The Moderate Soprano Read online

  DAVID HARE

  The Moderate Soprano

  Contents

  Title Page

  First performance

  Characters

  Epigraph

  Setting

  The Moderate Soprano

  One: 1939

  Two: 1952

  Three: 1952

  Four: 1934

  Five: 26 January 1934

  Six: March 1934

  Seven: March 1934

  Eight: 1939

  Nine: 1962

  Ten: 1952

  Eleven: 1950

  Twelve: 1934

  Thirteen: 1950

  Fourteen: 1934

  Fifteen: 1950

  Sixteen: 1953

  Seventeen: 1958

  Eighteen: May 1934

  Nineteen: 1950

  Twenty: 1962

  Twenty-One: 28 May 1934

  About David Hare

  Dedication

  By the Same Author

  Copyright

  The Moderate Soprano was first performed at Hampstead Theatre, London, on 23 October 2015. The cast, in order of appearance, was as follows:

  John Christie Roger Allam

  Audrey Mildmay Nancy Carroll

  Rudolf Bing George Taylor

  Dr Fritz Busch Paul Jesson

  Professor Carl Ebert Nick Sampson

  Director Jeremy Herrin

  Designer Rae Smith

  Music Paul Englishby

  Lighting James Farncombe

  Characters

  Captain John Christie

  Audrey Mildmay

  Rudolf ‘Rudi’ Bing

  Dr Fritz Busch

  Professor Carl Ebert

  ‘Of all the noises known to man, opera is the most expensive.’

  Molière

  The play is set in Sussex and Holland between 1934 and 1962.

  Throughout, location is only lightly sketched in – implied, not represented. In Sussex, always a feeling of air and light, of the soft Downs beyond.

  THE MODERATE SOPRANO

  ONE: 1939

  Captain John Christie enters. At this point he is fifty-six. He is short, bald, strong as an ox, dressed in lederhosen and white shoes. He is lame and blind in one eye. He speaks directly to us.

  John For me it’s the garden and the way the garden is tended. I’ve always treated the staff – I’m talking about the conductor, the producer, the lovely people who sing – the singers, the people in the band, the chorus, all those kind people who make the music – I treat them very much as I treat the gardeners. No different. The gardeners do the garden, and the musicians do the music. There’s a way of treating people, isn’t there? Don’t you think? Amazing how few people understand. I’ll tell you what I say: ‘It’s my garden, but it’s your talent.’ There. Not so difficult, is it? ‘You make it, but I own it.’ Oh, we all say it, we all go round saying it, it’s easily said, ‘Let’s treat people decently,’ we say. But how many do?

  TWO: 1952

  Audrey Mildmay is revealed, propped up in bed. She’s the same age as the century. She is willowy, thin. She has been ill for a long time. There is a wheelchair close.

  Audrey I’m not happy about the future of Glyndebourne. I’m not happy at all. You see, Glyndebourne belongs to John. It’s always belonged to him. It’s his. Now it’s to belong to the people. Naturally, they don’t put it like that. They call it a Trust. A Festival Society. Organised by John Lewis. You know – the drapers. People being members and they all have shares. The people who go to the shows. Well, for me that’s the beginning of the end. I’m afraid it’s the war. The war against the Nazis changed everything. It was better before, don’t you think? A man could own an opera house and run it himself. Much better. Because a man can have ideals. A man can have a vision. But how can a group have ideals? How can a people? Dear Jack had this ideal of an opera house on the Sussex Downs. It was his ideal. You can’t sell shares in an ideal.

  THREE: 1952

  John is bringing Audrey a tray with tea in good china, scones, biscuits. He is now in a suit. He is sixty-nine.

  John I’ve brought you tea.

  Audrey I don’t want it.

  John The headaches?

  Audrey Worse.

  John You’ll want it when you have it. It’s Fortnum’s.

  Audrey I never have. In the past.

  John puts the tray down and starts to pour.

  John I’m going to give you tea because you’re not yourself.

  Audrey No. I’m not myself. I used to be really charming, didn’t I?

  John I don’t know anyone who doesn’t ascribe the success of my opera house to the charm of its hostess.

  Audrey Her charm?

  John Yes.

  Audrey Just my charm?

  John No, of course not. Your talent as well.

  He casts a sideways glance at her.

  You’ll sing again.

  Audrey You think so? Without a spleen?

  John You’ll get over it.

  Audrey John, you have many gifts, or so you keep telling everyone; you’re good at boasting, God knows, nobody boasts better than you but you’ve never been good at lying.

  John I’m not lying.

  Audrey Yes, you are.

  John If I were lying I’d tell you.

  Audrey looks away.

  Audrey I’ve become a monster, haven’t I?

  John Not in my eyes.

  Audrey I’m snappy.

  John Never.

  Audrey All the time. I do nothing but complain. You make the tea and I don’t want it. It’s the pressure … Like I’m going to burst …

  John You’re not going to burst.

  Audrey Behind my eye. Like the eye’s going to burst. My little fingers don’t move. The soles of my feet are burning.

  John One lump or two?

  He busies himself with the tea.

  Audrey Poor Jack, you didn’t plan for this.

  John I didn’t plan for you.

  Audrey I’m ready to die. Really. It doesn’t bother me. I’ll miss the children of course. I’ll miss them terribly. But otherwise. Fact is: I can’t sing. If I can’t sing, I might as well die.

  John You’re not dying.

  He looks at her, wary.

  Audrey What is it tonight?

  John Così.

  Audrey It’s always Così.

  John It sells seats.

  Audrey Who’s in the pit?

  John Vittorio. Waving the baguette. Nothing wrong with Vittorio. Nice enough chap. But no conversation at dinner. Or rather, mostly in Italian. Which I find wearing. Es ist nicht meine Lieblingssprache. As you well know.

  Audrey You miss the Germans.

  John I liked the sound of them. I liked the sound of German in the house. Nothing better to wake up to than ein Paar gute Brocken Deutsch im Dialog.

  He takes her tea across.

  It’s best fun when you’re starting, I think.

  Audrey Yes.

  John The first six seasons.

  Audrey Yes.

  John Before the war. Perfect.

  Audrey Perfect.

  John Mind you, that’s true of everything. It’s always best when you don’t know what you’re doing. When I built the science lab at Eton.

  Audrey That’s the only reason they gave you the job. Because you paid for their lab.

  John ‘Science master wanted. Bring own lab.’

  Audrey That’s Eton for you. Spongers.

  John Pipettes and retorts. Didn’t have the slightest idea what I was up to.

  Audrey That isn’t true.

  John No. All right. I did and I didn’t.

  Audrey Like Glyndebourne.

  John Yes.

  Audrey Th
at’s when it’s fun.

  John You do and you don’t.

  He turns and looks at her.

  I owe everything to you. Drink your tea, please, Audrey. Drink your tea.

  She looks at it a moment, then pushes the tray aside.

  Audrey I don’t want tea.

  FOUR: 1934

  On comes Rudolf ‘Rudi’ Bing. He’s a shark in a suit, very tall, rail-thin, dark, sunken eyes, high forehead, already balding. He is just thirty-two. He has a ravishing Viennese accent.

  Rudi There’s only one thing you need to know about John Christie: you’re in or you’re out. There’s no such thing as in between. He’s passionately for you or passionately against. He’s never neutral.

  He puts his own temperament down to that of his parents. His father was prone to terrible Victorian rages. In particular the sight of the naked body of Christie’s mother when she was with child deranged him. His father beat his mother when Christie was still inside her. The father had to be sent away. For that reason Christie was brought up by his mother alone. He described her to me as the most annoying woman on earth. I met her. She lived up to her billing.

  As you gather, I am not English. I come from a country where very few women are beaten naked while pregnant. Correction. From a country where up until recently very few women had been beaten naked while pregnant.

  One more thing: Christie is a truthful man. Truthful as far as he goes. You can rely on him. What he tells you is always true. It’s what he doesn’t tell you, you need to watch out for.

  FIVE: 26 JANUARY 1934

  John is sitting in an Empire chair in a hotel suite. He is approached by Fritz Busch, at this point forty-four, bullish, powerful, with a refined German accent.

  Busch Ah. I’m hoping you’re Captain Christie?

  John Do you know, I think I must be. And you?

  Busch I’m Adolf’s brother.

  John Of course you are. Sehr angenehm. I can see a family resemblance. The feet placed firmly on the ground. The direct gaze. The world doesn’t faze you. Good for you.

  Busch smiles, a little lost.

  Busch It’s kind of you to come to Amsterdam, Captain.

  John I was interested to see it.

  Busch You’ve not been before?

  John Never. I’ve always wanted to visit. The museums. The canals.

  Busch How long are you staying?

  John Oh. Several hours.

  Busch No longer?

  John Well, you see, I brought the Daimler. I can’t wait to get back on the road.

  Busch Do you know where you’re going?

  John Austria. For me, Europe’s just one big delicious road atlas. Do you have a motor?

  Busch I don’t.

  John One of the pleasures of life. The faster you go, the more you see. Also, of course, it’s safer.

  Busch Wie bitte?

  John The quicker you go, after all, the less time you’re on the road. Stands to reason. Get on and off as fast as possible. Must be safer.

  He smiles, pleased at the thought.

  Busch My brother Adolf says you’re opening a new opera house.

  John That’s right. I’m going to have a Festspielhaus.

  Busch In Sussex, he said.

  John Correct. Do you know the area?

  Busch I don’t.

  John On the Downs. Not far from Lewes. You know Lewes?

  Busch No.

  John Brighton?

  Busch winces and wobbles his hand to say ‘Maybe’.

  I’m thinking, a sort of English Bayreuth. That’s my first love. Wagner. Love him. Love him. Oh, and motoring. They both speak to the soul. Beautiful music in beautiful surroundings, that sort of thing.

  Busch looks at him a moment.

  Busch Forgive me, I hadn’t heard of you, Captain.

  John Why should you? Nobody’s heard of me, Dr Busch.

  Busch I’m not sure how well you know my brother.

  John I’ve only met him once. Somebody told me he’s the best violinist in Germany.

  Busch I don’t think you can ever say ‘the best’.

  John Can’t you?

  Busch No. I don’t think so.

  John Funny. I thought the best was what we were all trying to be.

  Busch looks at him a moment.

  Busch So when exactly did you meet?

  John Oh. Just a few weeks ago. He was fogged in.

  Busch Fogged in?

  John In Eastbourne. It’s an English expression meaning can’t see a thing. He was stuck for the night, poor lamb, after a concert. Hellish place, Eastbourne. Couldn’t get out.

  Busch So that’s what happened.

  John Lucky the fog came.

  Busch Why?

  John Obvious.

  Busch I’m not understanding.

  John Because otherwise you and I would never have met.

  Busch nods, getting it.

  Busch Oh I see, yes. Lucky.

  John He was stranded in Eastbourne. Fate worse than death. But he got to stay the night with my friend Rosamond Stutchbury. She put him up. Do you know Rosamond?

  Busch No.

  John I’m surprised. Everyone knows Rosamond.

  Busch Not in Dresden.

  John Good woman, Rosamond. Plucky. She happened to mention she had a friend who was starting an opera house, and would he be interested? He said, not personally, he played the fiddle, but he did have a brother who conducted.

  Busch Yes, well, I do.

  He frowns.

  That’s how you heard of me?

  John He said you were at a loose end.

  Busch Not exactly.

  John You decided to leave Germany?

  Busch It became clear I had to leave.

  John It was made clear to you?

  Busch Now I have a position in Buenos Aires.

  John Really? Musical there, are they?

  Busch At the Theatre Colon.

  John Colon? That’s an interesting name for a theatre. So you’re not free?

  Busch stops, looking at him.

  Busch I’m looking at you, Captain Christie, and I’m wondering if you realise quite what you’re undertaking.

  John I think I have some idea, yes.

  Busch I’m puzzled why you don’t employ an English conductor.

  John English conductor? Contradiction in terms. There aren’t any.

  Busch I find that hard to believe.

  John All right, there’s a fellow called Beecham, but he’s arrogant. No manners. I won’t have him in the house.

  Busch Even so.

  John Even so what?

  Busch Giving the job to a foreigner: you know better than me, but isn’t there a danger you may offend the English?

  John I hope so. That’s my heartfelt intention. English music is desperately bad. We do it badly. That’s exactly what I’m trying to put right. Somebody has to. It’s a scandal.

  Busch stops, looking at him.

  Busch Tell me: have you actually built your house?

  John I’m in the process. A couple of years ago the pound fell off the gold standard and I decided it was now or never.

  Busch That made a big difference?

  John Suddenly opera houses are affordable. And my construction company is building it. It’s more efficient if I do everything. I have to admit, efficiency’s something of a passion of mine.

  Busch Efficiency?

  John Yes. How much happier the world would be if things were efficient.

  Busch You’re a builder?

  John I have a building company. Yes. I wouldn’t call myself a builder. The Ringmer Building Works. Ringmer’s just down the road.

  Busch From your house?

  John Before the a26.

  Busch Ah.

  John If you’re heading north. Obviously not if you’re heading south. Then it’s after. After the a26, I mean.

  Busch smiles, a little patronising.

  Busch You see, Captain, I don’t want to put you off –
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  John You can’t put me off.

  Busch I don’t want to.

  John Never been surer of anything in my life.

  Busch I see that.

  John Never. It’s a form of patriotism.

  Busch In what way?

  John I want to give my country a model of perfection. My country needs cheering up. I’m the man to do it.

  Busch looks at him sceptically a moment.

  Busch Captain, I should say – I don’t know how to say this – opera is the most complicated and demanding of art forms.

  John Yes. Love it, don’t you?

  Busch I do love it, yes.

  John Hate music lovers, can’t stand them, want nothing to do with them, awful people, do nothing but complain, but I do love music.

  Busch Normally it’s only princes who build opera houses.

  John True.

  Busch It’s kings.

  John smiles.

  John Why, then try and think of me as a sort of king.

  Busch Yes, but to launch into it when you have no experience –

  John Oh, I do have experience.

  Busch You do?

  John I’m not a debutant. Far from it. I ran the Royal Opera House. Tunbridge Wells. For a couple of years. And don’t say you’ve never heard of it because nobody has.

  Busch How did it work out?

  John It didn’t take root.

  Busch I’m sorry.

  John The people of Tunbridge Wells seemed strangely indifferent to Parsifal. We did a week of Gilbert and Sullivan to compensate.

  Busch Successfully?

  John It was the wrong place. It was the wrong time. There are always a thousand reasons not to go to the opera.

  Busch Did you pay for it all yourself?