Signor Giovanni steps aside. And then, I see her. Her face hides between her arms that spread across the dresser. Her shoulders jitter. A soft cry escapes her lips.
“Is she all right?” I have to ask.
Signor Giovanni now stands between us, shaking his head. “It has happened again,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “Syneca has lost her voice… She cannot sing.”
The prima donna straightens her back in the chair. Her shaking hand grabs a jewelry box tightly and tosses it across the room. Now she takes her hand to her mouth and bites the back, sobbing bitterly.
“But tonight is the start of the opera season—we’re in the middle of the Carnival!” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. I am alarmed but she’s in far worse pain than I can probably imagine. “I am so sorry.”
“Do not be sorry, ragazza…” Signor Giovanni mutters. He reaches a golden gown laid on the chair, and taking a step closer, he presses the dress against my chest. “Be ready.”
The blood in my veins chills.
Never turning back, Signor Giovanni walks out of the room, leaving the door open.
Syneca’s sobbing grows louder. The coarseness of her groans makes me shudder. Is there anything I can say to ease her pain? I highly doubt it.
“There’s little time, Letizia,” Evangelina takes me by the shoulder. “I will help you. Andiamo.”
The curtain falls. Endless waves of applause ripple through the roaring crowd. It dawns on me as L’Orfeo ends: tonight I was the prima donna. I was Eurydice incarnate, and I shared the stage with none other than Carlo Ricci, La Voce Galante.
If this is a dream may my eyes remain closed forever.
“Letizia!” Carlo’s voice draws me out of my detachment. His lips stretch in a generous smile. “You were absolutely delightful, carissima!”
The curtain rolls up once more. A crowd overwhelmed by enthusiasm stands before us. Women scream with no demure, calling for the male soprano’s attention. And he makes no effort to hide his appreciation for the ladies’ warm regard. Carlo feeds off their frenzy as a vampire feeds off the blood of his enemies.
“Eurydice! Brava!” A voice cheers in the farthest part of the theater.
“Eurydice!” Another voice claims. Soon, a full chant echoes in the house. My name does not appear on the libretto—one of Syneca’s demands—but I embrace the name of Eurydice with all my heart.
A warm wave spreads over my body, limb by limb. It pleases me to find so many faces radiating happiness amidst the crowd, but my pride is soon met with the direst dread when I recognize an undesired presence. He sits on the front row, central seats—expensive ones. Why is he here? Why would he come?
“Mattia Moretti…” I muse.
Mattia rises from the chair. Wearing a sullen expression, he begins to clap, fixing a sinister stare over me. It sends a freezing blow through my spine. His pursed lips and clenched jaw are enough to alert me of his rising temper.
A shadow sifts before me. The curtain falls once again, and I am grateful for it.
“Letizia?” Carlo draws near. The warmth of his hand envelops mine. “Is something wrong, carissima? Andiamo. I will take you to your dressing room.”
I steady my body’s weight holding Carlo’s arm. A sudden tightness encircles my chest. The air seals within my lungs… A colorful blur surrounds me.
Everything turns black.
I am out.
A pungent smell brings me back from oblivion. I find myself on a velvet-lined walnut bench, lying in the strong arms of the glorious male soprano, Carlo Ricci.
“Drink this,” he whispers, drawing a glass close to my lips.
“What is it?” I say, slowly coming back into my senses.
“Brandy.” He rocks me close to his chest. “It will make you feel better. Drink, Letizia. Please.”
I hold the glass and take a quick swig. The sweet drink tastes of flowers with a hint of dried fruit. I finish the Brandy within seconds.
Looking down, I notice my gown’s loose strings. The satin is free enough that a glimpse of my stays peers through it. “What happened, Carlo?” I ask, pressing the fabric against my chest in a useless attempt to cover my cleavage.
“You fainted, carissima,” he says. “Your dress was fitted too tightly—no wonder you barely breathed!”
“This is not my dressing room…” I muse, glancing at my surroundings.
Carlo shrugs with a timid smile. “I carried you here. My room is closer to the stage.” He takes a minute to consider his following words. “Delicate as your exquisite frame is… That gown of yours is truly heavy.”
“I am offended that you should say that, signore,” I tease. It follows that I choke a laugh, and he does too.
“You are going to be all right, dear.” Carlo tightens his embrace and I hold him dearly. The feeling echoes that which I profess towards my brother. The same warmth and care exude from Carlo’s every word.
“I suspect your unexpected debut was rather overwhelming… Oh, I remember mine like it was yesterday.” He sighs. “All those faces in the crowd looking at me with eyes full of wonder… I was but a child, of course.”
Then it comes back to me—that one face in the audience, capable of instilling dread into the depths of my soul. “Mattia…” I muse. Of all the places to be in the Carnival season, why had he chosen the Scuola’s theatre? He’d seemed genuinely surprised to see me on the stage.
Carlo furrows his brow. “What was that, carissima?” he asks. “I thought I heard you say—” Someone knocks at the door. Is he expecting company? I do not wish to interfere in his affairs.
He glides off the bench. “Vado, vado!” I’m coming, he mutters, pulling off his silk cravat. Three more knocks pound hard on the door before he reaches it.
“Tu chi sei? Cosa vuoi?” Who are you? What do you want? Carlo’s tall figure obstructs my view. The hinges give a low squeal as the door opens further.
“I knew it!” A man bursts into the room. The minute he removes his hat, every nervous fiber in my body springs into alertness. “You have taken this man as your lover! Has he seduced you into this sordid world? Well then, this affair is over, Letizia. Done with!”
“Mattia!” I get on my feet. His impertinence is such that I cannot find words to scold him.
“I am greatly disappointed in you,” he says. “An opera girl… Thank heavens your dear parents are not alive to see their daughter stoop so low!”
“Letizia, who is this man?” Carlo’s head looms several inches above Mattia’s shoulder.
Insulted by the question, Mattia turns to address him. “I am Signor Mattia Moretti, this woman’s betrothed. Now please, kindly remove yourself from this room!” He raises his cane, willing to bash Carlo’s head. But Carlo’s agility outwits him, dodging the blow with a graceful movement of his torso. The male soprano takes hold of Mattia’s cane with one hand, he pulls it out of his grip and then throws it to the floor.
His other hand lands on Mattia’s shoulder and closes tightly around it. “Is this true, Letizia?” Carlo asks. “Are you promised to this man?”
“Absolutely not!” I say, horrified to ever have considered such a thing.
Carlo gives me a quick nod. His other hand grips the back of Mattia’s breeches. Carlo raises him from the floor as if he weighed nothing.
“Take your hands off me, you brute!” Mattia growls.
“I am no brute, Signor Moretti,” he replies, heading to the door. “I am Carlo Ricci, primo uomo di la compagnia teatrale de la Scuola Veneziana… And you are no longer welcome here!” Carlo tosses him through the doorway, into the corridor. He closes the door behind him, leaving outside a tumbling man lying on the floor in the middle of the corridor, a very upset man.
Carlo studies me with narrowing eyes as he heads towards me. “I have sung for nobles and royals many times, and I tell you, never have I come across such a detestable man!”
"I am sorry for this uncomfortable moment,” I say. “Mat
tia is the most arrogant man who ever lived…”
Carlo chuckles. “Aha! There is a dark side to you, Letizia Leone.” He pauses. “Oh… I like you.”
I cannot help but giggle.
A heavy knock pounds the door.
“Is it him again?” I ask, lacing my stays quickly.
“It better not be…” Carlo huffs, getting up from the bench once more. The most excruciating seconds pass until he opens the door.
“Ah! Que bella ragazza!” he says, opening the door wider. “And who might you be, signore?”
“My name is Fabrizio.” His voice soothes my anxiety. “And this is—”
“Fabrizio! Carina!” I hurry to meet them. “You came!”
“Oh, Letizia! You were wonderful!” Carina holds my hands. Her candid stare meets mine, but then she cannot fight the wish to embrace me.
“Do I not get a word of praise as well, signorina?” Carlo teases, smoothing his fingers on his lower lip.
“You were wonderful too, Signor Ricci…” Carina’s face flares without remedy, which Carlo seems to find most amusing.
“We never imagined that you would be singing tonight,” Fabrizio combs his hair back with his fingers. He leans against the wall, proud and gleaming with quieted joy as he looks at me. “Lucky for us that we were present on the day of your debut, dearest sister.”
“Is something wrong with Syneca Fiori?” Carina asks.
My lips part but no words come through. I dare not utter her name. I dare not think about how much my happiness depends upon her misery.
“This is such a lovely gathering,” Carlo intervenes, resting his arm above my brother’s shoulders. “We must celebrate our beloved Letizia’s debut, and I know just the place for it.” Hinting a smile, Carlo winks at me, aware of my inner turmoil.
“Come, come…” He gently ushers both my brother and Carina out of the room, mindful of staying behind until he meets me at the door.
“This is your night, Letizia…” he whispers in my ear. Carlo Ricci is the most tempting man the Scuola Veneziana ever spawned. “Think of nothing else, carissima.” His hand glides over mine. He presses it with care and pulls it close to his lips, and when he kisses it, a sudden wave of warmth embraces me inside and out.
“Now…” he adds. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?” holding the door open.
Impossible not to smile, and impossible not to consider how much my life will change after this evening.
As I cross that threshold, my life is split in two: the old version of me slowly withers, and I am now a rare mixture of darker shades.
Each time the sun sets I am haunted by the question that threatens to steal my dream. Will tomorrow be the day when Syneca’s health improves? Will tomorrow be the day when she returns to the stage as the immortal goddess that triumphs over adversity, and will I then return to the shadows?
Weeks have passed, and however tortured I am by the uncertainty of my position, Syneca has not yet returned. The past few days have guaranteed me a higher pay. I continue to save the money with the hope of one day restoring our family’s fortune. But a fear so great of being deprived of my role as prima donna takes hold of my heart, robbing from it any possibility of enjoyment.
Tonight is the last performance of the opera season. As I stand on the proscenium in the company of Carlo Ricci, waves of applause echo in the theater. Shreds of librettos rain over us from the highest seats in the house.
Although I smile, my happiness is incomplete. Like I do every night, I study each face in the theater, hoping to come across him at any moment.
He has not come.
It has been many weeks since last I saw Mattia, but his is not the face I hope to discover in the house. The one face I long to see is that of my benefactor, Il Diavolo. Where can he be? Why has he not returned?
“Letizia Leone!” Many voices call my name. “Letizia Leone!”
The curtain opens. A warm wave spreads through my every limb as the crowd’s ovation rumbles in the house. Carlo holds my hand. Graciously, we bow.
The curtain rolls down before us once more, though cheering voices still resonate outside along with another round of applause. Within minutes, the cacophony fades. And after a while, there is silence.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Signor Giovanni claps, standing in the middle of the corridor offstage. “The season was a success! Of course, I had my doubts at first—”
“But Letizia won the public’s heart as fast as she won ours,” Carlo says.
“No doubt about that.” Giovanni nods.
Simonetta peers through Carlo’s’ dressing room. With a smug look, she leans against the door’s jamb. She casually slips a bottle of wine into his hand.
“Per festeggiare, ah?” Carlo cackles a laugh, grabbing the bottle. He removes the cork with a quick bite and takes the first swig. The wretched nymph glides her hand around his waist, luring the male soprano inside the room.
“Letizia!” Carlo says. “I will see you tonight at the ball, certo?”
I nod, not knowing what to say. Meanwhile, Carlo and Simonetta burst into drunken laughter as the door closes behind them.
“Letizia, please come with me.” Signor Giovanni calls me to the end of the corridor, into his small office.
“The ball?” I ask. “What ball?”
“Eight o’clock at Palazzo Contarini by the Grand Canal…” Giovanni’s reply is swift. He moves to his writing desk and pulls open the drawer. “Tonight’s wages will exceed the past ones. Attendance was at its highest, Letizia. And it is all because of you.”
A small sack full of coins lands heavily over the desk. I have saved my wages for the past weeks, each time drawing closer to pay our debt to Signor Baresi. Agitation rises in my soul. I cannot wait for the day when I am able to get it all back—our house, our land, our family’s palazzo… Will such a day arrive?
Giovanni slips the bag towards me with his fingertips. I take it and hold it in both hands.
“Cos'è, bella donna?” What is it, beautiful? Giovanni asks. “Are you not pleased?”
“Forgive me.” I blink, breaking away from my detachment. “Of course, I am pleased. This is more than I expected…”
“Then, what troubles you?” He moves around the desk and stops before me. His glazed green eyes fix on mine.
“I will need more than this if I am to restore my family’s legacy…” I muse.
“I knew your father, Letizia.” An astonishing revelation. “He was a fortunate man, a shrewd man. Your father amassed quite a fortune back in the day—”
“Then you also know he gambled everything away,” I add, spite coming through my words.
“I am aware of it…” he muses. “Letizia, it might rest within my power to restore your family’s wealth…” His bold hand smooths on my cheek. His cool fingers glide to the nape of my neck.
Giovanni’s words intrigue me, but his touch makes my stomach turn.
I step back. His hand clasps my neck hard and pulls me to him. The old man’s dry lips part, and his tongue looms through them like a serpent when he draws near.
“Don’t!” I push him away with every ounce of strength I am able to muster.
“Letizia,” he says, noticeably shaken. “This must stay between us… You must not—!”
I run to the door.
“Letizia!” he calls me again with a raspy voice that makes me shudder.
Indignation and fury entangle inside me as I slam the door and run the way back to Syneca’s dressing room which has served as my own for the past weeks. I toss the reticule over the table. A few coins slip out and land on the jewelry box that had once been Syneca’s.
Impatience burns in my heart. The first tears loom in my eyes. With my whole being, I wish to be rid of my misfortunes. But time goes by too slowly, and although I would do anything to speed the climb to victory, yielding to Signor Giovanni’s outrageous proposal is unthinkable.
“Are you all right, carissima?” His voice soothes my racing mind.
>
“Carlo, I—I will be fine… Go back to Simonetta.”
“I’m afraid that will be impossible.” He shrugs. Carlo pulls a chair next to me. He then glides on it, wearing the most mischievous look in his bright brown eyes.
“Impossible? What do you mean?” His statement spurs my curiosity, so much so, I no longer care of my tribulations.
“I believe she expected something more after that bottle of wine…” He snickers.
“But I thought—”
“Mm… Simonetta is not my type of woman.” Carlo purses his lips.
“I’m afraid your type is confined to her chambers, sick with a never-ending cold,” I add, raising my brow with a knowing look.
Exposed, Carlo hints a candid smile. “ I believe she is.” Smoothing his hands on his lap, he gets on his feet. “I look forward to drowning my sorrows tonight at the ball.”
“And I mine,” I muse. A flash of Signor Giovanni’s disgusting tongue inches away from my lips appears before my mind’s eye. A nauseous wave hits my mouth immediately.
“You are much too beautiful to indulge in any sorrows, carissima…” he says, leaning against the door’s jamb. “I will see you there in a little while.”
Carlo winks. He then disappears into the corridor as the friendliest phantom who ever haunted the Scuola’s theater.
Warmth lingers in the air and welcomes me as I enter through the palazzo’s water gate. Echoes of ongoing chatter filter to the mezzanine from the piano nobile floors. The laughter of nobles and singers blends in one delicious symphony as I move upstairs, led by a servant dressed in brown and gold livery. Whoever hosts tonight’s affair must be a person of great importance.
The brightest shades of taffeta and silk envelop me the minute I arrive at the top of the stairs. Amidst the guests, pearls, emeralds, and rubies glisten in the candlelight of elaborate crystal chandeliers and gilded candelabrums.
“There she is…” A spiteful voice outshines the rest. “Our own Eurydice. Our goddess and savior!”
The Devil's Song Page 6