He had known one. Her father was a god. Eric's princess was an evil witch. And Eric had touched greatness but been tricked, and now here he was, dreaming....
He looked down suddenly, in a panic. His arms were crossed on his desk over pages of musical notation, supporting his dozing head. Had he spilled any ink? Had he blurred any notes? A rest could be turned mto a tie if the ink smeared that way...and that would ruin everything....
He held the papers up to the moonlight. There was a little smudgmg, there, right where the chorus was supposed to come in with a D major triad. But it wasn't so bad.
His eyes drifted from the pages to the moon, which shone clearly through his unglazed window. A bright star kept it company. A faint breeze blew, causmg the thick leaves of the trees below to make shoe-like clackmg noises against the castle wall. It earned with it whatever scents it had picked up on its way from the sea: sandalwood, sand, oranges, dust. Dry things, stuff of the land.
Eric looked back at his music, tried to recapture the sound and feel of the ocean that had played in his head before waking, aquamarine and sweet.
Then he dipped his pen in ink and began to scribble madly, refusing to rest until the sun came up.
It seemed as if all of Tirulia were crowded mto the amphitheatre. Every seat was filled, from the velvet-cushioned couches of the nobles up front to the high, unshaded stone benches m the far back. More people spilled out into the streets beyond. No one was going to miss the first performance of a new opera by their beloved Mad Prmce Eric.
It was like a festival day; even-one wore whatever colorful thing and sparkly gem they had. Castle guards stood in polished boots along the aisles, making sure no fights broke out among the spectators. Vendors walked among the crowds both inside and out selling the bubbly, cold white wine Tirulia was known for along with savory little treats: bread topped with triangles of cheese and olive oil, paper cones filled with crispy fried baby squid, sticks threaded with honey-preserved chestnuts that glittered m the sunlight.
It would all have made a fabulous mosaic of movement and colors and dazzle from above.
And it did for a certain old seagull named Scuttle, who was quite enjoying the view.
He and a few of his great-grandgulls (sent along to watch him) perched on the rail above the highest, cheapest seats in the theatre. While the younger ones kept their sharp eyes alert for dropped morsels, ready to dive down at the tiniest crumb of bread. Scuttle contented himself with just watching the pomp and muttering to himself. Only one great-grandgull remained by his side, trying to understand what he saw m the human spectacle below
The costumes were lavish, the orchestra full, the sets cunningly painted to look more than real: when a prmce produced a play, wealth showed.
And when that prmce came out to take his seat in the royal box, arm in arm with his beautiful princess, the crowd went mad, howling and cheering for their royal artist. Sometimes called the Dreamer Prmce and even the Melancholic Prince for his faraway looks and tendency toward wistfulness, Eric looked momentarily cheered by this expression of love from his kingdom, and waved back with the beginnings of a real smile.
Vanessa gave one of her grins, inscrutable and slightly disturbing, and pulled him along to sit down. With her other hand she stroked the large nautilus necklace she always wore—a strangely plain and natural-looking ornament for the extravagant prmcess.
The orchestra tuned, and began.
In a magical kingdom by the sea: a sad and handsome prmce [tenor] longs for someone to share his music and his life. While he and his friends celebrate his twenty-first birthday on a decorated yacht, a terrible storm arises. The prmce is thrown over the railing of his ship and is almost drowned but for the intercession of a young and beautiful mermaid, who has the voice of an angel [first soprano].
Upon recovering, the prince declares he will marry no one but the beautiful girl who rescued him.
Then a different beautiful girl appears [same first soprano, different costume], who, although she has the shining red hair of the mermaid who saved him, is mute\ So she cannot be his one true love. And yet, as they spend their days together, he slowly falls for her.
But then a rival comes onto the scene. A handsome woman [contralto] serenades the prmce with the same song the little mermaid once sang and casts a spell over him, causing him to forget the pretty girl with no voice.
[Note: The contralto is a large, full-busted singer, a favorite of the audience. She gets a standing ovation when she appears, smiling slyly.]
Hypnotized, the prince arranges for the two of them to be wed immediately.
In an aside, the princess-to-be admits to the audience that she is actually a powerful sea witch. She desires revenge on the mermaid, whose father, the King of the Sea, cast the witch out of his kingdom years before. By failing to marry the prince herself, the mermaid will have neglected to uphold her end of a bargain, and the sea witch will keep her voice forever.
The sun [baritone] then sings about the tragedy of mortal life, which he has to witness every day among the humans below him on earth. He also sings about the peaceful happiness of the immortal mermaids, and how love makes one foolish—but exalted. He drifts across the stage, and, with a clever bit of scenic machinery, begins to "set" as the ballet troupe comes out for an interlude before the fmale: the weddmg scene.
The prince and the false princess come out dressed splendidly and singing a duet—but the prince's words are about love, and the princess's are about conquest. The mute girl looks sadly on.
Then, just as the prince and prmcess are about to recite their final vows, Triton, King of the Sea [bass], resplendent in green and gold armor, appears with a crash of drums. He and the sea witch sing back and forth, trading insults. Finally he raises his trident to attack...and the sea witch pomts to his youngest, favorite daughter, the now-mute human standing sadly in the corner. With her other hand, she shakes a large pamted prop contract.
Defeated, Triton gives in. He trades his life for the little mermaid. The sea witch casts a terrible spell, and with a puff of theatrical smoke the King of the Sea is turned into an ugly little sea polyp, which the sea witch holds triumphantly aloft.
[As a puppet manipulated by the contralto, it even moves a little, which draws a gasp from the audience.]
Triton's daughter turns back mto a mermaid and jumps sadly into the sea. The prince and the false princess are married. The false princess croons triumphantly to the little polyp that was once Triton, and talks about how she will keep him forever in a vase in her room.
The moon [mezzo-soprano] comes out and sings an ethereal, haunting version of the sun's aria. But hers is about the inevitability and sadness of love, and questions what makes a happy ending. For if the little mermaid had stayed at home and remained a mermaid for all her days, ignorant of love, would that really have been better?
The crowd went mad. If the subject matter of the opera seemed a little fantastic, if the end a little gloomy, if the orchestration maybe just a tad simplistic compared to works by more professional, starving musicians—well, it mattered not. Never before had the amphitheatre been witness to such a display of clapping, screaming, stomping of feet, and whistling. So many roses were thrown at La Sirenetta and the sea witch that they were in danger of suffering puncture wounds from the thorns.
Everyone was already clamoring for an encore performance.