by Janet Pywell
My eyes are moist. I am ashamed. But I cannot lose control.
I am Tosca. I command rage, jealousy and anger to flow through me but not before I hold the charm in my fingers, close my eyes and lift it to my lips murmuring a silent prayer.
The theatre’s cameras switch from the audience to the orchestra then back again. Cesare is studying the crowd carefully, under my instruction, looking for Raffaelle.
‘Glorietta sent him tickets so I am sure he would not miss my performance.’ I am standing smoothing my costume at the hips.
‘There’s Santiago again.’ Cesare points at the screen. ‘Look! Isn’t that Padre Paolo with a Cardinal?’
When I look up I am shocked to also see Barbara arriving with David Mallory from the Irish Consul. Is it a coincidence that they are both here together? Rivals to possess the Golden Icon or friends to blackmail and intimidate me. But behind them there is another row of seats that has my full attention. I have a fleeting glance of an old man. He has swapped his yellow corduroy for a black dinner jacket and bow tie and now he’s sitting beside his nephew, Ian.
‘That’s him!’ I point them out to Cesare before the camera pans away to the balcony seats and we swap glances. ‘That’s Maximilian and Ian. Keep an eye on them. Tell security,’ I say.
‘I will. Stop worrying. Security is very strong here. A mouse couldn’t get in.’
‘I can’t see Raffaelle.’
‘Two minutes,’ a voice calls around the door. I know now, that it is time.
Tosca.
It is Act One. The scene is the church of Sant A’ndrea della Valle in Rome and it is the year 1800. Cavaradossi, the tenor Massimo, is hiding an escaped political prisoner called Angelotti in the Attavanti private chapel.
I look at Andrei in front of the orchestra. He is lost in concentration, turning the score, his baton in the air, one eye on the strings and the other eye on Massimo singing the hidden harmony. Recondita armonia. Cavaradossi is painting a portrait of Mary Magdalene in the church, inspired by the Marchesa Attavanti and he compares the beautiful blond in his painting with the raven haired beauty of his lover Tosca.
The Sacristan grumbles disapproval and Angelotti ventures from his hiding place, and I begin calling out as I emerge on stage as Tosca.
The painting of Mary Magdalene hangs from the girders. A backdrop to the first Act. She is my blond rival. She is my Glorietta. Heavenly, spiritual and pure, and my jealousy explodes with renewed suspicions. Cavaradossi reassures me of his love, and I leave, but when I return Scarpia the baritone and chief of police, is in search of Angelotti. He shows me a fan with the Attavanti crest and I am consumed with vengeance. Thinking Cavaradossi to be unfaithful. I am distraught.
Scarpia, the chief of police is scheming to get the diva Tosca in his power. It is an emotional performance and I am unsettled. I know that something is wrong. Even if Raffaelle was with Glorietta, he would still have contacted me. He would be here. There was love between us. We were friends. Where is he?
At the end of Act One I leave the stage. I am walking to my dressing room. ‘Cesare,’ I call. ‘Bring Santiago to my dressing room. Urgently.’
‘But I can’t. He is in the audience and there is so little time.’
‘Then hurry. It’s important.’
I am not embarrassed to change my dress in front of Santiago when he arrives. His inquisitive eyes takes in the details of my costume, my makeup and I am conscious that he is standing so close to me, he can see my beaten face.
‘I am worried about Raffaelle.’ I wipe perspiration from my lip. ‘I don’t know where he is.’
Santiago doesn’t sit in the seat that I indicate to him. Instead he places his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall, taking in the opulent room; the flowers, the cards, the gifts and the small screens attached to the wall. Momentarily he is distracted as the camera angle shifts to the audience and he frowns.
‘I think something may have happened to him,’ I insist.
‘Why would anything happen to him?’
‘He is not here.’
Santiago shrugs.
‘He had tickets for tonight. He would want to see my performance. He was going to come and see Glorietta.’
‘Maybe he changed his mind.’
I stare at him through the mirror. ‘He wouldn’t do that.’
Santiago’s nose points at me but he remains tight-lipped.
‘I know he wouldn’t,’ I insist, conscious that my voice is rising. ‘You said we were to go to you if we had a problem, and so here I am, I have a problem. I need your help.’
‘To find your boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I say too quickly.
‘Ah, a lovers tiff. Signora Lavelle I am not employed to find truant lovers.’
‘No, it is not like that,’ I speak quickly. ‘I have been intimidated. Look at my face. There is a man; Maximilian Strong and his nephew Ian. They are in the audience. Last night they beat me and threatened to kill me. They also threatened to kill Raffaelle.’
As I am speaking the girl with the red heart tattoo, attends to my face. She is retouching my eye liner.
‘Do you not understand? They are in the audience. Raffaelle is not here and I am frightened they may have hurt him or done something to him, and I think I will be next.’
I pass him Maximilian’s note. I am speaking quickly conscious of the little time I have left. ‘They gave me twenty-four hours, and that time is up and I don’t know where he is. I am worried.’
‘Twenty-four hours for what?’ His voice is low and he taps the card against his fingertips.
The tattooed girl backs off and it is the turn of the hairdresser.
I look at Santiago’s reflection in the mirror. I am not sure how much to tell him, and I don’t have time for all the details. ‘They think I have something but I don’t.’
‘I know about the Golden Icon,’ he says. ‘Just tell me where it is.’
‘I don’t have it. How do you know about it?’
‘David Mallory, the Irish Consul came to me. He wanted to find out where you lived in Comaso, and Padre Paolo told me he was worried about your safety, but when I offered my services to you, you continued to deny its existence.’
A runner knocks on the door. ‘Two minutes.’
He continues speaking, ‘I have not called the Italian Art squad although it is my job to do so. I have been hoping that you would trust me and not do something stupid. I was hoping that Raffaelle would know better. I warned you, after your apartment was broken into, that these men would be back.’
I don’t bother to tell him that they didn’t break into my apartment and that it was Karl Blakey.
On the screen I see Andrei raising his baton.
‘You must look for Raffaelle. Please.’ I dab at my lipstick. My lip is still sore. The door opens. The runner, clipboard in hand, moves from one foot to the other glaring at Santiago.
‘Signora Lavelle, quickly. Dino is frantic.’
‘Where is the Golden Icon?’ Santiago blocks my path but I push him away and sweep out of the room using my dignity as a shield. I climb across cables, push past set assistants, ladders and lights.
Tosca takes over me. I am transformed.
I must fight for what is right. I must rage against lust and greed and finally I must kill a man. Tosca turns from lover to killer. Music fills my heart. My head rises in determination. My chest swells, my shoulders go back, and then Santiago grabs my arm.
‘The Golden Icon,’ he says. ‘Where is it?’
I am lost in my role as Tosca.
I think he is Scarpia so I push him angrily away. His eyes register shock and they harden quickly. His mouth is set firm.
‘I don’t have it,’ I hiss. ‘I buried it behind the Chiesa della Madonna dei miracoli last Tuesday and when I went back to get it yesterday morning, it was gone.’ I turn to the stage but I speak quickly. ‘Raffaelle is missing. I think Maximilian Strong or his nephew may have done some
thing. They attacked me last night and have given me twenty-four hours to return the icon but I don’t have it. They are sitting near you; an old man, and a young man with a shaved head. They are dangerous. They killed Dieter Guzman in Munich, and Seán in Ireland and…’ I pause, a lump rises to my throat. ‘And Michael.’
I turn from Santiago’s suspicious gaze and I rush on stage.
It is Act Two. We are in the Farnese Palace and Scarpia the chief of police is anticipating the sadistic pleasure of bending Tosca to his will. My lover Mario Cavaradossi is being tortured as a punishment for hiding the rebel Angelotti and hearing his screams I reveal Angelotti’s hiding place.
My voice fills the theatre. It is carried high up into the crystal dome, crowning the scene below encompassing the emotions. The timbre of my voice catches with passion and I am lost in the dramatic moment.
Cavaradossi must make his escape with me. I will do anything to save him. I lie. I tell Scarpia that he can have his will with me if he gives us a safe conduct, and I wait for him to sign the papers for Cavaradossi’s mock execution so that we will be free. But once I have the signed document in my hand I snatch up a knife and I plunge it into the chest of the man who threatens me and has taken my lover from me.
I am exhilarated, frightened, and emotionally spent, and as a parting gesture I place a crucifix on Scarpia’s motionless chest and a candelabra at his head. As I leave the stage the audience roars with approval.
13
Chapter 13
I gave jewels for the Madonna’s mantle, And songs for the stars, in heaven, That shone forth with greater radiance. In the hour of grief Why, why, Lord, Ah, why do you reward me thus? - Vissi d’arte, Tosca
At the beginning of Act Three, I am in the wings waiting for my cue, church bells toll the dawn and in the distance the sweet singing of a shepherd boy hangs in the air and whirls evocatively up toward the dome.
Cavaradossi is awaiting execution at the Castel Sant ‘Angelo but he bribes the jailer to take a farewell note to Tosca. He is filled with memories of love and they give way to despair. His tone is rich and deep, filled with pain, love and loss.
E lucevan le stelle never fails to affect me, and Massimo’s voice is filled with emotion and passion that awakens the nerves throughout my body making the tips of my fingers tingle and my body tremble.
I grip the stage curtain. My knuckles are white. My stomach is taught. I am waiting to tell him that I have killed Scarpia and after the mock execution we will be free. We can escape.
Cesare’s voice is so near to my ear that his breath tickles my lobe.
‘Josephine?’ he whispers. ‘Are you feeling well? You are crying. Quickly, let me dry these.’ He takes a tissue from his pocket. I hadn’t noticed tears falling onto my cheeks. ‘You are magnificent. Do not worry. Just feel the emotion coming from the audience. They are living your pain. They are experiencing your anguish.’
I take a deep breath but a sense of foreboding overcomes me, enveloping me with insecurity and doubt. I glance up at him. I want to tell him but I cannot speak.
Instead I take Glorietta’s gift, the small Madonna from its security between my breasts. I marvel at the tranquility of her face. I understand her sacrifice. I kiss her and pray for strength to deal with whatever lays before me and return her safely to my cleavage beside my beating heart.
I sigh.
Michael had been lonely after Shona died. He had found refuge and comfort with me, just as I had found support and love from him. We both knew it was wrong. We both knew the hurt we would cause if we were discovered. The only truth was the one that existed between us and no-one else.
‘They are loving it.’ Cesare nods at the audience.
‘We will escape together,’ I whisper. ‘I have committed murder for Michael.’
‘Michael?’ Cesare looks at me.
‘Raffaelle,’ I say.
Cesare frowns. There is concern and confusion in his eyes.
‘I mean, Cavaradossi,’ I say. I take my cue and rush onto the stage, taking with me the bewilderment and disappointment in Cesare’s eyes.
On stage Tosca instructs Cavaradossi how to fake his death. He caresses my hand. He is sad that I have murdered for him.
O dolci mani, he sings.
Then I hide, and watch soldiers fire a volley of gunfire, smoke fills the stage, and an expectant hush descends.
I wait until the soldiers leave and run to my lover, ecstatic with his performance at his mock execution. Cavaradossi has play-acted his death so I rush to his side but when he refuses to move I know that Scarpia’s treachery has transcended the grave.
The mock execution wasn’t a fake.
My lover, Cavaradossi, is dead.
The melodrama of my role transcends all else.
The soldiers have killed my love.
Now they come for me.
I hear them. I hear their soldiers’ boots.
I have nothing to live for. I have been betrayed and deceived. I have lost.
God will judge me. ‘O Scarpia, Avanti a Dio!’ I cry.
I avoid my captures clutches and I throw myself from the ramparts and leap into the darkness to my death.
I lie still. My heart is thumping against the mattress placed behind the scenes to break my fall. Stage hands pull me quickly to my feet, whispering, bravo, and eccellente.
‘Josephine, magnifico.’ Cesare is shouting above the applause. He hugs me. ‘Can you hear them?’
Nico calls ‘Stupendo!’ He stands beside Dino. They are laughing and clapping.
‘What has happened?’ I ask.
‘The audience love you. Listen to them. This is for you, you were magnificent,’ Cesare laughs.
Through the closed curtains I hear thunderous applause, shouts of appreciation and feet stomping.
Nina is fussing by my side, she rearranges my dress, and hem line, another girl brushes my wig.
The girl with the red heart tattoo checks my makeup and applies powder to my cheek. Her peppermint chewing gum breath is in my face as she speaks. ‘We can’t have them seeing this bruise after that fantastic performance. My father is right. You are Tosca.’ Her eyes glisten with tears.
Cesare passes me water to sip. They have attended to me so quickly I am disoriented.
Nico calls. ‘Your curtain call. It’s your first.’
‘Hurry!’ Cesare hugs me. ‘They are waiting for you.’
At the side of the stage, Massimo hugs me and kisses my hand.
‘We did it Josephine. We did it again. We still have our magic.’
We walk on stage. My senses are heightened. The lights are brighter, the smell of face paint assails my nostrils, and my heart is beating faster reverberating against my ribs.
The audience are on their feet, the sound is deafening. I curtsey and bow.
Massimo stands to one side and joins in the applause purely for me.
The orchestra are on their feet, and Andrei my conductor, is also applauding my performance. He pushes his glasses onto his nose, perspiration glistens on his forehead, and under the stage lights he smiles at me as he once used to do.
We take another curtain call and then another, and another. Then they demand Andrei onto the stage. This time it is my turn to applaud a true maestro. He takes long strides and within seconds he is standing beside me. All the cast are applauding. His square glasses reflect the spotlights but I see tears in his eyes, and when he holds out his hand and pulls me toward him I am reminded of this scene. I have acted this many times with him, and fleetingly I think of the newspaper stories that will appear in the morning, and I know that after this performance I will weather the storm regardless of what is published.
‘You are a true star. You are the only Tosca,’ he shouts above the noise. Then he retires to my side insisting I take more credit for my performance but not before he kisses my hand and says.
‘This is a night they will all remember. Thank you, Josephine.’
I stand alone.
; I am in the spotlight. Applause fills my senses and its echo reverberates in the dome above me. I am smiling and when I turn my head to look for Cesare standing behind the stage curtain I see Raffaelle.
My heart leaps. I am relieved. I cannot believe he is here. He is dressed in his tuxedo and I wonder if he has seen all the performance.
He holds out something to me.
My smile freezes.
To the consternation of my fellow actors, I cross the stage quickly.
‘Raffaelle, where have you been? Where were you? I thought something had happened.’
He is smiling. ‘I brought you this.’ He pulls the bag open and I see a familiar dirty shoe box. I push the lid aside and pull the cloth apart. Staring up at me is the Golden Icon. It is exquisite.
Cesare grabs my hand.
‘Josephine, they are calling for you, come on. You must go back; this is your thirteenth call.’ I nudge his hand away.
Nico is shouting at me. ‘Come, Josephine, come. This is your moment. Don’t waste it.’
He pushes Raffaelle and Cesare away, and grabs my arm propelling me toward the audience. ‘You must go back out on stage. They are calling for you.’
I am carried along with Cavaradossi and Scarpia into the stage lights. A roar from the crowd greets us and I cannot help laughing.
This is my moment. One I never thought I would experience again.
I am Tosca.
Everything is perfect. The Golden Icon is here. Raffaelle is safe. Michael is with me.
Massimo shouts in my ear. ‘The diva is back.’ He holds my hand in the air and the crowd cheer and I laugh louder. I shake my head in disbelief and place my hand on my chest beside my heart and I feel Glorietta’s gift to me, the lucky charm of the Madonna.
I am humbled.
The audience is mine, as I am theirs. I am once again their Tosca. Scarpia and Cavaradossi grab my hands and we bow together.