Faceless by Kathryn Lasky

Author:Kathryn Lasky [Lasky, Kathryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2021-07-03T00:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

A Rhine Maiden

“Achtung! Rheintöchter! Yes, attention, Rhine maidens!” Winifred Wagner, the director of this performance from the Ring cycle, was charging around on the stage in her semi-dirndlish dress. A full-blown dirndl with puff sleeves and white apron would not have suited Frau Wagner. The daughter-in-law of Richard Wagner, Winifred was a large woman who could have been a Valkyrie herself.

“Now let me explain. What we are doing here is not, of course, a full opera, but scenes. You do not have to sing, but you present a motionless scene as music plays on the gramophone. I arrange all of you in a pose as the curtain opens. I stand at the conductor’s podium, and you watch my baton. When it moves, you change your pose.” She delivered these instructions as crisply as any drill sergeant in the Führer’s army. “You remain silent as the singers on the record do all the singing. But it helps if you keep your mouths open . . . like this . . .” She then drew her rather thin lips into an oval shape. Alice noticed that Frau Wagner had very bad teeth.

“There are only four different poses within the scene we are staging tonight. In the first pose, you are sitting on the rocks of the river, guarding the treasure of the Rhinegold, as the dwarf Alberich has just appeared. He is dazzled by your beauty. But most of all Alberich wants the treasure. This is an opera all about the gods, their ruler, and the quest for power. Whoever gets the ring possesses power. All about questing for power, and then the collapse of everything—the Götterdämmerung, the Twilight of the Gods. That’s it, in a nutshell.”

Alice learned that every summer, excerpts from Hitler’s favorite opera were performed here, in a series of these tableaux vivants. A stage was erected. Old costumes brought out of storage. And since the entire orchestra could not be transported, the records played on a gramophone.

Alice had been drafted into the performance almost as soon as she had arrived. They were now rehearsing. She was one of the Rhine maidens.

“Now which one are you?” Frau Wagner demanded. “Woglinde?”

“No, I’m to be Flosshilde,” Alice replied.

“I’m Woglinde.” A tall and frail-looking girl stepped forward.

“Aah yes, Herta.”

“And I’m Wellgunde,” said another.

Frau Wagner nodded. “Of course, and the new girl here is Flosshilde.” She paused briefly. “And what’s your name again?”

“Ute . . . Ute Schnaubel.”

“Right, right. Not sure why I can’t remember that. Your face is lovely. Reminds me of Gerte Wertheimer, who sang the role of Sieglinde in the 1929 performance. She brought down the house!”

My intentions exactly, Alice thought.

“Now you go to stage left and sit on that rock. And you, Woglinde, sit at her feet, and Wellgunde, you go to the right of . . . uh . . . pardon me, Flosshilde.” She paused. “What’s your real name again?”

“Ute.”

“Good. Now when the music begins again, you, Flosshilde, raise your hands—as a teacher might. One finger pointing

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