An opéra-bouffe-féerie, Le Dernier Sorcier told the story of an aging sorcerer living in a small hut in the woods with his daughter, Stella, who has enchanted a young Prince, Lelio. The Prince, having seen her while hunting in the woods and fallen in love with her, cannot find her to woo her and despairs, but luckily for him, he is overheard by the Queen of the Fairies, the ruler of the woods. She is plotting to make some mischief at the old wizard’s expense, seeing him as an interloper she has longed to be rid of. She knows of the beautiful Stella and offers the Prince a magical rose, which allows the bearer to be unseen, though only at night.
Giulia continued her asides to me, explaining who it was I saw as they appeared, the delicate girl in the costume of the Queen of the Fairies—a rose wreath in her hair, a diamond star flashing at its center—was Pauline’s daughter Claudie, and the girl acting as the head fairy, Verveine, was her other daughter Marianne. Krakamiche’s no-good, troublesome servant was played by Paul, Pauline’s son—he would sing an aria, to my delight. Prince Lelio was Natalya, who made a surprisingly handsome young prince. This left Firéne absent, but only she could be singing as the voice for Turgenev’s Krakamiche, it seemed to me.
The diminutive Queen, having helped the handsome young Prince in his pursuit of his love, plans some mischief. She sends a delegation of her most loyal fairies, disguised as Cochinese, claiming to bear a gift for the wizard—a magical grass that will restore the sorcerer’s youth and powers. When it instead causes him to dance a waltz that leaves him weak and humiliated, he vows revenge. The second act opens with him hunting through a book of Merlin’s spells for a spell that is a protection from all other magic, the most powerful spell of all. The beautiful Stella tries to get the sorcerer to be content with his decline, saying he has all he needs there in their modest house; but as he won’t hear it and instead keeps searching feverishly, she begins to sing to herself. After two verses, Prince Lelio, made invisible by the rose’s magic and hidden near her, sings the third verse in response, causing her to startle and then, when he drops the rose and is revealed to her, to smile. But this only convinces the sorcerer that his spell has succeeded and his powers are restored. He tries another, summoning a monster to rid his hut of this intruding prince, but instead a goat comes up from the earth and runs from the hut.
This, of course, was Pegasus the pointer, horns hanging from his neck as he struggled to rid himself of them.
In despair, the sorcerer collapses: his daughter and the Prince comfort him. In the final scenes, Stella and Prince Lelio marry and bring the sorcerer out of the woods to live in the Prince’s castle. As they depart, the Queen and her fairies celebrate having the woods entirely under their control again.
The green curtain rang down to much applause and then was parted by the sweetly shy face of Claudie smiling as she led the faeries out to calls for encores. The grateful room shouted bravos and bravas as she curtsied and her diamond star flashed. Cheers changed to laughter when, as the rest of the cast emerged, Turgenev appeared at last in his wizard’s robes, and the laughter increased as Firéne came out behind him, smiling gamely as he touched his throat and pointed to her. Pauline gestured to the tenor and me both, thanking us for making the occasion of the performance possible, and he blew her a kiss while I could only stand still in amazement.
That poor man, Giulia said softly, under her breath.
Thank you for these calls for an encore, but I think we must go, Pauline said. To dinner! Pauline called this from the stage as if summoning us to a charge, and the crowd, already standing at attention, made its way out through the back into the cold garden, the women accepting shawls offered by Pauline’s maid and all of us following the lanterns hung to guide us along the way.
Giulia had relinquished me, off speaking now to someone else, and the tenor appeared at my side, smiling as he gave me his arm. Do you feel honored yet? he asked, and I said I did. This might be all I ever thought to dream of, he said, and as I took his arm, he planted a single kiss on my cheek. The warmth from it stayed there at least half the way to the other house.
The entire performance had moved me deeply, from the well-mannered, beautiful voices of Pauline’s children to Pauline’s continued command of the entire night and, it seemed, the world around her. The story struck me as quite clever, the music also. One thing troubled me: I knew from the expressions of dismay visible on some of the royals around me during the performance that as Turgenev played the sorcerer in his decline on the stage they felt it beneath him. Another decline happening in front of them. This saddened me. I already felt protective of him and thought of him as my friend.
Pauline and he and the rest of the troupe were still in costume, walking just ahead of us, and in the dark garden, they looked as if the opera would now continue to a new chapter, as if we were on our way to the castle to see the wedding of the prince and Stella.
This was the first opera with a happy ending I’d ever seen, and despite the contrivances of Fate at work in it, this one I could see staying inside of, as they did now. We entered the Viardot villa to find Pauline’s real husband, Louis, at the table, smiling genially. He was introduced and apologized for being late. He had been feeling poorly but was now a little better. He was quite small in stature by comparison to Turgenev, who kissed him on both cheeks—Louis looked a bit like an old fox in evening dress, his whiskers and sharp eyes quizzical as he took me in—all of his weight was in his eyes, his gaze—all of his body raised up so he might see. I had no sooner finished our pleasantries than Turgenev appeared at my side, picking at the sleeves of his sorcerer robes, rolling them back so he might eat.
La Lapinard, he said, smiling. How did you enjoy your show?
An enormous pleasure, I said, thrilled to be reminded of my new title. Your soprano voice was a miracle of tone.
Indeed, I thought much the same, he said, and laughed. She is wonderful. I look forward to when you join us there. Which can only be soon, I’m sure.
We looked to Louis then, who was smiling at Turgenev with real affection. He drew back a chair and sat down and urged us to the buffet. The true dernier sorcier, then, I understood, here, setting his napkin into his lap, at home in the castle with the two lovers.
§
Dinner was cold hams and a salad of potatoes the tenor told me was traditional to Germany served with a cool red wine. Seating was informal, in Pauline’s salon, with small tables set throughout with candles and crystal. Giulia reappeared to sit with me at one of them, gossiping about how the imposing woman speaking to Pauline, strangely anxious to be at her ease, was Queen Augusta of Prussia, there unofficially, now a patroness of Pauline’s. She has just commissioned an opera from her, Giulia said.
I tried to be interested, but instead I could only watch as Maxine sat beside the tenor at the table and did the same with the tenor as she had with me, going through her questions as if she were at a briefing. She was interested in him differently, more intensely than the other girls, who had only wanted to flirt. The effect for me was like watching a mouse dance in front of a cat, thinking it was the cat. The prospect of their pairing amused me such that I smiled, and Maxine noticed this and this confused her—her confidence dimmed. The tenor noticed and looked to see the source of her discomfort.
I nodded. He grinned back and took her hand, holding it up.
I smiled at this, and he laughed and turned back to her as she struggled to regain her previous air. Giulia smiled also and we resumed our conversation.