"Precisely my point of view," said Bernard Bickel. "I haven"t noticed any manifestation of music among these Striads, but they seem, on the whole, a courteous and creative people. Perhaps you"ve observed the murals above the gate executed in various colors of mud?"
"Indeed; highly impressive. I must remind Roger to make photographs, which is the ostensible reason for his presence aboard the ship."
"He certainly does not appear to be enjoying himself," said Bernard Bickel. "In my opinion his nose is out of joint because Captain Gondar has been monopolizing Miss Roswyn."
Dame Isabel compressed her mouth. "I cannot consider the matter without becoming indignant, especially since we cannot dispense with Captain Gondar, who has, as you point out, taken the young creature under his wing."
Bernard Bickel shrugged. "It seems no great matter to anyone but Roger. She keeps pretty well out of everyone"s way; it"s hard to imagine anyone being less obtrusive."
"I should hope so," sniffed Dame Isabel.
The hour designated as curtain time approached. The singers were in costume; the orchestra, after a good lunch and a saunter back and forth in front of the ship, had repaired to the orchestra pit where they sorted out scores and exchanged good-natured banter.
From the tall city of colored mud came the Striads, stalking as before with immense dignity and seriousness. They entered the theater and seated themselves without self-consciousness or hesitancy. Dame Isabel looked from the empty seats to the city - but no more Striads were on the way.
She summoned Darwin Litchley. "Is this all the audience we are to expect? I don"t believe more than a hundred are in the theater."
"I"ll make inquiries," Darwin Litchley went to speak to one of the Striads, then returned frowning to Dame Isabel. "He says this will be the entire audience: they are all individuals of responsibility - something like aldermen, I suppose - fully authorized to make whatever decisions are necessary."
Dame Isabel shook her head fretfully. "I can"t say that I understand."
"Nor I," said Litchley. "Still it is probably best to stage the opera before a group like this, which at least is the elite of the city."
"This is probably the explanation," said Bernard Bickel. "I have noticed a similar situation elsewhere: a kind of cultural aristocracy which alone is privileged to explore the esthetic mysteries."
Dame Isabel peered in at the stiffly erect audience, who already were giving careful attention to the sounds of the orchestra tuning. "A rule of the artists, so to speak? A pleasant concept, certainly ... Well, we must proceed."
Sir Henry Rixon mounted the podium. He bowed to the audience, raised his baton: the orchestra produced the three solemn bra.s.s chords of the adagio preamble. The audience sat transfixed.
The curtain rose; Tamino came forth pursued by a serpent, and so went the performance. Dame Isabel was delighted with the concentrated attentiveness of the audience. They sat motionless, wincing approval from time to time, especially at Ada Francini"s second act display of her F in altissima.
The opera ended; the cast came forth to bow. The audience rose slowly to their feet and for the first time conferred with each other. There seemed a certain amount of dissension, and ignoring orchestra and singers, the Striads left the theater to continue their discussion on the open ground.
Dame Isabel came forth, smiling graciously to all sides, followed by Bernard Bickel and Darwin Litchley. She marched up to the Striads. "What is your opinion of our wonderful music?" she asked brightly, and Darwin Litchley translated.
A spokesman for the group replied, and Litchley looked a trifle puzzled.
"What does he say?" asked Dame Isabel.
Litchley looked frowningly toward the Striads. "He is asking as to availability."
""Availability"? I don"t understand!"
"Nor I." Litchley made further inquiry and the Striad responded at length.
Darwin Litchley"s eyebrows rose. He started to speak, then shrugged helplessly and turned to Dame Isabel. "There seems to be a slight mistake, a certain degree of misunderstanding," he said. "I mentioned that the Striads were familiar with Earth only through an occasional commercial mission?"
"Yes, yes!"
"They seem to have mistaken the Phoebus for a similar mission, and came to the performances in this frame of mind." Darwin Litchley hesitated, then spoke out in a rush. "They are not unduly impressed. They state that they need no trombones or violins, their diaphragms being adequate in this respect, but they are willing to place a firm order for two oboeists and a coloratura."
"Good heavens!" declared Dame Isabel. She turned an indignant glance toward the patiently attentive Striads. "You may tell them -"
Bernard Bickel stepped forward. "Tell them," he said smoothly, "that unfortunately these particular items are much in demand and that we cannot promise delivery at any time in the immediate future."
The Striads heard Darwin Litchley with patience and courtesy, then turned and marched slowly back toward their city. In disgust Dame Isabel ordered the theater struck, and the Phoebus moved to the lands of the Water-people.
A slow river flowing from the rain-forest wandered first west, then north, then south-west, and finally entered a great inland sea, traversing a delta perhaps fifty miles long and as many wide. Here the Water-people made their homes, evolving into a racial type so different from the Striads as to suggest a different race of beings. They were smaller than the Striads and supple as seals; their diaphragms were atrophied, or perhaps had never developed; in color they were a pallid gray. Their heads were rounder; the black feathery crown of the Striads was represented by a few limp strands of black-green fiber. They were much more numerous than the Striads and much more nervously active. They had altered their environment to a considerable extent, creating an astounding complexity of ca.n.a.ls, ponds, levees, floating islands, upon and around which they either swam, poled frail scows, or propelled barges heaped with bundles and bales. In the whole area there was no single large city, merely innumerable villages of gra.s.s and reed huts. In the center of the delta, on an island roughly a mile in diameter, rose a paG.o.da-like tower constructed of timber, woven fiber, red-enameled panels.
Darwin Litchley had discussed the Water-folk with Dame Isabel and Bernard Bickel at some length. "You may not find these people as cordial or as gracious as the Striads; in fact, they are inclined to a cool detachment which can very easily be interpreted as dislike. But this is not the case, nor do the Water-people lack emotional depth. But they are extremely conservative and suspicious of innovation. You may wonder why Commissioner Cam suggested you visit the Water-people, but the answer is simple. They have a highly developed music, in a tradition at least ten thousand years old."
"Well, well," said Dame Isabel with a plaintive sigh, "I am glad to come upon a people who at least know the meaning of the word "music"."
"No fear on that score," said Darwin Litchley. "They are true experts; all have absolute pitch; they will recognize offhand any chord you can play in any of its inversions."
"This is good news indeed," said Dame Isabel. "I don"t suppose they maintain orchestras similar to our own?"
"Not precisely. Every adult is a musician of sorts, and from birth has been a.s.signed a definite part in the ceremonial fugues, which he will play upon the instrument hereditary to his family."
"Interesting!" declared Dame Isabel. "Will we have an opportunity to hear any of the music?"
Darwin Litchley pursed his lips dubiously. "As to that, I can"t say. The Water-folk are neither unhospitable nor hostile, but they are a peculiar people, as you will see for yourself, and must be taken on their own terms. I know them fairly well, and they know me - but as far as any warmth or welcome or even display of recognition - you"ll see none at all. Still, you wanted to meet a musically sophisticated people and here they are."
"If they are as you say," said Dame Isabel, "I fancy we can show them something they haven"t seen before. What do you suggest, Bernard?"
Bernard Bickel considered. "Rossini, perhaps: The Barber of Seville?"
"The idea has merit; there is a certain rollicking quality to the work to capture the fancy of such as the Water-folk."
The Phoebus alighted on the island, near the paG.o.da-like tower, which Darwin Litchley identified as the Repository of Archives. He characterized the social system of the Water-folk as a series of paradoxes and confusions which not even the most earnest ethnologist had yet resolved. In the largest sense, each activity and phase of life seemed to be regulated and codified, and subject to the scrutiny of a series of tribunes and monitors.
Still discussing the eccentricities of the Water-folk, Dame Isabel, Darwin Litchley and Bernard Bickel descended the off-ramp. Already waiting was a delegation of Water-folk, the spokesman for whom demanded the purpose of the visit.
Litchley replied in detail, and the delegation departed. "We must wait," Litchley told Dame Isabel. "They have gone to notify the Musical Commissioner."
This person arrived an hour later, with another whom he introduced as the Regional Monitor. They listened to Darwin Litchley with close attention, then the Commissioner spoke a few careful sentences which Litchley translated. "He asks the traditional background of the music you plan to - to -" he hesitated. "I can"t think of a corresponding word. Launch? Promulgate? Yes. He wants to know something of the music you plan to promulgate."
"There is nothing to tell," said Dame Isabel. "It is a pleasant opera, with no explicit social message, merely a vehicle for a great deal of delightful music. We are here from sheer altruism, to share our music with him and his people."
Darwin Litchley translated, listened, turned back to Dame Isabel. "When do you propose to promulgate the music, for how long, and on how many occasions?"
"That will depend on how well we are received," replied Dame Isabel craftily. "If our program seems to give pleasure to the audience we might present several performances. If not, we will depart. It is as simple as that. Our first program will depend on the availability of an audience - which I shouldn"t imagine would be difficult to find."
There were other words, and Darwin Litchley told Dame Isabel, "You may present your first program tomorrow."
"Very well," said Dame Isabel crisply. "Tomorrow it is, at three hours after noon."
In the morning the theater was a.s.sembled by the now adept crew. At two the cast a.s.sumed costumes and make-up; at two-thirty the musicians gathered in the orchestra pit.
As yet no sign of the prospective audience had evidenced itself. Dame Isabel went out to scan the countryside with a worried frown, but on all sides life seemed to proceed at its wonted pace and direction.
Ten minutes to three: still no audience.
At three o"clock precisely, the Regional Monitor whom they had met on the previous day appeared carrying a flat box. He was alone. With a brief salute for Dame Isabel, Bernard Bickel and Darwin Litchley, he marched into the theater, seated himself, opened his box from which he took paper, ink and brush and arranged all in a convenient position.
From the entrance Dame Isabel inspected him dubiously. "He"s evidently come to see the opera."
Bernard Bickel made a survey of the island. "There isn"t a sign of anyone else."
Dame Isabel turned to Litchley. "Find out when we may expect the audience to appear."
Litchley conferred with the monitor, returned to Dame Isabel. "He is the audience. He is a trifle irritated that the performance has not started on time."
"We can"t play to a single individual!" protested Dame Isabel. "Did you explain that to him?"
"Well - yes. I pointed out that we were expecting rather more of a crowd, but he states that he is required to make a preliminary survey, to study and a.s.sess the performance before the population at large could risk a submission to possibly disturbing sounds. This, he says, is his duty."
Dame Isabel snapped her jaw shut; for a moment it was touch-and-go whether The Barber of Seville would be submitted for approval or not.
Bernard Bickel spoke in his most soothing voice, "I suppose we must expect arbitrary regulations wherever we go, especially on the more highly developed worlds. There is not much we can do about it; we must either accommodate ourselves to local custom or leave."
Dame Isabel nodded a peevish acquiescence. "I suppose you are right; however when idealistic people such as ourselves spend our talents and our money to provide this wonderful experience, it does seem that the people who will benefit might display appreciation. It is not effusiveness I want, but only some small acknowledgment; then I would be content. I do not believe -" she broke off as the monitor approached. He spoke and Litchley translated: "He is impatient for the program to commence; he notes that we are already nineteen minutes late."
Dame Isabel threw up her hands. "I do what I must." She signaled to Sir Henry Rixon, who glanced in surprise out across the expanse of benches, empty except for the attentive monitor. He looked questioningly once more to Dame Isabel, who gave him another signal. Sir Henry raised his baton. The first notes of the overture sounded and The Barber of Seville was under way.
The performance, played against the total non-resilience of the monitor, was not the most vivacious of anyone"s experience, but on the other hand the virtuosity of the cast preserved it from becoming the empty sh.e.l.l, the sheer going-through-the-motions which it might well have been.
During the performance the monitor sat attentive, showing neither pleasure nor disapproval, making no motion other than an occasional taking of notes with brush and ink.
The final ensemble yielded to the ultimate orchestral chord; the curtain dropped. Dame Isabel, Bernard Bickel and Litchley turned to the monitor, who was making a few final notes. Then he rose to his feet, started for the exit. Darwin Litchley did not need Dame Isabel"s bark of instructions to spring forward. There was a lengthy colloquy by the exit, until Dame Isabel broke in to inquire the nature of the monitor"s judgments.
Darwin Litchley spoke laboriously. "He"s unfavorably impressed; this essentially is his reaction."
"What?" demanded Dame Isabel. "And why is this?"
The monitor, seeming to divine the nature of Dame Isabel"s exclamation, spoke to Litchley, who translated. "He has noticed a large number of clumsy mistakes. The costumes are unsuitable for the climate. Now he is making technical objection ... The singers - hmm: a word I don"t understand - bgra.s.sik. Hmm. Whatever it means it"s something the singers do incorrectly when attempting to - another unfamiliar phrase: thelu gy shlrama during orchestral implications, which result in faulty ghark jissu, whatever that is. "Implications" might mean overtones ... The chord sequences - no, that can"t be what he means; chord sequences wouldn"t move from north to west." He listened to the monitor, who now was reading from his notes. "The original antiphony was incomplete ... The thakal skth hg were too close to the brga skth gz, and neither were of standard texture ... He found the duet about halfway through interesting because of the unusual but legitimate grsgk y thgssk trg. He complains that the musicians sit too statically. He thinks that they should move - hop or jump if they will - in order to blend the music. The work is wild, undisciplined, with too much incorrect - substratum? Perhaps he means legato. In any event he cannot recommend the work to his people until these flaws are overcome."
Dame Isabel shook her head in complete disbelief. "It is clear that he completely misunderstands our purposes. Ask him to sit down - I will send in for tea."
The monitor acquiesced; Dame Isabel settled herself beside him and for an hour, with occasional interpolations from Bernard Bickel, carefully explained the history, philosophy and structure of cla.s.sical Earth music in general and grand opera in particular. The monitor listened politely and even took an occasional note. "Now," said Dame Isabel, "we will stage another performance - let"s think ... Tristan and Isolde will be taxing but I think it is apropos, in that it affords a notable contrast in style and form. Bernard, please have the Wagner people into their costumes: Tristan and Isolde in twenty minutes. Roger, notify Sir Henry and Andrei. Quickly now, we must convince this monitor that we are not the dunces he takes us for!"
The musicians returned to the pit, the violinists ma.s.saged their fingers, the trumpeters applied salve to their lips; and it was a tribute to the virtuosity of the group and the dynamic qualities of Sir Henry"s baton that the Prelude came forth in all its ineffable bitter-sweet pa.s.sion.
During the performance, Dame Isabel, Bernard Bickel and Darwin Litchley sat beside the silver-skinned monitor, explaining to the best of their powers the subtleties of the spiritual conflict which unfolded before them. The monitor made no comments, and perhaps paid no great heed to the commentary; as before he brushed enigmatic marks upon his notepad.
The performance came to an end; Isolde sang the Liebestod; her voice faded into echo; up through the weft of orchestral sound came the plangent voice of the oboe, p.r.o.nouncing the great theme of magic and woe ... The curtain fell.
Dame Isabel turned to Darwin Litchley. "Now then! I hope he is satisfied!"
The monitor spoke in his husky consonanted language; Litchley listened with a slack jaw. Dame Isabel stuttered and would have leapt to her feet but for Bernard Bickel"s restraining hand.
"He is still - somewhat critical," said Litchley in a hollow voice. "He says he understands something of our point of view, but this is no excuse for poor music. He specifically objects to what he terms the stifling monotony of our chord progressions: he says it would drive an audience less broadminded than himself mad with boredom. He finds our music as reiterative as a children"s chant, with every modulation, every new theme, every recurrence of an old theme, expressed with a pedantic and unimaginative predictability."
Dame Isabel closed her eyes. The monitor had once more gained his feet. "Sit down," she said in a harsh strained voice. "Bernard: we will now perform Wozzeck."
Bernard Bickel"s handsome gray eyebrows rose into astonished arcs. "Wozzeck? Now?"
"At once. Please inform Andrei and Sir Henry."
Bernard Bickel, looking back over his shoulder, went off to do her bidding. He presently returned. "The company is fatigued," he said uncertainly. "They haven"t eaten since noon; Hermilda Warn complains of sore feet, as do Christina Reite and Ephraim Zerner. The first violinist states that he will be forced to play in gloves because of a blister."
Dame Isabel said in a cold quiet voice: "The performance of Wozzeck will get underway in twenty minutes. The singers will change costume, but need not concern themselves with fresh make-up. Distribute lozenges to any who complain of hoa.r.s.eness; those with sore feet would be well-advised to change into casual foot-gear."
Bernard Bickel departed backstage; the musicians presently filed back into the orchestra pit. There were surly mutters, much slamming around of scores. The first violinist ostentatiously drew white cotton gloves over his hands; the second trombonist blew a vulgar glissando.
Sir Henry Rixon sternly rapped the podium with his baton.
Wozzeck! And Dame Isabel watched the monitor with a small secret smile, as if to say, "You think our chords are obvious, do you? a.n.a.lyze a few of these."
It was a weary but paradoxically triumphant company which brought Wozzeck to its dire finale. The monitor consulted his notes with studious attention; but Dame Isabel insisted that all repair to the saloon for a cup of tea and a biscuit. When they were seated she fixed the monitor with a questioning look which was almost a challenge. "Now then?"
The monitor spoke; Darwin Litchley translated in a dull voice. "I cannot recommend tendentious, provocative, or persuasive matter for the attention of the Water-folk. This last improvisation is clever but desperate, and as a final remark, I would recommend that those musicians entrusted with the bsg rga.s.sik listen for the introductory slfks from the air-swish."
""Air-swish"?"
"He refers to Sir Henry"s baton. He can hear the sounds it makes pa.s.sing through the air and believes it to be a musical instrument."
Dame Isabel said in an icy voice, "He is clearly a cretin. You may inform him that our patience is exhausted, that we resolutely refuse to perform before a group so tone-deaf, so arbitrary and opinionated as the Water-folk."
Darwin Litchley cautiously rendered a version of the remarks; the monitor listened without interest. He bent over his pad and seemed to be performing calculations. He spoke to Darwin Litchley, who blinked, then hesitantly translated. "He has set his fee at -"
"His "fee"?" demanded Dame Isabel in a voice which cracked with emotion. "What an astonishing impudence! Order him off the ship instantly!"
Darwin Litchley spoke in a conciliatory voice. "Local usage is such that the monitor must make a charge for his expertise. Six hundred flashlight batteries may seem -"
"What in the world are you talking about?" demanded Dame Isabel. "What is this talk of "flashlight batteries"?"
Litchley smiled weakly. "Flashlight batteries are the local medium of exchange - at least for transactions between Earth people and the aborigines."
Dame Isabel said clearly and distinctly: "Inform this creature that he will be paid nothing, in flashlight batteries or otherwise. Explain that I consider his att.i.tude highly insolent, that he has imposed not only upon me, but also Mr. Bickel and indeed the whole company: if there is any paying of flashlight batteries to be done, it is he who should pay us. Inform him that we are tired and that he may now go. Roger! Inform Captain Gondar that the theater may be disa.s.sembled at once!"
The monitor had not moved from his seat. Dame Isabel gave him an incredulous stare. "What now?"
Darwin Litchley said in a fl.u.s.tered voice, "He tells me that he miscalculated; in addition to the six hundred batteries, there is a surcharge for compositions performed in more than three tonalities, which puts an added strain on the critical faculties. The surcharge in the case of the first two works is fifty flashlight batteries apiece, in the case of Wozzeck he estimates a hundred and fifty. To a total of eight hundred and fifty."
"Tell him to leave. We will pay him nothing."
Litchley and the monitor engaged in a short conversation; then Litchley told Dame Isabel, "He says that if he is not paid he will discharge the contents of his spore-sac into the air, which will infect the Phoebus with approximately ten million infant Water-people, more or less similar to himself."