Anna Maria's Gift

by Janice Shefelman

  She hurried across the courtyard and opened the door. The chapel was as black as a gondola. She felt her way along the wall to the doors. Locked. She put her ear on the crack between them. Too late—the violin was quiet.

  Anna Maria returned to her bed. Tomorrow she had to get out. But how? Since her last escape the front door was locked at all times. Maybe Auntie would talk to Mother Elena.

  After breakfast, she waited until Sister Lidia came out of the dining room. Anna Maria took her hand and pulled her into the courtyard.

  “What is it, dear child?” asked the sister.

  “I have to go and look for my violin again, Auntie,” said Anna Maria. “It cannot be at the bottom of the canal. I know, because I heard Papa’s voice last night.”

  Sister Lidia put her arm around Anna Maria’s shoulders. “Annina, you must have dreamed it.”

  Anna Maria pulled away. “No, no, no! I was standing at the window and I heard someone playing my violin.”

  Sister Lidia’s eyebrows went up. “Where was it coming from?”

  “Somewhere west of here. Please, Auntie, ask Mother Elena if we can go look for it,” Anna Maria begged.

  “Very well. Come with me to her office, and you can tell your story.”

  At the door Sister Lidia knocked. “Enter,” Mother Elena said.

  Anna Maria rushed to her desk. “Mother Elena, please, I beg you. Let Auntie and me go out to find my violin.”

  The prioress looked at Sister Lidia, then back at Anna Maria. “What are you saying, my child? Your violin is at the bottom of the canal.”

  Anna Maria shook her head. “No, I heard someone playing it last night.”

  “How very strange. Are you sure?” asked Mother Elena.

  “Sì, Mother,” Anna Maria said. “No other violin sounds like mine.”

  The prioress pursed her lips, thinking. “I cannot let you go running around the streets, Anna Maria. The governors have threatened to dismiss me if it happens again.”

  “But …,” Anna Maria began.

  The look in Mother Elena’s eyes stopped her. “Let me finish, dear child.”

  Anna Maria put her hand over her mouth.

  “I will tell the governors your story,” the prioress went on. “They will decide what is to be done.”

  They won’t believe it, thought Anna Maria. I must find another way.

  After violin class, Anna Maria waited until the other girls left.

  “What is it, my dear?” Maestro Vivaldi asked.

  “Oh, Maestro, last night I heard someone playing my violin,” she told him. “I’m sure, because I heard Papa’s voice.”

  The maestro’s eyes widened. “Indeed!”

  “Can you help?” she went on. “Mother Elena won’t let me go look for it. She’s going to tell the governors my story. But I don’t think they will believe it.”

  The maestro nodded. “I will see what I can do. One of the governors owes me a favor for dedicating some music to him. Perhaps he can convince the others.” Maestro Vivaldi smiled. “Especially since I shall be your escort.”

  Anna Maria wanted to throw her arms around him. But she dared not.

  Two days later, a letter came granting the request. After classes, Maestro Vivaldi, Sister Lidia, and Anna Maria stepped out the door of the Pietà.

  “I’ll hire a gondola,” the maestro said.

  “Look!” said Anna Maria. “There is my friend, Signor Francesco.”

  “Good afternoon.” Francesco bowed. “Where may I take you?”

  “On a search,” the maestro said.

  “Signor Francesco,” said Anna Maria, “my violin did not drown. I heard it singing in the night.”

  “Did I not tell you, signorina?” he said. “Where was the sound coming from?”

  She pointed. “That direction.”

  Francesco turned to the maestro. “What is your wish, Don Vivaldi? Shall we wind our way through the canals and listen for it?”

  “Sì,” he answered.

  As Francesco rowed, Anna Maria listened. She heard water rippling. She heard caged birds singing from windows. She heard a street vendor calling out his wares. But no violin.

  They came to the leaning bell tower. There, a smaller canal flowed off to the right.

  “Turn here, Francesco. I know of a violin shop nearby,” the maestro said. “You can let us off at the next steps.”

  When Francesco had helped them out, he said, “I’ll wait for you.”

  “Thank you,” the maestro said. “Follow me, ladies. I don’t trust this shop owner, but we will have a look.”

  He strode down the narrow street, his black robe flowing. Anna Maria and Sister Lidia followed. At the open door of the shop, he waved them in.

  Anna Maria looked around. There were violins hanging on the walls and lying on the counters. She saw red ones and brown ones, but not her golden violin.

  The owner, a burly man with a permanent frown, bowed. “Don Vivaldi. Are you looking for an instrument for the orphan girls?”

  “Sì, Signor Braga,” said the maestro. “One made by Nicolo Lombardini.”

  The owner shook his head. “I sold the only one I had three days ago. Count Contarini bought it for his daughter. He was quite taken with the violin. Especially since the master made it for his own daughter.”

  “That was my violin!” Anna Maria cried.

  Signor Braga looked down at her. “Your violin, signorina?”

  “Sì, my father made it for me. But Paolina threw it in the canal. And somehow you found it and … and sold it.” Anger rose inside her, almost spilling out.

  Signor Braga scowled at her. “Are you accusing me—”

  Maestro Vivaldi held up his hand for silence. “Permit me to explain, signore.” He cast a look at Anna Maria that told her to keep quiet.

  “This young lady is indeed Anna Maria Lombardini, daughter of Nicolo. She is also a student of mine. As you know, her father recently passed away. His last gift to her was that marvelous violin. She arrived at the Pietà clutching it to her heart.”

  The maestro paused. But Signor Braga said nothing.

  “Unfortunately, another student became jealous. She stole the violin and threw it in the canal.” Maestro Vivaldi looked steadily at the shop owner. “May I ask, signore, where you found it?”

  Signor Braga drew a sharp breath. “I do not go about looking for violins in canals, Don Vivaldi. Nor do I sell stolen goods. The violin was brought to my shop by a fish merchant. He said someone threw it out of a window into the canal.”

  “It was stolen!” Anna Maria blurted.

  Signor Braga made a curt bow. “I am afraid there is nothing more I can do for you.” He turned and walked to the back of his shop.

  As Francesco rowed them home, Maestro Vivaldi turned to Anna Maria. “I once played for Count Contarini in his palace. I shall send a letter to him and ask for a meeting.”

  Anna Maria stood up, rocking the gondola. “Maestro, may I go with you?”

  Sister Lidia held the side of the gondola and gasped.

  “Signorina!” Francesco said. “Please sit down or we shall capsize.”

  She sat. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

  Maestro Vivaldi chuckled. When the gondola stopped rocking, he went on. “You and Sister Lidia may go on one condition. You must let me do the talking.”

  “Sì, Maestro. But the count probably paid a lot of gold for my violin. How can you persuade him to give it back?”

  “Leave it to me, child. I know how to deal with nobles. They all want flattery.”

  Two weeks later, Maestro Vivaldi received a letter from Count Contarini. He invited them to his palace the next day.

  Late in the afternoon Anna Maria, the maestro, and Sister Lidia again stepped aboard Francesco’s gondola. He rowed along the Riva, and into the Grand Canal.

  “Watch for violins flying out of windows,” Francesco said.

  Anna Maria laughed out loud. “Signore, you can make anything funny.”


  “I try,” he said.

  They passed palace after palace on both sides of the canal. Anna Maria saw a girl standing on a balcony and waved. The girl turned away. People who live in palaces don’t care about other people, Anna Maria thought.

  A little farther on, Maestro Vivaldi said, “There it is. The pink one on the right.”

  Anna Maria caught her breath. The afternoon sun cast watery reflections on the three-story marble palace. The middle floor had tall, arched windows, pointed at the top.

  “I won’t know how to act in such a palace,” said Anna Maria. “Should I curtsy?”

  “Just be yourself,” said Francesco, “and the count will be charmed.”

  “Curtsy when I do,” said Sister Lidia.

  “And let me do the talking,” said Maestro Vivaldi.

  Anna Maria nodded and kept her mouth tightly closed.

  Francesco pulled up to the steps and helped the three of them out. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you,” said Anna Maria. “We’ll need it.”

  Maestro Vivaldi rang the bell while Anna Maria peered through the gate. A long room reached all the way to the other side of the palace. The only light came from openings at either end. An elderly servant appeared, shuffling along the tile floor.

  “Don Antonio Vivaldi to see Count Contarini, please,” said the maestro.

  “Ah, Don Vivaldi.” The man opened the gate and bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Please, follow me.”

  Anna Maria glanced back at Francesco, who stood beside his gondola. He curtsied like a lady. She had to hold in a giggle.

  They climbed marble steps up to the first floor and entered another long room. This one was flooded with light from the tall, pointed windows. Straight chairs lined the walls around Persian rugs.

  “Please, sit down,” said the old man. “I will tell the count you are here.”

  Anna Maria sat on one of the chairs between the maestro and Sister Lidia. She looked up. The ceiling was painted blue, with fluffy clouds and angels flying up to heaven. It was like being in a church.

  “When I played here, the countess swooned in delight,” said Maestro Vivaldi.

  Just then Count Contarini entered the room. He was a tall man with dark curling hair. “I remember that, Don Vivaldi.”

  Anna Maria’s heart fell. He was not smiling. Nor did he have the violin in hand.

  Maestro Vivaldi stood up and bowed. “Excellency, it has been too long since I played for your illustrious family. I trust you will not deny me the pleasure of returning soon, that I may entertain you with my feeble efforts.”

  Count Contarini squinted at the maestro. But he said nothing.

  “Speaking of feeble efforts,” the maestro went on, “it would give me great joy to dedicate my newest concerto to your noble self.”

  Anna Maria had never heard Maestro Vivaldi talk like this. Feeble efforts? Everyone loved his music. Was this what he meant by flattery?

  Maestro Vivaldi bowed again. “Of course that which I offer is a small tribute—”

  “Let us speak frankly, Don Vivaldi,” the count interrupted. “Am I to understand that I have purchased a stolen violin?”

  The maestro sucked in a breath and held it for a moment. Then he gestured to Anna Maria and Sister Lidia.

  “Excellency, may I present Anna Maria Lombardini, daughter of the great violin maker. And her chaperone, Sister Lidia.”

  Anna Maria watched Sister Lidia and curtsied when she did.

  The count dipped his head in a bow. “So you are Annina.”

  “Sì, Excellency,” Anna Maria said. Then she clamped her lips together.

  A brief smile crossed his face. But it faded as he turned to Maestro Vivaldi. “Of course I had no idea the violin had been stolen. I paid many gold coins for it as a gift to my daughter. Even now she is having a lesson.”

  He spoke to the old servant. “Please ask Donata to come and bring her violin.”

  They waited in silence until Donata entered. She was a thin, dark-haired girl—her father’s image. She held the golden instrument in her arms.

  “My violin!” Anna Maria took a step toward her.

  Donata fled from the room.

  Anna Maria clasped her hand over her mouth. Had she ruined everything?

  “I apologize for my daughter’s rude manners,” the count said. “She is quite fond of the violin.”

  “And I apologize for Anna Maria,” said Sister Lidia. “She, too, is quite fond of the violin.”

  Anna Maria wanted to hug Auntie for that.

  “No doubt,” said the count. “But I am sure you understand that my daughter comes first. I will not ask her to give up the violin.”

  Anna Maria stared at Count Contarini, at his thin face and his hard black eyes. This man stood between her and Papa’s violin. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She put her face in her hands.

  She could not let this happen. In that moment she heard Papa’s voice in her head. Annina, play for me. A bold idea came to her. Maestro Vivaldi could do the talking. But she could do the playing.

  She looked up at the count, blinking away her tears. “Excellency, may I play the violin one last time?”

  He smiled. “Sì, of course.” He spoke to the old servant again. “Tell Donata that Anna Maria wishes to play the violin one last time.”

  Donata returned and handed the violin to her father. She stood watching as he gave it to Anna Maria.

  The violin felt warm and alive in her hands. She tucked it under her chin and tuned.

  “What will you play for us?” the count asked.

  “The piece my father asked me to play when he lay on his deathbed,” Anna Maria said.

  There was a stunned silence.

  Anna Maria raised the bow, closed her eyes, and drew in a breath.

  Dum dee-dee dum …, she played. Her heart seemed to grow and fill her chest. An-ni-na, An-ni-na, the violin sang to her. She wanted to go on playing and never stop.

  At the end Anna Maria let her bow arm drop to her side. She saw that Count Contarini’s eyes shone with tears.

  He said, “Don Vivaldi, that is beautiful. With respect, you should keep to composing music rather than speeches.”

  A smile spread across the maestro’s face. “Not all nobles really listen to music as you do, Excellency. If they did, I would not have to make speeches.”

  The count nodded. Then to Anna Maria he said, “I am deeply moved by your playing, signorina. You and the violin seem as one.” He turned to his daughter.

  Her face twisted with the struggle going on inside her head. At last she spoke to Anna Maria. “My father gave me this violin one night at dinner. Afterward I went out on the balcony and played it by moonlight.”

  “I heard you!” said Anna Maria. “From my window in the Pietà.”

  “I loved the violin,” Donata went on. “But it felt restless in my hands. As I played, I knew that its spirit belonged to Annina. Wherever she might be.”

  Donata paused and looked at the count.

  “May I, Father?”

  He nodded.

  “And so, my father and I agree that the violin is yours to keep,” Donata said. “You belong together.”

  Anna Maria opened her mouth, but no words came out. She ran to Donata and hugged her.

  Then Anna Maria stepped back. “Count Contarini, how can I ever repay you?”

  He smiled. “You just did, signorina.”

  On the way home, Francesco said, “And what of Paolina? Shall we toss her in the canal?”

  Anna Maria burst out laughing.

  “Signorina, do you remember what I told you when you first arrived here?”

  “Sì, no one can be sad in Venice. At least not for long.”

  Francesco nodded. “I think Paolina must be sad for what she did.”

  “Truly?” said Anna Maria.

  “Sì. And I think you are the only person who can make her happy,” he went on.

  Now that she had her violin back, Anna Maria wa
nted everyone to be happy. “How, Signor Francesco?”

  “I can’t tell you how, signorina.”

  “Francesco, you should have been a priest,” said the maestro.

  “Oh no, Don Vivaldi. They would have unfrocked me by now. Besides, I prefer the open air.” And with that Francesco began to sing.

  A woman standing on a balcony sang with him.

  “Ah, Venice,” said Maestro Vivaldi. He glanced at Sister Lidia, who blushed.

  That evening at vespers Anna Maria escaped to the courtyard with her violin. The plum trees were in white flower. She inhaled their perfume. Then she closed her eyes and began to play. Her spirit soared with Papa’s voice.

  When Anna Maria opened her eyes, she saw Paolina peeking out from behind a column. Quickly she disappeared.

  “Paolina, is that you?” Anna Maria called in a loud whisper.

  Paolina stepped out from behind the column and walked toward Anna Maria. She looked thinner, and her stringy hair was tangled.

  She stopped a few feet away. “Is that your violin?”

  “Sì,” said Anna Maria. She told Paolina everything that had happened.

  “It is a miracle,” Paolina said. She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know how I could do such a thing. You must hate me.”

  “Not anymore,” said Anna Maria.

  Paolina looked up. “Why? Because you have your violin back?”

  “Sì, but also because of what my friend the gondolier said. He thinks you are sad for what you did.”

  Paolina stared at the paving stones and nodded. “Your friend is right. I am sad … and sorry, too.”

  “Then I will sing you a song he taught me. It made me laugh, even when I was sad about my father.”

  Anna Maria took up her violin. “It goes like this.”

  “If macaroni rained down from the sky,

  And the earth were covered over with cheese,

  We’d use our oars as forks, you and I.

  How jolly! Macaroni raining down from the sky!”

  Paolina laughed, but her eyes were still sad.

  “You must miss violin class,” said Anna Maria.