The Willow King by Meelis Friedenthal

Author:Meelis Friedenthal [Meelis Friedenthal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782272830
Publisher: Pushkin Press
Published: 2016-09-09T04:00:00+00:00

THURSDAY AFTERNOON

THEY ENTERED A ROOM which was almost as bare as a barracks. At first Laurentius thought it might be a hay barn or a storeroom, and it took a few moments before he realized that they had entered an ad hoc theatre, which had been set up in a converted inn room. It clearly had no hopes of competing with Bollhuset or the London theatres, but it nevertheless seemed to aspire to being a theatre of sorts. There was a handsome carved music stand, and some chairs for the musicians positioned in the centre of the room. Two large candelabra, each with a number of arms, were positioned either side of the stage, casting a honey-golden glow around their vicinity. But the guttering light of the smelly tallow candles only reached as far as the front rows, and towards the back of the room the light was dim, so that one could only just make out people’s faces and the glint of the occasional wig, propped up high on their wearers’ heads. Laurentius found himself a place in the almost pitch black of the back row, and stood and watched as the young men in embroidered overcoats entered and inspected the handwritten programme nailed to the door, trying to keep their fancy clothes as far away from the walls as possible. At shoulder height there were stripped logs with planks nailed to them, and they had turned dark and smudgy from the smoke coming from the fireplace, which vented straight into the room. There was evidently a crack in the roof somewhere, as rainwater was seeping along the rafters and dripping down onto the earth floor. Although the earth itself had been trampled hard, the straw covering it was wet and slippery in places. The innkeeper was seeing to it that everyone had a large tankard of strong beer to drink, almost forcing the mugs into the students’ hands. It may have been a theatre, but that was no reason to miss an opportunity to make some money. Laurentius had taken a mug of beer along with everyone else, and now he was trying to read the sign to try to work out what kind of performance was in store. But he couldn’t recognize a single name.

“Are they local composers?” he asked his neighbour.

“Why do you ask?” his neighbour queried.

“All the names look unfamiliar to me,” Laurentius said.

“Are you serious? You don’t know anyone at all?” His neighbour sounded surprised.

“Should I?” Laurentius asked.

“Well I don’t know...” His neighbour tailed off.

The performers arrived in almost complete silence, looking slightly nervous, and sat down on the chairs placed against the wall, their backs straight, their hands on their knees, staring straight ahead, seeming somehow lifeless, like sculptures. Laurentius recognized Peter as he stepped out in front of the audience and made a toast to the performers and visitors, which was followed by a long verse in Latin. Laurentius guessed that it must have been Peter’s own work since the imagery was quite laboured and seemed to follow assiduously a formula learnt at university.

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