{"id":1716,"date":"2020-05-02T02:58:49","date_gmt":"2020-05-02T02:58:49","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?p=1716"},"modified":"2020-08-09T16:42:46","modified_gmt":"2020-08-09T16:42:46","slug":"seconds-first-of-a-fine-spectacle","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?p=1716","title":{"rendered":"Seconds: “First of a Fine Spectacle”"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"Did you know Russian empress Catherine the Great wrote operas?  She did, badly, or so goes her history. Anyway, back in my own when came an anthology call for Catherine the Great stories and here she was upon research having tried her imperial hand at librettos. I wrote it, a comic romp. Got a yes. So there I was, 2013, me and a Catherine the Great opera romp. Not everyone can say that’s in their locker, y’all.<\/em><\/p>\n

I like this one. It’s imperfect in execution but wonderful for its tomfoolery. It appeared only then in Pure Slush<\/a>‘s <\/em>Catherine, Refracted. Today, our world is struggling. People could use a breather romp. So, here is that Catherine story. As published, all hindsight editing resisted to preserve its goofball spirit. I hope it brings a needed smile.<\/em><\/p>\n

FIRST OF A FINE SPECTACLE<\/h3>\n

Katerina hooded her gaze. \u201cLa Harpe told you everything?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her footman intoning \u201cKaterina the Second, Empress and Autocrat of All the Russians,\u201d still dizzied me even after it no longer echoed through her salon. My endless bow had me near toppling over, blood pounding in my ears. I, the librettist known for his single glorious failure, had been dragged into a private audience with the Empress herself.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d have us speak plainly.\u201d Katerina said. \u201cMr. Nowicki, are you quite well?\u201d<\/p>\n

I was not. My business in Saint Petersburg, to discuss texts for the soon-to-open Bolshoi opera, had ended badly. Before I could present my tragedy Kristall-Herzen<\/em>, a fortune teller in love with her destined murderer, La Harpe made clear the true commission: to supervise texts credited to Empress Katerina. We debated the matter, he considering it an honor and I a prison sentence to be shunted into a ghost-writer\u2019s closet. In that sense I won the argument when imperial guardsmen hauled me away.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Nowicki?\u201d<\/p>\n

Katerina stood beside the piano, her face a once-perfect egg now swollen by age, her dark blue eyes still dancing with intelligence. Her white gown glowed in the sunlight surging through the windows. Outside the river flowed oblivious to my plight.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Nowicki, I am accustomed to having my questions answered.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPardon me, Empress. Anonymous collaboration, he called it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Katerina stared me down like a lioness choosing her supper. \u201cArtur Nowicki. You\u2019re Polish. You\u2019re not hoping to kill me, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

I wondered the same about her. Abduction had that effect on me. Luckily, no one invented narrow escapes quite like a librettist. I would construct a fake demise, one set on a time delay thanks to some obscure and vaguely fatal disease. \u201cI\u2019m not political. Even if I had the strength.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I won\u2019t apologize. Russia had territorial claims, and I pursued them. It\u2019s why they gave me the job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAgain, that\u2019s beyond my depth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNymphs in a Russian wood.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded and used the moment to adjust my collar. Nymphs at the Hermitage made no less sense than disgraced librettists. Who knew what the Empress of All the Russians had running about the place?<\/p>\n

Katerina swept a hand toward the piano. \u201cAn idea I\u2019m toying with. Make me hear nymphs in a wood.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMight we discuss my situation?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNymphs.\u201d<\/p>\n

I edged onto the piano bench, Katerina stepping in behind me, the unblinking stares of the plasterwork cherubs weighing on my shoulders. Nymphs would caper, and so I started my right hand on a jaunty allegro. I recalled the forests along the ride from Warsaw, the mad growth of summer, lichens and deer and dappled sun, and brought my left hand in to harmonize a dark rhythm.<\/p>\n

\u201cStop!\u201d<\/p>\n

I drew back from the keys, my shoulders lighter despite Katerina\u2019s hovering shadow. A poor showing could be blamed on my advancing disease.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not at all certain that wood was Russian,\u201d Katerina said. She settled beside me on the bench. \u201cArtur, I\u2019m Sophie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEmpress?\u201d<\/p>\n

Katerina shot me a grin. \u201cNo more Empress, please. Not in session. How do you propose declaring my ideas crap while calling me Empress?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d I said, inching away while my tongue found courage, \u201cSophie, you are perhaps too hard on yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what Voltaire said. He never managed a decent libretto, did he? So out with it. The verdict on my nymphs from Artur, the genius of Die Verwunderung<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

My only text ever staged. My blessing, my curse, and not even my best, nothing like Kristall-Herzen<\/em>. \u201cIt flopped.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe production flopped. Your writing was brilliant. A true voice, essentially unheard. There it is. Now, when you were playing the nymphs, something held you back. Was it the nymphs or the wood?\u201d<\/p>\n

Both, though I found my abduction more distracting.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlain speaking, Artur. If you believe nymphs are shit, then say so.\u201d<\/p>\n

Surely that truth doomed me as much as the fortune teller in my masterpiece. \u201cPlainly, I am not right for the job. My health is in fast decline, I fear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHere we go again. Please know I\u2019m not sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

I had expected more difficulty faking, and perhaps a morsel of sympathy for, my condition. Regardless the bright prospects of freedom and redemption shimmered around me. \u201cI am grateful for your understanding.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI meant about Poland. If you expect me to say it was all Potemkin\u2019s idea, I shall disappoint you. It was mine, and I would do it again without hesitation.\u201d Katerina–Sophie–wheeled to face the keys, the drapes of her gown rustling against me. \u201cWere you in the war?\u201d<\/p>\n

With the speedy Russian victory, the closest thing to violence I experienced as an infantryman was mild dysentery. Something like it rumbled in my gut now at freedom\u2019s light flickering. \u201cI was.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood you made it through.\u201d Sophie turned to the keyboard again and played a snippet of my capering theme, her technique precise if flat, but her fingers dwelled over each note as if deliberating it, showing it respect. \u201cStop putting distance between us, Artur. I\u2019ve done my part setting you straight about Poland. Now let\u2019s have the same from you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wiped sweat off my palms. For my escape, for my masterpiece Kristall-Herzen, I intended a fraught tale of mere weeks to live. Some power in her blue eyes trapped the lie in my chest. \u201cI worry nymphs are not ideal for opera. In my opinion.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHardly. They\u2019re putting on a play. About what I haven\u2019t decided, but only the most beautiful get the plum parts.\u201d<\/p>\n

An idea no more operatic than dysentery. Frustration blazed through me, my skin prickling with its sparks. \u201cAnd yet the dramatic potential seems limited. A text must free the composer and performers to emote.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou see it. Exactly what trips me up. I\u2019m always short on conflict.\u201d Sophie continued my caper melody, adding notes for texture, building it until with great flourish she pounded a bass chord that shuddered through the salon. \u201cA satyr.\u201d<\/p>\n

At least fate granted my fortune teller the release of death. Sophie chained me and my redemption to nymphs and satyrs. \u201cSuch a gift for opera certainly doesn\u2019t require my services.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m from Pomerania, you know. Originally. Lovely country, practically Poland. So. We\u2019ll need a deliciously evil name for our satyr.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNymphs are shit.\u201d The words burst out before I could catch them. The anger and fear that bubbled out from me kept digging my grave. \u201cAnd you had me hauled in like a criminal.\u201d<\/p>\n

What hung between us seemed the quiet between the drums and the falling axe.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, plain speaking,\u201d Sophie said. \u201cWatch as I return your volley. Nymphs are beyond shit. I wouldn\u2019t put my name to nymphs if it earned me Sweden. What if we adapted a folk tale? With a dragon?\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood and straightened my jacket. \u201cArrest me if you will,\u201d I heard myself say, \u201cbut I must decline your commission. My creations deserve my name.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sophie heaved a sigh. \u201cOh, all right. I\u2019m sorry. Not for the war. But that you and so many had to fight in it. Merciful heavens, see what you\u2019ve won from me?\u201d<\/p>\n

I had won nothing but a dragon. My heart buckled, and I crumpled back down on the bench. \u201cI don\u2019t need an apology. I need my work, to have my voice heard. You won\u2019t buy me with money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd especially not trying to flatter Die Verwunderung<\/em>. To be heard once hurts worse than never.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d call that sentimentalist twaddle coming from anyone other than you. Someone to undo me so easily into apology knows the tragedy is not to be heard at all. What about magic wheat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPardon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor our folk opera. We\u2019ll find someone for the score sure to pack a house. Having The Empress and Autocrat of All the Russians involved won\u2019t hurt, either.\u201d Sophie leaned over, filling my nose with the orange-scented powder in her hair. \u201cThey\u2019ll hear Artur and Sophie all the way in Vienna.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finally I saw the method lurking behind her crooked grin. Sophie–Katerina–wanted us both to be heard, her through me, me through her. She brought me there to make clear my choice: Warsaw or Saint Petersburg, the dream to be heard truly or the certainty to be heard well.<\/p>\n

\u201cDragons are hard to stage,\u201d I said. \u201cWhat about this? A fortune teller divines her true love will someday murder her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a start.\u201d Katerina rose, drawing me up with her. \u201cYou\u2019re a crafty one, Artur. A master of silences and player of long games. Tomorrow you shall not take me by surprise.\u201d<\/p>\n

Empress Katerina turned, and I bowed in her wake as she swished out of the salon. The craft on display had not been mine.<\/p>\n

END<\/p>\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Did you know Russian empress Catherine the Great wrote operas?  She did, badly, or so goes her history. Anyway, back in my own when came an anthology call for Catherine the Great stories and here she was upon research having tried her imperial hand at librettos. I wrote it, a comic romp. Got a yes.… Continue reading Seconds: “First of a Fine Spectacle”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[8,92,6],"tags":[18,166,3],"class_list":["post-1716","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-humor","category-short-stories","category-this-whole-writing-thing","tag-catherine-the-great","tag-seconds","tag-short-stories","entry"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p3CG0W-rG","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":36,"url":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?p=36","url_meta":{"origin":1716,"position":0},"title":"Behind the Short Story: “First of a Fine Spectacle”","author":"rtmcontrol","date":"October 8, 2013","format":false,"excerpt":"I'm honored\u00a0that my\u00a0short story\u00a0\/ high farce\u00a0\"First of a Fine Spectacle\" was selected for Pure Slush No. 7, Catherine refracted. I'm a history buff. But I've not had much interest writing historical fiction. Or flash fiction. So\u00a0historical flash? What drew me was the collection's theme: Catherine the Great. A canvas rife\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Humor"","block_context":{"text":"Humor","link":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?cat=8"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]},{"id":652,"url":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?p=652","url_meta":{"origin":1716,"position":1},"title":"First Two Pages + Two Bad Hamiltons = Too Good a Time!","author":"rtmcontrol","date":"July 30, 2015","format":false,"excerpt":"I'm delighted to have a guest post over at The First Two Pages, a blog run by writer extraordinaire B.K. Stevens. Every week a novelist or story writer takes apart an opening they find instructive: the fits and starts of crafting it, how the hook became sharp, etc. In my\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Short Stories"","block_context":{"text":"Short Stories","link":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?cat=92"},"img":{"alt_text":"AHM515-finalcover","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/robertmangeot.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/10\/ah-may2015-207x300.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":369,"url":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?p=369","url_meta":{"origin":1716,"position":2},"title":"The Carcassonne Sandwich","author":"rtmcontrol","date":"May 17, 2014","format":false,"excerpt":"To celebrate\u00a0\"The Carcassonne Dream\" turning a year old, here again is the recipe for the legendary\u00a0sandwich that drives honeymooner\u00a0Dan\u00a0to desperate measures. As crisis deepens and he closes in on the final ingredients, he ultimately must choose where his fate lies: with his new bride or his dream sandwich. FULL DISCLOSURE\u00a01:\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "France"","block_context":{"text":"France","link":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?cat=13"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]},{"id":247,"url":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?p=247","url_meta":{"origin":1716,"position":3},"title":"Behind: “Uprisings at Cap d’Antibes”","author":"rtmcontrol","date":"March 1, 2014","format":false,"excerpt":"There\u2019s nothing like a good, old-school\u00a0revolution to get a story going. Great or small, a lightning coup or decades in the making, needed change or epic tragedy. Revolution, for better\u00a0or worse,\u00a0is essentially human. The idea of a revolution wriggled into my brain some time back. In my fiction usually a\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Humor"","block_context":{"text":"Humor","link":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?cat=8"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]},{"id":2545,"url":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?p=2545","url_meta":{"origin":1716,"position":4},"title":"2023, A Funny Sort of Year","author":"rtmcontrol","date":"December 27, 2023","format":false,"excerpt":"We all beat our drums about what's important to us. Humor is important to me, in life and in writing. Not surprisingly then, a drum I beat when talking writing is the serious business of humor. 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Push-pull of tradition. Sense of belonging to place, like it or not. I don\u2019t write it. Or at least I hadn\u2019t until earlier this year. So it\u2019s a thrill that\u00a0my \u201cDark Days for the Professor\u201d has been included in NWMG\u2019s Southern lit\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Humor"","block_context":{"text":"Humor","link":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?cat=8"},"img":{"alt_text":"51mTezsunJL__SY346_","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/robertmangeot.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/10\/51mTezsunJL__SY346_-188x300.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1716","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1716"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1716\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1768,"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1716\/revisions\/1768"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1716"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1716"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1716"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}