“I follow you,” said the Doctor. “The sword is manhood and the scabbard is womanhood, and unless they are united there can be no peace, no splendour through the arts of peace.”
“You’ve got it!” said Powell. “And the scabbard is also Guenevere, and already Arthur is losing Guenevere because he trusts in the sword alone.”
“The symbolismus is very good,” said the Doctor. “Aha, the sword is also Arthur’s thing—you know, his male thing—what do you call it—?”
“His penis,” said Penny.
“Not much of a word. Latin—means his tail. How can it be a tail when it is in front? Have you no better word in English?”
“Not in decent use,” said Darcourt.
“Oh—decent use! I spit on decent use! And the scabbard is the Queen’s thing—what is your indecent word for that?”
Nobody quite liked to reply, but Penny whispered in the Doctor’s ear. “Middle English,” she added, to give it a scholarly gloss.
“Oho, that word!” said the Doctor. “We know it well in Sweden. That’s a better word than that silly tail-word. I see that this will be a very rich opera. More champagne, if you please. Perhaps the best thing would be to put a bottle here beside me.”
“Do I understand that you are telling the spectators even before the opera begins that there can be peace in the land only if there is sexual unity between the King and Queen?” said Hollier.
“Not at all,” said Powell. “This Prologue tells that the greatness of the land depends on the uniting of masculine and feminine powers, and that the sword alone cannot bring the nobility of spirit Arthur seeks. Don’t worry. I can get it across with some very nice lighting. There will be no raunchy shoving the sword in and out of the scabbard to please the people who think that sex is just something that happens in bed.”
“More to that game than four bare legs in a blanket,” said Penny, nodding sagely.
“Exactly. It is a union of two opposite but complementary sensibilities. Maybe that is what the Grail means. I leave that to the librettists, if they think it useful.”
“The wine in the gold,” said Maria.
“I never thought of the Grail like that,” said Penny. “Interesting idea.”
“Even the blind pig sometimes finds an acorn,” said Powell, bowing toward her. “Now, to get into the opera proper.
“Act One begins with Arthur’s evil sister, Morgan Le Fay (who is an enchantress and thus understandably a contralto), trying to worm secrets out of Merlin: who shall be Arthur’s heir? Merlin squirms a bit, but he can’t resist a fellow magician, and he confides that it must be someone born in the month of May, unless Arthur should have a child of his own. Morgan Le Fay is exultant, for her son Modred was born in May, and as the King’s nephew he is the nearest heir. Merlin warns her not to be too sure, for Arthur loves Guenevere greatly, and a child is very likely. Not if Arthur risks his life in war, says the contralto.
“Then we have an assembly of the Knights of the Round Table: Arthur gives them their charge—they are to disperse and seek the Holy Grail, which will bring lasting peace and greatness to Britain. The Knights accept their duty, and are sent their different ways. But when Lancelot presents himself the King refuses to give him a direction; he must remain behind to govern because the King is eager to go on the Quest himself, bearing the great Caliburn; he draws it and sings of his overmastering ambition. Guenevere pleads with Arthur to let Lancelot go on the Quest, for she fears that the guilty love she and Lancelot have for each other may bring shame to the kingdom. But Arthur is resolute, and as he is being armoured for his Quest—very spectacular that will be—Morgan Le Fay steals the scabbard and Arthur, in his exalted state, refuses to wait until it is found, and goes on the Quest, declaring that bravery and strength, symbolized by the naked sword, will suffice. Everybody buggers off in search of the Grail, and Guenevere is filled with dread, and Morgan Le Fay is exultant. End of the Act.”
“What about Modred?” said Maria. “We haven’t heard anything of him yet.”
“He’s one of the Knights, and he doubts the Grail,” said Powell. “He can scowl and sneer in the background.”
“Strong stuff, but is it nineteenth-century?” said Hollier. “A bit too psychological, perhaps?”
“No,” said the Doctor. “Nineteenth-century need not mean simple-minded. Look at Weber’s Der Freischütz. The nineteenth century had psychology too. We didn’t invent it.”
“Very well,” said Hollier. “Go on, Powell.”
“Act Two is where we get into really big operatic stuff. Begins with a scene of the Queen’s Maying; she and her ladies are in the forest, gathering the May blossoms. I think she should ride a horse. A horse is always a sure card in opera. Suggests that no expense has been spared. If the horse has been given an enema an hour before curtain time, and there are enough people to lead it, even a coloratura soprano should be able to stick on its back long enough for a very pretty effect. In the forest she meets Lancelot, and they sing of their passion—after the horse and the maidens have gone, of course. But Morgan Le Fay is eavesdropping, disguised as a hag, an old witch of the forest. She cannot contain herself. She bursts upon the couple and denounces them as traitors to the King; they protest their innocence and devotion to Arthur. When the witch has gone. Merlin appears, and warns the lovers of the evil that lurks in the May blossoms, and the danger of the month of May. But they do not understand him.”
“Stupid, like all characters in opera,” said Hollier.
“Enchanted, like all people in love,” said the Doctor. “Characters in opera are really just like ordinary people, you know, except that they show us their souls.”
“If a witch and a sorcerer warned me about something, I think I would have enough wits to heed them,” said Hollier.
“Probably. That is why there has never been an opera about a professor,” said the Doctor.
“That is only Scene One of the Act,” said Powell. “Now we have a quick change—I know how to do it—to a Tower up the river above Camelot, where Guenevere and Lancelot have gone and consummated their love. They are in ecstasy, but in the river below the Tower there appears a Black Barge guided by Morgan Le Fay, and bearing Elaine, the Lily Maid of Astolat, who accuses Lancelot of being false to her, and says that she carries his child. Guenevere is horror-struck, when Lancelot confesses that it is indeed true, but that he lay with Elaine when he was under a spell, and that he suspects the spell was cast upon him by Morgan Le Fay, who can get in a lot of very effective mockery in the ensuing quartet. But Guenevere is desolate and when the barge sweeps on, down the river to Camelot, her reproaches drive Lancelot mad. Now of course in Malory he is mad for years, and dashes about the forest banging into trees and getting into all sorts of injurious mischief, but we have no time for that, so he rages for a while. This could be quite a novelty; a Mad Scene (à la Lucia) for a tenor. Lancelot proposes to Guenevere that he should kill himself, as expiation for his faithlessness, even though it was not precisely his fault. No, says Guenevere; there shall be no needless killing, and she herself puts his sword back into its scabbard. As the scene concludes, a messenger arrives in hot haste, with news that there has been a great battle, and that Arthur has been killed. His body is being brought back to Camelot for burial. End of scene.”