The bells stopped.
A majestic chord poured from the cathedral organ, sending shivers down my spine. The choir of monks then led us in singing the litany of saints while one of the priests transferred the gold cross holding the Holy Nail into the Nivola.
As the Nivola made its slow descent, we sang ora pro nobis—pray for us—to one saint after another. The Nivola eventually disappeared behind the altar again. I stood on tiptoe to look for it, but a smoky fog obscured my view. I relaxed back onto my feet. The Nivola must have come to a stop and the priests were now incensing the cross.
When the litany of saints ended, the choir began singing a sacred motet. The fog of incense grew thicker. Many of the people in the front rows coughed as the acrid scent reached them.
A long line of acolytes and clergymen eventually emerged from the cloud. They processed out to the front of the altar. I stretched up onto my tiptoes again. Finally, I spotted the archduchess near the end of the procession. My heart fluttered. Archduchess Maria Teresa carried the huge cross before her, concealing my view of her face.
The priests cleared a path so she could place the reliquary on the altar. I caught a glimpse of the jeweled diadem in her golden-blonde hair just before she knelt and disappeared from sight. It hadn’t occurred to me before that even the emperor’s daughter had to submit herself to God.
The rest of us fell to our knees, too. I prayed again for old Marquis Bellini’s health, and for the archduchess to help Father.
After the ceremony, Her Royal Highness braved the persistent rain to tour the city in her carriage. As we waited for our own carriage, my tiny stepmother complained, “This infernal rain is ruining everything. I didn’t see the archduchess at all.”
“You will,” Father said. “I promise.”
***
Father was true to his word. He arranged for us to be invited to a reception honoring the archduchess two days later, at Count Visconti’s palazzo.
We rode to the reception in our best carriage—Father and Adriana sat facing Maria and me. I kept my hands pressed against my abdomen in a feeble attempt to calm my rising anxiety. I’d never met an archduchess before. I wondered what she was like. I hoped she wasn’t as stern as Governor von Traun had been the first time I’d met him. And I prayed the maestro was right about her finding my music “enchanting.”
Near the palazzo, the streets seemed even more crowded with beggars than usual. The rain had finally ended, but it had left huge puddles in the road.
Maria suddenly cried out, “Stop! Please! Stop the carriage now!” The driver pulled up sharply. We fell from our seats onto the carriage floor. I bumped heads with Adriana.
Father cursed loudly as he helped Adriana up. He scolded Maria. “Daughter, what in the name of heaven has gotten into you?”
Before Maria could answer, the driver opened the door. “A thousand pardons Signor Salvini,” he said. “I heard the Signorina shout just as a beggar was about to step in front of the horses. Is everyone—”
“I must see if she’s hurt,” Maria said, moving to the door. The driver helped her down. I followed. She ran to the beggar, who lay face down in a puddle before the horses.
My sister was about to kneel on the ground. “Maria, wait!” I called. “Your gown.”
She looked down at her elegant new gown and then at the woman in the puddle. Maria motioned to the driver. “Quickly. Come see that she’s unharmed.”
The driver turned the beggar over. Her face was badly scarred from the pox, and the rags she wore were caked with filth. I stepped back, repulsed.
The woman lay motionless. For a moment, I thought she was dead. Then she groaned. Her eyelids fluttered open. She stared out with glassy eyes as though blind.
I shuddered. The scene seemed oddly familiar.
Father came out of the carriage and said to Maria, “Daughter, what are you doing? You will make us late.”
“We can’t leave this woman here, Signor Padre. It is our Christian duty to help her.”
That’s when I remembered—Maria had described this very scene to me the day of Gabriella’s ball. I’d thought it had been merely a feverish delusion. Now I understood—Maria had experienced a true vision.
“We also have a duty to Her Royal Highness,” Father said. He ordered the footman to carry the beggar to the side of the road. “That’s all we can do,” Father said to Maria. “We must be on our way.”
As I climbed back into the carriage, Maria whispered from behind me. “Do you remember the vision I spoke of?”
I nodded.
“Then you believe me now.”
“I do.”
“Make haste,” Father said. “There’s no time to dawdle.”
Once we were on our way, Father scolded Maria again. “Ladies of stature don’t go about helping beggars in the street. What could have possessed you to do something so scandalous, today of all days?”
I knew Maria couldn’t tell Father the reason, at least not yet. Fortunately, Adriana spoke up for my sister. “Do not be too hard on her, my husband. It is because she is too good. Maria thinks with her heart first and not her head.”
“Hmmph.” Father opened his mouth to say something more, but just then we arrived at Count Visconti’s palazzo.
Chapter Thirty: The Archduchess
Two servants led us up the grand staircase to the main floor. Count Visconti’s palazzo was even more lavish than Count Cavalieri’s. The corridor walls were painted in pale hues of pink and blue ornamented with white filigree. Large mirrors in elaborate gold frames covered many of the wall panels. Our reflections greeted us at every turn.
“Look,” Adriana whispered as we passed a pair of marble-topped side tables with intricately carved legs. Porcelain figurines depicting scenes from the commedia dell’arte sat atop the tables. One featured the character of Ballerina dancing while Cantarina played her lute. The figurine reminded me of my costume for Gabriella’s masquerade ball. This was surely a good omen, for it was at the ball that Gabriella had told me Marquis Bellini wanted to leave his estate to his great-nephew. I smiled and hurried after the others.
We finally reached the ballroom—the grandest I’d ever seen. A large red and gold canopy hung from the ceiling at one end of the room. Three throne-like chairs upholstered in red velvet stood beneath it. The chairs were obviously meant for Archduchess Maria Teresa, Grand Duke Francis, and the grand duke’s brother, Prince Charles, who was traveling with them. However, only the two men were seated. The archduchess stood off to one side. A line of guests waited to speak with her.
Maria and I took our place in line behind Father and Adriana. I soon found myself rubbing the tip of my right index finger against my thumb, a habit I thought I’d broken long ago.
When Grand Duke Francis joined his wife, Maria gripped my forearm. She must have felt as anxious as I did. It hadn’t occurred to me that we’d be meeting the grand duke, too. I tried not to think about that, or about how the archduchess would one day be empress over us all.
At long last, we reached the head of the line, and Count Visconti presented us to Archduchess Maria Teresa and her husband. The golden-haired archduchess wasn’t as stern as I’d expected, though she looked older than her years. She would soon turn twenty-two, the same age as Adriana.
The royal couple exchanged pleasantries with Father and Adriana. Then Archduchess Maria Teresa turned to Maria and me. “How blessed your father is,” she said in perfect Italian, “to have not one, but two such accomplished daughters.”
We curtsied and said, “Grazie, Your Highness.”
The archduchess said something to Maria in German. From the mischievousness in Her Royal Highness’s bright blue eyes, I guessed she was testing my sister. Maria must have answered satisfactorily, for the archduchess nodded and smiled. They went on speaking German for several moments. In the meantime, the grand duke made small talk with Father and Adriana. My stomach knotted as I waited.
Finally, the archduchess fixed her gaze on me.
“And you are the composer?” she said, speaking Italian again.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“I have been so enjoying the songs you sent me. I’m especially looking forward to singing the lullaby to my little girls when we return to Vienna.” My heart swelled at her praise. Then she said, “Would you do me the favor of playing it for me?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Pardon me, Your Highness?”
“I’d love to hear your own rendition of the lullaby, to know if I’m doing it justice.” She gestured toward the harpsichord standing before a nearby fireplace. “If you wouldn’t mind. The instrument is well-tuned. I tried it out myself earlier.”
My hands trembled at the idea of playing here, now, in front of the royal couple and their entourage, and the highest-ranking members of Milanese society. But what could I say?
“As you wish, Your Highness.” I clasped my trembling hands together and curtsied low.
Count Visconti stood a few yards away, waiting with the next guests to be introduced to the royal couple. The archduchess said to him, “With your permission, Visconti, I would very much like to hear Signorina Salvini play the harpsichord.”
Father’s eyes widened at her words.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Count Visconti replied, but from the stiffness of his bow, I guessed the archduchess’s request was a breach of etiquette. The knot in my stomach grew harder.
The count led me to the harpsichord. To my horror, I saw that the colors of the keys were reversed, in the French fashion—the natural keys were black and the sharps white. I’d only played such an instrument once before, and that was long ago.
My heart raced as I placed my still-trembling hands on the keyboard. I cleared my throat, took a deep breath and prayed silently, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, please help me.
I tried a few chords to get the feel of the keys. Fortunately, the instrument’s sound was much like that of the other French harpsichord I’d played. Thank you, Lord.
As I began the prelude to my lullaby, the room grew quiet. I glanced over at the archduchess, who was now seated beneath the red and gold canopy. She nodded her encouragement.
I repeated the prelude a second time to ease my nerves. Finally, I sang,
I am so blessed to have you as my own,
my precious, precious one.
I will love you my whole life long.
My love will be the sun that shines on you by day
and the moon that caresses your cheek at night.
For your health and happiness, daily I will pray
and that you’ll always walk in God’s light.
No matter what pain or hardship life may bring
I’ll be ever near, ready to kiss your tears away.
Rest easy now, dear one. For you alone I sing.
Your place in my heart is secure, come what may.
I am so blessed to have you as my own,
my precious, precious one.
I will love you my whole life long.
Calmed by my own words and music, I thought of how this had originally been a love song for Antonio Bellini. I’d changed the lyrics only slightly to make it a lullaby. It would be especially fitting if this song helped secure the archduchess’s favor.
After I finished, there was complete silence for a moment. Then everyone broke into vigorous applause. Archduchess Maria Teresa waved me toward her. As I approached, I snuck a peek at Father. Despite his cool expression, excitement, and perhaps even a hint of pride, danced in his dark eyes. My heart thrilled at his approval. He followed me over to the archduchess’s throne.
“Brava, Signorina,” the archduchess said with a clap of her hands. “Please forgive me for putting you to such a test. I wanted to know if what I’d heard about you was true. I’m happy to say it was. You are indeed as gifted a musician as you are a composer. And a lovely singer, too. Thank you so much for indulging me. I admire all the pieces you sent me, but the lullaby is my favorite.”
I couldn’t keep from smiling. “I am honored you like my compositions, Your Highness.”
“And I am honored that you have dedicated such superb work to me.” The archduchess touched her hand to her chest. “I must say, also, that I am pleased the general prejudice against educating women has not interfered with either your studies or those of your sister.” Archduchess Maria Teresa said to Father. “I commend you, Salvini. Few men educate their daughters as you have, especially men outside the nobility.”
She seemed to emphasize the phrase “outside the nobility.” I wondered if Father noticed it, too.
He bowed low and said, “When I realized what wonderful talents God had bestowed on my daughters, Your Highness, I felt it was my duty to hire the finest tutors for them.”
The archduchess gave Father a sly smile. “I am confident God will reward you well for it.” Was she saying he would get his feudal estate?
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Father bowed even lower this time.
As we stepped away from the archduchess, Father signaled for Adriana and Maria to follow us to the refreshment table. He took two glasses of wine and handed one to Adriana. “We must toast Emilia for her success this evening.” Bending low, he whispered, “Thanks to her, I believe we will soon have cause for great celebration.”
Adriana grinned. “How marvelous!” She took the wine glass from Father and clinked it against his.
I couldn’t help grinning, too. All had gone even better than I’d hoped. By every indication, Father should soon have his title, and I could then be betrothed to Bellini. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t the “second sister.” My heart felt so light, I could have danced.
Maria was the only one who wore a serious expression. Could she be jealous of the attention showered on me by Father and the archduchess? I didn’t think envy was in her character.
“I see the Riccardis are here with their daughter and son-in-law,” Father said. “Let us join them.”
Countess Riccardi and Gabriella were seated on a fine brocade sofa. Gabriella’s father and husband stood talking behind them. We approached and exchanged greetings. Count Cavalieri called a servant to bring chairs for Adriana, Maria, and me. As we stood waiting, Gabriella said, “What a lovely lullaby, Emilia.” She placed a hand on her abdomen. “You must teach it to me so I can sing it to my own sweet baby,” she said, her face glowing.
“Of course.” I smiled at Gabriella. When she’d first learned she was with child, she’d been quite anxious. But the midwife reassured her, saying Gabriella’s body was well-suited for childbirth. With a little over two months left, she’d had an easy time thus far. Yet, I still worried for her sake. I prayed daily that all would go well for her and her baby.
The servants brought the chairs and arranged them in a half-circle in front of the sofa. After Adriana, Maria and I were seated, Father took a spot behind the sofa with the other two men. They were soon deep in discussion.
“They’re like a gaggle of old gossips.” Countess Riccardi tilted her head toward the men. “They scrutinize the archduchess’s every word and gesture as though she is speaking in code.”
But that was how it had seemed—as though the archduchess’s words had contained a secret message for Father: You will soon be a nobleman. Could I have been mistaken?
“From what my husband tells me,” Gabriella said, “that is the only way the archduchess can speak right now. Since she is not yet our ruler, she is not in a position to make direct promises. However, Her Royal Highness can still use her influence to benefit those who win her approval.”
Gabriella looked right at me as she spoke. I sensed she, too, believed my performance this evening would lead to Father being made a nobleman. I said a silent prayer we were right.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a man with a walking stick crossing the ballroom. I turned to see Marquis Volpi, of all people, approach Count Visconti. I hadn’t seen the marquis in ages.
Countess Riccardi must have noticed him too, for she said, “W
ell, well, well, speaking of gossip.” She lowered her voice. “Have you heard the latest regarding Marquis Volpi’s illustrious son?”
“No, do tell,” Adriana said.
“It seems his bride-to-be had a change of heart,” Countess Riccardi said. “No sooner had her father set a wedding date when he announced it was to be postponed. Indefinitely.”
I studied Gabriella’s face. She smiled as though unperturbed by the news. Either she’d become adept at hiding her emotions or she no longer had feelings for Lodovico Volpi.
“Oh, my,” Adriana said. “I wonder if something happened.”
“I imagine we’ll find out in time,” Countess Riccardi said.
Gabriella nodded toward Marquis Volpi. “I wonder if the broken engagement has anything to do with the marquis’s current state of agitation.”
Marquis Volpi stood clutching his walking stick by its middle. He waved the stick’s jeweled head angrily at Count Visconti. I could not make out what Marquis Volpi was saying, but he was obviously upset.
“Interesting,” Father said from behind the sofa. I didn’t know he’d been watching, too. “I wonder what has ruffled the old crow’s feathers this time.”
Gabriella’s husband, Count Cavalieri, replied, “I suspect the marquis is feeling snubbed. He wasn’t invited to today’s private dinner for the archduchess.”
Count Visconti kept his demeanor calm as he answered Marquis Volpi. The marquis was apparently dissatisfied with the response, for he struck his walking stick to the marble floor. A loud thump filled the air. Even the archduchess watched as the marquis strode angrily from the room.
“Good riddance,” Father said.
***
A little while later, Count Visconti announced, “This evening we pay tribute to our royal visitors with a fireworks exhibition.” The count led the archduchess and grand duke out onto a balcony facing the Royal Palazzo. Father, Adriana, Maria, and I joined Gabriella, her husband, and her parents on another balcony.
Playing by Heart Page 18
