The Four Seasons: A Novel of Vivaldi's Venice

by Laurel Corona

  “What is this?” he asked, tracing oil over the silvery scar on her heel.

  “It’s the mark of the Pietà.” Chiaretta’s voice trembled. “They put it there so they could find us.”

  He looked at her for a moment, not comprehending what she meant. “Kyrie eleison,” he began, putting the oil away as Chiaretta joined him in the prayer. He handed her a small cloth to daub the excess oil from Maddalena’s face.

  “I’m finished,” he said.

  Maddalena’s lips parted and her eyes were blank, but she seemed to be trying to say something.

  Chiaretta leaned forward, making out only one word.

  Sing.

  She looked at Vivaldi. “Salve Regina. The last section.”

  Vivaldi picked up his violin and began to play Maddalena’s part. Chiaretta got up on the bed and leaned her back against the pillows.

  “Et Jesum benedictum,” she began. Lifting Maddalena’s limp and almost weightless body, she took her in her arms, rocking her to the sway of the music. “O clemens, O pia, O dulcis Virgo,” she sang. My peaceful, holy, sweet virgin sister, she thought, as tears stung her eyes and smothered her voice in her throat.

  A faint smile came over Maddalena’s lips, just as it had whenever she played that piece, her favorite of all the music they had played together. Perhaps that was what she was trying to say when she murmured something Chiaretta could not understand. As Vivaldi finished the last notes, Maddalena’s shoulders went heavy. “Go,” Chiaretta whispered, as she rocked her sister toward the music.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of historical fiction, based in part on real people. The archives of the Ospedale della Pietà record Antonio Vivaldi’s purchase of “a bow for Maddalena Rossa,” and although I was unable to ascertain a date, this notation gave me the first plot element for The Four Seasons. Because the figlie di coro used only first names, it is likely that this distinguished her as “red-haired Maddalena” at a time when more than one figlia named Maddalena performed in the coro.

  Chiaretta is the name of a famous soprano of the coro, but of a later era. One of only three elements of the plot known to me to be inconsistent with fact is giving Chiaretta the part of Abra in Juditha Triumphans, a role actually sung by someone named Silvia. I tried changing Chiaretta’s name to Silvia, but I already had created Silvia the Rat, and an image of her kept cropping up as I rewrote. In the end, I decided that Chiaretta told me her name, and that was that. To my amusement, I learned later that a registry for the Pietà shows that this particular Silvia was in her sixties when she sang Abra, so it turned out that her name was actually the least of my problems.

  Anna Girò is a real person, and Vivaldi’s relationship with her caused great scandal, although its nature is unknown. From the time of their meeting in Mantua until his death, she and her sister, Paolina, were Vivaldi’s almost constant companions, although he claimed Paolina was no more than his nurse and Anna simply one of the stars of his operas. Contemporaneous reports of her voice call into question whether the quality of her singing was high enough to warrant this kind of attention.

  Anna and Paolina did have their own home in Venice, but anecdotes, including one by the noted writer Carlo Goldoni, suggest that they actually lived with Vivaldi. The scandal was sufficient to cause him to lose important commissions because of questions about the seemliness of a priest having what appeared to be a sexual relationship with one or possibly both of them. I have steered clear of making any concrete suggestions about this possibility, for if Vivaldi did keep his vow of chastity, creating a plot that had him doing otherwise would be a terrible disservice to someone who cannot now defend himself.

  The other important Anna, Anna Maria della Pietà, is also a real person about the same age as Chiaretta and Maddalena. Abandoned as an infant, she remained at the Pietà all her life, living into her eighties. She served as principal violinist from 1720 to 1737, and Vivaldi wrote as many as thirty-seven concerti for her. One admirer wrote a poem praising her skill on the harpsichord, violin, cello, viola d’amore, lute, theorbo, and mandolin. Of her violin playing, he claimed,

  The clever Anna Maria,

  True incarnation of goodness and beauty

  ... plays the violin in such a manner

  That transports anyone who hears her to Paradise,

  If possibly it is true that even up there

  Angels play like that.

  The second time I am aware that I strayed from the facts was to adjust the dates of Anna Maria’s life. She was born in 1694, two years after the character of Maddalena, but because I felt her story was so deserving of being part of this book, I moved her age forward to make her slightly older than Maddalena, so she could be already on the adolescent ward when Maddalena arrives there.

  The third point at which I strayed slightly from fact was backdating the performance of La Verità in Cimento from its true premiere in fall 1720 to fall 1719. I did this to improve the chronology for the birth of Chiaretta’s children and the premiere of The Four Seasons in 1726. No one has yet been able to determine for what opera Vivaldi wrote the aria “Di due rai languir costante,” but since it was a common practice to alter the material of an opera to suit the singers, I saw no problem with using it here.

  About Vivaldi himself, only a handful of reports exist. This nearly total silence sheds light on the richness of the musical environment of eighteenth-century Venice, where even someone of his caliber could not manage to stand out clearly from the rest. His health problems (probably asthma, although some suggest angina) were real, although whether they were a legitimate cause or a convenient excuse for avoiding saying mass only a year after his ordination will probably never be known. Skeptical contemporaries were doubtful of the true extent of his disability, noting his tireless energy for his own projects, including hundreds of musical compositions, his role as impresario for the Teatro Sant’Angelo, and his years of almost constant travel in Italy and the rest of Europe.

  He was apparently a devout Catholic despite not having a parish assignment and was known around Venice as Il Prete Rosso, the Red Priest, because of his unusually bright red hair. Though one eyewitness said that he sometimes composed with a rosary in his hand, his religiosity did not stop him from being a shrewd and some said unscrupulous businessman, willing to sell “original” compositions in only slightly altered form to several different buyers. In truth this was a common practice among poorly paid composers pressed to satisfy demand. Vivaldi tended to be paranoid and self-pitying, but within the Inquisition-like climate of eighteenth-century Venice, with its rigid social roles and wild fluctuations in enforcement of the law, it is perhaps understandable that he would feel fearful and misused.

  Vivaldi reached the peak of his success as an opera composer in Venice in roughly the same period in which he wrote The Four Seasons. His style, however, was already being eclipsed by that of German composers, most notably Handel and Bach. He continued to compose for patrons, and after a final attempt to revive his reputation in Venice, he left for Vienna in hopes of greener pastures at the court of Emperor Charles VI. Luck was against him when Charles died suddenly, leaving Vivaldi without prospects in a foreign city. He died penniless there in 1741 at age sixty-three, and in a tragic foreshadowing of what would happen fifty years later to Mozart in the same city, he was buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave. Anna Girò, who had gone to Vienna with him, returned to Italy and married a nobleman in 1748.

  The Pietà existed until the end of the century. When the Venetian Republic fell to Napoleon in 1797, many of the nunneries were disbanded, and lay institutions such as the ospedali were caught up in the same reformist fervor. The buildings of the Pietà were destroyed, and today the Hotel Metropole stands on the site of the original chapel. In the lobby several marble columns have been retained. Elsewhere in the building are a few remnants, including a spiral staircase the figlie would have used, and a stone well in the courtyard where they spent some of their recreational time. Nothing e
lse remains of the massive building that once housed one of the great Venetian institutions. At the rebuilt chapel next door on the Riva degli Schiavoni, a plaque marks Vivaldi’s involvement with the Pietà, and recently a small museum dedicated to the coro opened upstairs.

  Vivaldi’s work lapsed into obscurity for almost two hundred years. Not until the mid–twentieth century had anyone other than scholars of the period even heard of him. Then, in the 1930s in Turin, a large private collection of sheet music was discovered, and by the 1950s, the first recordings of The Four Seasons became widely available. However, even with subsequent scholarship, the disorganized and almost accidental manner in which some of the music was saved has created problems knowing for certain where, when, and for whom it was first performed. Though many of his compositions were collected and professionally published, many others are placed in context by no more than the paper they are written on, under the assumption that one supply of paper would be used up before another was purchased. Nevertheless, notes kept by the Pietà and scribbles on some of the miscellaneous sheet music that has survived verify that the compositions performed in the chapel in this book were indeed in the repertoire of the figlie di coro. So far no one has determined conclusively the early performance history of The Four Seasons, but the nature of the music has led many to suggest it was commissioned for a private audience. Since the figlie di coro gave many such performances, I thought it quite reasonable to conclude that they might have performed it in a setting such as the one I describe.

  Today, Vivaldi has taken his place as one of the greatest composers of all time, although common knowledge of him is even now limited to a few works, such as The Four Seasons and the famous “Gloria.” His music for female vocalists is a largely unknown treasure, and many of his other instrumental compositions, only a few of which are included here, are perhaps even more astonishing than The Four Seasons.

  Vivaldi may have contributed to the development of the musicians and singers of the Pietà, but they also contributed greatly to the development of Vivaldi. Before he came to the Pietà as a violin teacher, he dabbled at composition but was renowned only as a superb violinist. He must have seen the discipline, dependability, and consistently high quality of the musicians of the coro as a precious resource, but the world of the Pietà had the added advantage of the serenity of a cloister, a setting where personalities and politics rarely diverted attention from the music. Indeed, despite his great interest in composing operas, not a single one of Vivaldi’s operas has found its way into the repertoire of today’s companies, showing clearly that Vivaldi’s musical reputation depends on the kinds of music he wrote for the Pietà. Even though he wrote for other churches, courts, and individuals as well, it is his music for chamber orchestra and his generally lesser known religious works for choirs and women’s voices that bear the mark of his greatness.

  The Vivaldi revival has brought with it a growing interest in the f iglie di coro of the four Venetian ospedali. Within their walls, women were able to flourish as musicians (and, it has recently been discovered, as composers), while Venetian society as a whole took no such interest in developing exceptional talent in their own daughters. Sadly, for all the centuries of its existence, not a single diary by a resident of the Pietà has been found, and little more than details from ledgers and other record books survive to tell of the thousands of lives spent there. Perhaps Maddalena, Chiaretta, Anna Maria, and the others in The Four Seasons will help speak for them.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My most profound thanks go to my friends and family, who stayed interested even when the process of bringing the figlie di coro to life seemed endless, vague, and possibly fruitless. In addition to Lynn Wrench and James Fee, to whom the book is dedicated, I would like to thank my son, Ivan Corona, and Chelsea Huff, for their support and suggestions.

  Among my colleagues, Stephanie Robinson gave me expert advice on the soprano voice, Elizabeth Meehan helped me understand bowing techniques, and Catherine Lopez, Judith Krumholz, Helen Elias, Farrell Foreman, and Jerry Fenwick encouraged me throughout. Other assistance on violin techniques came from professional violinist Mary Karo, and information on how untreated breast cancer might progress came from Dr. Barbara Parker.

  Historical fiction requires much research, and as a result there are a number of people I never met whose works became important to the accuracy of the book. I would like to acknowledge the contributions of scholars Patrick Barbier, Jane Berdes, John Booth, Stanley Choinacki, Robert C. Davis, Robert Donnington, Joanne M. Ferraro, Wendy Heller, H. C. Robbins Landon, Mary Laven, John Martin, Dennis Romano, and Jutta Gisela Sperling.

  Two others stand out. The first is Professor Michael Talbot, whose e-mail correspondence clarified several key points. The second is Philippe Monnier, whose 1910 book Venice in the Eighteenth Century was an inspiration.

  At the Piccolo Museo della Pietà in Venice, the chief archivist, Dottore Giuseppe Ellero, gave generously of his time to help me understand life at the Pietà. Molte grazie per tutto l’aiuto che Lei gentilmente mi ha dato.

  At Voice, Editor Sarah Landis, Editorial Director Pam Dorman, and Publisher Ellen Archer were a pleasure to work with.

  Editorial Assistant Kathleen Carr made sure everything went smoothly along the way. Writing is a solitary effort, but getting published takes teamwork, and I am very grateful to this wonderful group of women. And a heartfelt thank you to Laura Klynstra, Voice art director, and Jessica Shatan Heslin, the designer, responsible for the beautiful cover and interior layout of The Four Seasons.

  Barbara Braun, my former agent, is owed sincere thanks for her work on behalf of this book.

  And finally, because it’s never too late to remember a teacher, a huge thank-you goes to Jane C. Bradford, now retired from The Bishop’s School in La Jolla, California. She took my high school scribbles and guided me so skillfully through the process of turning them into good writing that I didn’t even notice what hard work it was.

  MUSIC IN THE FOUR SEASONS

  In addition to The Four Seasons, the following music is featured in the novel.

  L’Estro Armonico No. 7 in F Major (pp. 110, 116–17) Vivaldi writes a small third violin part for Maddalena.

  Nisi Dominus, RV 608 (pp. 121–22, 124) Vivaldi does a quick rewrite so the King of Denmark will not hear only Gasparini’s music.

  Laudate pueri Dominum in C Minor, RV 292 (pp. 161–63) The first piece of music Vivaldi writes for Maddalena and Chiaretta.

  Salve Regina in F Major, RV 617 (pp. 164–66) The second piece for the sisters. The figlie “dance,” and ClaudioMorosini hears the voice of his future bride (p. 363, Chiaretta sings this as she cradles her dying sister).

  Third Movement and Cadenza, Concerto Fatto per la Solennità della Santa Lingua, RV 212 (pp. 193–94) Vivaldi’s performance of the cadenza is the talk of Venice.

  Juditha triumphans (pp. 195–204) Chiaretta’s farewell performance at the Pietà, where she plays the maid, Abra, and feels upstaged.

  La Verità in Cimento (pp. 269–76, 280–84) In disguise, Chiaretta performs in Vivaldi’s new opera.

  “Aurea placida e serene” (Quartet) (pp. 272–73) Overwhelmed by the beauty of the music, Chiaretta and Andrea end up in each other’s arms.

  “Amato, ben tu sei la mia speranza” (Aria) Chiaretta overcomes her inhibitions (pp. 270–72) and dazzles the audience at the opera (p. 283).

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  1. Which lifestyle do you think you would prefer: the one Maddalena chooses or the one Chiaretta chooses? What about each lifestyle appeals to you?

  2. At one point Chiaretta concludes that she and Maddalena were better off abandoned at the Pietà than they would have been as daughters in a noble family. Do you think that’s true?

  3. Does Chiaretta’s infidelity have any impact on how you see her? If so, do you like or respect her less or more?

  4. What do you think about the institution of the coro? Were the figlie exploited, or empowered, a little of
both, or something else entirely?

  5. The author decided to leave Vivaldi’s relationship with Anna Girò ambiguous, since the dead cannot defend themselves. Is that a reasonable standard for a historical novelist?

  6. Do you think Vivaldi loves Maddalena? Do you think she loves him? Why or why not?

  7. The Pietà branded infants on the heel, or in earlier times the arm, to identify them before sending them off to foster homes. Why did they brand the children? What do you think of this practice?

  8. Who would you say is the main character of the novel: Maddalena or Chiaretta? Did you follow the story of one sister more closely? Why?

  AN INTERVIEW WITH LAUREL CORONA

  Q. How did you come up with the idea for The Four Seasons?

  A. I’m a community college professor of humanities, and one of my textbooks made a reference to Vivaldi’s work with female musicians in Venice. I thought that was interesting and told myself that someday I’d get around to looking into it, probably just to add a little information to my lectures.

  Several years later, as I was writing my nonfiction book Until Our Last Breath, I discovered that I really liked the challenge and pace of writing books several hundred pages in length. I knew I wanted to write another book, so I asked myself, “What’s the most interesting subject you can think of right now?” I don’t know why, but the female musicians of the Pietà jumped into my head. And nonfiction never occurred to me. I knew it had to be a novel.

  Q. You said the musicians jumped into your head. Why not Vivaldi himself ?

  A. Being female, I am always interested in the experiences of women. Vivaldi turned out to be a very intriguing character, and the book is much richer and more complex as a result of his presence. I think I might have been able to write a compelling novel even if he were less colorful, but I certainly couldn’t have if the musicians weren’t sufficiently interesting in their own right. And the book would be quite different if I thought of it as being primarily about Vivaldi and his relationship with the women of the Pietà, as opposed to the other way around.