Rose (September)

Up goes the scrim with the Tudor Rose. Elisabetta’s court she silences by trills, and her Atheneum audience, referendum republicans, sentimental monarchists. Maria Stuarda is lovely, everything’s lovely. Except the queen. The biggest catfight in opera, remarks someone at interval. Maria uses the ‘bastard’ word. But it’s too late, the ‘illegitimate’ heir signs her death form. Maria offers her rival forgiveness through co-redemption, a Catholic heresy. Then threatens unchristian vengeance on all England. Sheds her dress to reveal a red dress beneath, sings again, ascends to the block. The Tudor Rose descends to applause tumultuous. Outside is September sweet-scented air.