1 - Interrupted Aria (6 page)

Torani soon put the pair of us to work in earnest. Adelina was to review her third act arias while the director accompanied me through a pastoral air from Act Two. He was objecting to what he called my sobbing Neapolitan intonation when the foreman of the stage crew stepped out of the wings and called to Adelina. “Signora, we’ve been working on the gears that raise and lower this platform. Could you go up and see if it does any better for you?”

Torani pounded a jangling chord on the harpsichord and jumped up. He ascended halfway up the stairs to the stage and addressed the foreman in a snappish tone. “Signora Belluna is busy and so am I. Can’t you fix that thing without interrupting us?”

Adelina joined me and whispered, “We rehearsed my descent from Mt. Olympus at least ten times yesterday. That platform jerked so hard I thought I’d end up going over the side.”

To create the illusion of the goddess Juno descending to earth, Adelina had to climb a ladder-like stair behind the backdrop painted with a distant prospect of Mt. Olympus. Above the view of the audience, she stepped onto a platform disguised as a fluffy cloud, and the massive machinery floated her slowly down and forward as she sang.

The foreman disguised a sigh, attempting to maintain a respectful façade. “My men have been out in the workroom retooling the gears all afternoon. We’ve put them in place, but we can’t complete the job until we see that the apparatus is balanced to Signora Belluna’s height and weight.”

Running a hand through his gray frizz, Torani mounted the last few steps to the stage. I followed his squinting gaze up into the shadowy heights above us, the hanging maze of catwalks, ropes, and pulleys that the audience never sees.

“Is that Beppo up there?” The director had spotted the carpenters’ young apprentice. “Put him on the platform. He’s about Signora Belluna’s size.”

The foreman on the stage looked doubtful, but Torani was insistent. “Use the boy to test the mechanism. All he has to do is stand there and hang on to the railing.”

Adelina went back to her scores and Torani resumed his criticism of my style. “I know the maestros at San Remo favor this lamenting tone, but Venetian audiences demand a more cheerful.…”

Torani stopped short, distracted by a triplet of grating creaks. “
Dio mio
,” he grumbled. “What now?”

I looked up to see the fluff-covered platform suspended in the air thirty feet or so above center stage. Beppo’s curly head popped over the railing; there was an anxious look on his round face. From the wings, the foreman glared up at the intricate machinery with his hands on his hips.

Without further warning, the front of the apparatus gave way. The apprentice grabbed frantically for a handhold but found only air. He screamed as he plummeted to the stage with a resounding thud.

Everyone in the theater hastened to Beppo’s still form, but the boy was beyond help. His head was twisted back over his shoulder and a dribble of blood stained his chin. I remembered seeing him when I had first entered the theater. The workmen had been shifting flats of scenery behind the rehearsing singers and, with youthful energy and a lively grin, Beppo had run to help. Now Torani was covering the apprentice with a sheet of canvas, and the stagehands were waiting to carry the body away.

Adelina clutched my sleeve, crying “Poor little Beppo” over and over. Still stunned, I put my arm around her waist and tried to find some soothing words, but the soprano refused to be comforted. She tore herself from my grasp and shook me by my shoulders. “Don’t you see, Tito? That could have been me. I should have been the next one to step onto that platform.”

The platform in question sailed slowly down to the stage floor. It landed with a dull clunk, raising a hail of dust. Torani coughed and flapped his shawl to clear the air. We knelt to examine the damage. The foreman twirled the rings that accommodated the ropes supporting the front of the platform. Each ring had been sliced through.

“Look. Someone’s been very clever,” the foreman observed. “These cuts are too thin to be noticed, and the strength of the rings allowed us to haul the platform up without it collapsing.…”

I jumped in. “But Beppo’s added weight caused the ropes to pull out of the rings on the way down.”

The foreman nodded.

“Were any of your men working around this platform this morning?” Torani asked.

“No,” said the foreman. “Everyone was on the other side of the stage, constructing the night sky scenery.”

I thought back to earlier in the afternoon. “After dinner, Crivelli came out from the wings where this platform was sitting. I think he was using its fluff for a pillow. He said some workmen had awakened him.”

“Not my men, we’ve all been out in the workroom since dinner.”

Torani circled the platform like a worried terrier. He barked a list of orders at the foreman: no outsiders allowed around the theater, all equipment to be thoroughly inspected before each use, report any further problems at once, and so on and so on.

Adelina had recovered her composure. She was pale, but spoke firmly. “Signor Torani, who could have done this?”

Torani fingered the end of his scarf. “Probably the same person who made off with the scores and caused our other problems.”

“And who could that be?” I cut in quickly.

“My best guess?” Torani frowned into the wings where the workman had laid the canvas-wrapped body. “I think Beppo was an innocent victim of the Albrimani-Viviani feud. Our patron clearly has his heart set on an operatic triumph. He’s handed the Albrimani a perfect opportunity to try to discredit him.”

“But Domenico’s wife is from the Albrimani family. Their alliance was supposed to heal the rift and put an end to this senseless fighting,” Adelina said ruefully.

Torani gave her a pointed look. “My dear, you should know better than anyone else how Domenico Viviani treats his wife. Instead of bringing peace, she has become just one more bone of contention in the ongoing dogfight.”

Adelina had the good grace to blush and drop her gaze. “What are you going to do?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

“I will inform our patron what has happened and handle the matter as he directs.” Torani grimaced. “Then I will make a very uncomfortable visit to Beppo’s mother.”

Adelina looked up with a strained frown. Torani patted one of her small, white hands and continued, “You know, I think our patron already suspects that the San Stefano’s woes are more than simple bad luck. I’m sure he’ll be amenable to posting some of his men on guard around the theater. No one will get inside except those who have a reason to be here.” Torani smiled more kindly. “Don’t worry, my dear, Domenico Viviani will make sure that we’re all safe.”

Chapter 6

The excitement that had buoyed me up over the past two days drained away as soon as Lupo let me in the door that night. The others had tired of waiting and had already gone in to supper. Annetta fetched a fresh plate from the sideboard as I sank into an empty chair. I watched dazedly as she served up a golden mound of Berta’s polenta and topped it with savory bits of fried minnow. I dug in hungrily as both of my sisters peppered me with questions.

“But Tito, did you meet Adelina Belluna?” Grisella’s high, whining voice cut through my exhaustion.

“I met all the principal singers, little one. La Belluna, Caterina Testi, Crivelli,” I answered between mouthfuls of warm, hearty food, “and the patron of the theater, Domenico Viviani.” I washed his name down with a generous swallow of wine. “He will be a hard man to please. He is anticipating a great success with this new opera, but not all his expectations are realistic, especially considering the problems plaguing the production.”

I recounted the tragic incident of the dead apprentice. Annetta’s mother hen instinct surfaced immediately. “Are you in any danger, Tito? Will you have to ride on one of those platforms?”

“Eventually, but don’t worry. The theater will be guarded and we’ll all be on the alert. None of the Albrimani henchmen will be able to get within twenty yards of the San Stefano.”

Felice and Annetta jumped in with more questions, but my father silenced them by clearing his throat and calling for a change of subject. “Caterina Testi,” he said slowly, stroking his chin, “I know her. I didn’t realize she was singing at the San Stefano.”

“She sings the secondary female roles but obviously aspires to much more. She and Adelina have quite a rivalry going on. Crivelli says there’s not a lot Caterina wouldn’t do to push her career forward, but today all I saw was some petty squabbling over stage directions and the like. How do you know her, Father?”

“Oh, she grew up at the Mendicanti. Not much of a keyboard musician as I recall.” My father wrinkled his nose in remembered disgust. Isidore Amato considered the keyboard to be the highest embodiment of musical expression, with his organ in the Mendicanti chapel having the status of a particularly hallowed shrine. For him, no other instrument, including the human voice, could compare.

Annetta passed me some more fish. “Caterina must be talented, though, or she wouldn’t have made it to the opera stage.”

“I suppose.” My father shrugged. “Signor Conti put her on as soloist in a great many of the student concerts a few years ago. She had her admirers, but I thought she was overrated. And a bossy pest. She was always telling someone how a passage should be phrased or a note should be held.”

“That sounds like Caterina, all right,” I said, wondering if my father had been one of those on the receiving end of what Caterina thought was her superior knowledge.

“Yes. She was definitely not well liked and developed a reputation for being difficult to work with. I wonder how she came by the position at the San Stefano?” my father mused vaguely, his interest in Caterina waning.

Annetta had one more comment. “Maybe some of her people had some influence with Viviani to get her hired at the theater.”

My father replied in blunt tones, “She has no people. Like so many of the girls, she was found in a basket outside the gate with a pitiful, begging note pinned to her blanket. ‘I can’t take care of my baby,’ you know the sort of thing. It’s possible the voice maestro, old Conti, spoke to Viviani about her. Conti always seemed to have a tender spot for Caterina, but then, so many of the girls wheedle favors from him. The man’s entirely too soft, no backbone at all. Now that I recall, Caterina still sees him for voice lessons…I wonder what he charges her?” He waved a hand dismissively. “But enough of theater gossip, I’ve had a letter that should interest you all.”

My father waited until we had put our forks down and concentrated our gazes toward his end of the table. Then, breaking into an uncharacteristic grin, he drew a folded paper from his waistcoat pocket. Holding it at arm’s length, he read, “Dearest and Most Beloved Papa.” His grin widened. “I hope this letter finds you and my sisters in good health. Many of our ship’s crew have been laid low by a fever, but I, by the grace of the good Lord, have been spared.”

My father nodded. “Yes, Alessandro always had a good, strong constitution.” He continued reading out loud, “I will be home a few weeks earlier than I expected. Our ship should dock no later than the tenth day of December. As you know, we were bound for the Turkish port of Smyrna, but when we stopped at Crete, we were advised to sell our cargo there as the current troubles in Smyrna would surely prevent us from realizing the best price for our goods.”

Grisella bounced up and down in her chair. “That’s only a week or two away. Will Alessandro bring us presents like he did last time, Papa?”

Over the top of the letter, my father gave Grisella one of his critical looks, the kind of look that had caused many a Mendicanti girl to run to her room sobbing into her handkerchief. “The most precious present you could wish for is your brother’s safe return. Sea journeys can be quite perilous,” he replied sanctimoniously.

Grisella’s smile vanished and she poked glumly at the remnants of her polenta as Annetta cleared her throat. “What are the troubles in Smyrna?” my older sister asked. “Alessandro has traded there successfully many times in the past.”

“He says he dares not write about them, but promises to tell us more when he arrives. I’ll leave the letter here for you all to read.” Father pushed back from the table, looking exasperated, as if we had failed to give Alessandro’s letter the enthusiastic response he thought it deserved. He fired a parting shot on his way out. “Anna-Maria, you must get Alessandro’s room ready for him. The current arrangements are not…suitable.”

These last words had been aimed at Felice, who had slept in Alessandro’s bed last night. My friend had been silent but attentive as I had described my first day at the opera company. Now he ran a hand through his black hair and said, “I never intended to be such a nuisance. Have you got somewhere else you can put me, just for a while?”

Annetta thought for a moment. “There’s an old cot in the storage closet under the roof. We could put it in Tito’s room. If that’s all right with you,” she directed at me. As I nodded, she sprang up to clear the table and said, “I’ll send Lupo up there tomorrow and we’ll get it down for you.”

Felice stacked his dishes and slid them toward my ever busy sister. “Don’t let me be any more trouble to anyone,” he said. “Tell me where the cot is and I’ll set it up in Tito’s room.”

“There’s no need to do that now.” Annetta gave him a quick smile. “Alessandro’s ship won’t arrive for days.”

“Please, Annetta, let me do this one thing.” He leaned over the table and touched her wrist to give special emphasis to his words. “I feel so useless here, let me fetch the cot.”

“All right, Felice,” my sister answered in a soft voice. “Grisella, take a candle to light the way and show him where the closet is. There’s a trunk with extra blankets in there, too.”

Grisella rolled her eyes and treated us to an irritated sigh of theatrical proportion. “But I want to talk to Tito about the opera.”

Her words gave me a guilty pang. Upon coming home, I had resolved to reacquaint myself with my younger sister but so far I had barely talked with her.

Felice came around to stand behind Grisella and put his hands on her shoulders. With his lips to her ear and his eyes on me, he said in a stage whisper, “I want to hear more about the opera, too. Light my way upstairs and when we come down, I’ll make Tito tell us everything he did today. I’ll wrestle him to the floor and sit on him if I have to.”

Felice’s promise raised a giggle from Grisella. While Berta trundled in to finish clearing the table, the girl happily led Felice in search of the bedding.

***

Annetta had created a snug retreat in her room on the second floor. The focal point was the narrow bed in the corner hung with lavish festoons of fawn-colored velvet and bolstered with pillows of faded tapestry and damask. I gratefully threw myself into a threadbare armchair that had been covered with a throw of the same velvet. Although the rest of the house was chilly, warmth pervaded this room. I soon saw the reason, a
scaldino
. Venetian women of all ranks are addicted to the
scaldino
during the winter months. Since our climate is mild eight months of the year, most houses are built without fireplaces and have only one or two stoves. Extra warmth is provided by a glazed ceramic pot filled with glowing charcoal that can be moved from room to room with an attached handle. Annetta’s
scaldino
had been warming her room all during supper. I toasted my feet beside it while my sister sat at her dressing table and began to remove the pins from her hair. Long, silky strands tumbled down her back, which was turned toward me. I could see her face in the oval mirror.

“Recognize this, Tito?” She held up a small glass box filled with hairpins.

“Of course, I gave it to you on your tenth birthday. Aunt Carlotta took me down to the market stalls on the Rialto to pick out a present for you. I was so taken with that box. I thought it was made of jewels, not just cheap, colored glass.”

“I did, too. We used to lie in the sun under my window and use that box to shoot rainbows of light all over the ceiling.”

“You’ve remembered that all these years?”

Annetta’s face became grave in the oval mirror. “After you left I had plenty of time to remember,” she whispered softly.

I hung my head, reminded of the aching homesickness that had plagued me at the
conservatorio
, but I knew there was no use in recalling past sorrows. I changed the subject to the current state of the household. I was particularly interested in Father’s activities.

“Father spends most evenings out,” Annetta told me.

“Where does he go?”

My sister’s hair crackled as she took an energetic brush to it. “I’ve always thought he had a woman somewhere. It’s been well over ten years since Mother died and I wouldn’t expect him to live like a monk. No other Venetian man would be so virtuous. Come to think of it, even the monks are not so virtuous these days.”

She gave me a wisp of a smile from the mirror. I tried to return her gaze, but found myself looking down at my hands without anything to say. “Are you surprised that I talk of such things, Brother?” she asked in a low voice.

“Perhaps. I know that Venetian girls are usually closely sheltered until their marriage.”

“I suppose I’m not the typical Venetian girl. I’ve been in charge of the household for many years now. After Mother died, Berta was supposed to manage things and chaperone both Grisella and me, but Grisella has been such a handful. She always demanded the lion’s share of Berta’s attention.”

I was beginning to understand what the past few years must have been like for my sister: too much responsibility and very little amusement. While I had been feeling sorry for myself and struggling with my studies at the
conservatorio
, I had imagined everything at home staying exactly as I had left it. Now I saw how illogical that thinking had been. Despite the cheerful tone of her letters, my sister had been struggling too. I had a sudden inspiration. I told Annetta about the reception at the Palazzo Viviani.

“Would you like to go? I don’t see why I can’t get permission from Torani for you to come with us.”

Annetta turned toward me, face alight. “I would love to see the inside of the
palazzo
. And hear you sing with Adelina, of course,” she finished lamely.

We laughed at the same time and launched into gossipy speculation about the notable figures we might see at the reception. I recounted Viviani’s afternoon visit to Adelina’s dressing room, and we both wondered how Signora Viviani and her circle would receive the beautiful soprano.

A small cough announced the presence of Felice and Grisella at the doorway. The girl held a candlestick. Its flame picked out random highlights in the long, red hair tumbling over her shoulders and illuminated her smooth, peach-tinged cheeks. I was reminded, not for the first time since my return, of what a little beauty Grisella was becoming. She gave me a faint smile and began to move on down the hall.

Annetta stopped her by calling, “Grisella, come in here for a minute.”

Grisella, expression now blank, glided into Annetta’s room and sat down on the bed. Our older sister moved to her side. Felice perched on the low footstool by my chair. His legs were so long that it was easy for him to cross his arms over his bent knees and rest his chin on this pile of limbs.

Annetta pushed a few lustrous strands off Grisella’s moist brow. “Are you all right, little one?”

“I think I need some of my medicine,” she replied in a small, tight voice.

“I thought something was wrong when you came back from the Mendicanti this afternoon.” Annetta nodded knowingly. “Was Father hard on you at the concert? Did he embarrass you in front of the other girls?”

“It wasn’t Father. He said I did all right today.”

“Then what is it, child?” Annetta gently raised Grisella’s chin and studied her impassive face.

“Someone made a promise to me. Someone was supposed to be there and never showed up.” The candle flame glinted off her hard, dark eyes. “I waited and waited.”

I watched uneasily as Grisella’s lips compressed and her grip on the candlestick tightened. Long familiar with our sister’s moods, Annetta was a step ahead of me. She had already retrieved a key from the belt at her waist and was removing a bottle of elixir from a drawer in the table by her bed. Grisella had not yet been totally overtaken by whatever strange force caused her tormenting spells. She allowed Annetta to take the candle from her clenched hand and even helped our sister tip the elixir into her mouth.

“Not so much, dear,” Annetta cautioned.

“I know. I’ll be all right now,” whispered Grisella as she laid her head in Annetta’s lap.

Annetta relaxed back against her pillows and folded her legs under her skirt. Her brown eyes showed the relief of having averted another of Grisella’s spells. Grisella lay motionless as Annetta stroked her hair and gave her some advice about how to get along with the other students.