‘The world?’ said Prince Alberigo. ‘Is it really so dangerous? Well, perhaps it is, but not all who live outside the cloister are necessarily doomed.’
‘La signorina Tosca could live with us,’ said the princess. ‘I would treat her as a sister.’
Monsignor Tochetti’s already pallid face went a shade paler. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. To suggest that Tosca might be at risk in the Palazzo Belgioioso would be to impugn the honour of the princess and her father.
Bishop Sarlo, who missed nothing, now intervened. ‘Your Excellencies must temper your generosity or our poor chorister will be overwhelmed. We shall talk about this further, but now it is time for dinner.’ He turned to Tosca. ‘Dear child, you have delighted us this evening. We thank God for your great gifts, and we pray to Him for guidance as to how they can best be used for His greater glory. Retire now. We will consult others – Monsignor Tochetti, Signor Faglia and, of course, your parents. You are precious to us all here in Golla. God will guide us for the best.’
2
The struggle for Tosca lasted many months. Prince Alberigo, who had filled his newly built palace with rare manuscripts and beautiful works of art, wished the music in his household to be as magnificent as all else. He could not listen to a cantata or an aria without remembering the girl who had sung for him in Golla. He lapsed into reveries in which this flower from the Veneto sang in the grand salon of the Palazzo Belgioioso – among the audience all the notables of Lombardy with the viceroy, a cardinal and an Austrian archduke or two. Che meraviglia! Che prodigio! The joy would be theirs, the praise hers, but the glory his.
The prince became obsessed. An emissary was sent, incognito, to her parents in San Lorenzo, causing a sensation despite his discreet manner and modest dress. He repeated the offer made by the prince that their daughter should be taken into their household and trained as a singer by the best teachers in Milan. She would be treated not as a servant but as a member of the family. The prince’s children themselves were accomplished musicians; one daughter played the viol, another the pianoforte, and Princess Carlotta was a talented composer. Music was their passion, and Signorina Floria Tosca would therefore be treated with the greatest respect. And, of course, something would be done to make up for the help in the house and the kitchen that parents can reasonably expect from a daughter. The prince proposed an annual stipend of twenty sequins.
The parents absolved Monsignor Tochetti of his vow, but the prelate was as stubborn as the prince, and refused to release Tosca, whose voice now brought so many to High Mass at the cathedral. Bishop Sarlo supported his coadjutor, not for the sake of his cathedral’s choir, but because, missing nothing, he had seen the prince’s eye rest on Tosca’s bosom. He did not trust the prince. He did not trust the prince’s daughter. He saw that Tosca had an exceptional talent, but also knew that all operatic divas were subject to temptation and invariably succumbed. He felt responsible for Tosca: it was his coadjutor who had plucked her from her innocent bucolic surroundings and in so doing created an occasion of sin. How could the poor girl not be flattered by the praise of a prince? How could she not enjoy the admiration of musical connoisseurs? How could she not wish to accept an invitation to live with the family of such prominent Milanese? He felt angry with Tochetti whose vanity had brought Tosca to Golla, and with Faglia who for his own amusement had taught her to sing operatic arias and mimic the looks and gestures of women enslaved to their passions.
Bishop Sarlo therefore ruled that Tosca must remain in Golla. She could leave the convent; she could lodge with the family of the choirmaster, Faglia; but he could not in good conscience permit her, whatever her parents might say, to go to Milan. To defend his position, he lapsed into consequentialism – the formula used by Jesuits, that the end justifies the means – and told the prince, falsely, that Tosca had made a legally binding commitment to sing in the cathedral choir at Golla until the age of twenty-one. The prince sent an emissary to Tosca to see if this was true, but the emissary was not permitted to see her. A letter to Tosca was sent under cover of a letter to Father Acquaviva, Monsignor Tochetti’s secretary, from a friend of his in Milan, but Father Acquaviva, in obedience to his conscience, and in the hope that Bishop Sarlo might give him some preferment, exposed the ruse. The letter never reached Tosca.
Then, a little over a year after Tosca had first come to Golla, Bishop Giuseppe Sarlo received by special courier from Rome a thick parchment letter bearing the seal of the Secretary of State, Cardinal Zelada. Bishop Sarlo looked at it with apprehension. He had little doubt as to what it was about. Five years before, to his bitter regret, he had been persuaded by his friend Bishop Scipione de’ Ricci to attend a synod in his diocese of Pistoia. It had been summoned by Leopold, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, to reform the Church in his principality. Radical ideas had been put forward to restrict the powers of the Pope, to abolish indulgences, to burn fake relics, to permit the saying of Mass in the vernacular, consider the ordination of married men, abolish most monastic orders and forbid women taking vows before the age of forty. Bishop Sarlo had been dismayed and had hastily returned to Golla.
The synod of Pistoia had alarmed Pope Pius VI; more dramatically, it had enraged the populace of Pistoia, who, when their bishop ordered the demolition of a shrine and the destruction of bogus relics, had rioted in their defence. The Grand Duke Leopold deserted his protégé. Ricci was under pressure to resign his see. It was known to Bishop Sarlo that a papal bull was being prepared in Rome condemning the decrees of the synod. It was also known to Bishop Sarlo that Rome was aware of his presence at the synod, and that printed copies of the synod’s first decree, Decretum de fide et ecclesia, had been found in his diocese.
Bishop Sarlo’s immediate superior in the hierarchy of the Church was Monsignor Giovanelli, the Patriarch of Venice. Giovanelli knew that Sarlo was no Jansenist and had accepted Sarlo’s assurances that he would never have gone to Pistoia had he known what his former friend Ricci would propose, and had had nothing to do with the distribution of Decretum de fide et ecclesia. Monsignor Giovanelli had assured Sarlo that neither he nor the Venetian Inquisition had any doubts at all about the orthodoxy of his beliefs. Sarlo had been only partially reassured. He might be in the clear with the Venetian Inquisition and confident that it would not pursue the matter further, but what of the Inquisition in Rome? Its proceedings were slow but inexorable, and the five years that had passed since Pistoia were, sub specie aeternitatis, a mere blink of the eye.
Bishop Sarlo waited until he was alone in his study before breaking the seal on his letter. It was a good portent that the coat of arms impressed on the wax was that of the Cardinal Secretary of State, not the Holy Inquisition or the Congregation of Bishops. He took a deep sigh, raised his eyes to the crucifix on the wall of his study, said a brief prayer – Libera me, Domine – and read the letter.
Beloved brother in Christ,
I am commanded by His Holiness Pope Pius VI, Pontifex Maximus, etc. etc., to summon you to submit to his adjudication on the question raised by His Grace Simone Maria Visconti, Archbishop of Milan, on behalf of His Excellency Prince Alberigo di Belgioioso concerning the young woman Floria Tosca who, it is charged, you are directing towards the religious life against her will. You are hereby commanded to bring the said Floria Tosca to Rome to be heard by the Supreme Pontiff so that he may give his ruling.
Yours in Christ,
+ Francisco, Cardinal Zelada +
The game was up. Even before he had finished the letter, which was written in Latin, and the bishop’s eye had seen the name ‘Floria Tosca’, he knew that he had been out-manoeuvred and outgunned. His eyes avoided the crucifix; he dared not face the image of his Saviour with a look of disappointment in his eyes. A jumble of doubts passed through his mind. Had his motives been pure? Had he wished to keep Tosca in Golla to protect her chastity? Or had that been a pretext – the real reason being to keep her for the cathedral choir? Had he been infected by Tochetti’s
vanity? Was it the common failing of churchmen that, renouncing glory for themselves, they pursued it for institutions – building ever grander churches, monasteries, palaces, shrines? Or were these doubts put into his mind by the Jansenist Tempter? The bishop did not know. He would consult his confessor. For good or evil, Tosca was off his hands. Resignation replaced resentment. He now dared look up at the cross.
3
Three new dresses were made for Tosca, the costs met by diocesan funds. The choice was left to the two matrons closest to Tochetti who, resigned like Sarlo to losing Tosca, nevertheless felt some satisfaction that the girl he had plucked from an obscure village in the Veneto was now to sing before the Pope. Tochetti absented himself as Tosca stood in her shift, surrounded by the seamstress who fitted and unfitted, pinned and stitched and sewed, and the three matrons arguing about what was appropriate – whether the dresses should be loose and flowing to conceal the contours of her body, or tight at the bodice as was then in fashion. Every now and then, when Floria was fully clothed, Tochetti was summoned to give his view. He dithered. Would too close a fitting give rise to lascivious thoughts, as one of the matrons suggested? Tochetti was immune to carnal thoughts yet he loved Tosca and, when he saw her looks of impatience, excitement and the little laughing smiles at the carry-on of the matrons, tears came into his eyes and he quickly withdrew.
For the visit to Rome, a lady’s maid was seconded from the household of one of the matrons of Golla. Monsignor Tochetti did not join the party: Bishop Sarlo had been summoned in person and Tochetti as his coadjutor remained to undertake his duties while he was absent. Bishop Sarlo, then, was accompanied only by his valet, his secretary and Faglia, the choirmaster. They stopped for one night in Ferrara, another in Orvieto, guests of the bishops in both places. In Rome, Bishop Sarlo and his small entourage stayed, as he always did, in the convent of Santa Marcella; and while they waited for the papal audience, Faglia was charged with taking Tosca and her maid on a tour of the city.
What were Tosca’s thoughts as, her face shaded under a parasol, she strolled among the elegantly dressed tourists – the English milords with their ladies, the earnest German professors with their tall blond pupils, and the puzzling though handsome young Frenchmen who wore neither hats nor wigs? At Santa Maria Maggiore, she knelt devoutly before the statue of the Virgin, and at the basilica of St John Lateran she genuflected with a grave expression before the Blessed Sacrament and lit candles before the statues of different saints; but once out of the church she became like a dedicated entomologist, catching in the net of her large eyes the fluttering looks of admiration from the young men she passed in the street. Tosca was happy and excited. She had prayed to the Virgin to ask God to free her from the confines of the convent and it now seemed as if the Virgin had heard her prayer. Tosca loved to sing; she had always loved to sing; but it was only in Golla that she had come to understand the value of her voice. Prelates and princes were fighting to own it. And now she was to sing before the Pope!
*
Tosca’s recital before Giovanni Angelo Braschi, Pope Pius VI, il papa bello, was held in the Sala dei Corazzieri in the Quirinale Palace – a large, light room with a superb gilded ceiling. A small chamber orchestra had been assembled by the Pope’s master of music, who had been told by Faglia what accompaniments to prepare. The Pope had let it be known that he did not wish to sit enthroned as if presiding over a court of law but be merely primus inter pares in an audience of musical cognoscenti. Around fifty chairs had therefore been placed as in a concert hall with some larger and plusher in the front row for the curial cardinals and the largest and plushest for Pope Pius. A harpsichord and the chairs and music stands for the small string orchestra were on a raised dais with space at the centre for the singer, Floria Tosca.
Among those invited were the Pope’s intimate advisers – Cardinal Zelada, the Secretary of State; Treasurer Ruffo with an equerry; Fra’ Emanuel de Rohan-Polduc, the Grand Master of the Knights of St John; Bishop Franchetti, representing Archbishop Visconti of Milan; the composer Granacci with unnamed companions and friends; and of course the plaintiff-in-chief (though the proceedings had by now dropped all appearance of a legal hearing) Prince Alberigo Belgioioso d’Este and his daughter, Princess Carlotta. Next to the prince was Cardinal de Bernis, the French ambassador, with two exquisitely but modestly dressed women, one on either side, their heads covered with mantillas as decorum demanded; the Spanish ambassador, Don José de Azara, was there with an equerry, and next to him the ambassador of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, the Marchese d’Ambrogio, and in the third row Bishop Sarlo. The fifty seats were quickly filled; the word had got around about this extraordinary hearing and what was at stake. Rome had divided into rival parties – one supporting Bishop Sarlo, the other Prince Belgioioso and his proxy, the Archbishop of Milan; and despite the restricted number of invitations, a crowd pressed in and stood at the back of the room.
Promptly at a quarter to six in the evening, the coach carrying Floria Tosca and the choirmaster Faglia drew up in the courtyard of the Quirinale Palace. Faglia was dressed in a new tunic and new breeches, Tosca in the most modest of the three dresses made under the guidance of the matrons of Golla – the dark blue silk cut close to her figure, but the bodice raised to expose no more than the base of her throat. They were awaited at the entrance by a papal equerry who led them up the shallow steps, along the marble-floored landing and through the high wide door into the Sala dei Corazzieri. Tosca raised the skirts of her pretty dress as she went up the steps onto the platform. Faced with the rows of prelates and courtiers, she hesitated for a moment; then, seeing the handsome old man wearing the grandest robes and sitting on the largest and plushest chair, she stepped forward and gave a deep curtsy while Faglia, coming up behind her, gave an equally deep bow. Faglia then went to the conductor’s podium, tapped it with his baton to alert the orchestra and the audience. The room was silent. The recital began.
Tosca sang, first the soprano solo from the Credo of Mozart’s Mass in C minor; then the arias that she had sung before Prince Belgioioso at Golla. Finally, as an obeisance to the great composer who was in the audience, she sang an aria from Granacci’s La morte di Dido. Bishop Sarlo, who had placed his last hope for the salvation of his protégée in the acoustics of the Sala dei Corazzieri – praying that the notes would echo or be muffled or be lost in the vast chamber – now discovered that his hope was vain. There was no distortion: the sound of Tosca’s voice, as it filled the room, was exquisite. All fidgeting ceased as if the audience was suddenly paralysed or mesmerised by the stare of a snake. Faces took on a look that approached veneration and the bishop noticed tears come into the eyes of both men and women, courtiers and priests.
The recital ended. At first the applause was muted; with so many in the audience whose prospects depended upon the approval of the Pope, too great an enthusiasm might be considered unseemly; but then the Pope himself, to everyone’s astonishment, got to his feet, clapped his venerable hands, shouted Brava, signorina, and beckoned to Tosca to come down from the stage. This was enough to release the constrained enthusiasm of the audience. There was frenzied clapping and cries of brava and bravissima. The Prince Alberigo Belgioioso d’Este and his daughter not only applauded, but exchanged looks of triumph. Cardinal de Bernis, his applause restrained by a French sense of mesure, caught the eye of Prince Alberigo and gave a slight bow to acknowledge the good taste of a fellow connoisseur.
Tosca came down from the stage on the arm of Faglia and, suddenly nervous, looked out for Bishop Sarlo who, in his last moment in loco parentis, took her arm from Faglia and presented her to the Pope. ‘Your Holiness, Signorina Floria Tosca.’
With perfect poise, and with a fervour that was by no means feigned, Tosca stepped forward and knelt to kiss the Fisherman’s ring. While her pretty lips were on this symbol of his holy office, the Pope extended his left arm to raise her up. ‘My child,’ he said, ‘the Lord has given you an exceptional gift. You have touched my
heart and surely the hearts of many others.’
Tosca gave a deep curtsy; again the pontiff raised her up. By now he was attended by the interested parties – Prince Belgioioso d’Este, Bishop Franchetti and the composer Granacci. ‘Is it your wish,’ the Pope asked Tosca, ‘to accept the invitation of Prince Belgioioso to join his household?’
‘It is, Your Holiness.’
‘And is it the wish of your parents?’
‘It is, Your Holiness.’
‘We have a certified attestation of the parents,’ said Bishop Franchetti, the auxiliary from Milan.
‘Then their wish shall be met.’ The Pope looked down on Tosca. ‘If you have taken any vows in regard to the religious life, which in any case you are too young to have made –’ this with a side glance at Bishop Sarlo, the only acknowledgement by the pontiff of the lowly prelate’s existence – ‘then they are hereby dispensed. You are free, my child, to use the gifts God has given you for His greater glory. Laborare est orare, sed etiam cantare est orare.’ He turned to the Prince Belgioioso d’Este and the Princess Carlotta. ‘Take good care of your precious charge. May God bless you all.’ He raised his hand and made the sign of the cross. ‘Now go in peace.’
*
Tosca travelled from Rome to Milan seated in the same coach as Prince Alberigo and Princess Carlotta. There had been some sadness when she took her leave of Faglia and Bishop Sarlo, but it had gone by the time they reached Orvieto. With her limited experience of life, Tosca had imagined that noblemen and their daughters would treat a little peasant as a servant, and their servants with an imperious disdain. What she learned on the journey was that even the servants of such elevated grandees were an aristocracy of a kind – performing their duties with solemnity and precision. The secretaries, the major-domos, the valets, the coachmen were treated by the prince with a respectful nonchalance. There was no need to cajole or chastise.
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