Carthage is performing Henry Purcell’s “Dido and Aeneas” this Sunday afternoon – four days from now – and stage director Corinne Ness and I were starting to feel very good about how things were coming together. And then today we were hit with a double decker dose of bad news: our Dido woke up today without a voice and a fever of 102.5 – and our Aeneas was not far behind with a fever of 101.5, and although his voice was largely unaffected, he was dizzy and shaky. That was bad enough. But it was when we heard that our Belinda and First Lady were also a bit under the weather – and that two of the three basses in the chamber singers (they are the chorus for the opera) were voiceless that we started to feel like we were caught in the middle of some strange opera epidemic. (We half expected to hear helicopters flying over Siebert Chapel and a voice over a megaphone saying “Stay where you are! This area has been quarantined!” )
Fortunately, we have several days for our singers to regain their health- and Corinne has quietly formulated some backup plans, should anyone be unable to perform. But all this is a sobering reminder that singers need to be healthy -and that we can be blindsided by all matter of maladies when we least expect it. It brings back some unhappy memories for me like the Messiah performances I sang a few years back with the Racine Symphony under James Kindchen- a neat array of performances that were done in several different churches in the Racine and Milwaukee area. I was in wonderful voice for the dress rehearsal, but then caught the worst cold I’d ever had – and was so sick that I actually called Dr. Kindchen and asked him to find a sub for me. But when none of the three basses I suggested were available or willing, I found myself compelled to haul myself to those performances and cough, sniffle and croak my way through those arias as best I could. It was an awful position in which to be, and it really underscored something I had never realized before- that although a singer in that situation is backed up by an orchestra and assisted by the conductor, in the end no one else can summon up that sound except you- and when you’re in front of an audience, struggling with the task at hand, singing is the loneliest human endeavor of them all.
So I will be rooting for both our Dido and our Aeneas to return to good health in time for Sunday afternoon’s performance. . . so they stand in front of the audience and deliver the kind of performance they’ve been working so hard to achieve. And if on the other hand they are still sick, and if we find ourselves needing for them to go on as planned (if our carefully crafted Plan B doesn’t pan out) then I will be doing whatever I can do to sustain them through the ordeal and help them do the very best they can. Because one way or another – in sickness and in health – the show must go on.
** Medical Update- As of Thursday afternoon, both our Dido and our Aeneas were feeling significantly better. And Corinne and I will be sleeping much more soundly than we otherwise would have.
pictured above: This is one of Grandpa Gall’s stuffed animals – and one night when the family was over there for supper, Lorelai decided to play doctor – and yours truly was her nursing assistant. This little puppy was our patient and you can see how carefully we tucked him into bed.