She turned to the stage, and Tristan was wounded in Kurvenal’s arms, with Isolde at his feet, and King Mark, the incarnation of masculine force and obligation, the masculine creditor of love and beauty, stood over him, and the second climax was ending in wreaths and reek of melodies; and then the curtain was coming down in a series of short rushes, the music had ended, and the people were stirring and breaking out into applause, and the lights of the auditorium were resuming. “This is a very foolish sort of entertainment. That was life. I quickly ingratiated myself to Gianfrancesco, playing on his insecurities, drawing from his need for more and more power. They’ll know. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. Hurrying in the direction of the supposed arrest, they encouraged each other with shouts, and threatened the offending parties with their vengeance. You’re tired, of course.
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