitement of work as they prepared for this most crucial of performances was like ambrosia. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, how rude! Maxi, this is Heidi Schlumberger, one of our dancers. Heidi, this is my friend, Prince Maximilian of Spittau.’

Maxi, taking his eyes off Tessa for the first time, looked up. Looked, stared . . . and flushed a dusky red as emotion took him by the throat.

The girl he was looking at, standing with bare arms in a gold bodice and sculptured, golden skirt, was not merely pretty; she was enchantment itself. Blonde curls, as fat and shiny as butter, tumbled on to her shoulders; her eyes were huge and blue and long-lashed; her cheeks were dimpled, her mouth a rosebud. Not only that but her look, demure yet coy, the slight parting of the lips, called to his mind the woman who embodied for him everything that was most desirable in the female sex: Mary Pickford stood before him, in the flesh.

‘Enchanted, Fräulein,’ he said, and bowed.

The Littlest Heidi, equally rapt, returned his regard. That long and handsome face, the duelling scar, the luxuriant moustache! So manly, and a prince!

‘I am honoured, Your Highness,’ she said. And gracefully, delightfully, still on her pedestal, sank into a curtsy.

10

The firework display was going splendidly. A dozen barrels of wine sent down by Guy at the beginning of the evening had secured the enthusiastic cooperation of the villagers, now assembled on a strip of beach below the road. From the three islands in the middle of the lake, there erupted a succession of rockets, Roman candles and exotic set-pieces which trailed a blazing path across the sky, dimming the stars themselves. Chinese lanterns were strung between the trees, braziers with roasting chestnuts glowed on the shingle, and on a platform constructed near the bathing huts the orchestra played Handel.

‘My dear, you must have spent a fortune,’ said Nerine, standing with Guy and a group of guests, still in their evening clothes, beside the water’s edge. Like most of the younger members of the house party, she had come down to the lakeside after dinner, leaving the older people to watch from the comfort of the terrace.

Guy shrugged. ‘It is no good being stingy with fireworks,’ he said, watching with approval the coordination between David, Morgan and the head forester, who were each in charge on a different island.

Tessa, standing at the other end of the beach close to the wooden jetty which ran out across the darkness of the water, was watching with parted lips, her republican principles not noticeably outraged by this wanton display of extravagance. That she was looking extremely pretty was not her fault, for it had been her intention to miss dinner and slip down later, still in her working clothes. In this she had been foiled by her old nurse, who had never been interested in the question of whether Tessa was or was not grown-up, and had dragged her upstairs, immersed her in a bath, and released her in a long, full-skirted dress of cream taffeta, with satin pumps on her feet and a rose on a velvet ribbon around her throat.

‘Putzerl,’ said Maxi, who had been glued to her side all evening. ‘Tessa . . .’ The orchestra had come to the end of its piece and there was a lull in the pyrotechnics. Now was the moment. He took her arm. ‘I’ve been absolutely longing to talk to you alone—’

‘Hush! Listen, Maxi!’ Tessa had turned away from him, her gaze on the row of trees fringing the shore. ‘Don’t you hear it?’

Maxi did. A strange, coughing noise, then a low growl . . . And then a dark shape shambling out of the trees . . . pausing . . . the great head swaying in confusion and fright.

‘Oh, Lord, it’s Mishka!’ Tessa’s voice was breathless with concern. ‘He must have broken down the door. And Uncle Sava’s not here, he’s taken Frau Romola for a drive! They were going to watch the fireworks from High Pfaffenstein.’

‘The devil!’ Maxi was well aware of the danger. The Archduke’s bear had been found as a cub in a fair in Novgorod with a firecracker tied to his tail. Normally he was docile enough, but now . . .

A piece of frayed rope dangling from his collar, the bear slithered down on to the shingle and a group of children ran screaming in the direction of the bathing huts. For a moment he paused uncertainly, his eyes glowing red in the light of the braziers. But ahead of him was darkness and quiet, and now he lumbered on to the jetty and moved down to the end, sniffing the water.

Only the dark and the quietness were deceptive. The fireworks were starting up again and as a burst of rockets went up from the nearest island, he turned with a roar of terror and stood, growling and swaying, facing the shore.

‘Oh, poor thing, he’s so frightened!’

‘There’s nothing you can do, Tessa. Look, those men have gone for—’